From 94f6e67d0d396ac678ebd7c4846a8d058327d98f Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Neil Smith Date: Tue, 26 Sep 2017 15:21:58 +0100 Subject: [PATCH] Added and updated texts. --- 105.txt | 2 - 121.txt | 1 - 141.txt | 1 - 158-0.txt | 32471 +++++++++++++++++++++++++------------------------ 161.txt | 1 - 6688-0.txt | 21632 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ pg1260.txt | 20659 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ pg145.txt | 33280 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ pg550.txt | 6976 +++++++++++ 9 files changed, 98782 insertions(+), 16241 deletions(-) create mode 100644 6688-0.txt create mode 100644 pg1260.txt create mode 100644 pg145.txt create mode 100644 pg550.txt diff --git a/105.txt b/105.txt index 478582a..97db9b8 100644 --- a/105.txt +++ b/105.txt @@ -1,5 +1,3 @@ - - Persuasion diff --git a/121.txt b/121.txt index dabef4f..89e9f14 100644 --- a/121.txt +++ b/121.txt @@ -1,4 +1,3 @@ - NORTHANGER ABBEY diff --git a/141.txt b/141.txt index 4428a58..73903c9 100644 --- a/141.txt +++ b/141.txt @@ -1,4 +1,3 @@ - MANSFIELD PARK (1814) diff --git a/158-0.txt b/158-0.txt index 95a0f86..314c706 100644 --- a/158-0.txt +++ b/158-0.txt @@ -1,16236 +1,16235 @@ - -EMMA - -By Jane Austen - - - - -VOLUME I - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home -and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of -existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very -little to distress or vex her. - -She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, -indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister’s marriage, been -mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died -too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of -her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as -governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. - -Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse’s family, less as a -governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly -of Emma. Between _them_ it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before -Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the -mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; -and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been -living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma -doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor’s judgment, but -directed chiefly by her own. - -The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of having -rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too -well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to -her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, -that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. - -Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of any -disagreeable consciousness.--Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor’s -loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this -beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any -continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and -herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer -a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as -usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost. - -The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr. Weston -was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and -pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering -with what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and -promoted the match; but it was a black morning’s work for her. The want -of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her -past kindness--the kindness, the affection of sixteen years--how she had -taught and how she had played with her from five years old--how she had -devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health--and how -nursed her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of -gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven -years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed -Isabella’s marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a -dearer, tenderer recollection. She had been a friend and companion such -as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing -all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and -peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme of -hers--one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and who had -such an affection for her as could never find fault. - -How was she to bear the change?--It was true that her friend was going -only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great must be the -difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss -Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic, -she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. She -dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not -meet her in conversation, rational or playful. - -The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had -not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; -for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of -mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though -everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable -temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time. - -Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, being -settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her daily -reach; and many a long October and November evening must be struggled -through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit from -Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to fill the house, -and give her pleasant society again. - -Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town, -to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and -name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses -were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many -acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but -not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even -half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over -it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it -necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support. He was a nervous -man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and -hating to part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the -origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet -reconciled to his own daughter’s marrying, nor could ever speak of her -but with compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, -when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his -habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that -other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much -disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for -them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the -rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully -as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was -impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner, - -“Poor Miss Taylor!--I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that -Mr. Weston ever thought of her!” - -“I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such -a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves -a good wife;--and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for -ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her -own?” - -“A house of her own!--But where is the advantage of a house of her own? -This is three times as large.--And you have never any odd humours, my -dear.” - -“How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us!--We -shall be always meeting! _We_ must begin; we must go and pay wedding -visit very soon.” - -“My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could -not walk half so far.” - -“No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, -to be sure.” - -“The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a -little way;--and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our -visit?” - -“They are to be put into Mr. Weston’s stable, papa. You know we have -settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last -night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going -to Randalls, because of his daughter’s being housemaid there. I only -doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, -papa. You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah till you -mentioned her--James is so obliged to you!” - -“I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not -have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am -sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty-spoken -girl; I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always -curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you -have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock -of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an -excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor -to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes -over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. He will -be able to tell her how we all are.” - -Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and -hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably -through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The -backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked -in and made it unnecessary. - -Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not -only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly -connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella’s husband. He lived -about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, -and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their -mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after -some days’ absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were -well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated -Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which -always did him good; and his many inquiries after “poor Isabella” and -her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. -Woodhouse gratefully observed, “It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, -to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have -had a shocking walk.” - -“Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I -must draw back from your great fire.” - -“But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not -catch cold.” - -“Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.” - -“Well! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain -here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at -breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding.” - -“By the bye--I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what -sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my -congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you -all behave? Who cried most?” - -“Ah! poor Miss Taylor! ‘Tis a sad business.” - -“Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly say -‘poor Miss Taylor.’ I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it -comes to the question of dependence or independence!--At any rate, it -must be better to have only one to please than two.” - -“Especially when _one_ of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome -creature!” said Emma playfully. “That is what you have in your head, I -know--and what you would certainly say if my father were not by.” - -“I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,” said Mr. Woodhouse, with a -sigh. “I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome.” - -“My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean _you_, or suppose Mr. -Knightley to mean _you_. What a horrible idea! Oh no! I meant only -myself. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know--in a -joke--it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another.” - -Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see faults -in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them: and -though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew -it would be so much less so to her father, that she would not have him -really suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought perfect by -every body. - -“Emma knows I never flatter her,” said Mr. Knightley, “but I meant no -reflection on any body. Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons -to please; she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a -gainer.” - -“Well,” said Emma, willing to let it pass--“you want to hear about -the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved -charmingly. Every body was punctual, every body in their best looks: not -a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. Oh no; we all felt that we -were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every -day.” - -“Dear Emma bears every thing so well,” said her father. “But, Mr. -Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am -sure she _will_ miss her more than she thinks for.” - -Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles. “It -is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion,” said Mr. -Knightley. “We should not like her so well as we do, sir, if we could -suppose it; but she knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor’s -advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor’s -time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to -her to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow -herself to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor -must be glad to have her so happily married.” - -“And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,” said Emma, “and a very -considerable one--that I made the match myself. I made the match, you -know, four years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in the -right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may -comfort me for any thing.” - -Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied, “Ah! -my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for -whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more -matches.” - -“I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for -other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after such -success, you know!--Every body said that Mr. Weston would never marry -again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a widower so long, and who -seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied -either in his business in town or among his friends here, always -acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful--Mr. Weston need not spend -a single evening in the year alone if he did not like it. Oh no! Mr. -Weston certainly would never marry again. Some people even talked of a -promise to his wife on her deathbed, and others of the son and the -uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the -subject, but I believed none of it. - -“Ever since the day--about four years ago--that Miss Taylor and I met -with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted -away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from -Farmer Mitchell’s, I made up my mind on the subject. I planned the match -from that hour; and when such success has blessed me in this instance, -dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match-making.” - -“I do not understand what you mean by ‘success,’” said Mr. Knightley. -“Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately -spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring -about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady’s mind! But -if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means -only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, ‘I think it -would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry -her,’ and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards, why -do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You -made a lucky guess; and _that_ is all that can be said.” - -“And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess?--I -pity you.--I thought you cleverer--for, depend upon it a lucky guess is -never merely luck. There is always some talent in it. And as to my -poor word ‘success,’ which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so -entirely without any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures; -but I think there may be a third--a something between the do-nothing and -the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston’s visits here, and given -many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might -not have come to any thing after all. I think you must know Hartfield -enough to comprehend that.” - -“A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational, -unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their -own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than -good to them, by interference.” - -“Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others,” rejoined -Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part. “But, my dear, pray do not -make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one’s family -circle grievously.” - -“Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. -Elton, papa,--I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in -Highbury who deserves him--and he has been here a whole year, and has -fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him -single any longer--and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, -he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office -done for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I -have of doing him a service.” - -“Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young -man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any -attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will -be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to -meet him.” - -“With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,” said Mr. Knightley, -laughing, “and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better -thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish -and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a -man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself.” - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family, -which for the last two or three generations had been rising into -gentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on -succeeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed -for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged, -and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering -into the militia of his county, then embodied. - -Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his -military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire -family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized, -except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were -full of pride and importance, which the connexion would offend. - -Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her -fortune--though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate--was -not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the -infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with -due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much -happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a -husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing due -to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him; -but though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had -resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, -but not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’s -unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home. -They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison -of Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at -once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe. - -Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills, -as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of -the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years’ marriage, he -was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain. -From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy -had, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his -mother’s, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs. -Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature -of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge of the -little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance -the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were -overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to the care and -the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfort to seek, -and his own situation to improve as he could. - -A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and -engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way in -London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern which -brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury, -where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful occupation -and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his -life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time, realised an easy -competence--enough to secure the purchase of a little estate adjoining -Highbury, which he had always longed for--enough to marry a woman as -portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of -his own friendly and social disposition. - -It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his -schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth, -it had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could -purchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to; -but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were -accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained -his wife; and was beginning a new period of existence, with every -probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had -never been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that, -even in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful -a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the -pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to be -chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it. - -He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own; -for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his -uncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume -the name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, -that he should ever want his father’s assistance. His father had no -apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her -husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature to imagine that -any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he -believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in London, and -was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man -had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as -sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects a -kind of common concern. - -Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively -curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little -returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit -his father had been often talked of but never achieved. - -Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a -most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a -dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with -Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now -was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope -strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new -mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in Highbury -included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. -“I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill -has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome letter, -indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and -he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life.” - -It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course, -formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing -attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most -welcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulation -which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most -fortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate -she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial -separation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and -who could ill bear to part with her. - -She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, without -pain, of Emma’s losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour’s ennui, -from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble -character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would -have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped -would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and -privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance of -Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female walking, -and in Mr. Weston’s disposition and circumstances, which would make the -approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in -the week together. - -Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. -Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction--her more -than satisfaction--her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent, -that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by surprize -at his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when they left her -at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go away -in the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her -own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh, -and saying, “Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.” - -There was no recovering Miss Taylor--nor much likelihood of ceasing to -pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. -The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by -being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which -had been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach -could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be -different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit -for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them -from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as -earnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He had been at the -pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. Perry -was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one -of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and upon being applied to, he -could not but acknowledge (though it seemed rather against the bias -of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with -many--perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an -opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence -every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten; -and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone. - -There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being -seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr. -Woodhouse would never believe it. - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked very much to -have his friends come and see him; and from various united causes, from -his long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, -his house, and his daughter, he could command the visits of his -own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked. He had not much -intercourse with any families beyond that circle; his horror of late -hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfit for any acquaintance but -such as would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, Highbury, -including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the parish -adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such. Not -unfrequently, through Emma’s persuasion, he had some of the chosen and -the best to dine with him: but evening parties were what he preferred; -and, unless he fancied himself at any time unequal to company, there -was scarcely an evening in the week in which Emma could not make up a -card-table for him. - -Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; and by -Mr. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the privilege -of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the -elegancies and society of Mr. Woodhouse’s drawing-room, and the smiles -of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away. - -After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able of whom were -Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, three ladies almost always at -the service of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and -carried home so often, that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship for -either James or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it -would have been a grievance. - -Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old -lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille. She lived with her -single daughter in a very small way, and was considered with all the -regard and respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward -circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree -of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor married. -Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for having -much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual superiority to -make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her into -outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her -youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted -to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small -income go as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman -whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal good-will -and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body, -was interested in every body’s happiness, quicksighted to every body’s -merits; thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with -blessings in such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbours -and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The simplicity and -cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a -recommendation to every body, and a mine of felicity to herself. She was -a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, -full of trivial communications and harmless gossip. - -Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School--not of a seminary, or an -establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences of -refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality, -upon new principles and new systems--and where young ladies for enormous -pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity--but a real, -honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of -accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might -be sent to be out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little -education, without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard’s -school was in high repute--and very deservedly; for Highbury was -reckoned a particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and garden, -gave the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great -deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own -hands. It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked -after her to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who -had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself entitled to the -occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and having formerly owed much to Mr. -Woodhouse’s kindness, felt his particular claim on her to leave her neat -parlour, hung round with fancy-work, whenever she could, and win or lose -a few sixpences by his fireside. - -These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to -collect; and happy was she, for her father’s sake, in the power; though, -as far as she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of -Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look comfortable, and -very much pleased with herself for contriving things so well; but the -quiet prosings of three such women made her feel that every evening so -spent was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully anticipated. - -As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of the -present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most -respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most -welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom Emma knew -very well by sight, and had long felt an interest in, on account of -her beauty. A very gracious invitation was returned, and the evening no -longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion. - -Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had placed -her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard’s school, and somebody -had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of -parlour-boarder. This was all that was generally known of her history. -She had no visible friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and -was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young -ladies who had been at school there with her. - -She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort -which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a -fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great -sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased -with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the -acquaintance. - -She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in Miss Smith’s -conversation, but she found her altogether very engaging--not -inconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk--and yet so far from pushing, -shewing so proper and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly -grateful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed -by the appearance of every thing in so superior a style to what she had -been used to, that she must have good sense, and deserve encouragement. -Encouragement should be given. Those soft blue eyes, and all those -natural graces, should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury -and its connexions. The acquaintance she had already formed were -unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted, though very -good sort of people, must be doing her harm. They were a family of the -name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as renting a large -farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish of Donwell--very -creditably, she believed--she knew Mr. Knightley thought highly of -them--but they must be coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the -intimates of a girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and elegance -to be quite perfect. _She_ would notice her; she would improve her; she -would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good -society; she would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an -interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her -own situation in life, her leisure, and powers. - -She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking and -listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, that the -evening flew away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table, which -always closed such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and -watch the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the -fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse -of a spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every -thing well and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted -with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and -help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with an -urgency which she knew would be acceptable to the early hours and civil -scruples of their guests. - -Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse’s feelings were in sad warfare. -He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of his -youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him -rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while his hospitality would -have welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their health -made him grieve that they would eat. - -Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all that he could, -with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though he might constrain -himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to -say: - -“Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg -boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg -better than any body. I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body -else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see--one of -our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a -_little_ bit of tart--a _very_ little bit. Ours are all apple-tarts. You -need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the -custard. Mrs. Goddard, what say you to _half_ a glass of wine? A -_small_ half-glass, put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could -disagree with you.” - -Emma allowed her father to talk--but supplied her visitors in a much -more satisfactory style, and on the present evening had particular -pleasure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was -quite equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage -in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had given as much -panic as pleasure; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with -highly gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss -Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken hands -with her at last! - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Harriet Smith’s intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing. Quick -and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and -telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so -did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had -very early foreseen how useful she might find her. In that respect -Mrs. Weston’s loss had been important. Her father never went beyond the -shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for his long -walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs. Weston’s marriage -her exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured once alone to -Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, -one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable -addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as she saw more of -her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs. - -Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful -disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be -guided by any one she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself -was very amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power of -appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was no -want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be expected. -Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith’s being exactly the -young friend she wanted--exactly the something which her home required. -Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could -never be granted. Two such she did not want. It was quite a different -sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the -object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem. Harriet -would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there -was nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing. - -Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who -were the parents, but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to tell -every thing in her power, but on this subject questions were vain. Emma -was obliged to fancy what she liked--but she could never believe that in -the same situation _she_ should not have discovered the truth. Harriet -had no penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and believe just what -Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her; and looked no farther. - -Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of -the school in general, formed naturally a great part of the -conversation--and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of -Abbey-Mill Farm, it must have been the whole. But the Martins occupied -her thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy months with them, -and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe -the many comforts and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her -talkativeness--amused by such a picture of another set of beings, -and enjoying the youthful simplicity which could speak with so much -exultation of Mrs. Martin’s having “_two_ parlours, two very good -parlours, indeed; one of them quite as large as Mrs. Goddard’s -drawing-room; and of her having an upper maid who had lived -five-and-twenty years with her; and of their having eight cows, two of -them Alderneys, and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch -cow indeed; and of Mrs. Martin’s saying as she was so fond of it, -it should be called _her_ cow; and of their having a very handsome -summer-house in their garden, where some day next year they were all to -drink tea:--a very handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen -people.” - -For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate -cause; but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings -arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and -daughter, a son and son’s wife, who all lived together; but when it -appeared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was -always mentioned with approbation for his great good-nature in doing -something or other, was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. -Martin, no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her poor little -friend from all this hospitality and kindness, and that, if she were not -taken care of, she might be required to sink herself forever. - -With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number and -meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, -and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to -speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening -games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and -obliging. He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring her -some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in -every thing else he was so very obliging. He had his shepherd’s son into -the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond -of singing. He could sing a little himself. She believed he was very -clever, and understood every thing. He had a very fine flock, and, while -she was with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any body in -the country. She believed every body spoke well of him. His mother and -sisters were very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and -there was a blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any body -to be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he -would make a good husband. Not that she _wanted_ him to marry. She was -in no hurry at all. - -“Well done, Mrs. Martin!” thought Emma. “You know what you are about.” - -“And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to send -Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose--the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever -seen. Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three -teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with -her.” - -“Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the line of -his own business? He does not read?” - -“Oh yes!--that is, no--I do not know--but I believe he has read a -good deal--but not what you would think any thing of. He reads the -Agricultural Reports, and some other books that lay in one of the window -seats--but he reads all _them_ to himself. But sometimes of an evening, -before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the -Elegant Extracts, very entertaining. And I know he has read the Vicar of -Wakefield. He never read the Romance of the Forest, nor The Children of -the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but -he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can.” - -The next question was-- - -“What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?” - -“Oh! not handsome--not at all handsome. I thought him very plain at -first, but I do not think him so plain now. One does not, you know, -after a time. But did you never see him? He is in Highbury every now and -then, and he is sure to ride through every week in his way to Kingston. -He has passed you very often.” - -“That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without having -any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, -is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are -precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. -A degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance might interest me; -I might hope to be useful to their families in some way or other. But -a farmer can need none of my help, and is, therefore, in one sense, as -much above my notice as in every other he is below it.” - -“To be sure. Oh yes! It is not likely you should ever have observed him; -but he knows you very well indeed--I mean by sight.” - -“I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I know, -indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do you imagine -his age to be?” - -“He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday is the -23rd just a fortnight and a day’s difference--which is very odd.” - -“Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother is -perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable as they -are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would probably -repent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of young -woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very -desirable.” - -“Six years hence! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!” - -“Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who are not -born to an independence. Mr. Martin, I imagine, has his fortune entirely -to make--cannot be at all beforehand with the world. Whatever money he -might come into when his father died, whatever his share of the family -property, it is, I dare say, all afloat, all employed in his stock, and -so forth; and though, with diligence and good luck, he may be rich in -time, it is next to impossible that he should have realised any thing -yet.” - -“To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. They have no -indoors man, else they do not want for any thing; and Mrs. Martin talks -of taking a boy another year.” - -“I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he does -marry;--I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife--for though his -sisters, from a superior education, are not to be altogether objected -to, it does not follow that he might marry any body at all fit for you -to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly -careful as to your associates. There can be no doubt of your being a -gentleman’s daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by -every thing within your own power, or there will be plenty of people who -would take pleasure in degrading you.” - -“Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield, -and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what any -body can do.” - -“You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but I would -have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent -even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently -well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to have as few odd -acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I say that if you should still -be in this country when Mr. Martin marries, I wish you may not be drawn -in by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife, -who will probably be some mere farmer’s daughter, without education.” - -“To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any body -but what had had some education--and been very well brought up. However, -I do not mean to set up my opinion against yours--and I am sure I shall -not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always have a great -regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth, and should be very -sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well educated as me. But -if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not -visit her, if I can help it.” - -Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw no -alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first admirer, but -she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious -difficulty, on Harriet’s side, to oppose any friendly arrangement of her -own. - -They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the -Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at -her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion. Emma was -not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking a few -yards forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye -sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin. His appearance was very -neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no -other advantage; and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, -she thought he must lose all the ground he had gained in Harriet’s -inclination. Harriet was not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily -noticed her father’s gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. -Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was. - -They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not be -kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling face, -and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to -compose. - -“Only think of our happening to meet him!--How very odd! It was quite -a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls. He did not -think we ever walked this road. He thought we walked towards Randalls -most days. He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest yet. -He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, -but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet! Well, -Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected? What do you think of him? -Do you think him so very plain?” - -“He is very plain, undoubtedly--remarkably plain:--but that is nothing -compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right to expect -much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so -very clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined him, I confess, a -degree or two nearer gentility.” - -“To be sure,” said Harriet, in a mortified voice, “he is not so genteel -as real gentlemen.” - -“I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been -repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you -must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield, -you have had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men. I -should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company -with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior -creature--and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him -at all agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not -you struck? I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and -abrupt manner, and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly -unmodulated as I stood here.” - -“Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air and -way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain enough. But -Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!” - -“Mr. Knightley’s air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to -compare Mr. Martin with _him_. You might not see one in a hundred with -_gentleman_ so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the -only gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston -and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of _them_. Compare their -manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of speaking; of being silent. -You must see the difference.” - -“Oh yes!--there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost an old -man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty.” - -“Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a person -grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not -be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or -awkwardness becomes. What is passable in youth is detestable in later -age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. -Weston’s time of life?” - -“There is no saying, indeed,” replied Harriet rather solemnly. - -“But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely gross, -vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of -nothing but profit and loss.” - -“Will he, indeed? That will be very bad.” - -“How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from the -circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended. -He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thing -else--which is just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to -do with books? And I have no doubt that he _will_ thrive, and be a very -rich man in time--and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb -_us_.” - -“I wonder he did not remember the book”--was all Harriet’s answer, and -spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought might be -safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no more for some time. Her -next beginning was, - -“In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton’s manners are superior to Mr. -Knightley’s or Mr. Weston’s. They have more gentleness. They might be -more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, -almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in _him_, -because there is so much good-humour with it--but that would not do to -be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley’s downright, decided, commanding -sort of manner, though it suits _him_ very well; his figure, and look, -and situation in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to set -about copying him, he would not be sufferable. On the contrary, I think -a young man might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a -model. Mr. Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. -He seems to me to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know -whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with either of us, -Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that his manners are -softer than they used to be. If he means any thing, it must be to please -you. Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?” - -She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn from Mr. -Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and smiled, and -said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable. - -Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young -farmer out of Harriet’s head. She thought it would be an excellent -match; and only too palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for her -to have much merit in planning it. She feared it was what every body -else must think of and predict. It was not likely, however, that any -body should have equalled her in the date of the plan, as it had -entered her brain during the very first evening of Harriet’s coming to -Hartfield. The longer she considered it, the greater was her sense -of its expediency. Mr. Elton’s situation was most suitable, quite the -gentleman himself, and without low connexions; at the same time, not of -any family that could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. -He had a comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient -income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known -to have some independent property; and she thought very highly of him -as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, without any -deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the world. - -She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a beautiful -girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at Hartfield, was -foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet’s there could be little -doubt that the idea of being preferred by him would have all the usual -weight and efficacy. And he was really a very pleasing young man, a -young man whom any woman not fastidious might like. He was reckoned very -handsome; his person much admired in general, though not by her, -there being a want of elegance of feature which she could not dispense -with:--but the girl who could be gratified by a Robert Martin’s riding -about the country to get walnuts for her might very well be conquered by -Mr. Elton’s admiration. - - - -CHAPTER V - - -“I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. -Knightley, “of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I -think it a bad thing.” - -“A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--why so?” - -“I think they will neither of them do the other any good.” - -“You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying her with a -new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have been -seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently -we feel!--Not think they will do each other any good! This will -certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. -Knightley.” - -“Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing -Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.” - -“Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he thinks -exactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yesterday, -and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a -girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not -allow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live -alone, that you do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps no -man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of -one of her own sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine -your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman -which Emma’s friend ought to be. But on the other hand, as Emma wants -to see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more -herself. They will read together. She means it, I know.” - -“Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. -I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of -books that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists -they were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes -alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew -up when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much -credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made -out a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of -steady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing -requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the -understanding. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely -affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.--You never could persuade her -to read half so much as you wished.--You know you could not.” - -“I dare say,” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “that I thought so -_then_;--but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma’s omitting -to do any thing I wished.” - -“There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as _that_,”--said -Mr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done. “But I,” - he soon added, “who have had no such charm thrown over my senses, must -still see, hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest -of her family. At ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to -answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always -quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she -was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and of you all. In her -mother she lost the only person able to cope with her. She inherits her -mother’s talents, and must have been under subjection to her.” - -“I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on _your_ -recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse’s family and wanted another -situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to -any body. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held.” - -“Yes,” said he, smiling. “You are better placed _here_; very fit for a -wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to -be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might -not give Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to -promise; but you were receiving a very good education from _her_, on the -very material matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing -as you were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I -should certainly have named Miss Taylor.” - -“Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife to -such a man as Mr. Weston.” - -“Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and that -with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We -will not despair, however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of -comfort, or his son may plague him.” - -“I hope not _that_.--It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not -foretell vexation from that quarter.” - -“Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to Emma’s -genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart, the -young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.--But -Harriet Smith--I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the -very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows -nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every thing. She is a -flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned. -Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine she has any -thing to learn herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful -inferiority? And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that _she_ cannot -gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit -with all the other places she belongs to. She will grow just refined -enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and circumstances -have placed her home. I am much mistaken if Emma’s doctrines give any -strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally -to the varieties of her situation in life.--They only give a little -polish.” - -“I either depend more upon Emma’s good sense than you do, or am more -anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance. -How well she looked last night!” - -“Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very -well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma’s being pretty.” - -“Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect -beauty than Emma altogether--face and figure?” - -“I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom -seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial -old friend.” - -“Such an eye!--the true hazle eye--and so brilliant! regular features, -open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health, -and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure! -There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her -glance. One hears sometimes of a child being ‘the picture of health;’ -now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of -grown-up health. She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?” - -“I have not a fault to find with her person,” he replied. “I think her -all you describe. I love to look at her; and I will add this praise, -that I do not think her personally vain. Considering how very handsome -she is, she appears to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies -another way. Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of -Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them both harm.” - -“And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not -doing them any harm. With all dear Emma’s little faults, she is an -excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder -sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be -trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no -lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred -times.” - -“Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel, and -I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isabella. -John loves Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affection, -and Isabella always thinks as he does; except when he is not quite -frightened enough about the children. I am sure of having their opinions -with me.” - -“I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind; -but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty (I consider myself, -you know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that Emma’s -mother might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not think any -possible good can arise from Harriet Smith’s intimacy being made a -matter of much discussion among you. Pray excuse me; but supposing any -little inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be -expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father, who perfectly -approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it, so long as it is a -source of pleasure to herself. It has been so many years my province to -give advice, that you cannot be surprized, Mr. Knightley, at this little -remains of office.” - -“Not at all,” cried he; “I am much obliged to you for it. It is very -good advice, and it shall have a better fate than your advice has often -found; for it shall be attended to.” - -“Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy about -her sister.” - -“Be satisfied,” said he, “I will not raise any outcry. I will keep my -ill-humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma. Isabella -does not seem more my sister; has never excited a greater interest; -perhaps hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one -feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her!” - -“So do I,” said Mrs. Weston gently, “very much.” - -“She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just -nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she -cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love -with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some -doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts -to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home.” - -“There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her resolution -at present,” said Mrs. Weston, “as can well be; and while she is so -happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which -would be creating such difficulties on poor Mr. Woodhouse’s account. I -do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight -to the state, I assure you.” - -Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her own -and Mr. Weston’s on the subject, as much as possible. There were wishes -at Randalls respecting Emma’s destiny, but it was not desirable to -have them suspected; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon -afterwards made to “What does Weston think of the weather; shall we have -rain?” convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about -Hartfield. - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet’s fancy a proper -direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good -purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. -Elton’s being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners; -and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance of his -admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident of creating -as much liking on Harriet’s side, as there could be any occasion for. -She was quite convinced of Mr. Elton’s being in the fairest way of -falling in love, if not in love already. She had no scruple with regard -to him. He talked of Harriet, and praised her so warmly, that she could -not suppose any thing wanting which a little time would not add. His -perception of the striking improvement of Harriet’s manner, since her -introduction at Hartfield, was not one of the least agreeable proofs of -his growing attachment. - -“You have given Miss Smith all that she required,” said he; “you have -made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she -came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are -infinitely superior to what she received from nature.” - -“I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only wanted -drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints. She had all the -natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself. I have -done very little.” - -“If it were admissible to contradict a lady,” said the gallant Mr. -Elton-- - -“I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character, have -taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way before.” - -“Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So much superadded -decision of character! Skilful has been the hand!” - -“Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met with a disposition -more truly amiable.” - -“I have no doubt of it.” And it was spoken with a sort of sighing -animation, which had a vast deal of the lover. She was not less pleased -another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers, -to have Harriet’s picture. - -“Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?” said she: “did you -ever sit for your picture?” - -Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say, -with a very interesting naivete, - -“Oh! dear, no, never.” - -No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed, - -“What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be! I would -give any money for it. I almost long to attempt her likeness myself. -You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great -passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends, and -was thought to have a tolerable eye in general. But from one cause or -another, I gave it up in disgust. But really, I could almost venture, -if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such a delight to have her -picture!” - -“Let me entreat you,” cried Mr. Elton; “it would indeed be a delight! -Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a talent -in favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are. How could -you suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens of your -landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable -figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at Randalls?” - -Yes, good man!--thought Emma--but what has all that to do with taking -likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don’t pretend to be in raptures -about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet’s face. “Well, if you give me -such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can do. -Harriet’s features are very delicate, which makes a likeness difficult; -and yet there is a peculiarity in the shape of the eye and the lines -about the mouth which one ought to catch.” - -“Exactly so--The shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth--I have -not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray attempt it. As you will do it, -it will indeed, to use your own words, be an exquisite possession.” - -“But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She thinks -so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe her manner of answering -me? How completely it meant, ‘why should my picture be drawn?’” - -“Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on me. But still -I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.” - -Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made; -and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the -earnest pressing of both the others. Emma wished to go to work directly, -and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at -portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they might -decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many beginnings were -displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon, and -water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had always wanted to do -every thing, and had made more progress both in drawing and music than -many might have done with so little labour as she would ever submit to. -She played and sang;--and drew in almost every style; but steadiness -had always been wanting; and in nothing had she approached the degree of -excellence which she would have been glad to command, and ought not to -have failed of. She was not much deceived as to her own skill either -as an artist or a musician, but she was not unwilling to have others -deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment often -higher than it deserved. - -There was merit in every drawing--in the least finished, perhaps the -most; her style was spirited; but had there been much less, or had there -been ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two companions -would have been the same. They were both in ecstasies. A likeness -pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse’s performances must be capital. - -“No great variety of faces for you,” said Emma. “I had only my own -family to study from. There is my father--another of my father--but the -idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only -take him by stealth; neither of them very like therefore. Mrs. Weston -again, and again, and again, you see. Dear Mrs. Weston! always my -kindest friend on every occasion. She would sit whenever I asked her. -There is my sister; and really quite her own little elegant figure!--and -the face not unlike. I should have made a good likeness of her, if she -would have sat longer, but she was in such a hurry to have me draw -her four children that she would not be quiet. Then, here come all my -attempts at three of those four children;--there they are, Henry and -John and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of -them might do for any one of the rest. She was so eager to have them -drawn that I could not refuse; but there is no making children of three -or four years old stand still you know; nor can it be very easy to take -any likeness of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they are -coarser featured than any of mama’s children ever were. Here is my -sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as he was sleeping on -the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would -wish to see. He had nestled down his head most conveniently. That’s very -like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa is very -good. Then here is my last,”--unclosing a pretty sketch of a gentleman -in small size, whole-length--“my last and my best--my brother, Mr. John -Knightley.--This did not want much of being finished, when I put it away -in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness. I could not -help being provoked; for after all my pains, and when I had really made -a very good likeness of it--(Mrs. Weston and I were quite agreed in -thinking it _very_ like)--only too handsome--too flattering--but -that was a fault on the right side”--after all this, came poor dear -Isabella’s cold approbation of--“Yes, it was a little like--but to be -sure it did not do him justice. We had had a great deal of trouble -in persuading him to sit at all. It was made a great favour of; and -altogether it was more than I could bear; and so I never would finish -it, to have it apologised over as an unfavourable likeness, to every -morning visitor in Brunswick Square;--and, as I said, I did then -forswear ever drawing any body again. But for Harriet’s sake, or rather -for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives in the case _at_ -_present_, I will break my resolution now.” - -Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea, and was -repeating, “No husbands and wives in the case at present indeed, as -you observe. Exactly so. No husbands and wives,” with so interesting a -consciousness, that Emma began to consider whether she had not better -leave them together at once. But as she wanted to be drawing, the -declaration must wait a little longer. - -She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be -a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John Knightley’s, and was -destined, if she could please herself, to hold a very honourable station -over the mantelpiece. - -The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraid of not -keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture of -youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist. But there was no -doing any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her and watching every -touch. She gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze -and gaze again without offence; but was really obliged to put an end to -it, and request him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her -to employ him in reading. - -“If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness -indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen the -irksomeness of Miss Smith’s.” - -Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in peace. -She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look; any thing less -would certainly have been too little in a lover; and he was ready at the -smallest intermission of the pencil, to jump up and see the progress, -and be charmed.--There was no being displeased with such an encourager, -for his admiration made him discern a likeness almost before it -was possible. She could not respect his eye, but his love and his -complaisance were unexceptionable. - -The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quite enough -pleased with the first day’s sketch to wish to go on. There was no want -of likeness, she had been fortunate in the attitude, and as she meant -to throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more -height, and considerably more elegance, she had great confidence of -its being in every way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling -its destined place with credit to them both--a standing memorial of the -beauty of one, the skill of the other, and the friendship of both; -with as many other agreeable associations as Mr. Elton’s very promising -attachment was likely to add. - -Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought, -entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again. - -“By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the -party.” - -The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction, -took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the -picture, which was rapid and happy. Every body who saw it was pleased, -but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through every -criticism. - -“Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she -wanted,”--observed Mrs. Weston to him--not in the least suspecting that -she was addressing a lover.--“The expression of the eye is most correct, -but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of -her face that she has them not.” - -“Do you think so?” replied he. “I cannot agree with you. It appears -to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a -likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know.” - -“You have made her too tall, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley. - -Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly -added, - -“Oh no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she -is sitting down--which naturally presents a different--which in short -gives exactly the idea--and the proportions must be preserved, you know. -Proportions, fore-shortening.--Oh no! it gives one exactly the idea of -such a height as Miss Smith’s. Exactly so indeed!” - -“It is very pretty,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “So prettily done! Just as your -drawings always are, my dear. I do not know any body who draws so well -as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems -to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her -shoulders--and it makes one think she must catch cold.” - -“But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. -Look at the tree.” - -“But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.” - -“You, sir, may say any thing,” cried Mr. Elton, “but I must confess that -I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of -doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other -situation would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss -Smith’s manners--and altogether--Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep -my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.” - -The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few -difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London; the -order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose taste -could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, -must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhouse -could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs of -December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it -was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. “Might he be trusted -with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing -it! he could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say how -much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand.” - -“He was too good!--she could not endure the thought!--she would not give -him such a troublesome office for the world,”--brought on the desired -repetition of entreaties and assurances,--and a very few minutes settled -the business. - -Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and give -the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure its -safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of -not being incommoded enough. - -“What a precious deposit!” said he with a tender sigh, as he received -it. - -“This man is almost too gallant to be in love,” thought Emma. “I should -say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of -being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet -exactly; it will be an ‘Exactly so,’ as he says himself; but he does -sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could -endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. -But it is his gratitude on Harriet’s account.” - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The very day of Mr. Elton’s going to London produced a fresh occasion -for Emma’s services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield, -as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to -return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had been -talked of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something -extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a -minute brought it all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to -Mrs. Goddard’s, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and -finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a -little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on -opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which -she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was -from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage. -“Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what -to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, -at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very -much--but she did not know--and so, she was come as fast as she could to -ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.--” Emma was half-ashamed of her -friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful. - -“Upon my word,” she cried, “the young man is determined not to lose any -thing for want of asking. He will connect himself well if he can.” - -“Will you read the letter?” cried Harriet. “Pray do. I’d rather you -would.” - -Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized. The style -of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no -grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a -gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and -the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was -short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, -even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood -anxiously watching for her opinion, with a “Well, well,” and was at last -forced to add, “Is it a good letter? or is it too short?” - -“Yes, indeed, a very good letter,” replied Emma rather slowly--“so -good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his -sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom -I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if -left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; -no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a -woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural -talent for--thinks strongly and clearly--and when he takes a pen in -hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. -Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments -to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet -(returning it,) than I had expected.” - -“Well,” said the still waiting Harriet;--“well--and--and what shall I -do?” - -“What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to this -letter?” - -“Yes.” - -“But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course--and -speedily.” - -“Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me.” - -“Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own. You will express -yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not -being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be -unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude -and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will -present themselves unbidden to _your_ mind, I am persuaded. You need -not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his -disappointment.” - -“You think I ought to refuse him then,” said Harriet, looking down. - -“Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any -doubt as to that? I thought--but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been -under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel -in doubt as to the _purport_ of your answer. I had imagined you were -consulting me only as to the wording of it.” - -Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued: - -“You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.” - -“No, I do not; that is, I do not mean--What shall I do? What would you -advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do.” - -“I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do -with it. This is a point which you must settle with your feelings.” - -“I had no notion that he liked me so very much,” said Harriet, -contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her -silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that -letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say, - -“I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman _doubts_ as -to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse -him. If she can hesitate as to ‘Yes,’ she ought to say ‘No’ directly. -It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with -half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, -to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence -you.” - -“Oh! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to--but if you would -just advise me what I had best do--No, no, I do not mean that--As -you say, one’s mind ought to be quite made up--One should not be -hesitating--It is a very serious thing.--It will be safer to say ‘No,’ -perhaps.--Do you think I had better say ‘No?’” - -“Not for the world,” said Emma, smiling graciously, “would I advise you -either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you -prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think him the most -agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you -hesitate? You blush, Harriet.--Does any body else occur to you at -this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive -yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion. At this -moment whom are you thinking of?” - -The symptoms were favourable.--Instead of answering, Harriet turned away -confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter was -still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard. -Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong hopes. At -last, with some hesitation, Harriet said-- - -“Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well -as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost -made up my mind--to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?” - -“Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just -what you ought. While you were at all in suspense I kept my feelings to -myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation -in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would -have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the -consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest -degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence; -but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have -visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you -for ever.” - -Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her -forcibly. - -“You could not have visited me!” she cried, looking aghast. “No, to be -sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That would have -been too dreadful!--What an escape!--Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not -give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any thing -in the world.” - -“Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you; but it -must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all good society. -I must have given you up.” - -“Dear me!--How should I ever have borne it! It would have killed me -never to come to Hartfield any more!” - -“Dear affectionate creature!--_You_ banished to Abbey-Mill Farm!--_You_ -confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life! I -wonder how the young man could have the assurance to ask it. He must -have a pretty good opinion of himself.” - -“I do not think he is conceited either, in general,” said Harriet, her -conscience opposing such censure; “at least, he is very good natured, -and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard -for--but that is quite a different thing from--and you know, though -he may like me, it does not follow that I should--and certainly I must -confess that since my visiting here I have seen people--and if one comes -to compare them, person and manners, there is no comparison at all, -_one_ is so very handsome and agreeable. However, I do really think Mr. -Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him; and -his being so much attached to me--and his writing such a letter--but as -to leaving you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration.” - -“Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be -parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or -because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter.” - -“Oh no;--and it is but a short letter too.” - -Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a “very -true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for the clownish -manner which might be offending her every hour of the day, to know that -her husband could write a good letter.” - -“Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be always -happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. But -how shall I do? What shall I say?” - -Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and advised -its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the hope of her -assistance; and though Emma continued to protest against any assistance -being wanted, it was in fact given in the formation of every sentence. -The looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a -softening tendency, that it was particularly necessary to brace her up -with a few decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at -the idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother -and sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should not -fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had come in -her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after all. - -This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business -was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening, but -Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by -speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of -Mr. Elton. - -“I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,” was said in rather a -sorrowful tone. - -“Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet. You -are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey-Mill.” - -“And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happy but -at Hartfield.” - -Some time afterwards it was, “I think Mrs. Goddard would be very much -surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash would--for -Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only a -linen-draper.” - -“One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher -of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an -opportunity as this of being married. Even this conquest would appear -valuable in her eyes. As to any thing superior for you, I suppose she -is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly be -among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I -are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained -themselves.” - -Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that -people should like her so much. The idea of Mr. Elton was certainly -cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards -the rejected Mr. Martin. - -“Now he has got my letter,” said she softly. “I wonder what they are all -doing--whether his sisters know--if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy -too. I hope he will not mind it so very much.” - -“Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully -employed,” cried Emma. “At this moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is shewing -your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful -is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, -allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name.” - -“My picture!--But he has left my picture in Bond-street.” - -“Has he so!--Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No, my dear little modest -Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in Bond-street till -just before he mounts his horse to-morrow. It is his companion all this -evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, -it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those -pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm -prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy -their imaginations all are!” - -Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger. - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had been -spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have -a bed-room appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in every -respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible -just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning for an hour or -two to Mrs. Goddard’s, but it was then to be settled that she should -return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some days. - -While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some time with Mr. -Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, who had previously made up his -mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was -induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his -own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose. Mr. Knightley, -who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, -decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and -civil hesitations of the other. - -“Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if you will not -consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma’s advice and -go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had -better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, -Mr. Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people.” - -“My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.” - -“I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy to -entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse and take my -three turns--my winter walk.” - -“You cannot do better, sir.” - -“I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley, but I am a -very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you; and, besides, you -have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey.” - -“Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and I think -the sooner _you_ go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat and open the -garden door for you.” - -Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead of being -immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more -chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more -voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before. - -“I cannot rate her beauty as you do,” said he; “but she is a -pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her -disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good -hands she will turn out a valuable woman.” - -“I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be -wanting.” - -“Come,” said he, “you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you -that you have improved her. You have cured her of her school-girl’s -giggle; she really does you credit.” - -“Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been -of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they -may. _You_ do not often overpower me with it.” - -“You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?” - -“Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she -intended.” - -“Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps.” - -“Highbury gossips!--Tiresome wretches!” - -“Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would.” - -Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said -nothing. He presently added, with a smile, - -“I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that -I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of -something to her advantage.” - -“Indeed! how so? of what sort?” - -“A very serious sort, I assure you;” still smiling. - -“Very serious! I can think of but one thing--Who is in love with her? -Who makes you their confidant?” - -Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton’s having dropt a hint. -Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. -Elton looked up to him. - -“I have reason to think,” he replied, “that Harriet Smith will soon have -an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter:--Robert -Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have -done his business. He is desperately in love and means to marry her.” - -“He is very obliging,” said Emma; “but is he sure that Harriet means to -marry him?” - -“Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that do? He came to -the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it. He knows -I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, -considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether -I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early; whether -I thought her too young: in short, whether I approved his choice -altogether; having some apprehension perhaps of her being considered -(especially since _your_ making so much of her) as in a line of society -above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear -better sense from any one than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the -purpose; open, straightforward, and very well judging. He told me every -thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in -the event of his marriage. He is an excellent young man, both as son and -brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me -that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was convinced he -could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent -him away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he -would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house -thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened -the night before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow -much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear -to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. -Goddard’s to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking -him at all a tiresome wretch.” - -“Pray, Mr. Knightley,” said Emma, who had been smiling to herself -through a great part of this speech, “how do you know that Mr. Martin -did not speak yesterday?” - -“Certainly,” replied he, surprized, “I do not absolutely know it; but it -may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?” - -“Come,” said she, “I will tell you something, in return for what -you have told me. He did speak yesterday--that is, he wrote, and was -refused.” - -This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. -Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood -up, in tall indignation, and said, - -“Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the -foolish girl about?” - -“Oh! to be sure,” cried Emma, “it is always incomprehensible to a man -that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always -imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.” - -“Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the -meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is -so; but I hope you are mistaken.” - -“I saw her answer!--nothing could be clearer.” - -“You saw her answer!--you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your -doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.” - -“And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not -feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, -but I cannot admit him to be Harriet’s equal; and am rather surprized -indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your account, he -does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever -got over.” - -“Not Harriet’s equal!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and -with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, “No, he is -not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in -situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are -Harriet Smith’s claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any -connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of -nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and -certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder -at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any -information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and -too simple to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she can have -no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have -any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and -that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, -as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt that, -as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as -to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I -could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there -being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in -good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. -The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the -smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cry-out -upon her extreme good luck. Even _your_ satisfaction I made sure of. -It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend’s -leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember -saying to myself, ‘Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will -think this a good match.’” - -“I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any -such thing. What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all his -merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend! -Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom -I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should -think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are -very different. I must think your statement by no means fair. You are -not just to Harriet’s claims. They would be estimated very differently -by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, -but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society.--The sphere in -which she moves is much above his.--It would be a degradation.” - -“A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a -respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!” - -“As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may -be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay -for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with -whom she is brought up.--There can scarcely be a doubt that her father -is a gentleman--and a gentleman of fortune.--Her allowance is -very liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or -comfort.--That she is a gentleman’s daughter, is indubitable to me; that -she associates with gentlemen’s daughters, no one, I apprehend, will -deny.--She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.” - -“Whoever might be her parents,” said Mr. Knightley, “whoever may have -had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of -their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society. After -receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard’s -hands to shift as she can;--to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard’s line, -to have Mrs. Goddard’s acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought -this good enough for her; and it _was_ good enough. She desired nothing -better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had -no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as -happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of -superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no -friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded -so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to -him. I know him well. He has too much real feeling to address any -woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is -the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had -encouragement.” - -It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this -assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject -again. - -“You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, -are unjust to Harriet. Harriet’s claims to marry well are not so -contemptible as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she -has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her -understanding spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and -supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, -let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not -trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a -beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an -hundred; and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the -subject of beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fall -in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with -such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought -after, of having the power of chusing from among many, consequently a -claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, -comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and -manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to -be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if your sex in -general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims -a woman could possess.” - -“Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost -enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply -it as you do.” - -“To be sure!” cried she playfully. “I know _that_ is the feeling of -you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every -man delights in--what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his -judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to -marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just -entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at -because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No--pray let -her have time to look about her.” - -“I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,” said Mr. Knightley -presently, “though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive -that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up -with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, -in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. -Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing -so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss -Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though -she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to -say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of -connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity--and most prudent -men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be -involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let -her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for -ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her -to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large -fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s all the rest -of her life--or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry -somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the -old writing-master’s son.” - -“We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there -can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more -angry. But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; -she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any -second application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, -whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to -say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there -was very little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so much -against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to -favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that before she had seen -any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her -friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen -nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not, -while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case -is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a -gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet.” - -“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr. -Knightley.--“Robert Martin’s manners have sense, sincerity, and -good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than -Harriet Smith could understand.” - -Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was -really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She -did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better -judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be; -but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, -which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him -sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable. -Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt -on Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was -thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words. - -“Robert Martin has no great loss--if he can but think so; and I hope it -will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known -to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it -is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;--and as -a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it -will be all labour in vain.” - -Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued, - -“Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, -and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make -an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any -body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is -as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet’s. -He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite -wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved -moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does -not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great -animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are -intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.” - -“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing again. “If I had -set my heart on Mr. Elton’s marrying Harriet, it would have been very -kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to -myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to -equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well.” - -“Good morning to you,”--said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was -very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was -mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had -given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair, -was provoking him exceedingly. - -Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more -indistinctness in the causes of her’s, than in his. She did not always -feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that -her opinions were right and her adversary’s wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He -walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She -was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and -the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet’s staying -away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the -young man’s coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning, and meeting with -Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread -of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when -Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any -such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which -settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr. -Knightley think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman’s -friendship and woman’s feelings would not justify. - -He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered -that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither -with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of -Mr. Knightley’s pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such -a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she -was able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully -to be true, than what he knew any thing about. He certainly might have -heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and -Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to -money matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise -to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the -influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Mr. -Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its -effects; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming -any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and -more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure -did not belong to Mr. Elton. - -Harriet’s cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, not -to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been -telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great -delight. Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard’s to attend a sick child, -and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was -coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met Mr. Elton, and -found to his great surprize, that Mr. Elton was actually on his road -to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the -whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr. -Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it -was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to -persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it would not -do; Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a _very_ -_particular_ way indeed, that he was going on business which he would -not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a -very enviable commission, and being the bearer of something exceedingly -precious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure -there must be a _lady_ in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton -only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits. -Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about -Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very significantly at her, “that she did -not pretend to understand what his business might be, but she only -knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the -luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his -equal for beauty or agreeableness.” - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with -herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before -he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks -shewed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. -On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified -and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days. - -The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. -Elton’s return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common -sitting-room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences -of admiration just as he ought; and as for Harriet’s feelings, they were -visibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as -her youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied -of Mr. Martin’s being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a -contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter. - -Her views of improving her little friend’s mind, by a great deal of -useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few -first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much -easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination -range and work at Harriet’s fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge -her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary -pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the only mental provision she -was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing -all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin -quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented with -ciphers and trophies. - -In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are -not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s, had written out -at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it -from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse’s help, to get a great many more. -Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote -a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first -order, in form as well as quantity. - -Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the -girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting -in. “So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young--he -wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time.” - And it always ended in “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.” - -His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, -did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he -had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, -something, he thought, might come from that quarter. - -It was by no means his daughter’s wish that the intellects of Highbury -in general should be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one -whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good -enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had -the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; -and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that -nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the -sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest -puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and -rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade, - - My first doth affliction denote, - Which my second is destin’d to feel - And my whole is the best antidote - That affliction to soften and heal.-- - -made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some -pages ago already. - -“Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?” said she; “that -is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to -you.” - -“Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his -life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse”--he -stopt a moment--“or Miss Smith could inspire him.” - -The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He -called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table -containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed -to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his -manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own. - -“I do not offer it for Miss Smith’s collection,” said he. “Being my -friend’s, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye, -but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it.” - -The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could -understand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found -it easier to meet her eye than her friend’s. He was gone the next -moment:--after another moment’s pause, - -“Take it,” said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards -Harriet--“it is for you. Take your own.” - -But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never -loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself. - - To Miss-- - - CHARADE. - - My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, - Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease. - Another view of man, my second brings, - Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! - - But ah! united, what reverse we have! - Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown; - Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, - And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. - - Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, - May its approval beam in that soft eye! - -She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through -again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then -passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, while -Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and -dulness, “Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse -charades. _Courtship_--a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This -is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly--‘Pray, Miss Smith, -give me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade and my -intentions in the same glance.’ - - May its approval beam in that soft eye! - -Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye--of all epithets, the -justest that could be given. - - Thy ready wit the word will soon supply. - -Humph--Harriet’s ready wit! All the better. A man must be very much in -love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the -benefit of this; I think this would convince you. For once in your life -you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade -indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon -now.” - -She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, -which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the -eagerness of Harriet’s wondering questions. - -“What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?--what can it be? I have not an idea--I -cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find -it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is it -kingdom? I wonder who the friend was--and who could be the young lady. -Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman? - - And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. - -Can it be Neptune? - - Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! - -Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no! shark is only one -syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh! -Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?” - -“Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you thinking -of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend -upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen. - -For Miss ------, read Miss Smith. - - My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, - Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease. - -That is _court_. - - Another view of man, my second brings; - Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! - -That is _ship_;--plain as it can be.--Now for the cream. - - But ah! united, (_courtship_, you know,) what reverse we have! - Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown. - Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, - And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. - -A very proper compliment!--and then follows the application, which -I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in -comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of -its being written for you and to you.” - -Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read -the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not -speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel. -Emma spoke for her. - -“There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,” - said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton’s intentions. You -are his object--and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I -thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it -is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on -the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long -have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen that has happened. -I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were -most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have -really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I congratulate you, my -dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may -well feel pride in creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing -but good. It will give you every thing that you want--consideration, -independence, a proper home--it will fix you in the centre of all your -real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy -for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in -either of us.” - -“Dear Miss Woodhouse!”--and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet, -with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did -arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to -her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she -ought. Mr. Elton’s superiority had very ample acknowledgment. - -“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “and therefore I -suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not -have imagined it. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, -who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions about _him_. He -is so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses--‘To Miss ------.’ -Dear me, how clever!--Could it really be meant for me?” - -“I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a -certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to -the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by -matter-of-fact prose.” - -“It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am sure, -a month ago, I had no more idea myself!--The strangest things do take -place!” - -“When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted--they do indeed--and -really it is strange; it is out of the common course that what is so -evidently, so palpably desirable--what courts the pre-arrangement of -other people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form. -You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belong to one -another by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying -will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a -something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right -direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow. - - The course of true love never did run smooth-- - -A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that -passage.” - -“That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,--me, of all people, -who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas! And he, the very -handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, -quite like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after, that every body -says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it; -that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so -excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has -ever preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me! When I look back -to the first time I saw him! How little did I think!--The two Abbots and -I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when we heard he -was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and staid to look -through herself; however, she called me back presently, and let me -look too, which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he -looked! He was arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole.” - -“This is an alliance which, whoever--whatever your friends may be, must -be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense; and we -are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to -see you _happily_ married, here is a man whose amiable character gives -every assurance of it;--if they wish to have you settled in the same -country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will -be accomplished; and if their only object is that you should, in the -common phrase, be _well_ married, here is the comfortable fortune, the -respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy -them.” - -“Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You understand -every thing. You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other. This -charade!--If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any -thing like it.” - -“I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it -yesterday.” - -“I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read.” - -“I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.” - -“It is as long again as almost all we have had before.” - -“I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things -in general cannot be too short.” - -Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory -comparisons were rising in her mind. - -“It is one thing,” said she, presently--her cheeks in a glow--“to have -very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there is -any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you -must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like -this.” - -Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin’s -prose. - -“Such sweet lines!” continued Harriet--“these two last!--But how shall I -ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?--Oh! Miss -Woodhouse, what can we do about that?” - -“Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare -say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will -pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--Your soft eyes shall -chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me.” - -“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful -charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good.” - -“Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not -write it into your book.” - -“Oh! but those two lines are”-- - ---“The best of all. Granted;--for private enjoyment; and for private -enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know, -because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its -meaning change. But take it away, and all _appropriation_ ceases, and a -very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon -it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his -passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or -neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be -no possible reflection on you.” - -Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, -so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a -declaration of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree -of publicity. - -“I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,” said she. - -“Very well,” replied Emma; “a most natural feeling; and the longer it -lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming: you -will not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him -so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any -thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of -gallantry towards us all!--You must let me read it to him.” - -Harriet looked grave. - -“My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade.--You -will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too -quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning -which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little -tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not -have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me -than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has -encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over -this charade.” - -“Oh! no--I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please.” - -Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the -recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of “Well, my dears, how does -your book go on?--Have you got any thing fresh?” - -“Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A -piece of paper was found on the table this morning--(dropt, we suppose, -by a fairy)--containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied -it in.” - -She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and -distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every -part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and, as she had -foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion. - -“Aye, that’s very just, indeed, that’s very properly said. Very true. -‘Woman, lovely woman.’ It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I -can easily guess what fairy brought it.--Nobody could have written so -prettily, but you, Emma.” - -Emma only nodded, and smiled.--After a little thinking, and a very -tender sigh, he added, - -“Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear mother -was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But I can -remember nothing;--not even that particular riddle which you have -heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are -several. - - Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, - Kindled a flame I yet deplore, - The hood-wink’d boy I called to aid, - Though of his near approach afraid, - So fatal to my suit before. - -And that is all that I can recollect of it--but it is very clever all -the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it.” - -“Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the -Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick’s, you know.” - -“Aye, very true.--I wish I could recollect more of it. - - Kitty, a fair but frozen maid. - -The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near being -christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have her here -next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her--and what -room there will be for the children?” - -“Oh! yes--she will have her own room, of course; the room she always -has;--and there is the nursery for the children,--just as usual, you -know. Why should there be any change?” - -“I do not know, my dear--but it is so long since she was here!--not -since last Easter, and then only for a few days.--Mr. John Knightley’s -being a lawyer is very inconvenient.--Poor Isabella!--she is sadly taken -away from us all!--and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see -Miss Taylor here!” - -“She will not be surprized, papa, at least.” - -“I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when I -first heard she was going to be married.” - -“We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is -here.” - -“Yes, my dear, if there is time.--But--(in a very depressed tone)--she -is coming for only one week. There will not be time for any thing.” - -“It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer--but it seems a case of -necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th, and we -ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time -they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken -out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this -Christmas--though you know it is longer since they were with him, than -with us.” - -“It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be -anywhere but at Hartfield.” - -Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley’s claims on his -brother, or any body’s claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing -a little while, and then said, - -“But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so -soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to -stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well.” - -“Ah! papa--that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I -do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her -husband.” - -This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhouse -could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits affected -by the idea of his daughter’s attachment to her husband, she immediately -led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them. - -“Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my brother -and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children. -We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she -will think the handsomest, Henry or John?” - -“Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be -to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet.” - -“I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not.” - -“Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is the -eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, -is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that -the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I -thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They -are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will -come and stand by my chair, and say, ‘Grandpapa, can you give me a bit -of string?’ and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives -were only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with -them very often.” - -“He appears rough to you,” said Emma, “because you are so very gentle -yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you would not -think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if -they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but he is an -affectionate father--certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate -father. The children are all fond of him.” - -“And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a -very frightful way!” - -“But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such -enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of -their taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other.” - -“Well, I cannot understand it.” - -“That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot -understand the pleasures of the other.” - -Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate -in preparation for the regular four o’clock dinner, the hero of this -inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma could -receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in -his the consciousness of having made a push--of having thrown a die; -and she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible -reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse’s party could be made -up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest -degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give -way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his -dining with him--had made such a point of it, that he had promised him -conditionally to come. - -Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend -on their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged--she -re-declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the -paper from the table, she returned it-- - -“Oh! here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us; thank -you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have ventured -to write it into Miss Smith’s collection. Your friend will not take it -amiss I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the first eight -lines.” - -Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked rather -doubtingly--rather confused; said something about “honour,”--glanced at -Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took -it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an -awkward moment, Emma smilingly said, - -“You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade -must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman’s -approbation while he writes with such gallantry.” - -“I have no hesitation in saying,” replied Mr. Elton, though hesitating -a good deal while he spoke; “I have no hesitation in saying--at least -if my friend feels at all as _I_ do--I have not the smallest doubt that, -could he see his little effusion honoured as _I_ see it, (looking at the -book again, and replacing it on the table), he would consider it as the -proudest moment of his life.” - -After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think -it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities, there was -a sort of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to -laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and -the sublime of pleasure to Harriet’s share. - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to -prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the -morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who -lived a little way out of Highbury. - -Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane -leading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of -the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. -Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about -a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not -very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be. It had -no advantage of situation; but had been very much smartened up by the -present proprietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility -of the two friends passing it without a slackened pace and observing -eyes.--Emma’s remark was-- - -“There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of these -days.”--Harriet’s was-- - -“Oh, what a sweet house!--How very beautiful!--There are the yellow -curtains that Miss Nash admires so much.” - -“I do not often walk this way _now_,” said Emma, as they proceeded, “but -_then_ there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately -acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part -of Highbury.” - -Harriet, she found, had never in her life been inside the Vicarage, -and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors -and probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with -Mr. Elton’s seeing ready wit in her. - -“I wish we could contrive it,” said she; “but I cannot think of any -tolerable pretence for going in;--no servant that I want to inquire -about of his housekeeper--no message from my father.” - -She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual silence of some -minutes, Harriet thus began again-- - -“I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or -going to be married! so charming as you are!”-- - -Emma laughed, and replied, - -“My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry; -I must find other people charming--one other person at least. And I -am not only, not going to be married, at present, but have very little -intention of ever marrying at all.” - -“Ah!--so you say; but I cannot believe it.” - -“I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be -tempted; Mr. Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,) is out of the -question: and I do _not_ wish to see any such person. I would rather not -be tempted. I cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry, I -must expect to repent it.” - -“Dear me!--it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!”-- - -“I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were I to fall -in love, indeed, it would be a different thing! but I never have been in -love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall. -And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a -situation as mine. Fortune I do not want; employment I do not want; -consequence I do not want: I believe few married women are half as much -mistress of their husband’s house as I am of Hartfield; and never, never -could I expect to be so truly beloved and important; so always first and -always right in any man’s eyes as I am in my father’s.” - -“But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!” - -“That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if -I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates! so silly--so satisfied--so -smiling--so prosing--so undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so apt -to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry -to-morrow. But between _us_, I am convinced there never can be any -likeness, except in being unmarried.” - -“But still, you will be an old maid! and that’s so dreadful!” - -“Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is poverty -only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public! A single -woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old -maid! the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman, of good -fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant -as any body else. And the distinction is not quite so much against the -candour and common sense of the world as appears at first; for a very -narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper. -Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and -generally very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross. This -does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good natured and -too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste -of every body, though single and though poor. Poverty certainly has not -contracted her mind: I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the -world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of it; and nobody -is afraid of her: that is a great charm.” - -“Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourself when you -grow old?” - -“If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great -many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more -in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman’s -usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then as they -are now; or with no important variation. If I draw less, I shall read -more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work. And as for -objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the -great point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil -to be avoided in _not_ marrying, I shall be very well off, with all the -children of a sister I love so much, to care about. There will be enough -of them, in all probability, to supply every sort of sensation that -declining life can need. There will be enough for every hope and every -fear; and though my attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it -suits my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer and blinder. My -nephews and nieces!--I shall often have a niece with me.” - -“Do you know Miss Bates’s niece? That is, I know you must have seen her -a hundred times--but are you acquainted?” - -“Oh! yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comes to -Highbury. By the bye, _that_ is almost enough to put one out of conceit -with a niece. Heaven forbid! at least, that I should ever bore people -half so much about all the Knightleys together, as she does about Jane -Fairfax. One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from -her is read forty times over; her compliments to all friends go round -and round again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of a -stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her grandmother, one hears of -nothing else for a month. I wish Jane Fairfax very well; but she tires -me to death.” - -They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were -superseded. Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor -were as sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her -counsel and her patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways, -could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic -expectations of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had -done so little; entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and -always gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In -the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she -came to visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give -comfort or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of -the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away, - -“These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they make -every thing else appear!--I feel now as if I could think of nothing but -these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how -soon it may all vanish from my mind?” - -“Very true,” said Harriet. “Poor creatures! one can think of nothing -else.” - -“And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over,” said -Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended -the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought them -into the lane again. “I do not think it will,” stopping to look once -more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still -greater within. - -“Oh! dear, no,” said her companion. - -They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend was -passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give Emma -time only to say farther, - -“Ah! Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good -thoughts. Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion -has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that -is truly important. If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can -for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves.” - -Harriet could just answer, “Oh! dear, yes,” before the gentleman joined -them. The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the -first subject on meeting. He had been going to call on them. His visit -he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about -what could be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to -accompany them. - -“To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,” thought Emma; -“to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase -of love on each side. I should not wonder if it were to bring on the -declaration. It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else.” - -Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon -afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one -side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road. But she had -not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet’s habits of -dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, -they would both be soon after her. This would not do; she immediately -stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing -of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the -footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would -follow in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and by the time -she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she had the comfort -of farther delay in her power, being overtaken by a child from the -cottage, setting out, according to orders, with her pitcher, to fetch -broth from Hartfield. To walk by the side of this child, and talk to -and question her, was the most natural thing in the world, or would have -been the most natural, had she been acting just then without design; -and by this means the others were still able to keep ahead, without -any obligation of waiting for her. She gained on them, however, -involuntarily: the child’s pace was quick, and theirs rather slow; -and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently in -a conversation which interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking with -animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention; and Emma, -having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might draw back -a little more, when they both looked around, and she was obliged to join -them. - -Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail; -and Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only -giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday’s party at his -friend Cole’s, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese, -the north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beet-root, and all the -dessert. - -“This would soon have led to something better, of course,” was her -consoling reflection; “any thing interests between those who love; and -any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the heart. If I -could but have kept longer away!” - -They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage -pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into the -house, made her again find something very much amiss about her boot, and -fall behind to arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short, -and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to -entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to put herself to -rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort. - -“Part of my lace is gone,” said she, “and I do not know how I am to -contrive. I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but I -hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop -at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband or string, -or any thing just to keep my boot on.” - -Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing could -exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his house and -endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage. The room they were -taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards; behind -it was another with which it immediately communicated; the door between -them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to receive -her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was obliged to leave -the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton -should close it. It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but -by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make -it practicable for him to chuse his own subject in the adjoining -room. For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself. It could be -protracted no longer. She was then obliged to be finished, and make her -appearance. - -The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a most -favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of having -schemed successfully. But it would not do; he had not come to the point. -He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that -he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little -gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious. - -“Cautious, very cautious,” thought Emma; “he advances inch by inch, and -will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure.” - -Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her -ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been -the occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading them -forward to the great event. - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma’s power -to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming of her -sister’s family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation, -and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest; -and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be -expected--she did not herself expect--that any thing beyond occasional, -fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might -advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or -other whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure -for them. There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they -will do for themselves. - -Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent -from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest. -Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been -divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of -this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was -therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their -Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be -induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella’s sake; and -who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in -forestalling this too short visit. - -He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little -of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some -of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless; -the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John -Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids, -all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival, -the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed -and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could -not have borne under any other cause, nor have endured much longer even -for this; but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father -were so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal -solicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their -having instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and -drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish for, -without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed to be long -a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any restless attendance -on them. - -Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, quiet -manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate; wrapt -up in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly -attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, a -warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a fault -in any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding or any -quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she inherited also -much of his constitution; was delicate in her own health, over-careful -of that of her children, had many fears and many nerves, and was as fond -of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her father could be of Mr. Perry. -They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong -habit of regard for every old acquaintance. - -Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man; -rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his private -character; but with reserved manners which prevented his being generally -pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was not an -ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a -reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with -such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects -in it should not be increased. The extreme sweetness of her temper -must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she -wanted, and he could sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing. - -He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong -in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries to -Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might have -passed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella’s sister, -but they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without -praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal -compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault of -all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of respectful -forbearance towards her father. There he had not always the patience -that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse’s peculiarities and -fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or -sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr. John -Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally -a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for Emma’s -charity, especially as there was all the pain of apprehension frequently -to be endured, though the offence came not. The beginning, however, of -every visit displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being of -necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality. -They had not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a -melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter’s attention -to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last. - -“Ah, my dear,” said he, “poor Miss Taylor--It is a grievous business.” - -“Oh yes, sir,” cried she with ready sympathy, “how you must miss her! -And dear Emma, too!--What a dreadful loss to you both!--I have been so -grieved for you.--I could not imagine how you could possibly do without -her.--It is a sad change indeed.--But I hope she is pretty well, sir.” - -“Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.--I do not know but that the -place agrees with her tolerably.” - -Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any doubts -of the air of Randalls. - -“Oh! no--none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston better in my -life--never looking so well. Papa is only speaking his own regret.” - -“Very much to the honour of both,” was the handsome reply. - -“And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?” asked Isabella in the -plaintive tone which just suited her father. - -Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--“Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish.” - -“Oh! papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since they -married. Either in the morning or evening of every day, excepting one, -have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, -either at Randalls or here--and as you may suppose, Isabella, most -frequently here. They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston -is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, -you will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all. Every body must be -aware that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every body ought also to be -assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by -any means to the extent we ourselves anticipated--which is the exact -truth.” - -“Just as it should be,” said Mr. John Knightley, “and just as I hoped -it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you attention could not be -doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I -have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change -being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you have -Emma’s account, I hope you will be satisfied.” - -“Why, to be sure,” said Mr. Woodhouse--“yes, certainly--I cannot -deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty -often--but then--she is always obliged to go away again.” - -“It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa.--You quite -forget poor Mr. Weston.” - -“I think, indeed,” said John Knightley pleasantly, “that Mr. Weston has -some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the part of the -poor husband. I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims -of the man may very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, -she has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting all -the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can.” - -“Me, my love,” cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.-- -“Are you talking about me?--I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a -greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not been for -the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss -Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world; and as to slighting -Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does -not deserve. I believe he is one of the very best-tempered men that ever -existed. Excepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal -for temper. I shall never forget his flying Henry’s kite for him that -very windy day last Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last -September twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o’clock at night, -on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I -have been convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better -man in existence.--If any body can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor.” - -“Where is the young man?” said John Knightley. “Has he been here on this -occasion--or has he not?” - -“He has not been here yet,” replied Emma. “There was a strong -expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in -nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately.” - -“But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,” said her father. -“He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very -proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me. I thought it very -well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea you know, one -cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps--” - -“My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time passes.” - -“Three-and-twenty!--is he indeed?--Well, I could not have thought -it--and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother! Well, -time does fly indeed!--and my memory is very bad. However, it was an -exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal -of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept. -28th--and began, ‘My dear Madam,’ but I forget how it went on; and it -was signed ‘F. C. Weston Churchill.’--I remember that perfectly.” - -“How very pleasing and proper of him!” cried the good-hearted Mrs. John -Knightley. “I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young man. But -how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father! There is -something so shocking in a child’s being taken away from his parents and -natural home! I never could comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with -him. To give up one’s child! I really never could think well of any body -who proposed such a thing to any body else.” - -“Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,” observed Mr. -John Knightley coolly. “But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt -what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather -an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than a man of strong feelings; he takes -things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, -depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called society for his -comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and playing -whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon family affection, -or any thing that home affords.” - -Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had -half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass. She -would keep the peace if possible; and there was something honourable and -valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to -himself, whence resulted her brother’s disposition to look down on -the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was -important.--It had a high claim to forbearance. - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Mr. Knightley was to dine with them--rather against the inclination of -Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should share with him in -Isabella’s first day. Emma’s sense of right however had decided it; -and besides the consideration of what was due to each brother, she had -particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement -between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the proper -invitation. - -She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was time -to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. _She_ certainly had not been -in the wrong, and _he_ would never own that he had. Concession must be -out of the question; but it was time to appear to forget that they had -ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of -friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children -with her--the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who -was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced -about in her aunt’s arms. It did assist; for though he began with grave -looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in -the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the -unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; -and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then -a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the -baby, - -“What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces. -As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with -regard to these children, I observe we never disagree.” - -“If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, -and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with -them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always -think alike.” - -“To be sure--our discordancies must always arise from my being in the -wrong.” - -“Yes,” said he, smiling--“and reason good. I was sixteen years old when -you were born.” - -“A material difference then,” she replied--“and no doubt you were much -my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but does not the -lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal -nearer?” - -“Yes--a good deal _nearer_.” - -“But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we -think differently.” - -“I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years’ experience, and by -not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, -let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little -Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old -grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now.” - -“That’s true,” she cried--“very true. Little Emma, grow up a better -woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited. -Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and I have done. As far as good -intentions went, we were _both_ right, and I must say that no effects on -my side of the argument have yet proved wrong. I only want to know that -Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed.” - -“A man cannot be more so,” was his short, full answer. - -“Ah!--Indeed I am very sorry.--Come, shake hands with me.” - -This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley -made his appearance, and “How d’ye do, George?” and “John, how are -you?” succeeded in the true English style, burying under a calmness that -seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which would have led -either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the -other. - -The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse declined cards -entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella, and -the little party made two natural divisions; on one side he and his -daughter; on the other the two Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally -distinct, or very rarely mixing--and Emma only occasionally joining in -one or the other. - -The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally -of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative, -and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally -some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some curious -anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-farm at -Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bear next year, and to -give all such local information as could not fail of being interesting -to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest part of his -life, and whose attachments were strong. The plan of a drain, the change -of a fence, the felling of a tree, and the destination of every acre for -wheat, turnips, or spring corn, was entered into with as much equality -of interest by John, as his cooler manners rendered possible; and if his -willing brother ever left him any thing to inquire about, his inquiries -even approached a tone of eagerness. - -While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a -full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter. - -“My poor dear Isabella,” said he, fondly taking her hand, and -interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some one of her -five children--“How long it is, how terribly long since you were here! -And how tired you must be after your journey! You must go to bed early, -my dear--and I recommend a little gruel to you before you go.--You and -I will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, suppose we all -have a little gruel.” - -Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing as she did, that both the -Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that article as herself;--and -two basins only were ordered. After a little more discourse in praise of -gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening by every -body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection, - -“It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South -End instead of coming here. I never had much opinion of the sea air.” - -“Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir--or we should not -have gone. He recommended it for all the children, but particularly for -the weakness in little Bella’s throat,--both sea air and bathing.” - -“Ah! my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing her any -good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced, though -perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use -to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once.” - -“Come, come,” cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, “I must -beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable;--I -who have never seen it! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear -Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; and -he never forgets you.” - -“Oh! good Mr. Perry--how is he, sir?” - -“Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry is bilious, and he has -not time to take care of himself--he tells me he has not time to take -care of himself--which is very sad--but he is always wanted all round -the country. I suppose there is not a man in such practice anywhere. But -then there is not so clever a man any where.” - -“And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? do the children grow? -I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he will be calling soon. He -will be so pleased to see my little ones.” - -“I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two to ask -him about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he comes, -you had better let him look at little Bella’s throat.” - -“Oh! my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any -uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the greatest service to -her, or else it is to be attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. -Wingfield’s, which we have been applying at times ever since August.” - -“It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have been of use -to her--and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation, I would have -spoken to-- - -“You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,” said Emma, “I -have not heard one inquiry after them.” - -“Oh! the good Bateses--I am quite ashamed of myself--but you mention -them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. -Bates--I will call upon her to-morrow, and take my children.--They -are always so pleased to see my children.--And that excellent Miss -Bates!--such thorough worthy people!--How are they, sir?” - -“Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs. Bates had a -bad cold about a month ago.” - -“How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they have been -this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known them more -general or heavy--except when it has been quite an influenza.” - -“That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but not to the degree you -mention. Perry says that colds have been very general, but not so heavy -as he has very often known them in November. Perry does not call it -altogether a sickly season.” - -“No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it _very_ sickly -except-- - -“Ah! my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is always -a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be. It is a -dreadful thing to have you forced to live there! so far off!--and the -air so bad!” - -“No, indeed--_we_ are not at all in a bad air. Our part of London is -very superior to most others!--You must not confound us with London -in general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very -different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy! I should be -unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;--there is -hardly any other that I could be satisfied to have my children in: -but _we_ are so remarkably airy!--Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of -Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable as to air.” - -“Ah! my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best of it--but -after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all of you different -creatures; you do not look like the same. Now I cannot say, that I think -you are any of you looking well at present.” - -“I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting those -little nervous head-aches and palpitations which I am never entirely -free from anywhere, I am quite well myself; and if the children were -rather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they were a -little more tired than usual, from their journey and the happiness of -coming. I hope you will think better of their looks to-morrow; for I -assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that he did not believe he had ever -sent us off altogether, in such good case. I trust, at least, that -you do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill,” turning her eyes with -affectionate anxiety towards her husband. - -“Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr. John Knightley -very far from looking well.” - -“What is the matter, sir?--Did you speak to me?” cried Mr. John -Knightley, hearing his own name. - -“I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking -well--but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued. I could have -wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you -left home.” - -“My dear Isabella,”--exclaimed he hastily--“pray do not concern yourself -about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and -the children, and let me look as I chuse.” - -“I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,” - cried Emma, “about your friend Mr. Graham’s intending to have a bailiff -from Scotland, to look after his new estate. What will it answer? Will -not the old prejudice be too strong?” - -And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced to -give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing -worse to hear than Isabella’s kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax; and Jane -Fairfax, though no great favourite with her in general, she was at that -moment very happy to assist in praising. - -“That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!” said Mrs. John Knightley.--“It -is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a moment -accidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good old -grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always -regret excessively on dear Emma’s account that she cannot be more at -Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. -Campbell will not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a -delightful companion for Emma.” - -Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added, - -“Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty -kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma could not have a -better companion than Harriet.” - -“I am most happy to hear it--but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so -very accomplished and superior!--and exactly Emma’s age.” - -This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar -moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but the evening did not -close without a little return of agitation. The gruel came and supplied -a great deal to be said--much praise and many comments--undoubting -decision of its wholesomeness for every constitution, and pretty -severe Philippics upon the many houses where it was never met with -tolerably;--but, unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter -had to instance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent, was in -her own cook at South End, a young woman hired for the time, who never -had been able to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth -gruel, thin, but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered -it, she had never been able to get any thing tolerable. Here was a -dangerous opening. - -“Ah!” said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes on her -with tender concern.--The ejaculation in Emma’s ear expressed, “Ah! -there is no end of the sad consequences of your going to South End. It -does not bear talking of.” And for a little while she hoped he would not -talk of it, and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him to -the relish of his own smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, -however, he began with, - -“I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn, -instead of coming here.” - -“But why should you be sorry, sir?--I assure you, it did the children a -great deal of good.” - -“And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not have been -to South End. South End is an unhealthy place. Perry was surprized to -hear you had fixed upon South End.” - -“I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed it is quite -a mistake, sir.--We all had our health perfectly well there, never -found the least inconvenience from the mud; and Mr. Wingfield says it is -entirely a mistake to suppose the place unhealthy; and I am sure he may -be depended on, for he thoroughly understands the nature of the air, and -his own brother and family have been there repeatedly.” - -“You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.--Perry -was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of all the -sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by -what I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite away from -the sea--a quarter of a mile off--very comfortable. You should have -consulted Perry.” - -“But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;--only consider how -great it would have been.--An hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty.” - -“Ah! my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing else -should be considered; and if one is to travel, there is not much to -chuse between forty miles and an hundred.--Better not move at all, -better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to get into -a worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to him a very -ill-judged measure.” - -Emma’s attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he -had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her -brother-in-law’s breaking out. - -“Mr. Perry,” said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure, “would do -as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why does he make it -any business of his, to wonder at what I do?--at my taking my family to -one part of the coast or another?--I may be allowed, I hope, the use of -my judgment as well as Mr. Perry.--I want his directions no more than -his drugs.” He paused--and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only -sarcastic dryness, “If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and -five children a distance of an hundred and thirty miles with no greater -expense or inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as -willing to prefer Cromer to South End as he could himself.” - -“True, true,” cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition--“very -true. That’s a consideration indeed.--But John, as to what I was telling -you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the -right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive -any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of -inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly -the present line of the path.... The only way of proving it, however, -will be to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow -morning I hope, and then we will look them over, and you shall give me -your opinion.” - -Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections on his -friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact, though unconsciously, been -attributing many of his own feelings and expressions;--but the soothing -attentions of his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and -the immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections of the -other, prevented any renewal of it. - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs. John -Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning -among her old acquaintance with her five children, and talking over what -she had done every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing -to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly. It was a -delightful visit;--perfect, in being much too short. - -In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their -mornings; but one complete dinner engagement, and out of the house too, -there was no avoiding, though at Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no -denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day;--even Mr. Woodhouse was -persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of -the party. - -How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made a difficulty if he -could, but as his son and daughter’s carriage and horses were actually -at Hartfield, he was not able to make more than a simple question on -that head; it hardly amounted to a doubt; nor did it occupy Emma long -to convince him that they might in one of the carriages find room for -Harriet also. - -Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own especial set, were the -only persons invited to meet them;--the hours were to be early, as -well as the numbers few; Mr. Woodhouse’s habits and inclination being -consulted in every thing. - -The evening before this great event (for it was a very great event that -Mr. Woodhouse should dine out, on the 24th of December) had been spent -by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much indisposed with -a cold, that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. -Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave the house. Emma called -on her the next day, and found her doom already signed with regard to -Randalls. She was very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard -was full of care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and Harriet -herself was too ill and low to resist the authority which excluded her -from this delightful engagement, though she could not speak of her loss -without many tears. - -Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in Mrs. Goddard’s -unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits by representing how much Mr. -Elton’s would be depressed when he knew her state; and left her at last -tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most -comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very much. She had not -advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard’s door, when she was met by Mr. -Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they walked on slowly -together in conversation about the invalid--of whom he, on the rumour -of considerable illness, had been going to inquire, that he might -carry some report of her to Hartfield--they were overtaken by Mr. John -Knightley returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest -boys, whose healthy, glowing faces shewed all the benefit of a country -run, and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice -pudding they were hastening home for. They joined company and -proceeded together. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend’s -complaint;--“a throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat -about her, a quick, low pulse, &c. and she was sorry to find from Mrs. -Goddard that Harriet was liable to very bad sore-throats, and had often -alarmed her with them.” Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as -he exclaimed, - -“A sore-throat!--I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid -infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take care of -yourself as well as of your friend. Let me entreat you to run no risks. -Why does not Perry see her?” - -Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised this -excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs. Goddard’s experience and -care; but as there must still remain a degree of uneasiness which she -could not wish to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist -than not, she added soon afterwards--as if quite another subject, - -“It is so cold, so very cold--and looks and feels so very much like -snow, that if it were to any other place or with any other party, I -should really try not to go out to-day--and dissuade my father from -venturing; but as he has made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the -cold himself, I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great -a disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But, upon my word, Mr. Elton, -in your case, I should certainly excuse myself. You appear to me a -little hoarse already, and when you consider what demand of voice and -what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be no more than -common prudence to stay at home and take care of yourself to-night.” - -Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make; -which was exactly the case; for though very much gratified by the kind -care of such a fair lady, and not liking to resist any advice of her’s, -he had not really the least inclination to give up the visit;--but Emma, -too eager and busy in her own previous conceptions and views to hear him -impartially, or see him with clear vision, was very well satisfied with -his muttering acknowledgment of its being “very cold, certainly very -cold,” and walked on, rejoicing in having extricated him from Randalls, -and secured him the power of sending to inquire after Harriet every hour -of the evening. - -“You do quite right,” said she;--“we will make your apologies to Mr. and -Mrs. Weston.” - -But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her brother was civilly -offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton’s only -objection, and Mr. Elton actually accepting the offer with much prompt -satisfaction. It was a done thing; Mr. Elton was to go, and never had -his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; -never had his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when -he next looked at her. - -“Well,” said she to herself, “this is most strange!--After I had got -him off so well, to chuse to go into company, and leave Harriet ill -behind!--Most strange indeed!--But there is, I believe, in many men, -especially single men, such an inclination--such a passion for dining -out--a dinner engagement is so high in the class of their pleasures, -their employments, their dignities, almost their duties, that any -thing gives way to it--and this must be the case with Mr. Elton; a most -valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in love -with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he must dine -out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is! he can see ready -wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for her.” - -Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could not but do him -the justice of feeling that there was a great deal of sentiment in his -manner of naming Harriet at parting; in the tone of his voice while -assuring her that he should call at Mrs. Goddard’s for news of her fair -friend, the last thing before he prepared for the happiness of meeting -her again, when he hoped to be able to give a better report; and -he sighed and smiled himself off in a way that left the balance of -approbation much in his favour. - -After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley began -with-- - -“I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. -Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With -men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, -every feature works.” - -“Mr. Elton’s manners are not perfect,” replied Emma; “but where there is -a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a great -deal. Where a man does his best with only moderate powers, he will -have the advantage over negligent superiority. There is such perfect -good-temper and good-will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value.” - -“Yes,” said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, “he seems -to have a great deal of good-will towards you.” - -“Me!” she replied with a smile of astonishment, “are you imagining me to -be Mr. Elton’s object?” - -“Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never -occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now.” - -“Mr. Elton in love with me!--What an idea!” - -“I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider whether it -is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your -manners to him encouraging. I speak as a friend, Emma. You had better -look about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do.” - -“I thank you; but I assure you you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and -I are very good friends, and nothing more;” and she walked on, amusing -herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise from a -partial knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high -pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not very well -pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant, and in -want of counsel. He said no more. - -Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit, that in -spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of shrinking -from it, and set forward at last most punctually with his eldest -daughter in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the -weather than either of the others; too full of the wonder of his own -going, and the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was -cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it. The cold, however, was severe; -and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow -were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being so -overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a very white world -in a very short time. - -Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. The -preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice of -his children after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, -which Mr. John Knightley did not by any means like; he anticipated -nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase; and the -whole of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his -discontent. - -“A man,” said he, “must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks -people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as -this, for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most -agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest -absurdity--Actually snowing at this moment!--The folly of not allowing -people to be comfortable at home--and the folly of people’s not staying -comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such -an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we -should deem it;--and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing -than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of -the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view -or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter -that he can;--here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in -another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said -and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. -Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;--four horses and -four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering -creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had -at home.” - -Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which no -doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the “Very true, -my love,” which must have been usually administered by his travelling -companion; but she had resolution enough to refrain from making -any answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded being -quarrelsome; her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed him to -talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening -her lips. - -They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, -spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with -pleasure of some change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and -cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she -began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from -what had reached her. She had sent while dressing, and the answer had -been, “Much the same--not better.” - -“_My_ report from Mrs. Goddard’s,” said she presently, “was not so -pleasant as I had hoped--‘Not better’ was _my_ answer.” - -His face lengthened immediately; and his voice was the voice of -sentiment as he answered. - -“Oh! no--I am grieved to find--I was on the point of telling you that -when I called at Mrs. Goddard’s door, which I did the very last thing -before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, -by no means better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned--I -had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I -knew had been given her in the morning.” - -Emma smiled and answered--“My visit was of use to the nervous part of -her complaint, I hope; but not even I can charm away a sore throat; -it is a most severe cold indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her, as you -probably heard.” - -“Yes--I imagined--that is--I did not--” - -“He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to-morrow -morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is -impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day!” - -“Dreadful!--Exactly so, indeed.--She will be missed every moment.” - -This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really -estimable; but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay -when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, -and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment. - -“What an excellent device,” said he, “the use of a sheepskin for -carriages. How very comfortable they make it;--impossible to feel cold -with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days indeed have -rendered a gentleman’s carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced -and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way -unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. It is a very -cold afternoon--but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter.--Ha! -snows a little I see.” - -“Yes,” said John Knightley, “and I think we shall have a good deal of -it.” - -“Christmas weather,” observed Mr. Elton. “Quite seasonable; and -extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin -yesterday, and prevent this day’s party, which it might very possibly -have done, for Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there been -much snow on the ground; but now it is of no consequence. This is quite -the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas every body invites -their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst -weather. I was snowed up at a friend’s house once for a week. Nothing -could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not get away -till that very day se’nnight.” - -Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure, but -said only, coolly, - -“I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls.” - -At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much -astonished now at Mr. Elton’s spirits for other feelings. Harriet seemed -quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party. - -“We are sure of excellent fires,” continued he, “and every thing in the -greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston;--Mrs. Weston -indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so -hospitable, and so fond of society;--it will be a small party, but where -small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any. -Mr. Weston’s dining-room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; -and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by -two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with me, (turning with -a soft air to Emma,) I think I shall certainly have your approbation, -though Mr. Knightley perhaps, from being used to the large parties of -London, may not quite enter into our feelings.” - -“I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir--I never dine with -any body.” - -“Indeed! (in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea that the law had -been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when you will -be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great -enjoyment.” - -“My first enjoyment,” replied John Knightley, as they passed through the -sweep-gate, “will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again.” - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they -walked into Mrs. Weston’s drawing-room;--Mr. Elton must compose his -joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr. -Elton must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the -place.--Emma only might be as nature prompted, and shew herself just as -happy as she was. To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons. -Mr. Weston was a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the -world to whom she spoke with such unreserve, as to his wife; not any -one, to whom she related with such conviction of being listened to and -understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the -little affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father -and herself. She could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which Mrs. Weston -had not a lively concern; and half an hour’s uninterrupted communication -of all those little matters on which the daily happiness of private life -depends, was one of the first gratifications of each. - -This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day’s visit might not -afford, which certainly did not belong to the present half-hour; but the -very sight of Mrs. Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice was grateful -to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. -Elton’s oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy all that -was enjoyable to the utmost. - -The misfortune of Harriet’s cold had been pretty well gone through -before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough -to give the history of it, besides all the history of his own and -Isabella’s coming, and of Emma’s being to follow, and had indeed just -got to the end of his satisfaction that James should come and see his -daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston, who had been almost -wholly engrossed by her attentions to him, was able to turn away and -welcome her dear Emma. - -Emma’s project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while made her rather sorry -to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close to her. -The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility towards -Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but -was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and -solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting -him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal -suggestion of “Can it really be as my brother imagined? can it be -possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from -Harriet to me?--Absurd and insufferable!”--Yet he would be so anxious -for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested about her father, -and so delighted with Mrs. Weston; and at last would begin admiring her -drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as seemed terribly -like a would-be lover, and made it some effort with her to preserve her -good manners. For her own sake she could not be rude; and for Harriet’s, -in the hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even positively -civil; but it was an effort; especially as something was going on -amongst the others, in the most overpowering period of Mr. Elton’s -nonsense, which she particularly wished to listen to. She heard enough -to know that Mr. Weston was giving some information about his son; she -heard the words “my son,” and “Frank,” and “my son,” repeated several -times over; and, from a few other half-syllables very much suspected -that he was announcing an early visit from his son; but before she could -quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving -question from her would have been awkward. - -Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never -marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr. -Frank Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently -thought--especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor--that -if she _were_ to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, -character and condition. He seemed by this connexion between the -families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be -a match that every body who knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. -Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though -not meaning to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up a -situation which she believed more replete with good than any she could -change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention -of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and -a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ -imaginations. - -With such sensations, Mr. Elton’s civilities were dreadfully ill-timed; -but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very -cross--and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not possibly -pass without bringing forward the same information again, or the -substance of it, from the open-hearted Mr. Weston.--So it proved;--for -when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston, -at dinner, he made use of the very first interval in the cares of -hospitality, the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say to -her, - -“We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to see -two more here,--your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son--and -then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me -telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank. -I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a -fortnight.” - -Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented to -his proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their party -quite complete. - -“He has been wanting to come to us,” continued Mr. Weston, “ever since -September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his -own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between -ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices. -But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in -January.” - -“What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and Mrs. Weston is so -anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as -yourself.” - -“Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off. -She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but she does not -know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is--(but this is -quite between ourselves: I did not mention a syllable of it in the other -room. There are secrets in all families, you know)--The case is, that a -party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in January; and -that Frank’s coming depends upon their being put off. If they are not -put off, he cannot stir. But I know they will, because it is a family -that a certain lady, of some consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular -dislike to: and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in -two or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point. -I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing -Frank here before the middle of January, as I am of being here myself: -but your good friend there (nodding towards the upper end of the table) -has so few vagaries herself, and has been so little used to them at -Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their effects, as I have been -long in the practice of doing.” - -“I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case,” replied -Emma; “but am disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston. If you think he -will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe.” - -“Yes--I have some right to that knowledge; though I have never been at -the place in my life.--She is an odd woman!--But I never allow myself -to speak ill of her, on Frank’s account; for I do believe her to be very -fond of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of -any body, except herself: but she has always been kind to him (in her -way--allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting every thing -to be as she likes). And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, -that he should excite such an affection; for, though I would not say -it to any body else, she has no more heart than a stone to people in -general; and the devil of a temper.” - -Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it, to Mrs. Weston, -very soon after their moving into the drawing-room: wishing her joy--yet -observing, that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming.-- -Mrs. Weston agreed to it; but added, that she should be very glad to be -secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked -of: “for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as -Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr. -Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?” - -“Yes--it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour of Mrs. -Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world.” - -“My Emma!” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “what is the certainty -of caprice?” Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending -before--“You must know, my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means -so sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father -thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt’s spirits and pleasure; in -short, upon her temper. To you--to my two daughters--I may venture on -the truth. Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered -woman; and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare him.” - -“Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,” replied Isabella: -“and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest -compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered person, must -be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any thing of; but -it must be a life of misery. What a blessing, that she never had any -children! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!” - -Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston. She should then have -heard more: Mrs. Weston would speak to her, with a degree of unreserve -which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really believed, -would scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills -from her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own -imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at -present there was nothing more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon -followed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after -dinner, was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor -conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move to those with -whom he was always comfortable. - -While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of -saying, - -“And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means -certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant, -whenever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over, the better.” - -“Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays. Even -if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that -some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine -any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish on -the Churchills’ to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They -are jealous even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no -dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine.” - -“He ought to come,” said Emma. “If he could stay only a couple of days, -he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man’s not having -it in his power to do as much as that. A young _woman_, if she fall into -bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a distance from those she wants -to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young _man_‘s being under such -restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he -likes it.” - -“One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before -one decides upon what he can do,” replied Mrs. Weston. “One ought to -use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one -individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must -not be judged by general rules: _she_ is so very unreasonable; and every -thing gives way to her.” - -“But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite. Now, -according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it would be most natural, that -while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to whom she -owes every thing, while she exercises incessant caprice towards _him_, -she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom she owes -nothing at all.” - -“My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand -a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own way. -I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence; but it -may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand _when_ it will -be.” - -Emma listened, and then coolly said, “I shall not be satisfied, unless -he comes.” - -“He may have a great deal of influence on some points,” continued Mrs. -Weston, “and on others, very little: and among those, on which she is -beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance of -his coming away from them to visit us.” - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank his -tea he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his three -companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness of -the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty and -convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort; but at last -the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr. Elton, in very -good spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and Emma -were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately, and, with -scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them. - -Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by -the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late -improprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his -making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most -friendly smiles. - -He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend--her fair, -lovely, amiable friend. “Did she know?--had she heard any thing about -her, since their being at Randalls?--he felt much anxiety--he must -confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably.” - And in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much -attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror -of a bad sore throat; and Emma was quite in charity with him. - -But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as if he -were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than on -Harriet’s--more anxious that she should escape the infection, than -that there should be no infection in the complaint. He began with great -earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick-chamber -again, for the present--to entreat her to _promise_ _him_ not to venture -into such hazard till he had seen Mr. Perry and learnt his opinion; and -though she tried to laugh it off and bring the subject back into its -proper course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solicitude -about her. She was vexed. It did appear--there was no concealing -it--exactly like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of -Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable! -and she had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs. Weston -to implore her assistance, “Would not she give him her support?--would -not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go -to Mrs. Goddard’s till it were certain that Miss Smith’s disorder had -no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise--would not she -give him her influence in procuring it?” - -“So scrupulous for others,” he continued, “and yet so careless for -herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and -yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore -throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?--Judge between us. Have not I -some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid.” - -Emma saw Mrs. Weston’s surprize, and felt that it must be great, at an -address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himself the right of -first interest in her; and as for herself, she was too much provoked and -offended to have the power of directly saying any thing to the purpose. -She could only give him a look; but it was such a look as she thought -must restore him to his senses, and then left the sofa, removing to a -seat by her sister, and giving her all her attention. - -She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidly did -another subject succeed; for Mr. John Knightley now came into the room -from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the information -of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing -fast, with a strong drifting wind; concluding with these words to Mr. -Woodhouse: - -“This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, -sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way -through a storm of snow.” - -Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body else -had something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized, -and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston -and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his -son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly. - -“I admired your resolution very much, sir,” said he, “in venturing out -in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snow very soon. -Every body must have seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; and -I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or two’s snow can -hardly make the road impassable; and we are two carriages; if one is -blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other -at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight.” - -Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that he -had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest -it should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his -hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely -to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke; he was afraid they -would find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impassable, that -he might be able to keep them all at Randalls; and with the utmost -good-will was sure that accommodation might be found for every body, -calling on his wife to agree with him, that with a little contrivance, -every body might be lodged, which she hardly knew how to do, from the -consciousness of there being but two spare rooms in the house. - -“What is to be done, my dear Emma?--what is to be done?” was Mr. -Woodhouse’s first exclamation, and all that he could say for some -time. To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety, her -representation of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of -their having so many friends about them, revived him a little. - -His eldest daughter’s alarm was equal to his own. The horror of being -blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield, was full -in her imagination; and fancying the road to be now just passable for -adventurous people, but in a state that admitted no delay, she was eager -to have it settled, that her father and Emma should remain at Randalls, -while she and her husband set forward instantly through all the possible -accumulations of drifted snow that might impede them. - -“You had better order the carriage directly, my love,” said she; “I dare -say we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly; and if we -do come to any thing very bad, I can get out and walk. I am not at all -afraid. I should not mind walking half the way. I could change my shoes, -you know, the moment I got home; and it is not the sort of thing that -gives me cold.” - -“Indeed!” replied he. “Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most -extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general every thing -does give you cold. Walk home!--you are prettily shod for walking home, -I dare say. It will be bad enough for the horses.” - -Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the plan. Mrs. -Weston could only approve. Isabella then went to Emma; but Emma could -not so entirely give up the hope of their being all able to get away; -and they were still discussing the point, when Mr. Knightley, who had -left the room immediately after his brother’s first report of the snow, -came back again, and told them that he had been out of doors to examine, -and could answer for there not being the smallest difficulty in their -getting home, whenever they liked it, either now or an hour hence. He -had gone beyond the sweep--some way along the Highbury road--the snow -was nowhere above half an inch deep--in many places hardly enough to -whiten the ground; a very few flakes were falling at present, but the -clouds were parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon -over. He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there -being nothing to apprehend. - -To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great, and they were -scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father’s account, who -was immediately set as much at ease on the subject as his nervous -constitution allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could not be -appeased so as to admit of any comfort for him while he continued at -Randalls. He was satisfied of there being no present danger in returning -home, but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay; and -while the others were variously urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley -and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus-- - -“Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?” - -“I am ready, if the others are.” - -“Shall I ring the bell?” - -“Yes, do.” - -And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A few minutes more, -and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in his own -house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper and -happiness when this visit of hardship were over. - -The carriage came: and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first object on such -occasions, was carefully attended to his own by Mr. Knightley and Mr. -Weston; but not all that either could say could prevent some renewal -of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and the -discovery of a much darker night than he had been prepared for. “He was -afraid they should have a very bad drive. He was afraid poor Isabella -would not like it. And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind. -He did not know what they had best do. They must keep as much together -as they could;” and James was talked to, and given a charge to go very -slow and wait for the other carriage. - -Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that he -did not belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally; -so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second -carriage by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, -and that they were to have a tete-a-tete drive. It would not have been -the awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, -previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talked to -him of Harriet, and the three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but -one. But now, she would rather it had not happened. She believed he had -been drinking too much of Mr. Weston’s good wine, and felt sure that he -would want to be talking nonsense. - -To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was -immediately preparing to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of -the weather and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they -passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her -subject cut up--her hand seized--her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton -actually making violent love to her: availing himself of the precious -opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, -hoping--fearing--adoring--ready to die if she refused him; but -flattering himself that his ardent attachment and unequalled love and -unexampled passion could not fail of having some effect, and in short, -very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible. It -really was so. Without scruple--without apology--without much apparent -diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself -_her_ lover. She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say -it all. Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to -restrain herself when she did speak. She felt that half this folly must -be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to -the passing hour. Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the -playful, which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she -replied, - -“I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to _me_! you forget -yourself--you take me for my friend--any message to Miss Smith I shall -be happy to deliver; but no more of this to _me_, if you please.” - -“Miss Smith!--message to Miss Smith!--What could she possibly -mean!”--And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such -boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with -quickness, - -“Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! and I can account -for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak -either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Command yourself enough -to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it.” - -But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at -all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning; and -having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious, and -slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,--but -acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all,--he -resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a -favourable answer. - -As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his -inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, -replied, - -“It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself -too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I can -express. After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last -month, to Miss Smith--such attentions as I have been in the daily -habit of observing--to be addressing me in this manner--this is an -unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible! -Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object -of such professions.” - -“Good Heaven!” cried Mr. Elton, “what can be the meaning of this?--Miss -Smith!--I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my -existence--never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never -cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she -has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very -sorry--extremely sorry--But, Miss Smith, indeed!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse! -who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my -honour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of -you. I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one -else. Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has -been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You -cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No!--(in an accent meant to be -insinuating)--I am sure you have seen and understood me.” - -It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this--which -of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She was too completely -overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence -being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton’s sanguine state of mind, he -tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed-- - -“Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting -silence. It confesses that you have long understood me.” - -“No, sir,” cried Emma, “it confesses no such thing. So far from having -long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect -to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I am very sorry that you -should have been giving way to any feelings--Nothing could be farther -from my wishes--your attachment to my friend Harriet--your pursuit of -her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave me great pleasure, and I have been -very earnestly wishing you success: but had I supposed that she were not -your attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you judged -ill in making your visits so frequent. Am I to believe that you have -never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith?--that you -have never thought seriously of her?” - -“Never, madam,” cried he, affronted in his turn: “never, I assure you. -_I_ think seriously of Miss Smith!--Miss Smith is a very good sort of -girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish -her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object -to--Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, -quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal -alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith!--No, madam, my -visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I -received--” - -“Encouragement!--I give you encouragement!--Sir, you have been entirely -mistaken in supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirer of my -friend. In no other light could you have been more to me than a common -acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well that the mistake -ends where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might -have been led into a misconception of your views; not being aware, -probably, any more than myself, of the very great inequality which you -are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I -trust, will not be lasting. I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.” - -He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decided to invite -supplication; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually -deep mortification, they had to continue together a few minutes longer, -for the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace. If -there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate -awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the -little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when the carriage -turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves, -all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before another -syllable passed.--Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him a good -night. The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under -indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfield. - -There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father, who -had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage -Lane--turning a corner which he could never bear to think of--and in -strange hands--a mere common coachman--no James; and there it seemed as -if her return only were wanted to make every thing go well: for Mr. -John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour, was now all kindness and -attention; and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her -father, as to seem--if not quite ready to join him in a basin of -gruel--perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome; and the -day was concluding in peace and comfort to all their little party, -except herself.--But her mind had never been in such perturbation; and -it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the -usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection. - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think -and be miserable.--It was a wretched business indeed!--Such an overthrow -of every thing she had been wishing for!--Such a development of every -thing most unwelcome!--Such a blow for Harriet!--that was the worst -of all. Every part of it brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or -other; but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and -she would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken--more in -error--more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the -effects of her blunders have been confined to herself. - -“If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have -borne any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me--but poor -Harriet!” - -How she could have been so deceived!--He protested that he had never -thought seriously of Harriet--never! She looked back as well as -she could; but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she -supposed, and made every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must -have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so -misled. - -The picture!--How eager he had been about the picture!--and the -charade!--and an hundred other circumstances;--how clearly they had -seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its “ready -wit”--but then the “soft eyes”--in fact it suited neither; it was -a jumble without taste or truth. Who could have seen through such -thick-headed nonsense? - -Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to -herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere -error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among others -that he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the -gentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but, -till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean -any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet’s friend. - -To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the -subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying -that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley -had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, -the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry -indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his -character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It -was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many -respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; -proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little -concerned about the feelings of others. - -Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton’s wanting to pay his -addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions and his -proposals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachment, -and was insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and having the -arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in love; but she was -perfectly easy as to his not suffering any disappointment that need be -cared for. There had been no real affection either in his language or -manners. Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance; but she could -hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less -allied with real love. She need not trouble herself to pity him. He -only wanted to aggrandise and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse -of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so -easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody -else with twenty, or with ten. - -But--that he should talk of encouragement, should consider her as aware -of his views, accepting his attentions, meaning (in short), to marry -him!--should suppose himself her equal in connexion or mind!--look down -upon her friend, so well understanding the gradations of rank below -him, and be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy himself shewing no -presumption in addressing her!--It was most provoking. - -Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was her -inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. The very want of -such equality might prevent his perception of it; but he must know that -in fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must -know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at -Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family--and that the -Eltons were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly was -inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, -to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune, from -other sources, was such as to make them scarcely secondary to Donwell -Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence; and the Woodhouses had -long held a high place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which -Mr. Elton had first entered not two years ago, to make his way as he -could, without any alliances but in trade, or any thing to recommend him -to notice but his situation and his civility.--But he had fancied her -in love with him; that evidently must have been his dependence; and -after raving a little about the seeming incongruity of gentle manners -and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in common honesty to stop -and admit that her own behaviour to him had been so complaisant and -obliging, so full of courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real -motive unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary observation and -delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided favourite. -If _she_ had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little right to -wonder that _he_, with self-interest to blind him, should have mistaken -hers. - -The first error and the worst lay at her door. It was foolish, it was -wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together. It -was adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what -ought to be serious, a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite -concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more. - -“Here have I,” said she, “actually talked poor Harriet into being very -much attached to this man. She might never have thought of him but for -me; and certainly never would have thought of him with hope, if I had -not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and humble as I -used to think him. Oh! that I had been satisfied with persuading her not -to accept young Martin. There I was quite right. That was well done -of me; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to time and -chance. I was introducing her into good company, and giving her the -opportunity of pleasing some one worth having; I ought not to have -attempted more. But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time. -I have been but half a friend to her; and if she were _not_ to feel this -disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea of any body -else who would be at all desirable for her;--William Coxe--Oh! no, I -could not endure William Coxe--a pert young lawyer.” - -She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed a more -serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and might be, -and must be. The distressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, and -all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness of -future meetings, the difficulties of continuing or discontinuing the -acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and avoiding -eclat, were enough to occupy her in most unmirthful reflections some -time longer, and she went to bed at last with nothing settled but the -conviction of her having blundered most dreadfully. - -To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma’s, though under temporary -gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return of -spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy, -and of powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough -to keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations of -softened pain and brighter hope. - -Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had gone -to bed, more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to -depend on getting tolerably out of it. - -It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in -love with her, or so particularly amiable as to make it shocking to -disappoint him--that Harriet’s nature should not be of that superior -sort in which the feelings are most acute and retentive--and that there -could be no necessity for any body’s knowing what had passed except the -three principals, and especially for her father’s being given a moment’s -uneasiness about it. - -These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of snow -on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcome that -might justify their all three being quite asunder at present. - -The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas Day, she -could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse would have been miserable had his -daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting -or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered -with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and -thaw, which is of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, every -morning beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting in to -freeze, she was for many days a most honourable prisoner. No intercourse -with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any -more than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton’s -absenting himself. - -It was weather which might fairly confine every body at home; and though -she hoped and believed him to be really taking comfort in some society -or other, it was very pleasant to have her father so well satisfied with -his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to -hear him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from -them,-- - -“Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr. Elton?” - -These days of confinement would have been, but for her private -perplexities, remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited -her brother, whose feelings must always be of great importance to -his companions; and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his -ill-humour at Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the -rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, -and speaking pleasantly of every body. But with all the hopes of -cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was still such -an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as -made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease. - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield. The -weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move; and Mr. -Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay -behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole party -set off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor -Isabella;--which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doated -on, full of their merits, blind to their faults, and always innocently -busy, might have been a model of right feminine happiness. - -The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from Mr. -Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with -Mr. Elton’s best compliments, “that he was proposing to leave Highbury -the following morning in his way to Bath; where, in compliance with -the pressing entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few -weeks, and very much regretted the impossibility he was under, from -various circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal -leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever -retain a grateful sense--and had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be -happy to attend to them.” - -Emma was most agreeably surprized.--Mr. Elton’s absence just at this -time was the very thing to be desired. She admired him for contriving -it, though not able to give him much credit for the manner in which it -was announced. Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than -in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly excluded. -She had not even a share in his opening compliments.--Her name was not -mentioned;--and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an -ill-judged solemnity of leave-taking in his graceful acknowledgments, as -she thought, at first, could not escape her father’s suspicion. - -It did, however.--Her father was quite taken up with the surprize of so -sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton might never get safely to -the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in his language. It was a -very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought -and conversation during the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. Woodhouse -talked over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away -with all her usual promptitude. - -She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason -to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that -she should have as much time as possible for getting the better of -her other complaint before the gentleman’s return. She went to Mrs. -Goddard’s accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary -penance of communication; and a severe one it was.--She had to destroy -all the hopes which she had been so industriously feeding--to appear in -the ungracious character of the one preferred--and acknowledge herself -grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her ideas on one subject, all -her observations, all her convictions, all her prophecies for the last -six weeks. - -The confession completely renewed her first shame--and the sight of -Harriet’s tears made her think that she should never be in charity with -herself again. - -Harriet bore the intelligence very well--blaming nobody--and in every -thing testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion -of herself, as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to -her friend. - -Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost; -and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on -Harriet’s side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having -any thing to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton -would have been too great a distinction.--She never could have deserved -him--and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would -have thought it possible. - -Her tears fell abundantly--but her grief was so truly artless, that -no dignity could have made it more respectable in Emma’s eyes--and -she listened to her and tried to console her with all her heart and -understanding--really for the time convinced that Harriet was the -superior creature of the two--and that to resemble her would be more for -her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could -do. - -It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded and -ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed of -being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of -her life. Her second duty now, inferior only to her father’s claims, was -to promote Harriet’s comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection -in some better method than by match-making. She got her to Hartfield, -and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and -amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her -thoughts. - -Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and -she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters in -general, and very inadequate to sympathise in an attachment to Mr. Elton -in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet’s age, -and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a progress might be -made towards a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton’s return, as -to allow them all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance, -without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them. - -Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintained the non-existence -of any body equal to him in person or goodness--and did, in truth, -prove herself more resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen; but yet -it appeared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an -inclination of that sort _unrequited_, that she could not comprehend its -continuing very long in equal force. - -If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and -indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not -imagine Harriet’s persisting to place her happiness in the sight or the -recollection of him. - -Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad for -each, for all three. Not one of them had the power of removal, or of -effecting any material change of society. They must encounter each -other, and make the best of it. - -Harriet was farther unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. -Goddard’s; Mr. Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great -girls in the school; and it must be at Hartfield only that she could -have any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or -repellent truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be -found if anywhere; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in the way of -cure, there could be no true peace for herself. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, Mrs. -Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For -the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great mortification -and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to -Randalls at no distant period.” - -Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed--much more disappointed, in -fact, than her husband, though her dependence on seeing the young man -had been so much more sober: but a sanguine temper, though for ever -expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by -any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, -and begins to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and -sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank’s coming two or three -months later would be a much better plan; better time of year; -better weather; and that he would be able, without any doubt, to stay -considerably longer with them than if he had come sooner. - -These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of -a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of -excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was -to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself. - -Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. -Frank Churchill’s not coming, except as a disappointment at Randalls. -The acquaintance at present had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to -be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was desirable that she -should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took care to express -as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as warmly into Mr. -and Mrs. Weston’s disappointment, as might naturally belong to their -friendship. - -She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite -as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather -more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away. She then -proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage of -such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of -looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the -sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the -Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement -with Mr. Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that she was -taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making -use of Mrs. Weston’s arguments against herself. - -“The Churchills are very likely in fault,” said Mr. Knightley, coolly; -“but I dare say he might come if he would.” - -“I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to come; but -his uncle and aunt will not spare him.” - -“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a -point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof.” - -“How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose -him such an unnatural creature?” - -“I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that -he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very little -for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who have -always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural than -one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are proud, -luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If -Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it -between September and January. A man at his age--what is he?--three or -four-and-twenty--cannot be without the means of doing as much as that. -It is impossible.” - -“That’s easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your -own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the -difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have tempers -to manage.” - -“It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty -should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot want -money--he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so -much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in -the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-place or other. A -little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the -Churchills.” - -“Yes, sometimes he can.” - -“And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever -there is any temptation of pleasure.” - -“It is very unfair to judge of any body’s conduct, without an intimate -knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in the interior -of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that -family may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. -Churchill’s temper, before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew -can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at -others.” - -“There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and -that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and -resolution. It is Frank Churchill’s duty to pay this attention to his -father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he -wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would say at -once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill--‘Every sacrifice of -mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your convenience; -but I must go and see my father immediately. I know he would be hurt by -my failing in such a mark of respect to him on the present occasion. -I shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.’--If he would say so to her -at once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no -opposition made to his going.” - -“No,” said Emma, laughing; “but perhaps there might be some made to his -coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely dependent, to -use!--Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible. But you -have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite to -your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to -the uncle and aunt, who have brought him up, and are to provide for -him!--Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as -loud as he could!--How can you imagine such conduct practicable?” - -“Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it. He -would feel himself in the right; and the declaration--made, of course, -as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner--would do him more -good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the people he -depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients can ever do. -Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that they could -trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his father, would do -rightly by them; for they know, as well as he does, as well as all the -world must know, that he ought to pay this visit to his father; and -while meanly exerting their power to delay it, are in their hearts not -thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims. Respect for -right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act in this sort of -manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their little minds would -bend to his.” - -“I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds; but -where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they have -a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable as great -ones. I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be -transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill’s situation, -you would be able to say and do just what you have been recommending for -him; and it might have a very good effect. The Churchills might not have -a word to say in return; but then, you would have no habits of early -obedience and long observance to break through. To him who has, it might -not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect independence, and set -all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought. He may have as -strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, without being so -equal, under particular circumstances, to act up to it.” - -“Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal -exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.” - -“Oh, the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try to -understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly -opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his -life.” - -“Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first -occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the -will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of -following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for -the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he -ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in -their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their -side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there -would have been no difficulty now.” - -“We shall never agree about him,” cried Emma; “but that is nothing -extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: -I feel sure that he is not. Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, -though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, -complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man’s -perfection. I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some -advantages, it will secure him many others.” - -“Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and -of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely -expert in finding excuses for it. He can sit down and write a fine -flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade -himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the world of -preserving peace at home and preventing his father’s having any right to -complain. His letters disgust me.” - -“Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every body else.” - -“I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly can satisfy -a woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother’s -place, but without a mother’s affection to blind her. It is on her -account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly -feel the omission. Had she been a person of consequence herself, he -would have come I dare say; and it would not have signified whether -he did or no. Can you think your friend behindhand in these sort of -considerations? Do you suppose she does not often say all this to -herself? No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only in French, -not in English. He may be very ‘amiable,’ have very good manners, and be -very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy towards the feelings -of other people: nothing really amiable about him.” - -“You seem determined to think ill of him.” - -“Me!--not at all,” replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased; “I do not -want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits -as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; -that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners.” - -“Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure -at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and -agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the -bargain. Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a _sensation_ his -coming will produce? There will be but one subject throughout the -parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but one interest--one object of -curiosity; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill; we shall think and speak -of nobody else.” - -“You will excuse my being so much over-powered. If I find him -conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a -chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.” - -“My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of -every body, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally -agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; -and so on to every body, having that general information on all subjects -which will enable him to follow the lead, or take the lead, just as -propriety may require, and to speak extremely well on each; that is my -idea of him.” - -“And mine,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “is, that if he turn out any -thing like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing! What! -at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company--the great man--the -practised politician, who is to read every body’s character, and make -every body’s talents conduce to the display of his own superiority; to -be dispensing his flatteries around, that he may make all appear like -fools compared with himself! My dear Emma, your own good sense could not -endure such a puppy when it came to the point.” - -“I will say no more about him,” cried Emma, “you turn every thing to -evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no -chance of agreeing till he is really here.” - -“Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced.” - -“But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My love for -Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour.” - -“He is a person I never think of from one month’s end to another,” said -Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately -talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should be -angry. - -To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of a -different disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality of -mind which she was always used to acknowledge in him; for with all the -high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she had -never before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to the merit -of another. - - - - -VOLUME II - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in Emma’s -opinion, had been talking enough of Mr. Elton for that day. She could -not think that Harriet’s solace or her own sins required more; and -she was therefore industriously getting rid of the subject as they -returned;--but it burst out again when she thought she had succeeded, -and after speaking some time of what the poor must suffer in winter, and -receiving no other answer than a very plaintive--“Mr. Elton is so good -to the poor!” she found something else must be done. - -They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs. and Miss Bates. -She determined to call upon them and seek safety in numbers. There was -always sufficient reason for such an attention; Mrs. and Miss Bates -loved to be called on, and she knew she was considered by the very few -who presumed ever to see imperfection in her, as rather negligent in -that respect, and as not contributing what she ought to the stock of -their scanty comforts. - -She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley and some from her own heart, -as to her deficiency--but none were equal to counteract the persuasion -of its being very disagreeable,--a waste of time--tiresome women--and -all the horror of being in danger of falling in with the second-rate and -third-rate of Highbury, who were calling on them for ever, and therefore -she seldom went near them. But now she made the sudden resolution of not -passing their door without going in--observing, as she proposed it to -Harriet, that, as well as she could calculate, they were just now quite -safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax. - -The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and Miss Bates occupied -the drawing-room floor; and there, in the very moderate-sized apartment, -which was every thing to them, the visitors were most cordially and even -gratefully welcomed; the quiet neat old lady, who with her knitting was -seated in the warmest corner, wanting even to give up her place to -Miss Woodhouse, and her more active, talking daughter, almost ready -to overpower them with care and kindness, thanks for their visit, -solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after Mr. Woodhouse’s -health, cheerful communications about her mother’s, and sweet-cake from -the beaufet--“Mrs. Cole had just been there, just called in for ten -minutes, and had been so good as to sit an hour with them, and _she_ had -taken a piece of cake and been so kind as to say she liked it very much; -and, therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith would do them -the favour to eat a piece too.” - -The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that of Mr. Elton. -There was intimacy between them, and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. Elton -since his going away. Emma knew what was coming; they must have the -letter over again, and settle how long he had been gone, and how much -he was engaged in company, and what a favourite he was wherever he went, -and how full the Master of the Ceremonies’ ball had been; and she went -through it very well, with all the interest and all the commendation -that could be requisite, and always putting forward to prevent Harriet’s -being obliged to say a word. - -This she had been prepared for when she entered the house; but meant, -having once talked him handsomely over, to be no farther incommoded by -any troublesome topic, and to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses -and Misses of Highbury, and their card-parties. She had not been -prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton; but he was actually -hurried off by Miss Bates, she jumped away from him at last abruptly to -the Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece. - -“Oh! yes--Mr. Elton, I understand--certainly as to dancing--Mrs. Cole -was telling me that dancing at the rooms at Bath was--Mrs. Cole was so -kind as to sit some time with us, talking of Jane; for as soon as -she came in, she began inquiring after her, Jane is so very great a -favourite there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not know how to -shew her kindness enough; and I must say that Jane deserves it as much -as any body can. And so she began inquiring after her directly, saying, -‘I know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is not her -time for writing;’ and when I immediately said, ‘But indeed we have, we -had a letter this very morning,’ I do not know that I ever saw any body -more surprized. ‘Have you, upon your honour?’ said she; ‘well, that is -quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.’” - -Emma’s politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest-- - -“Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately? I am extremely happy. I -hope she is well?” - -“Thank you. You are so kind!” replied the happily deceived aunt, while -eagerly hunting for the letter.--“Oh! here it is. I was sure it could -not be far off; but I had put my huswife upon it, you see, without being -aware, and so it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately -that I was almost sure it must be on the table. I was reading it to Mrs. -Cole, and since she went away, I was reading it again to my mother, for -it is such a pleasure to her--a letter from Jane--that she can never -hear it often enough; so I knew it could not be far off, and here it is, -only just under my huswife--and since you are so kind as to wish to hear -what she says;--but, first of all, I really must, in justice to -Jane, apologise for her writing so short a letter--only two pages you -see--hardly two--and in general she fills the whole paper and crosses -half. My mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. She often -says, when the letter is first opened, ‘Well, Hetty, now I think -you will be put to it to make out all that checker-work’--don’t you, -ma’am?--And then I tell her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out -herself, if she had nobody to do it for her--every word of it--I am sure -she would pore over it till she had made out every word. And, indeed, -though my mother’s eyes are not so good as they were, she can see -amazingly well still, thank God! with the help of spectacles. It is such -a blessing! My mother’s are really very good indeed. Jane often says, -when she is here, ‘I am sure, grandmama, you must have had very strong -eyes to see as you do--and so much fine work as you have done too!--I -only wish my eyes may last me as well.’” - -All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath; -and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss -Fairfax’s handwriting. - -“You are extremely kind,” replied Miss Bates, highly gratified; “you who -are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself. I am sure there is -nobody’s praise that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse’s. -My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf you know. Ma’am,” - addressing her, “do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say -about Jane’s handwriting?” - -And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly compliment repeated -twice over before the good old lady could comprehend it. She was -pondering, in the meanwhile, upon the possibility, without seeming very -rude, of making her escape from Jane Fairfax’s letter, and had almost -resolved on hurrying away directly under some slight excuse, when Miss -Bates turned to her again and seized her attention. - -“My mother’s deafness is very trifling you see--just nothing at all. By -only raising my voice, and saying any thing two or three times over, -she is sure to hear; but then she is used to my voice. But it is very -remarkable that she should always hear Jane better than she does me. -Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will not find her grandmama at all -deafer than she was two years ago; which is saying a great deal at my -mother’s time of life--and it really is full two years, you know, since -she was here. We never were so long without seeing her before, and as -I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly know how to make enough of her -now.” - -“Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?” - -“Oh yes; next week.” - -“Indeed!--that must be a very great pleasure.” - -“Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Every body is so -surprized; and every body says the same obliging things. I am sure she -will be as happy to see her friends at Highbury, as they can be to see -her. Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because Colonel -Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those days. So very -good of them to send her the whole way! But they always do, you know. Oh -yes, Friday or Saturday next. That is what she writes about. That is -the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it; for, in the -common course, we should not have heard from her before next Tuesday or -Wednesday.” - -“Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little chance of my -hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to-day.” - -“So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if it had not been -for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so soon. My -mother is so delighted!--for she is to be three months with us at -least. Three months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the -pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you see, that the Campbells are -going to Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother to come -over and see her directly. They had not intended to go over till the -summer, but she is so impatient to see them again--for till she married, -last October, she was never away from them so much as a week, which must -make it very strange to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say, -but however different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter -to her mother--or her father, I declare I do not know which it was, but -we shall see presently in Jane’s letter--wrote in Mr. Dixon’s name as -well as her own, to press their coming over directly, and they would -give them the meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country -seat, Baly-craig, a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great -deal of its beauty; from Mr. Dixon, I mean--I do not know that she ever -heard about it from any body else; but it was very natural, you know, -that he should like to speak of his own place while he was paying his -addresses--and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them--for -Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s -not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all -blame them; of course she heard every thing he might be telling Miss -Campbell about his own home in Ireland; and I think she wrote us word -that he had shewn them some drawings of the place, views that he had -taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I believe. Jane -was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his account of things.” - -At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion entering Emma’s -brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming Mr. Dixon, and the -not going to Ireland, she said, with the insidious design of farther -discovery, - -“You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed to -come to you at such a time. Considering the very particular friendship -between her and Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be -excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.” - -“Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we have always been -rather afraid of; for we should not have liked to have her at such a -distance from us, for months together--not able to come if any thing was -to happen. But you see, every thing turns out for the best. They want -her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel and Mrs. -Campbell; quite depend upon it; nothing can be more kind or pressing -than their _joint_ invitation, Jane says, as you will hear presently; -Mr. Dixon does not seem in the least backward in any attention. He is -a most charming young man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane at -Weymouth, when they were out in that party on the water, and she, by the -sudden whirling round of something or other among the sails, would have -been dashed into the sea at once, and actually was all but gone, if he -had not, with the greatest presence of mind, caught hold of her habit-- -(I can never think of it without trembling!)--But ever since we had the -history of that day, I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon!” - -“But, in spite of all her friends’ urgency, and her own wish of seeing -Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs. Bates?” - -“Yes--entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice; and Colonel -and Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right, just what they should -recommend; and indeed they particularly _wish_ her to try her native -air, as she has not been quite so well as usual lately.” - -“I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely. But Mrs. -Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs. Dixon, I understand, has -no remarkable degree of personal beauty; is not, by any means, to be -compared with Miss Fairfax.” - -“Oh! no. You are very obliging to say such things--but certainly not. -There is no comparison between them. Miss Campbell always was absolutely -plain--but extremely elegant and amiable.” - -“Yes, that of course.” - -“Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! so long ago as the 7th of November, -(as I am going to read to you,) and has never been well since. A long -time, is not it, for a cold to hang upon her? She never mentioned -it before, because she would not alarm us. Just like her! so -considerate!--But however, she is so far from well, that her kind -friends the Campbells think she had better come home, and try an air -that always agrees with her; and they have no doubt that three or four -months at Highbury will entirely cure her--and it is certainly a great -deal better that she should come here, than go to Ireland, if she is -unwell. Nobody could nurse her, as we should do.” - -“It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world.” - -“And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and the Campbells -leave town in their way to Holyhead the Monday following--as you will -find from Jane’s letter. So sudden!--You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, -what a flurry it has thrown me in! If it was not for the drawback of -her illness--but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and -looking very poorly. I must tell you what an unlucky thing happened to -me, as to that. I always make a point of reading Jane’s letters through -to myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you know, for -fear of there being any thing in them to distress her. Jane desired me -to do it, so I always do: and so I began to-day with my usual caution; -but no sooner did I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I -burst out, quite frightened, with ‘Bless me! poor Jane is ill!’--which -my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed -at. However, when I read on, I found it was not near so bad as I had -fancied at first; and I make so light of it now to her, that she does -not think much about it. But I cannot imagine how I could be so off my -guard. If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in Mr. Perry. The -expense shall not be thought of; and though he is so liberal, and so -fond of Jane that I dare say he would not mean to charge any thing for -attendance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know. He has a wife and -family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time. Well, now I -have just given you a hint of what Jane writes about, we will turn to -her letter, and I am sure she tells her own story a great deal better -than I can tell it for her.” - -“I am afraid we must be running away,” said Emma, glancing at Harriet, -and beginning to rise--“My father will be expecting us. I had no -intention, I thought I had no power of staying more than five minutes, -when I first entered the house. I merely called, because I would not -pass the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I have been so -pleasantly detained! Now, however, we must wish you and Mrs. Bates good -morning.” - -And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. She regained -the street--happy in this, that though much had been forced on her -against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of -Jane Fairfax’s letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself. - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates’s youngest -daughter. - -The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax of the ----regiment of infantry, -and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame and pleasure, hope -and interest; but nothing now remained of it, save the melancholy -remembrance of him dying in action abroad--of his widow sinking under -consumption and grief soon afterwards--and this girl. - -By birth she belonged to Highbury: and when at three years old, on -losing her mother, she became the property, the charge, the consolation, -the foundling of her grandmother and aunt, there had seemed every -probability of her being permanently fixed there; of her being taught -only what very limited means could command, and growing up with no -advantages of connexion or improvement, to be engrafted on what -nature had given her in a pleasing person, good understanding, and -warm-hearted, well-meaning relations. - -But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change -to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell, who had very highly regarded -Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most deserving young man; and -farther, had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe -camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were claims which -he did not learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the -death of poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing in -his power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice -of her. He was a married man, with only one living child, a girl, about -Jane’s age: and Jane became their guest, paying them long visits and -growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine years old, his -daughter’s great fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real -friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell of undertaking -the whole charge of her education. It was accepted; and from that period -Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell’s family, and had lived with them -entirely, only visiting her grandmother from time to time. - -The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the -very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making -independence impossible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel -Campbell’s power; for though his income, by pay and appointments, was -handsome, his fortune was moderate and must be all his daughter’s; -but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means of -respectable subsistence hereafter. - -Such was Jane Fairfax’s history. She had fallen into good hands, known -nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent -education. Living constantly with right-minded and well-informed people, -her heart and understanding had received every advantage of discipline -and culture; and Colonel Campbell’s residence being in London, every -lighter talent had been done full justice to, by the attendance of -first-rate masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy -of all that friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was, -as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of children, -fully competent to the office of instruction herself; but she was too -much beloved to be parted with. Neither father nor mother could promote, -and the daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put off. It was -easy to decide that she was still too young; and Jane remained with -them, sharing, as another daughter, in all the rational pleasures of -an elegant society, and a judicious mixture of home and amusement, with -only the drawback of the future, the sobering suggestions of her own -good understanding to remind her that all this might soon be over. - -The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss -Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to each party from -the circumstance of Jane’s decided superiority both in beauty and -acquirements. That nature had given it in feature could not be unseen -by the young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the -parents. They continued together with unabated regard however, till the -marriage of Miss Campbell, who by that chance, that luck which so often -defies anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what is -moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of -Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable, almost as soon as they were -acquainted; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had -yet her bread to earn. - -This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to be -yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path -of duty; though she had now reached the age which her own judgment had -fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty -should be the period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had -resolved at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from -all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace -and hope, to penance and mortification for ever. - -The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not oppose such -a resolution, though their feelings did. As long as they lived, no -exertions would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever; and for -their own comfort they would have retained her wholly; but this would -be selfishness:--what must be at last, had better be soon. Perhaps they -began to feel it might have been kinder and wiser to have resisted the -temptation of any delay, and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments -of ease and leisure as must now be relinquished. Still, however, -affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for not hurrying -on the wretched moment. She had never been quite well since the time of -their daughter’s marriage; and till she should have completely recovered -her usual strength, they must forbid her engaging in duties, which, so -far from being compatible with a weakened frame and varying spirits, -seemed, under the most favourable circumstances, to require something -more than human perfection of body and mind to be discharged with -tolerable comfort. - -With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her -aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths -not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to -Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with -those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells, -whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or -treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they -depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery -of her health, than on any thing else. Certain it was that she was to -come; and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which -had been so long promised it--Mr. Frank Churchill--must put up for the -present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness of a two -years’ absence. - -Emma was sorry;--to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like -through three long months!--to be always doing more than she wished, -and less than she ought! Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be a -difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was -because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she -wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly -refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which -her conscience could not quite acquit her. But “she could never get -acquainted with her: she did not know how it was, but there was such -coldness and reserve--such apparent indifference whether she pleased or -not--and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker!--and she was made -such a fuss with by every body!--and it had been always imagined that -they were to be so intimate--because their ages were the same, every -body had supposed they must be so fond of each other.” These were her -reasons--she had no better. - -It was a dislike so little just--every imputed fault was so magnified -by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax the first time after any -considerable absence, without feeling that she had injured her; and -now, when the due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two years’ -interval, she was particularly struck with the very appearance and -manners, which for those two whole years she had been depreciating. Jane -Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself the -highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just such as almost -every body would think tall, and nobody could think very tall; her -figure particularly graceful; her size a most becoming medium, between -fat and thin, though a slight appearance of ill-health seemed to point -out the likeliest evil of the two. Emma could not but feel all this; and -then, her face--her features--there was more beauty in them altogether -than she had remembered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing -beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, had -never been denied their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to -cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really -needed no fuller bloom. It was a style of beauty, of which elegance was -the reigning character, and as such, she must, in honour, by all her -principles, admire it:--elegance, which, whether of person or of mind, -she saw so little in Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, -and merit. - -In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax with -twofold complacency; the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering -justice, and was determining that she would dislike her no longer. When -she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty; -when she considered what all this elegance was destined to, what she was -going to sink from, how she was going to live, it seemed impossible -to feel any thing but compassion and respect; especially, if to every -well-known particular entitling her to interest, were added the highly -probable circumstance of an attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had -so naturally started to herself. In that case, nothing could be more -pitiable or more honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on. -Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon’s -actions from his wife, or of any thing mischievous which her imagination -had suggested at first. If it were love, it might be simple, single, -successless love on her side alone. She might have been unconsciously -sucking in the sad poison, while a sharer of his conversation with her -friend; and from the best, the purest of motives, might now be -denying herself this visit to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself -effectually from him and his connexions by soon beginning her career of -laborious duty. - -Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings, -as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury -afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence; nobody that she -could wish to scheme about for her. - -These were charming feelings--but not lasting. Before she had committed -herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, -or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than -saying to Mr. Knightley, “She certainly is handsome; she is better than -handsome!” Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandmother -and aunt, and every thing was relapsing much into its usual state. -Former provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresome as ever; more -tiresome, because anxiety for her health was now added to admiration -of her powers; and they had to listen to the description of exactly how -little bread and butter she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice -of mutton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new -workbags for her mother and herself; and Jane’s offences rose again. -They had music; Emma was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise -which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an -air of greatness, meaning only to shew off in higher style her own very -superior performance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so -cold, so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in -a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was -disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved. - -If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved on -the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing. She seemed bent -on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon’s character, or her own value -for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the match. It was all -general approbation and smoothness; nothing delineated or distinguished. -It did her no service however. Her caution was thrown away. Emma saw -its artifice, and returned to her first surmises. There probably _was_ -something more to conceal than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, -had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only -to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds. - -The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. Frank Churchill -had been at Weymouth at the same time. It was known that they were a -little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could Emma -procure as to what he truly was. “Was he handsome?”--“She believed -he was reckoned a very fine young man.” “Was he agreeable?”--“He was -generally thought so.” “Did he appear a sensible young man; a young -man of information?”--“At a watering-place, or in a common London -acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were -all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than -they had yet had of Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his -manners pleasing.” Emma could not forgive her. - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Emma could not forgive her;--but as neither provocation nor resentment -were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who had been of the party, and had -seen only proper attention and pleasing behaviour on each side, he was -expressing the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business with -Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole; not so openly as he might -have done had her father been out of the room, but speaking plain enough -to be very intelligible to Emma. He had been used to think her unjust to -Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an improvement. - -“A very pleasant evening,” he began, as soon as Mr. Woodhouse had been -talked into what was necessary, told that he understood, and the papers -swept away;--“particularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave us some -very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state, sir, than sitting -at one’s ease to be entertained a whole evening by two such young women; -sometimes with music and sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss -Fairfax must have found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left nothing -undone. I was glad you made her play so much, for having no instrument -at her grandmother’s, it must have been a real indulgence.” - -“I am happy you approved,” said Emma, smiling; “but I hope I am not -often deficient in what is due to guests at Hartfield.” - -“No, my dear,” said her father instantly; “_that_ I am sure you are not. -There is nobody half so attentive and civil as you are. If any thing, -you are too attentive. The muffin last night--if it had been handed -round once, I think it would have been enough.” - -“No,” said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; “you are not often -deficient; not often deficient either in manner or comprehension. I -think you understand me, therefore.” - -An arch look expressed--“I understand you well enough;” but she said -only, “Miss Fairfax is reserved.” - -“I always told you she was--a little; but you will soon overcome all -that part of her reserve which ought to be overcome, all that has its -foundation in diffidence. What arises from discretion must be honoured.” - -“You think her diffident. I do not see it.” - -“My dear Emma,” said he, moving from his chair into one close by her, -“you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not a pleasant -evening.” - -“Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and -amused to think how little information I obtained.” - -“I am disappointed,” was his only answer. - -“I hope every body had a pleasant evening,” said Mr. Woodhouse, in his -quiet way. “I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I -moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. -Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though -she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. -Bates too, in a different way. I like old friends; and Miss Jane -Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very pretty and a -very well-behaved young lady indeed. She must have found the evening -agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma.” - -“True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax.” - -Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the -present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question-- - -“She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one’s eyes from. -I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart.” - -Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to -express; and before he could make any reply, Mr. Woodhouse, whose -thoughts were on the Bates’s, said-- - -“It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined! a -great pity indeed! and I have often wished--but it is so little one can -venture to do--small, trifling presents, of any thing uncommon--Now we -have killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg; -it is very small and delicate--Hartfield pork is not like any other -pork--but still it is pork--and, my dear Emma, unless one could be sure -of their making it into steaks, nicely fried, as ours are fried, without -the smallest grease, and not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast -pork--I think we had better send the leg--do not you think so, my dear?” - -“My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish it. -There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and -the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like.” - -“That’s right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of it before, but -that is the best way. They must not over-salt the leg; and then, if it -is not over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle -boils ours, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a -little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome.” - -“Emma,” said Mr. Knightley presently, “I have a piece of news for you. -You like news--and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will -interest you.” - -“News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?--why do you smile -so?--where did you hear it?--at Randalls?” - -He had time only to say, - -“No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,” when the door was -thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full -of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. -Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another -syllable of communication could rest with him. - -“Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse--I -come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You -are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be -married.” - -Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so -completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and a -little blush, at the sound. - -“There is my news:--I thought it would interest you,” said Mr. -Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what -had passed between them. - -“But where could _you_ hear it?” cried Miss Bates. “Where could you -possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I -received Mrs. Cole’s note--no, it cannot be more than five--or at least -ten--for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out--I -was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork--Jane was -standing in the passage--were not you, Jane?--for my mother was so -afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would -go down and see, and Jane said, ‘Shall I go down instead? for I think -you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.’--‘Oh! -my dear,’ said I--well, and just then came the note. A Miss -Hawkins--that’s all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, -how could you possibly have heard it? for the very moment Mr. Cole told -Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins--” - -“I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago. He had just -read Elton’s letter as I was shewn in, and handed it to me directly.” - -“Well! that is quite--I suppose there never was a piece of news more -generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My -mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand -thanks, and says you really quite oppress her.” - -“We consider our Hartfield pork,” replied Mr. Woodhouse--“indeed it -certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot -have a greater pleasure than--” - -“Oh! my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good -to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth -themselves, had every thing they could wish for, I am sure it is us. -We may well say that ‘our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.’ Well, Mr. -Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter; well--” - -“It was short--merely to announce--but cheerful, exulting, of course.”-- -Here was a sly glance at Emma. “He had been so fortunate as to--I forget -the precise words--one has no business to remember them. The information -was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By -his style, I should imagine it just settled.” - -“Mr. Elton going to be married!” said Emma, as soon as she could speak. -“He will have every body’s wishes for his happiness.” - -“He is very young to settle,” was Mr. Woodhouse’s observation. “He had -better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he was. We -were always glad to see him at Hartfield.” - -“A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!” said Miss Bates, joyfully; -“my mother is so pleased!--she says she cannot bear to have the poor old -Vicarage without a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have -never seen Mr. Elton!--no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see -him.” - -Jane’s curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly to -occupy her. - -“No--I have never seen Mr. Elton,” she replied, starting on this appeal; -“is he--is he a tall man?” - -“Who shall answer that question?” cried Emma. “My father would say -‘yes,’ Mr. Knightley ‘no;’ and Miss Bates and I that he is just the -happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, -you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in -Highbury, both in person and mind.” - -“Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young -man--But, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he -was precisely the height of Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins,--I dare say, an -excellent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother--wanting -her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my -mother is a little deaf, you know--it is not much, but she does not -hear quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He -fancied bathing might be good for it--the warm bath--but she says it did -him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. -And Mr. Dixon seems a very charming young man, quite worthy of him. It -is such a happiness when good people get together--and they always do. -Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, -such very good people; and the Perrys--I suppose there never was a -happier or a better couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir,” turning -to Mr. Woodhouse, “I think there are few places with such society as -Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours.--My dear -sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than another, it is -pork--a roast loin of pork--” - -“As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted -with her,” said Emma, “nothing I suppose can be known. One feels that it -cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four weeks.” - -Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few more wonderings, -Emma said, - -“You are silent, Miss Fairfax--but I hope you mean to take an interest -in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late -on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss -Campbell’s account--we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. -Elton and Miss Hawkins.” - -“When I have seen Mr. Elton,” replied Jane, “I dare say I shall be -interested--but I believe it requires _that_ with me. And as it is some -months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn -off.” - -“Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, Miss Woodhouse,” - said Miss Bates, “four weeks yesterday.--A Miss Hawkins!--Well, I had -always rather fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts; not that -I ever--Mrs. Cole once whispered to me--but I immediately said, ‘No, Mr. -Elton is a most worthy young man--but’--In short, I do not think I am -particularly quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend to it. -What is before me, I see. At the same time, nobody could wonder if -Mr. Elton should have aspired--Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so -good-humouredly. She knows I would not offend for the world. How does -Miss Smith do? She seems quite recovered now. Have you heard from Mrs. -John Knightley lately? Oh! those dear little children. Jane, do you -know I always fancy Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley. I mean in -person--tall, and with that sort of look--and not very talkative.” - -“Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness at all.” - -“Very odd! but one never does form a just idea of any body beforehand. -One takes up a notion, and runs away with it. Mr. Dixon, you say, is -not, strictly speaking, handsome?” - -“Handsome! Oh! no--far from it--certainly plain. I told you he was -plain.” - -“My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow him to be plain, -and that you yourself--” - -“Oh! as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where I have a regard, -I always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed the -general opinion, when I called him plain.” - -“Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. The weather does -not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy. You are too obliging, my -dear Miss Woodhouse; but we really must take leave. This has been a most -agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs. Cole’s; -but I shall not stop three minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home -directly--I would not have you out in a shower!--We think she is the -better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do indeed. I shall not -attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for I really do not think she cares for -any thing but _boiled_ pork: when we dress the leg it will be another -thing. Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh! Mr. Knightley is coming -too. Well, that is so very!--I am sure if Jane is tired, you will be -so kind as to give her your arm.--Mr. Elton, and Miss Hawkins!--Good -morning to you.” - -Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him while -he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry--and to -marry strangers too--and the other half she could give to her own view -of the subject. It was to herself an amusing and a very welcome piece -of news, as proving that Mr. Elton could not have suffered long; but she -was sorry for Harriet: Harriet must feel it--and all that she could hope -was, by giving the first information herself, to save her from hearing -it abruptly from others. It was now about the time that she was likely -to call. If she were to meet Miss Bates in her way!--and upon its -beginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would -be detaining her at Mrs. Goddard’s, and that the intelligence would -undoubtedly rush upon her without preparation. - -The shower was heavy, but short; and it had not been over five minutes, -when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which -hurrying thither with a full heart was likely to give; and the “Oh! Miss -Woodhouse, what do you think has happened!” which instantly burst forth, -had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the blow was -given, Emma felt that she could not now shew greater kindness than in -listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what she had to -tell. “She had set out from Mrs. Goddard’s half an hour ago--she had -been afraid it would rain--she had been afraid it would pour down -every moment--but she thought she might get to Hartfield first--she -had hurried on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing by the -house where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she -would just step in and see how it went on; and though she did not seem -to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out it began to rain, -and she did not know what to do; so she ran on directly, as fast as -she could, and took shelter at Ford’s.”--Ford’s was the principal -woollen-draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher’s shop united; the shop -first in size and fashion in the place.--“And so, there she had -set, without an idea of any thing in the world, full ten minutes, -perhaps--when, all of a sudden, who should come in--to be sure it was -so very odd!--but they always dealt at Ford’s--who should come in, but -Elizabeth Martin and her brother!--Dear Miss Woodhouse! only think. I -thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was sitting -near the door--Elizabeth saw me directly; but he did not; he was busy -with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, -and took no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end of the -shop; and I kept sitting near the door!--Oh! dear; I was so miserable! -I am sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go away -you know, because of the rain; but I did so wish myself anywhere in the -world but there.--Oh! dear, Miss Woodhouse--well, at last, I fancy, he -looked round and saw me; for instead of going on with her buyings, they -began whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking of me; and -I could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me--(do -you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?)--for presently she came forward--came -quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, -if I would. She did not do any of it in the same way that she used; I -could see she was altered; but, however, she seemed to _try_ to be very -friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some time; but I know no -more what I said--I was in such a tremble!--I remember she said she -was sorry we never met now; which I thought almost too kind! Dear, Miss -Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable! By that time, it was beginning to -hold up, and I was determined that nothing should stop me from getting -away--and then--only think!--I found he was coming up towards me -too--slowly you know, and as if he did not quite know what to do; and -so he came and spoke, and I answered--and I stood for a minute, feeling -dreadfully, you know, one can’t tell how; and then I took courage, and -said it did not rain, and I must go; and so off I set; and I had not got -three yards from the door, when he came after me, only to say, if I was -going to Hartfield, he thought I had much better go round by Mr. Cole’s -stables, for I should find the near way quite floated by this rain. Oh! -dear, I thought it would have been the death of me! So I said, I was -very much obliged to him: you know I could not do less; and then he went -back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables--I believe I did--but -I hardly knew where I was, or any thing about it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, -I would rather done any thing than have it happen: and yet, you know, -there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and -so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and -make me comfortable again.” - -Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so; but it was not immediately in -her power. She was obliged to stop and think. She was not thoroughly -comfortable herself. The young man’s conduct, and his sister’s, seemed -the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet -described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection -and genuine delicacy in their behaviour. But she had believed them to be -well-meaning, worthy people before; and what difference did this make -in the evils of the connexion? It was folly to be disturbed by it. Of -course, he must be sorry to lose her--they must be all sorry. Ambition, -as well as love, had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped -to rise by Harriet’s acquaintance: and besides, what was the value of -Harriet’s description?--So easily pleased--so little discerning;--what -signified her praise? - -She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by considering -all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being dwelt -on, - -“It might be distressing, for the moment,” said she; “but you seem to -have behaved extremely well; and it is over--and may never--can never, -as a first meeting, occur again, and therefore you need not think about -it.” - -Harriet said, “very true,” and she “would not think about it;” but still -she talked of it--still she could talk of nothing else; and Emma, at -last, in order to put the Martins out of her head, was obliged to hurry -on the news, which she had meant to give with so much tender caution; -hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be angry, ashamed or only -amused, at such a state of mind in poor Harriet--such a conclusion of -Mr. Elton’s importance with her! - -Mr. Elton’s rights, however, gradually revived. Though she did not feel -the first intelligence as she might have done the day before, or an hour -before, its interest soon increased; and before their first conversation -was over, she had talked herself into all the sensations of curiosity, -wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate Miss Hawkins, -which could conduce to place the Martins under proper subordination in -her fancy. - -Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting. It -had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining any -influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get -at her, without seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted either the -courage or the condescension to seek her; for since her refusal of the -brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs. Goddard’s; and a twelvemonth -might pass without their being thrown together again, with any -necessity, or even any power of speech. - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting -situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of -being kindly spoken of. - -A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins’s name was first mentioned in -Highbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have -every recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly -accomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself arrived -to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of her merits, -there was very little more for him to do, than to tell her Christian -name, and say whose music she principally played. - -Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and -mortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what -appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right -lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He -had gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and -to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such -circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay -and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, -and defying Miss Smith. - -The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages of -perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune, -of so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some -dignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had not -thrown himself away--he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. or thereabouts; -and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity--the first hour of -introduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice; -the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and progress -of the affair was so glorious--the steps so quick, from the accidental -rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green’s, and the party at Mrs. -Brown’s--smiles and blushes rising in importance--with consciousness and -agitation richly scattered--the lady had been so easily impressed--so -sweetly disposed--had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase, -been so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally -contented. - -He had caught both substance and shadow--both fortune and affection, and -was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and -his own concerns--expecting to be congratulated--ready to be laughed -at--and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young -ladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more -cautiously gallant. - -The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to -please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and -when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which -a certain glance of Mrs. Cole’s did not seem to contradict, that when he -next entered Highbury he would bring his bride. - -During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just enough -to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the impression -of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and pretension, now -spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very much to wonder -that she had ever thought him pleasing at all; and his sight was so -inseparably connected with some very disagreeable feelings, that, -except in a moral light, as a penance, a lesson, a source of profitable -humiliation to her own mind, she would have been thankful to be assured -of never seeing him again. She wished him very well; but he gave -her pain, and his welfare twenty miles off would administer most -satisfaction. - -The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must -certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be -prevented--many awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A _Mrs._ _Elton_ would -be an excuse for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink -without remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility -again. - -Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little. She was good enough -for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury--handsome -enough--to look plain, probably, by Harriet’s side. As to connexion, -there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after all his own vaunted -claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On that article, -truth seemed attainable. _What_ she was, must be uncertain; but _who_ -she was, might be found out; and setting aside the 10,000 l., it did not -appear that she was at all Harriet’s superior. She brought no name, no -blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two daughters -of a Bristol--merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as the whole -of the profits of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it -was not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very -moderate also. Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath; -but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though the -father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained--in the law -line--nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded of him, than -that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter had lived. Emma -guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise. -And all the grandeur of the connexion seemed dependent on the elder -sister, who was _very_ _well_ _married_, to a gentleman in a _great_ -_way_, near Bristol, who kept two carriages! That was the wind-up of the -history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins. - -Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had -talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be talked out -of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet’s -mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by another; he -certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin -would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure -her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be always -in love. And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse from this -reappearance of Mr. Elton. She was always having a glimpse of him -somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once; but two or three times every -day Harriet was sure _just_ to meet with him, or _just_ to miss him, -_just_ to hear his voice, or see his shoulder, _just_ to have something -occur to preserve him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of -surprize and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about -him; for, excepting when at Hartfield, she was always among those who -saw no fault in Mr. Elton, and found nothing so interesting as -the discussion of his concerns; and every report, therefore, every -guess--all that had already occurred, all that might occur in the -arrangement of his affairs, comprehending income, servants, and -furniture, was continually in agitation around her. Her regard was -receiving strength by invariable praise of him, and her regrets kept -alive, and feelings irritated by ceaseless repetitions of Miss -Hawkins’s happiness, and continual observation of, how much he seemed -attached!--his air as he walked by the house--the very sitting of his -hat, being all in proof of how much he was in love! - -Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her -friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet’s mind, -Emma would have been amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton -predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful -as a check to the other. Mr. Elton’s engagement had been the cure of -the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced by the -knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by Elizabeth -Martin’s calling at Mrs. Goddard’s a few days afterwards. Harriet had -not been at home; but a note had been prepared and left for her, written -in the very style to touch; a small mixture of reproach, with a great -deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had been much -occupied by it, continually pondering over what could be done in return, -and wishing to do more than she dared to confess. But Mr. Elton, in -person, had driven away all such cares. While he staid, the Martins were -forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off for Bath again, -Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned, judged it best -for her to return Elizabeth Martin’s visit. - -How that visit was to be acknowledged--what would be necessary--and -what might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful consideration. -Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would -be ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the -acquaintance--! - -After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than -Harriet’s returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had -understanding, should convince them that it was to be only a formal -acquaintance. She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the -Abbey Mill, while she drove a little farther, and call for her again -so soon, as to allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous -recurrences to the past, and give the most decided proof of what degree -of intimacy was chosen for the future. - -She could think of nothing better: and though there was something in it -which her own heart could not approve--something of ingratitude, merely -glossed over--it must be done, or what would become of Harriet? - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an hour before her -friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard’s, her evil stars had led her -to the very spot where, at that moment, a trunk, directed to _The Rev. -Philip Elton, White-Hart, Bath_, was to be seen under the operation of -being lifted into the butcher’s cart, which was to convey it to where -the coaches past; and every thing in this world, excepting that trunk -and the direction, was consequently a blank. - -She went, however; and when they reached the farm, and she was to be -put down, at the end of the broad, neat gravel walk, which led between -espalier apple-trees to the front door, the sight of every thing which -had given her so much pleasure the autumn before, was beginning to -revive a little local agitation; and when they parted, Emma observed her -to be looking around with a sort of fearful curiosity, which determined -her not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed quarter of an hour. -She went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old servant who -was married, and settled in Donwell. - -The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the white gate again; -and Miss Smith receiving her summons, was with her without delay, and -unattended by any alarming young man. She came solitarily down the -gravel walk--a Miss Martin just appearing at the door, and parting with -her seemingly with ceremonious civility. - -Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account. She was -feeling too much; but at last Emma collected from her enough to -understand the sort of meeting, and the sort of pain it was creating. -She had seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls. They had received her -doubtingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest commonplace had -been talked almost all the time--till just at last, when Mrs. Martin’s -saying, all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had -brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. In that very -room she had been measured last September, with her two friends. There -were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by the window. -_He_ had done it. They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, -the party, the occasion--to feel the same consciousness, the same -regrets--to be ready to return to the same good understanding; and they -were just growing again like themselves, (Harriet, as Emma must suspect, -as ready as the best of them to be cordial and happy,) when the carriage -reappeared, and all was over. The style of the visit, and the shortness -of it, were then felt to be decisive. Fourteen minutes to be given -to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months -ago!--Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might -resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad business. She -would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had -the Martins in a higher rank of life. They were so deserving, that a -_little_ higher should have been enough: but as it was, how could she -have done otherwise?--Impossible!--She could not repent. They must be -separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process--so much -to herself at this time, that she soon felt the necessity of a little -consolation, and resolved on going home by way of Randalls to -procure it. Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins. The -refreshment of Randalls was absolutely necessary. - -It was a good scheme; but on driving to the door they heard that neither -“master nor mistress was at home;” they had both been out some time; the -man believed they were gone to Hartfield. - -“This is too bad,” cried Emma, as they turned away. “And now we shall -just miss them; too provoking!--I do not know when I have been so -disappointed.” And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her -murmurs, or to reason them away; probably a little of both--such being -the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind. Presently the carriage -stopt; she looked up; it was stopt by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who were -standing to speak to her. There was instant pleasure in the sight of -them, and still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound--for Mr. Weston -immediately accosted her with, - -“How d’ye do?--how d’ye do?--We have been sitting with your father--glad -to see him so well. Frank comes to-morrow--I had a letter this -morning--we see him to-morrow by dinner-time to a certainty--he is at -Oxford to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight; I knew it would be -so. If he had come at Christmas he could not have staid three days; I -was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going to have -just the right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather. We shall -enjoy him completely; every thing has turned out exactly as we could -wish.” - -There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the -influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston’s, confirmed as it all was -by the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not -less to the purpose. To know that _she_ thought his coming certain was -enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in -their joy. It was a most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits. -The worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming; and in -the rapidity of half a moment’s thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would now -be talked of no more. - -Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe, which -allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at his command, -as well as the route and the method of his journey; and she listened, -and smiled, and congratulated. - -“I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,” said he, at the conclusion. - -Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from his -wife. - -“We had better move on, Mr. Weston,” said she, “we are detaining the -girls.” - -“Well, well, I am ready;”--and turning again to Emma, “but you must -not be expecting such a _very_ fine young man; you have only -had _my_ account you know; I dare say he is really nothing -extraordinary:”--though his own sparkling eyes at the moment were -speaking a very different conviction. - -Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in a -manner that appropriated nothing. - -“Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four o’clock,” was Mrs. -Weston’s parting injunction; spoken with some anxiety, and meant only -for her. - -“Four o’clock!--depend upon it he will be here by three,” was Mr. -Weston’s quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting. -Emma’s spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; every thing wore -a different air; James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as -before. When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at least -must soon be coming out; and when she turned round to Harriet, she saw -something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there. - -“Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?”--was a -question, however, which did not augur much. - -But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once, and Emma -was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in time. - -The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs. Weston’s faithful -pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, or twelve o’clock, that -she was to think of her at four. - -“My dear, dear anxious friend,”--said she, in mental soliloquy, while -walking downstairs from her own room, “always overcareful for every -body’s comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, -going again and again into his room, to be sure that all is right.” - The clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall. “‘Tis twelve; -I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence; and by this -time to-morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the -possibility of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him -soon.” - -She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen sitting with her -father--Mr. Weston and his son. They had been arrived only a few -minutes, and Mr. Weston had scarcely finished his explanation of Frank’s -being a day before his time, and her father was yet in the midst of his -very civil welcome and congratulations, when she appeared, to have her -share of surprize, introduction, and pleasure. - -The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, was actually -before her--he was presented to her, and she did not think too much had -been said in his praise; he was a _very_ good looking young man; height, -air, address, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance had a great -deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father’s; he looked quick and -sensible. She felt immediately that she should like him; and there was -a well-bred ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, which convinced her -that he came intending to be acquainted with her, and that acquainted -they soon must be. - -He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was pleased with the -eagerness to arrive which had made him alter his plan, and travel -earlier, later, and quicker, that he might gain half a day. - -“I told you yesterday,” cried Mr. Weston with exultation, “I told you -all that he would be here before the time named. I remembered what I -used to do myself. One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help -getting on faster than one has planned; and the pleasure of coming in -upon one’s friends before the look-out begins, is worth a great deal -more than any little exertion it needs.” - -“It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it,” said the young -man, “though there are not many houses that I should presume on so far; -but in coming _home_ I felt I might do any thing.” - -The word _home_ made his father look on him with fresh complacency. -Emma was directly sure that he knew how to make himself agreeable; the -conviction was strengthened by what followed. He was very much pleased -with Randalls, thought it a most admirably arranged house, would hardly -allow it even to be very small, admired the situation, the walk to -Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed himself -to have always felt the sort of interest in the country which none but -one’s _own_ country gives, and the greatest curiosity to visit it. That -he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before, -passed suspiciously through Emma’s brain; but still, if it were a -falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled. His manner had -no air of study or exaggeration. He did really look and speak as if in a -state of no common enjoyment. - -Their subjects in general were such as belong to an opening -acquaintance. On his side were the inquiries,--“Was she a -horsewoman?--Pleasant rides?--Pleasant walks?--Had they a large -neighbourhood?--Highbury, perhaps, afforded society enough?--There were -several very pretty houses in and about it.--Balls--had they balls?--Was -it a musical society?” - -But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance -proportionably advanced, he contrived to find an opportunity, while -their two fathers were engaged with each other, of introducing his -mother-in-law, and speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much -warm admiration, so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to his -father, and her very kind reception of himself, as was an additional -proof of his knowing how to please--and of his certainly thinking it -worth while to try to please her. He did not advance a word of praise -beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs. Weston; but, -undoubtedly he could know very little of the matter. He understood -what would be welcome; he could be sure of little else. “His father’s -marriage,” he said, “had been the wisest measure, every friend must -rejoice in it; and the family from whom he had received such a blessing -must be ever considered as having conferred the highest obligation on -him.” - -He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor’s merits, -without seeming quite to forget that in the common course of things it -was to be rather supposed that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse’s -character, than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor’s. And at last, as if -resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling round to its -object, he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty of -her person. - -“Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for,” said he; “but I -confess that, considering every thing, I had not expected more than a -very tolerably well-looking woman of a certain age; I did not know that -I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston.” - -“You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for my feelings,” - said Emma; “were you to guess her to be _eighteen_, I should listen with -pleasure; but _she_ would be ready to quarrel with you for using such -words. Don’t let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a pretty -young woman.” - -“I hope I should know better,” he replied; “no, depend upon it, (with a -gallant bow,) that in addressing Mrs. Weston I should understand whom -I might praise without any danger of being thought extravagant in my -terms.” - -Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be expected from -their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of her mind, -had ever crossed his; and whether his compliments were to be considered -as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance. She must see more -of him to understand his ways; at present she only felt they were -agreeable. - -She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often thinking about. His quick -eye she detected again and again glancing towards them with a happy -expression; and even, when he might have determined not to look, she was -confident that he was often listening. - -Her own father’s perfect exemption from any thought of the kind, the -entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration or suspicion, -was a most comfortable circumstance. Happily he was not farther from -approving matrimony than from foreseeing it.--Though always objecting -to every marriage that was arranged, he never suffered beforehand from -the apprehension of any; it seemed as if he could not think so ill of -any two persons’ understanding as to suppose they meant to marry till it -were proved against them. She blessed the favouring blindness. He could -now, without the drawback of a single unpleasant surmise, without a -glance forward at any possible treachery in his guest, give way to all -his natural kind-hearted civility in solicitous inquiries after Mr. -Frank Churchill’s accommodation on his journey, through the sad evils -of sleeping two nights on the road, and express very genuine unmixed -anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped catching cold--which, -however, he could not allow him to feel quite assured of himself till -after another night. - -A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move.--“He must be going. -He had business at the Crown about his hay, and a great many errands for -Mrs. Weston at Ford’s, but he need not hurry any body else.” His son, -too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also, saying, - -“As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take the opportunity -of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or other, and therefore -may as well be paid now. I have the honour of being acquainted with -a neighbour of yours, (turning to Emma,) a lady residing in or near -Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty, -I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not -the proper name--I should rather say Barnes, or Bates. Do you know any -family of that name?” - -“To be sure we do,” cried his father; “Mrs. Bates--we passed her -house--I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, true, you are acquainted -with Miss Fairfax; I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl -she is. Call upon her, by all means.” - -“There is no necessity for my calling this morning,” said the young man; -“another day would do as well; but there was that degree of acquaintance -at Weymouth which--” - -“Oh! go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is right to be done -cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I must give you a hint, Frank; -any want of attention to her _here_ should be carefully avoided. You saw -her with the Campbells, when she was the equal of every body she mixed -with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother, who has barely enough -to live on. If you do not call early it will be a slight.” - -The son looked convinced. - -“I have heard her speak of the acquaintance,” said Emma; “she is a very -elegant young woman.” - -He agreed to it, but with so quiet a “Yes,” as inclined her almost to -doubt his real concurrence; and yet there must be a very distinct sort -of elegance for the fashionable world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought -only ordinarily gifted with it. - -“If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,” said she, -“I think you will to-day. You will see her to advantage; see her and -hear her--no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an -aunt who never holds her tongue.” - -“You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?” said Mr. -Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation; “then give -me leave to assure you that you will find her a very agreeable young -lady. She is staying here on a visit to her grandmama and aunt, very -worthy people; I have known them all my life. They will be extremely -glad to see you, I am sure; and one of my servants shall go with you to -shew you the way.” - -“My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my father can direct me.” - -“But your father is not going so far; he is only going to the Crown, -quite on the other side of the street, and there are a great many -houses; you might be very much at a loss, and it is a very dirty walk, -unless you keep on the footpath; but my coachman can tell you where you -had best cross the street.” - -Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious as he could, -and his father gave his hearty support by calling out, “My good friend, -this is quite unnecessary; Frank knows a puddle of water when he sees -it, and as to Mrs. Bates’s, he may get there from the Crown in a hop, -step, and jump.” - -They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial nod from one, and a -graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave. Emma remained -very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance, and could now -engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the day, with full -confidence in their comfort. - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again. He came with Mrs. -Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially. He had -been sitting with her, it appeared, most companionably at home, till -her usual hour of exercise; and on being desired to chuse their walk, -immediately fixed on Highbury.--“He did not doubt there being very -pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him, he should always -chuse the same. Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Highbury, -would be his constant attraction.”--Highbury, with Mrs. Weston, stood -for Hartfield; and she trusted to its bearing the same construction with -him. They walked thither directly. - -Emma had hardly expected them: for Mr. Weston, who had called in for -half a minute, in order to hear that his son was very handsome, knew -nothing of their plans; and it was an agreeable surprize to her, -therefore, to perceive them walking up to the house together, arm in -arm. She was wanting to see him again, and especially to see him in -company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him -was to depend. If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends -for it. But on seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied. It -was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his -duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to -her--nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as -a friend and securing her affection. And there was time enough for Emma -to form a reasonable judgment, as their visit included all the rest of -the morning. They were all three walking about together for an hour -or two--first round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards -in Highbury. He was delighted with every thing; admired Hartfield -sufficiently for Mr. Woodhouse’s ear; and when their going farther was -resolved on, confessed his wish to be made acquainted with the whole -village, and found matter of commendation and interest much oftener than -Emma could have supposed. - -Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings. He -begged to be shewn the house which his father had lived in so long, and -which had been the home of his father’s father; and on recollecting that -an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of -her cottage from one end of the street to the other; and though in -some points of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit, they -shewed, altogether, a good-will towards Highbury in general, which must -be very like a merit to those he was with. - -Emma watched and decided, that with such feelings as were now shewn, it -could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily absenting -himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade of -insincere professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him -justice. - -Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable house, though -the principal one of the sort, where a couple of pair of post-horses -were kept, more for the convenience of the neighbourhood than from any -run on the road; and his companions had not expected to be detained by -any interest excited there; but in passing it they gave the history of -the large room visibly added; it had been built many years ago for -a ball-room, and while the neighbourhood had been in a particularly -populous, dancing state, had been occasionally used as such;--but such -brilliant days had long passed away, and now the highest purpose for -which it was ever wanted was to accommodate a whist club established -among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place. He was immediately -interested. Its character as a ball-room caught him; and instead of -passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior sashed -windows which were open, to look in and contemplate its capabilities, -and lament that its original purpose should have ceased. He saw no fault -in the room, he would acknowledge none which they suggested. No, it -was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough. It would hold the -very number for comfort. They ought to have balls there at least every -fortnight through the winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived -the former good old days of the room?--She who could do any thing in -Highbury! The want of proper families in the place, and the conviction -that none beyond the place and its immediate environs could be tempted -to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied. He could not be -persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw around him, could -not furnish numbers enough for such a meeting; and even when particulars -were given and families described, he was still unwilling to admit that -the inconvenience of such a mixture would be any thing, or that there -would be the smallest difficulty in every body’s returning into their -proper place the next morning. He argued like a young man very much bent -on dancing; and Emma was rather surprized to see the constitution of -the Weston prevail so decidedly against the habits of the Churchills. -He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social -inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of -Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his -indifference to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of -mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. -It was but an effusion of lively spirits. - -At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown; -and being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lodged, Emma -recollected his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had -paid it. - -“Yes, oh! yes”--he replied; “I was just going to mention it. A very -successful visit:--I saw all the three ladies; and felt very much -obliged to you for your preparatory hint. If the talking aunt had taken -me quite by surprize, it must have been the death of me. As it was, I -was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit. Ten minutes -would have been all that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper; and -I had told my father I should certainly be at home before him--but there -was no getting away, no pause; and, to my utter astonishment, I found, -when he (finding me nowhere else) joined me there at last, that I had -been actually sitting with them very nearly three-quarters of an hour. -The good lady had not given me the possibility of escape before.” - -“And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?” - -“Ill, very ill--that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look -ill. But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies -can never look ill. And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so -pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill health.--A most -deplorable want of complexion.” - -Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax’s -complexion. “It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not -allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was a softness and -delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of -her face.” He listened with all due deference; acknowledged that he had -heard many people say the same--but yet he must confess, that to him -nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health. Where -features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to them all; -and where they were good, the effect was--fortunately he need not -attempt to describe what the effect was. - -“Well,” said Emma, “there is no disputing about taste.--At least you -admire her except her complexion.” - -He shook his head and laughed.--“I cannot separate Miss Fairfax and her -complexion.” - -“Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same society?” - -At this moment they were approaching Ford’s, and he hastily exclaimed, -“Ha! this must be the very shop that every body attends every day of -their lives, as my father informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he -says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford’s. -If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove -myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must -buy something at Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom.--I dare say -they sell gloves.” - -“Oh! yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your patriotism. You will -be adored in Highbury. You were very popular before you came, because -you were Mr. Weston’s son--but lay out half a guinea at Ford’s, and your -popularity will stand upon your own virtues.” - -They went in; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of “Men’s Beavers” - and “York Tan” were bringing down and displaying on the counter, he -said--“But I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, -you were saying something at the very moment of this burst of my _amor_ -_patriae_. Do not let me lose it. I assure you the utmost stretch of -public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any happiness in -private life.” - -“I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and her -party at Weymouth.” - -“And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it to be a -very unfair one. It is always the lady’s right to decide on the degree -of acquaintance. Miss Fairfax must already have given her account.--I -shall not commit myself by claiming more than she may chuse to allow.” - -“Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as she could do herself. But -her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, she is so very -reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about any -body, that I really think you may say what you like of your acquaintance -with her.” - -“May I, indeed?--Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so -well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a -little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. -Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a friendly, -warm-hearted woman. I like them all.” - -“You know Miss Fairfax’s situation in life, I conclude; what she is -destined to be?” - -“Yes--(rather hesitatingly)--I believe I do.” - -“You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,” said Mrs. Weston smiling; -“remember that I am here.--Mr. Frank Churchill hardly knows what to say -when you speak of Miss Fairfax’s situation in life. I will move a little -farther off.” - -“I certainly do forget to think of _her_,” said Emma, “as having ever -been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend.” - -He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment. - -When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again, “Did -you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?” said Frank -Churchill. - -“Ever hear her!” repeated Emma. “You forget how much she belongs to -Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since we both began. -She plays charmingly.” - -“You think so, do you?--I wanted the opinion of some one who -could really judge. She appeared to me to play well, that is, with -considerable taste, but I know nothing of the matter myself.--I am -excessively fond of music, but without the smallest skill or right -of judging of any body’s performance.--I have been used to hear her’s -admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well:--a -man, a very musical man, and in love with another woman--engaged to -her--on the point of marriage--would yet never ask that other woman -to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down -instead--never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other. -That, I thought, in a man of known musical talent, was some proof.” - -“Proof indeed!” said Emma, highly amused.--“Mr. Dixon is very musical, -is he? We shall know more about them all, in half an hour, from you, -than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year.” - -“Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought it a -very strong proof.” - -“Certainly--very strong it was; to own the truth, a great deal stronger -than, if _I_ had been Miss Campbell, would have been at all agreeable -to me. I could not excuse a man’s having more music than love--more ear -than eye--a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings. -How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?” - -“It was her very particular friend, you know.” - -“Poor comfort!” said Emma, laughing. “One would rather have a stranger -preferred than one’s very particular friend--with a stranger it might -not recur again--but the misery of having a very particular friend -always at hand, to do every thing better than one does oneself!--Poor -Mrs. Dixon! Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland.” - -“You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell; but she -really did not seem to feel it.” - -“So much the better--or so much the worse:--I do not know which. But -be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her--quickness of friendship, or -dulness of feeling--there was one person, I think, who must have felt -it: Miss Fairfax herself. She must have felt the improper and dangerous -distinction.” - -“As to that--I do not--” - -“Oh! do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax’s -sensations from you, or from any body else. They are known to no human -being, I guess, but herself. But if she continued to play whenever she -was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chuses.” - -“There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them all--” - he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added, “however, it is -impossible for me to say on what terms they really were--how it might -all be behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness -outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be -a better judge of her character, and of how she is likely to conduct -herself in critical situations, than I can be.” - -“I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children -and women together; and it is natural to suppose that we should be -intimate,--that we should have taken to each other whenever she visited -her friends. But we never did. I hardly know how it has happened; a -little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which was prone to take -disgust towards a girl so idolized and so cried up as she always was, -by her aunt and grandmother, and all their set. And then, her reserve--I -never could attach myself to any one so completely reserved.” - -“It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,” said he. “Oftentimes very -convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, -but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.” - -“Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction -may be the greater. But I must be more in want of a friend, or an -agreeable companion, than I have yet been, to take the trouble of -conquering any body’s reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss -Fairfax and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason to think -ill of her--not the least--except that such extreme and perpetual -cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea -about any body, is apt to suggest suspicions of there being something to -conceal.” - -He perfectly agreed with her: and after walking together so long, and -thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him, -that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting. He was -not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world in some -of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better -than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate--his feelings -warmer. She was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr. -Elton’s house, which, as well as the church, he would go and look at, -and would not join them in finding much fault with. No, he could not -believe it a bad house; not such a house as a man was to be pitied for -having. If it were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not -think any man to be pitied for having that house. There must be ample -room in it for every real comfort. The man must be a blockhead who -wanted more. - -Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking about. -Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how many -advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could be no -judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one. But Emma, -in her own mind, determined that he _did_ know what he was talking -about, and that he shewed a very amiable inclination to settle early in -life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He might not be aware of the -inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no housekeeper’s room, or -a bad butler’s pantry, but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe -could not make him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would -willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early establishment. - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Emma’s very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the -following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to have -his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and -he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner, -but with no more important view that appeared than having his hair cut. -There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over -on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it -which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of -plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, -which she had believed herself to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, -extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be -doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his -father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear -in general; he became liable to all these charges. His father only -called him a coxcomb, and thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. -Weston did not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as -quickly as possible, and making no other comment than that “all young -people would have their little whims.” - -With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit -hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs. Weston -was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made -himself--how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He -appeared to have a very open temper--certainly a very cheerful and -lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions, a great deal -decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard, was fond of -talking of him--said he would be the best man in the world if he were -left to himself; and though there was no being attached to the aunt, he -acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and seemed to mean always to -speak of her with respect. This was all very promising; and, but for -such an unfortunate fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to -denote him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her imagination -had given him; the honour, if not of being really in love with her, -of being at least very near it, and saved only by her own -indifference--(for still her resolution held of never marrying)--the -honour, in short, of being marked out for her by all their joint -acquaintance. - -Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must -have some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired her -extremely--thought her very beautiful and very charming; and with so -much to be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him -harshly. As Mrs. Weston observed, “all young people would have their -little whims.” - -There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so -leniently disposed. In general he was judged, throughout the parishes of -Donwell and Highbury, with great candour; liberal allowances were made -for the little excesses of such a handsome young man--one who smiled so -often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit among them not to be -softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles--Mr. Knightley. -The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was -silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to himself, -over a newspaper he held in his hand, “Hum! just the trifling, silly -fellow I took him for.” She had half a mind to resent; but an instant’s -observation convinced her that it was really said only to relieve his -own feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore she let it pass. - -Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr. and -Mrs. Weston’s visit this morning was in another respect particularly -opportune. Something occurred while they were at Hartfield, to make Emma -want their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly -the advice they gave. - -This was the occurrence:--The Coles had been settled some years in -Highbury, and were very good sort of people--friendly, liberal, and -unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, -and only moderately genteel. On their first coming into the country, -they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly, keeping little -company, and that little unexpensively; but the last year or two had -brought them a considerable increase of means--the house in town had -yielded greater profits, and fortune in general had smiled on them. With -their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger house, their -inclination for more company. They added to their house, to their number -of servants, to their expenses of every sort; and by this time were, -in fortune and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield. -Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared every body -for their keeping dinner-company; and a few parties, chiefly among the -single men, had already taken place. The regular and best families Emma -could hardly suppose they would presume to invite--neither Donwell, nor -Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt _her_ to go, if they did; -and she regretted that her father’s known habits would be giving -her refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very -respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not -for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit -them. This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from -herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston. - -But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many weeks -before it appeared, that when the insult came at last, it found her -very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their -invitation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs. -Weston’s accounting for it with “I suppose they will not take the -liberty with you; they know you do not dine out,” was not quite -sufficient. She felt that she should like to have had the power of -refusal; and afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there, -consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, occurred -again and again, she did not know that she might not have been tempted -to accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They -had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before, -and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might -not the evening end in a dance? had been a question of his. The bare -possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits; and -her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission to be -intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort. - -It was the arrival of this very invitation while the Westons were at -Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though her first -remark, on reading it, was that “of course it must be declined,” she so -very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do, that their -advice for her going was most prompt and successful. - -She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely -without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so -properly--there was so much real attention in the manner of it--so much -consideration for her father. “They would have solicited the honour -earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen from -London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of -air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the honour -of his company.” Upon the whole, she was very persuadable; and it being -briefly settled among themselves how it might be done without neglecting -his comfort--how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be -depended on for bearing him company--Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked -into an acquiescence of his daughter’s going out to dinner on a day now -near at hand, and spending the whole evening away from him. As for _his_ -going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be -too late, and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned. - -“I am not fond of dinner-visiting,” said he--“I never was. No more is -Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole -should have done it. I think it would be much better if they would come -in one afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us--take us -in their afternoon walk; which they might do, as our hours are so -reasonable, and yet get home without being out in the damp of the -evening. The dews of a summer evening are what I would not expose any -body to. However, as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine -with them, and as you will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take -care of her, I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what -it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy.” Then turning to Mrs. -Weston, with a look of gentle reproach--“Ah! Miss Taylor, if you had not -married, you would have staid at home with me.” - -“Well, sir,” cried Mr. Weston, “as I took Miss Taylor away, it is -incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will step to Mrs. -Goddard in a moment, if you wish it.” - -But the idea of any thing to be done in a _moment_, was increasing, -not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse’s agitation. The ladies knew better how -to allay it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, and every thing deliberately -arranged. - -With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough for talking -as usual. “He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard -for Mrs. Goddard; and Emma should write a line, and invite her. James -could take the note. But first of all, there must be an answer written -to Mrs. Cole.” - -“You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will say -that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore must decline -their obliging invitation; beginning with my _compliments_, of course. -But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you what is to be -done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage will be -wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him. We have never -been there above once since the new approach was made; but still I have -no doubt that James will take you very safely. And when you get there, -you must tell him at what time you would have him come for you again; -and you had better name an early hour. You will not like staying late. -You will get very tired when tea is over.” - -“But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?” - -“Oh! no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be a great many -people talking at once. You will not like the noise.” - -“But, my dear sir,” cried Mr. Weston, “if Emma comes away early, it will -be breaking up the party.” - -“And no great harm if it does,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “The sooner every -party breaks up, the better.” - -“But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma’s going -away directly after tea might be giving offence. They are good-natured -people, and think little of their own claims; but still they must -feel that any body’s hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss -Woodhouse’s doing it would be more thought of than any other person’s in -the room. You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am -sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have -been your neighbours these _ten_ years.” - -“No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston; I am much obliged to -you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any -pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole -never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but -he is bilious--Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the means -of giving them any pain. My dear Emma, we must consider this. I am sure, -rather than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a -little longer than you might wish. You will not regard being tired. You -will be perfectly safe, you know, among your friends.” - -“Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have no -scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account. I am -only afraid of your sitting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being -exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves piquet, you -know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid you will be sitting up by -yourself, instead of going to bed at your usual time--and the idea of -that would entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit -up.” - -He did, on the condition of some promises on her side: such as that, -if she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly; if -hungry, that she would take something to eat; that her own maid should -sit up for her; and that Serle and the butler should see that every -thing were safe in the house, as usual. - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Frank Churchill came back again; and if he kept his father’s dinner -waiting, it was not known at Hartfield; for Mrs. Weston was too anxious -for his being a favourite with Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection -which could be concealed. - -He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at himself with a very -good grace, but without seeming really at all ashamed of what he had -done. He had no reason to wish his hair longer, to conceal any confusion -of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve his spirits. -He was quite as undaunted and as lively as ever; and, after seeing him, -Emma thus moralised to herself:-- - -“I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things -do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent -way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.--It -depends upon the character of those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is -_not_ a trifling, silly young man. If he were, he would have done this -differently. He would either have gloried in the achievement, or -been ashamed of it. There would have been either the ostentation of -a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend its own -vanities.--No, I am perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly.” - -With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing him again, and for -a longer time than hitherto; of judging of his general manners, and by -inference, of the meaning of his manners towards herself; of guessing -how soon it might be necessary for her to throw coldness into her air; -and of fancying what the observations of all those might be, who were -now seeing them together for the first time. - -She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being laid at Mr. -Cole’s; and without being able to forget that among the failings of Mr. -Elton, even in the days of his favour, none had disturbed her more than -his propensity to dine with Mr. Cole. - -Her father’s comfort was amply secured, Mrs. Bates as well as Mrs. -Goddard being able to come; and her last pleasing duty, before she left -the house, was to pay her respects to them as they sat together after -dinner; and while her father was fondly noticing the beauty of her -dress, to make the two ladies all the amends in her power, by helping -them to large slices of cake and full glasses of wine, for whatever -unwilling self-denial his care of their constitution might have obliged -them to practise during the meal.--She had provided a plentiful dinner -for them; she wished she could know that they had been allowed to eat -it. - -She followed another carriage to Mr. Cole’s door; and was pleased to see -that it was Mr. Knightley’s; for Mr. Knightley keeping no horses, -having little spare money and a great deal of health, activity, and -independence, was too apt, in Emma’s opinion, to get about as he could, -and not use his carriage so often as became the owner of Donwell Abbey. -She had an opportunity now of speaking her approbation while warm from -her heart, for he stopped to hand her out. - -“This is coming as you should do,” said she; “like a gentleman.--I am -quite glad to see you.” - -He thanked her, observing, “How lucky that we should arrive at the same -moment! for, if we had met first in the drawing-room, I doubt whether -you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual.--You -might not have distinguished how I came, by my look or manner.” - -“Yes I should, I am sure I should. There is always a look of -consciousness or bustle when people come in a way which they know to be -beneath them. You think you carry it off very well, I dare say, but -with you it is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; I always -observe it whenever I meet you under those circumstances. _Now_ you have -nothing to try for. You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed. You -are not striving to look taller than any body else. _Now_ I shall really -be very happy to walk into the same room with you.” - -“Nonsensical girl!” was his reply, but not at all in anger. - -Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of the party as -with Mr. Knightley. She was received with a cordial respect which could -not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish for. -When the Westons arrived, the kindest looks of love, the strongest of -admiration were for her, from both husband and wife; the son approached -her with a cheerful eagerness which marked her as his peculiar object, -and at dinner she found him seated by her--and, as she firmly believed, -not without some dexterity on his side. - -The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper -unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of -naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox’s family, -the lawyer of Highbury. The less worthy females were to come in the -evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith; but already, -at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of conversation to be -general; and, while politics and Mr. Elton were talked over, Emma could -fairly surrender all her attention to the pleasantness of her neighbour. -The first remote sound to which she felt herself obliged to attend, was -the name of Jane Fairfax. Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something of -her that was expected to be very interesting. She listened, and found -it well worth listening to. That very dear part of Emma, her fancy, -received an amusing supply. Mrs. Cole was telling that she had been -calling on Miss Bates, and as soon as she entered the room had -been struck by the sight of a pianoforte--a very elegant looking -instrument--not a grand, but a large-sized square pianoforte; and the -substance of the story, the end of all the dialogue which ensued of -surprize, and inquiry, and congratulations on her side, and explanations -on Miss Bates’s, was, that this pianoforte had arrived from -Broadwood’s the day before, to the great astonishment of both aunt and -niece--entirely unexpected; that at first, by Miss Bates’s account, -Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who could -possibly have ordered it--but now, they were both perfectly satisfied -that it could be from only one quarter;--of course it must be from -Colonel Campbell. - -“One can suppose nothing else,” added Mrs. Cole, “and I was only -surprized that there could ever have been a doubt. But Jane, it seems, -had a letter from them very lately, and not a word was said about it. -She knows their ways best; but I should not consider their silence as -any reason for their not meaning to make the present. They might chuse -to surprize her.” - -Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; every body who spoke on the -subject was equally convinced that it must come from Colonel Campbell, -and equally rejoiced that such a present had been made; and there were -enough ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still -listen to Mrs. Cole. - -“I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing that has given me -more satisfaction!--It always has quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who -plays so delightfully, should not have an instrument. It seemed quite -a shame, especially considering how many houses there are where fine -instruments are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving ourselves -a slap, to be sure! and it was but yesterday I was telling Mr. Cole, -I really was ashamed to look at our new grand pianoforte in the -drawing-room, while I do not know one note from another, and our little -girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps may never make any thing of -it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax, who is mistress of music, has not -any thing of the nature of an instrument, not even the pitifullest old -spinet in the world, to amuse herself with.--I was saying this to -Mr. Cole but yesterday, and he quite agreed with me; only he is so -particularly fond of music that he could not help indulging himself -in the purchase, hoping that some of our good neighbours might be so -obliging occasionally to put it to a better use than we can; and that -really is the reason why the instrument was bought--or else I am sure -we ought to be ashamed of it.--We are in great hopes that Miss Woodhouse -may be prevailed with to try it this evening.” - -Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence; and finding that nothing -more was to be entrapped from any communication of Mrs. Cole’s, turned -to Frank Churchill. - -“Why do you smile?” said she. - -“Nay, why do you?” - -“Me!--I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Campbell’s being so rich -and so liberal.--It is a handsome present.” - -“Very.” - -“I rather wonder that it was never made before.” - -“Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long before.” - -“Or that he did not give her the use of their own instrument--which must -now be shut up in London, untouched by any body.” - -“That is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too large for Mrs. -Bates’s house.” - -“You may _say_ what you chuse--but your countenance testifies that your -_thoughts_ on this subject are very much like mine.” - -“I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me more credit for -acuteness than I deserve. I smile because you smile, and shall probably -suspect whatever I find you suspect; but at present I do not see what -there is to question. If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can -be?” - -“What do you say to Mrs. Dixon?” - -“Mrs. Dixon! very true indeed. I had not thought of Mrs. Dixon. She must -know as well as her father, how acceptable an instrument would be; and -perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young -woman’s scheme than an elderly man’s. It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say. I -told you that your suspicions would guide mine.” - -“If so, you must extend your suspicions and comprehend _Mr_. Dixon in -them.” - -“Mr. Dixon.--Very well. Yes, I immediately perceive that it must be the -joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. We were speaking the other day, you -know, of his being so warm an admirer of her performance.” - -“Yes, and what you told me on that head, confirmed an idea which I had -entertained before.--I do not mean to reflect upon the good intentions -of either Mr. Dixon or Miss Fairfax, but I cannot help suspecting either -that, after making his proposals to her friend, he had the misfortune -to fall in love with _her_, or that he became conscious of a little -attachment on her side. One might guess twenty things without guessing -exactly the right; but I am sure there must be a particular cause for -her chusing to come to Highbury instead of going with the Campbells -to Ireland. Here, she must be leading a life of privation and penance; -there it would have been all enjoyment. As to the pretence of trying her -native air, I look upon that as a mere excuse.--In the summer it might -have passed; but what can any body’s native air do for them in the -months of January, February, and March? Good fires and carriages would -be much more to the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and I dare -say in her’s. I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions, though -you make so noble a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what -they are.” - -“And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability. Mr. Dixon’s -preference of her music to her friend’s, I can answer for being very -decided.” - -“And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of that?--A water -party; and by some accident she was falling overboard. He caught her.” - -“He did. I was there--one of the party.” - -“Were you really?--Well!--But you observed nothing of course, for it -seems to be a new idea to you.--If I had been there, I think I should -have made some discoveries.” - -“I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that -Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught -her.--It was the work of a moment. And though the consequent shock and -alarm was very great and much more durable--indeed I believe it was -half an hour before any of us were comfortable again--yet that was too -general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be -observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have made -discoveries.” - -The conversation was here interrupted. They were called on to share -in the awkwardness of a rather long interval between the courses, and -obliged to be as formal and as orderly as the others; but when the table -was again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed exactly -right, and occupation and ease were generally restored, Emma said, - -“The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted to know -a little more, and this tells me quite enough. Depend upon it, we shall -soon hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.” - -“And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must -conclude it to come from the Campbells.” - -“No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows it is -not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first. She -would not have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have -convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr. -Dixon is a principal in the business.” - -“Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced. Your reasonings -carry my judgment along with them entirely. At first, while I supposed -you satisfied that Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as -paternal kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the world. -But when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it -should be the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I can see it in -no other light than as an offering of love.” - -There was no occasion to press the matter farther. The conviction seemed -real; he looked as if he felt it. She said no more, other subjects -took their turn; and the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert -succeeded, the children came in, and were talked to and admired amid the -usual rate of conversation; a few clever things said, a few downright -silly, but by much the larger proportion neither the one nor the -other--nothing worse than everyday remarks, dull repetitions, old news, -and heavy jokes. - -The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room, before the other -ladies, in their different divisions, arrived. Emma watched the entree -of her own particular little friend; and if she could not exult in her -dignity and grace, she could not only love the blooming sweetness and -the artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light, -cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her so many -alleviations of pleasure, in the midst of the pangs of disappointed -affection. There she sat--and who would have guessed how many tears she -had been lately shedding? To be in company, nicely dressed herself and -seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say -nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour. Jane Fairfax -did look and move superior; but Emma suspected she might have been -glad to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have purchased the -mortification of having loved--yes, of having loved even Mr. Elton in -vain--by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of knowing herself -beloved by the husband of her friend. - -In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should approach her. -She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, she felt too much in the -secret herself, to think the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, -and therefore purposely kept at a distance; but by the others, the -subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the blush of -consciousness with which congratulations were received, the blush -of guilt which accompanied the name of “my excellent friend Colonel -Campbell.” - -Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly interested -by the circumstance, and Emma could not help being amused at her -perseverance in dwelling on the subject; and having so much to ask and -to say as to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish -of saying as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the -fair heroine’s countenance. - -They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen; and the very first -of the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, the first and the -handsomest; and after paying his compliments en passant to Miss Bates -and her niece, made his way directly to the opposite side of the circle, -where sat Miss Woodhouse; and till he could find a seat by her, would -not sit at all. Emma divined what every body present must be thinking. -She was his object, and every body must perceive it. She introduced him -to her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards, heard -what each thought of the other. “He had never seen so lovely a face, and -was delighted with her naivete.” And she, “Only to be sure it was paying -him too great a compliment, but she did think there were some looks a -little like Mr. Elton.” Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned -from her in silence. - -Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first -glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech. -He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining-room--hated -sitting long--was always the first to move when he could--that his -father, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were left very busy over -parish business--that as long as he had staid, however, it had been -pleasant enough, as he had found them in general a set of gentlemanlike, -sensible men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether--thought it -so abundant in agreeable families--that Emma began to feel she had been -used to despise the place rather too much. She questioned him as to the -society in Yorkshire--the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, -and the sort; and could make out from his answers that, as far as -Enscombe was concerned, there was very little going on, that their -visitings were among a range of great families, none very near; and -that even when days were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even -chance that Mrs. Churchill were not in health and spirits for going; -that they made a point of visiting no fresh person; and that, though -he had his separate engagements, it was not without difficulty, without -considerable address _at_ _times_, that he could get away, or introduce -an acquaintance for a night. - -She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at -its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at -home than he liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did -not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his -aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing -it, he owned that he believed (excepting one or two points) he could -_with_ _time_ persuade her to any thing. One of those points on which -his influence failed, he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to -go abroad--had been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel--but she -would not hear of it. This had happened the year before. _Now_, he said, -he was beginning to have no longer the same wish. - -The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma guessed to be -good behaviour to his father. - -“I have made a most wretched discovery,” said he, after a short pause.-- -“I have been here a week to-morrow--half my time. I never knew days fly -so fast. A week to-morrow!--And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. -But just got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others!--I hate the -recollection.” - -“Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out -of so few, in having your hair cut.” - -“No,” said he, smiling, “that is no subject of regret at all. I have -no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be -seen.” - -The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself -obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole. When -Mr. Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, -she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss -Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite. - -“What is the matter?” said she. - -He started. “Thank you for rousing me,” he replied. “I believe I have -been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a -way--so very odd a way--that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw -any thing so outree!--Those curls!--This must be a fancy of her own. I -see nobody else looking like her!--I must go and ask her whether it -is an Irish fashion. Shall I?--Yes, I will--I declare I will--and you -shall see how she takes it;--whether she colours.” - -He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss -Fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on the young lady, -as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in -front of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing. - -Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs. Weston. - -“This is the luxury of a large party,” said she:--“one can get near -every body, and say every thing. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk -to you. I have been making discoveries and forming plans, just like -yourself, and I must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how -Miss Bates and her niece came here?” - -“How?--They were invited, were not they?” - -“Oh! yes--but how they were conveyed hither?--the manner of their -coming?” - -“They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?” - -“Very true.--Well, a little while ago it occurred to me how very sad -it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again, late at night, and -cold as the nights are now. And as I looked at her, though I never saw -her appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and -would therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor girl! I could -not bear the idea of it; so, as soon as Mr. Weston came into the room, -and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the carriage. You may guess -how readily he came into my wishes; and having his approbation, I made -my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be -at her service before it took us home; for I thought it would be making -her comfortable at once. Good soul! she was as grateful as possible, you -may be sure. ‘Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!’--but with many, -many thanks--‘there was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley’s -carriage had brought, and was to take them home again.’ I was quite -surprized;--very glad, I am sure; but really quite surprized. Such a -very kind attention--and so thoughtful an attention!--the sort of thing -that so few men would think of. And, in short, from knowing his -usual ways, I am very much inclined to think that it was for their -accommodation the carriage was used at all. I do suspect he would not -have had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as an excuse -for assisting them.” - -“Very likely,” said Emma--“nothing more likely. I know no man more -likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing--to do any thing -really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a -gallant man, but he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane -Fairfax’s ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him;--and for -an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on -more than on Mr. Knightley. I know he had horses to-day--for we arrived -together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that -could betray.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Weston, smiling, “you give him credit for more simple, -disinterested benevolence in this instance than I do; for while Miss -Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never -been able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more probable -it appears. In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane -Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping you company!--What do you say to -it?” - -“Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax!” exclaimed Emma. “Dear Mrs. Weston, how -could you think of such a thing?--Mr. Knightley!--Mr. Knightley must not -marry!--You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell?--Oh! no, -no, Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley’s -marrying; and I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you -should think of such a thing.” - -“My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do not want -the match--I do not want to injure dear little Henry--but the idea has -been given me by circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to -marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry’s account, a boy of six -years old, who knows nothing of the matter?” - -“Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.--Mr. -Knightley marry!--No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt -it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!” - -“Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well -know.” - -“But the imprudence of such a match!” - -“I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its probability.” - -“I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than -what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would -be quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the -Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax--and is always glad to -shew them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. -You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!--Oh! no, -no;--every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so -mad a thing.” - -“Imprudent, if you please--but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, -and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable.” - -“But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the -least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry?--He -is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and -his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of -his brother’s children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up -his time or his heart.” - -“My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves -Jane Fairfax--” - -“Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, I am -sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family; but--” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Weston, laughing, “perhaps the greatest good he could -do them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home.” - -“If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a -very shameful and degrading connexion. How would he bear to have Miss -Bates belonging to him?--To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking -him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?--‘So very -kind and obliging!--But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!’ -And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old -petticoat. ‘Not that it was such a very old petticoat either--for still -it would last a great while--and, indeed, she must thankfully say that -their petticoats were all very strong.’” - -“For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. -And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed -by Miss Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on; and -if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder, and -drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be a bad -connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I have -heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax! The -interest he takes in her--his anxiety about her health--his concern that -she should have no happier prospect! I have heard him express himself -so warmly on those points!--Such an admirer of her performance on the -pianoforte, and of her voice! I have heard him say that he could listen -to her for ever. Oh! and I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred -to me--this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody--though -we have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the -Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley? I cannot help suspecting -him. I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in -love.” - -“Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I do not -think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr. Knightley does -nothing mysteriously.” - -“I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly; oftener -than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of -things, occur to him.” - -“Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told -her so.” - -“There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very strong -notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly silent when -Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner.” - -“You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have -many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment--I -believe nothing of the pianoforte--and proof only shall convince me that -Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.” - -They combated the point some time longer in the same way; Emma rather -gaining ground over the mind of her friend; for Mrs. Weston was the most -used of the two to yield; till a little bustle in the room shewed them -that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation;--and at the same -moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the -honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her -conversation with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that -he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr. Cole, to add his very -pressing entreaties; and as, in every respect, it suited Emma best to -lead, she gave a very proper compliance. - -She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than -she could perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in -the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany -her own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by -surprize--a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her -pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every thing usual -followed. He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect -knowledge of music; which was properly denied; and that he knew nothing -of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted. They sang -together once more; and Emma would then resign her place to Miss -Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could -attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own. - -With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the -numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again. -They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the -sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half -Emma’s mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of -Mrs. Weston’s suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices -gave only momentary interruptions. Her objections to Mr. Knightley’s -marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil -in it. It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; -consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children--a most -mortifying change, and material loss to them all;--a very great -deduction from her father’s daily comfort--and, as to herself, she could -not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. -Knightley for them all to give way to!--No--Mr. Knightley must never -marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell. - -Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her. They -talked at first only of the performance. His admiration was certainly -very warm; yet she thought, but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have -struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his -kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer was in -the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate only -his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own. - -“I often feel concern,” said she, “that I dare not make our carriage -more useful on such occasions. It is not that I am without the wish; but -you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put-to -for such a purpose.” - -“Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,” he -replied;--“but you must often wish it, I am sure.” And he smiled with -such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another -step. - -“This present from the Campbells,” said she--“this pianoforte is very -kindly given.” - -“Yes,” he replied, and without the smallest apparent -embarrassment.--“But they would have done better had they given -her notice of it. Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not -enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have -expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell.” - -From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had -had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were -entirely free from peculiar attachment--whether there were no actual -preference--remained a little longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane’s -second song, her voice grew thick. - -“That will do,” said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud--“you have -sung quite enough for one evening--now be quiet.” - -Another song, however, was soon begged for. “One more;--they would not -fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more.” - And Frank Churchill was heard to say, “I think you could manage this -without effort; the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the -song falls on the second.” - -Mr. Knightley grew angry. - -“That fellow,” said he, indignantly, “thinks of nothing but shewing off -his own voice. This must not be.” And touching Miss Bates, who at that -moment passed near--“Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing -herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on -her.” - -Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to -be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther -singing. Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse -and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within -five minutes) the proposal of dancing--originating nobody exactly knew -where--was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole, that every -thing was rapidly clearing away, to give proper space. Mrs. Weston, -capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible -waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to -Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the top. - -While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off, -Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she was receiving on -her voice and her taste, to look about, and see what became of Mr. -Knightley. This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he -were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur -something. There was no immediate appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs. -Cole--he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, -and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole. - -Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest was yet safe; and -she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment. Not more than -five couple could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness of -it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched in a -partner. They were a couple worth looking at. - -Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed. It was -growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother’s -account. After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again, -they were obliged to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done. - -“Perhaps it is as well,” said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to -her carriage. “I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing -would not have agreed with me, after yours.” - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. The visit -afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that she -might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion, must -be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity. She must have delighted -the Coles--worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!--And left a -name behind her that would not soon die away. - -Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were two -points on which she was not quite easy. She doubted whether she had not -transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of -Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right; but it -had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission -to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration, which made -it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her -tongue. - -The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax; and -there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the -inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily -grieve over the idleness of her childhood--and sat down and practised -vigorously an hour and a half. - -She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming in; and if Harriet’s praise -could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted. - -“Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!” - -“Don’t class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like her’s, -than a lamp is like sunshine.” - -“Oh! dear--I think you play the best of the two. I think you play quite -as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you. Every body -last night said how well you played.” - -“Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference. The -truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, -but Jane Fairfax’s is much beyond it.” - -“Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or -that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out. Mr. Cole -said how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal -about your taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution.” - -“Ah! but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.” - -“Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any -taste. Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing.--There is no -understanding a word of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you -know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have to -teach. The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get into -any great family. How did you think the Coxes looked?” - -“Just as they always do--very vulgar.” - -“They told me something,” said Harriet rather hesitatingly; “but it is -nothing of any consequence.” - -Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its -producing Mr. Elton. - -“They told me--that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday.” - -“Oh!” - -“He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay to -dinner.” - -“Oh!” - -“They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do not know -what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there -again next summer.” - -“She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should -be.” - -“She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat by her at -dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry -him.” - -“Very likely.--I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar -girls in Highbury.” - -Harriet had business at Ford’s.--Emma thought it most prudent to go with -her. Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible, and in -her present state, would be dangerous. - -Harriet, tempted by every thing and swayed by half a word, was always -very long at a purchase; and while she was still hanging over muslins -and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement.--Much could -not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury;--Mr. -Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the -office-door, Mr. Cole’s carriage-horses returning from exercise, or a -stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she -could presume to expect; and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with -his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop with her full -basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling -children round the baker’s little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she -knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused enough; quite enough -still to stand at the door. A mind lively and at ease, can do with -seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer. - -She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged; two persons -appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law; they were walking into -Highbury;--to Hartfield of course. They were stopping, however, in the -first place at Mrs. Bates’s; whose house was a little nearer -Randalls than Ford’s; and had all but knocked, when Emma caught their -eye.--Immediately they crossed the road and came forward to her; and the -agreeableness of yesterday’s engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to -the present meeting. Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call -on the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument. - -“For my companion tells me,” said she, “that I absolutely promised Miss -Bates last night, that I would come this morning. I was not aware of it -myself. I did not know that I had fixed a day, but as he says I did, I -am going now.” - -“And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope,” said -Frank Churchill, “to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield--if -you are going home.” - -Mrs. Weston was disappointed. - -“I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased.” - -“Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps--I may be equally in the -way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me. My aunt always -sends me off when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death; and -Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same. What am I to -do?” - -“I am here on no business of my own,” said Emma; “I am only waiting for -my friend. She will probably have soon done, and then we shall go home. -But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument.” - -“Well--if you advise it.--But (with a smile) if Colonel Campbell should -have employed a careless friend, and if it should prove to have an -indifferent tone--what shall I say? I shall be no support to Mrs. -Weston. She might do very well by herself. A disagreeable truth would be -palatable through her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the world -at a civil falsehood.” - -“I do not believe any such thing,” replied Emma.--“I am persuaded that -you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary; but -there is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent. Quite -otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax’s opinion last night.” - -“Do come with me,” said Mrs. Weston, “if it be not very disagreeable to -you. It need not detain us long. We will go to Hartfield afterwards. -We will follow them to Hartfield. I really wish you to call with me. It -will be felt so great an attention! and I always thought you meant it.” - -He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him, -returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates’s door. Emma watched them in, -and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter,--trying, with all -the force of her own mind, to convince her that if she wanted plain -muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and that a blue ribbon, be -it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow pattern. At -last it was all settled, even to the destination of the parcel. - -“Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard’s, ma’am?” asked Mrs. -Ford.--“Yes--no--yes, to Mrs. Goddard’s. Only my pattern gown is at -Hartfield. No, you shall send it to Hartfield, if you please. But then, -Mrs. Goddard will want to see it.--And I could take the pattern gown -home any day. But I shall want the ribbon directly--so it had better go -to Hartfield--at least the ribbon. You could make it into two parcels, -Mrs. Ford, could not you?” - -“It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble of two -parcels.” - -“No more it is.” - -“No trouble in the world, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Ford. - -“Oh! but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. Then, if you -please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard’s--I do not know--No, I -think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and -take it home with me at night. What do you advise?” - -“That you do not give another half-second to the subject. To Hartfield, -if you please, Mrs. Ford.” - -“Aye, that will be much best,” said Harriet, quite satisfied, “I should -not at all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard’s.” - -Voices approached the shop--or rather one voice and two ladies: Mrs. -Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door. - -“My dear Miss Woodhouse,” said the latter, “I am just run across to -entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a little while, -and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you and Miss Smith. How -do you do, Miss Smith?--Very well I thank you.--And I begged Mrs. Weston -to come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding.” - -“I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are--” - -“Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is delightfully well; -and Jane caught no cold last night. How is Mr. Woodhouse?--I am so glad -to hear such a good account. Mrs. Weston told me you were here.--Oh! -then, said I, I must run across, I am sure Miss Woodhouse will allow me -just to run across and entreat her to come in; my mother will be so -very happy to see her--and now we are such a nice party, she cannot -refuse.--‘Aye, pray do,’ said Mr. Frank Churchill, ‘Miss Woodhouse’s -opinion of the instrument will be worth having.’--But, said I, I shall -be more sure of succeeding if one of you will go with me.--‘Oh,’ said -he, ‘wait half a minute, till I have finished my job;’--For, would you -believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in the most obliging manner in -the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother’s spectacles.--The rivet -came out, you know, this morning.--So very obliging!--For my mother had -no use of her spectacles--could not put them on. And, by the bye, every -body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should indeed. Jane said -so. I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first thing I did, -but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one thing, -then another, there is no saying what, you know. At one time Patty came -to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping. Oh, said I, -Patty do not come with your bad news to me. Here is the rivet of your -mistress’s spectacles out. Then the baked apples came home, Mrs. Wallis -sent them by her boy; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, the -Wallises, always--I have heard some people say that Mrs. Wallis can be -uncivil and give a very rude answer, but we have never known any thing -but the greatest attention from them. And it cannot be for the value -of our custom now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know? -Only three of us.--besides dear Jane at present--and she really eats -nothing--makes such a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened -if you saw it. I dare not let my mother know how little she eats--so I -say one thing and then I say another, and it passes off. But about the -middle of the day she gets hungry, and there is nothing she likes so -well as these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome, for I took -the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry; I happened to meet -him in the street. Not that I had any doubt before--I have so often -heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked apple. I believe it is the only -way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome. We -have apple-dumplings, however, very often. Patty makes an excellent -apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I hope, and these -ladies will oblige us.” - -Emma would be “very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, &c.,” and they did at -last move out of the shop, with no farther delay from Miss Bates than, - -“How do you do, Mrs. Ford? I beg your pardon. I did not see you before. -I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons from town. Jane -came back delighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do very well--only a -little too large about the wrist; but Jane is taking them in.” - -“What was I talking of?” said she, beginning again when they were all in -the street. - -Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix. - -“I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.--Oh! my mother’s -spectacles. So very obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill! ‘Oh!’ said he, -‘I do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job of this kind -excessively.’--Which you know shewed him to be so very.... Indeed I must -say that, much as I had heard of him before and much as I had expected, -he very far exceeds any thing.... I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, -most warmly. He seems every thing the fondest parent could.... -‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I can fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort -excessively.’ I never shall forget his manner. And when I brought out -the baked apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would be so very -obliging as to take some, ‘Oh!’ said he directly, ‘there is nothing -in the way of fruit half so good, and these are the finest-looking -home-baked apples I ever saw in my life.’ That, you know, was so -very.... And I am sure, by his manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they -are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice--only -we do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us -promise to have them done three times--but Miss Woodhouse will be so -good as not to mention it. The apples themselves are the very finest -sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from Donwell--some of Mr. -Knightley’s most liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year; and -certainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as one of his -trees--I believe there is two of them. My mother says the orchard was -always famous in her younger days. But I was really quite shocked the -other day--for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating -these apples, and we talked about them and said how much she enjoyed -them, and he asked whether we were not got to the end of our stock. ‘I -am sure you must be,’ said he, ‘and I will send you another supply; for -I have a great many more than I can ever use. William Larkins let me -keep a larger quantity than usual this year. I will send you some more, -before they get good for nothing.’ So I begged he would not--for really -as to ours being gone, I could not absolutely say that we had a great -many left--it was but half a dozen indeed; but they should be all kept -for Jane; and I could not at all bear that he should be sending us more, -so liberal as he had been already; and Jane said the same. And when -he was gone, she almost quarrelled with me--No, I should not say -quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was quite -distressed that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone; she wished -I had made him believe we had a great many left. Oh, said I, my dear, -I did say as much as I could. However, the very same evening William -Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the same sort of -apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and went down -and spoke to William Larkins and said every thing, as you may suppose. -William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! I am always glad to see -him. But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it -was all the apples of _that_ sort his master had; he had brought them -all--and now his master had not one left to bake or boil. William did -not seem to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had -sold so many; for William, you know, thinks more of his master’s profit -than any thing; but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their -being all sent away. She could not bear that her master should not be -able to have another apple-tart this spring. He told Patty this, but bid -her not mind it, and be sure not to say any thing to us about it, for -Mrs. Hodges _would_ be cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks -were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder. And so Patty told -me, and I was excessively shocked indeed! I would not have Mr. Knightley -know any thing about it for the world! He would be so very.... I wanted -to keep it from Jane’s knowledge; but, unluckily, I had mentioned it -before I was aware.” - -Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors -walked upstairs without having any regular narration to attend to, -pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will. - -“Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning. Pray take -care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase--rather darker -and narrower than one could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss -Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss -Smith, the step at the turning.” - - - -CHAPTER X - - -The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was -tranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment, -slumbering on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near -her, most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, -standing with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte. - -Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy -countenance on seeing Emma again. - -“This is a pleasure,” said he, in rather a low voice, “coming at least -ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be -useful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.” - -“What!” said Mrs. Weston, “have not you finished it yet? you would not -earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate.” - -“I have not been working uninterruptedly,” he replied, “I have been -assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily, -it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see -we have been wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to be -persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home.” - -He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently -employed in looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to make -her help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready -to sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately ready, -Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had not yet -possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she -must reason herself into the power of performance; and Emma could not -but pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could not but resolve -never to expose them to her neighbour again. - -At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the -powers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs. -Weston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma -joined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper -discrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise. - -“Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,” said Frank Churchill, with a -smile at Emma, “the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good deal of -Colonel Campbell’s taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper -notes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would -particularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his -friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not you -think so?” - -Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had -been speaking to her at the same moment. - -“It is not fair,” said Emma, in a whisper; “mine was a random guess. Do -not distress her.” - -He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little -doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he began again, - -“How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on this -occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say they often think of you, and wonder -which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument’s coming to -hand. Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going -forward just at this time?--Do you imagine it to be the consequence -of an immediate commission from him, or that he may have sent only -a general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to depend upon -contingencies and conveniences?” - -He paused. She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering, - -“Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,” said she, in a voice of -forced calmness, “I can imagine nothing with any confidence. It must be -all conjecture.” - -“Conjecture--aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one -conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this -rivet quite firm. What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard -at work, if one talks at all;--your real workmen, I suppose, hold their -tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word--Miss -Fairfax said something about conjecturing. There, it is done. I have the -pleasure, madam, (to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles, healed -for the present.” - -He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape a -little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss -Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more. - -“If you are very kind,” said he, “it will be one of the waltzes we -danced last night;--let me live them over again. You did not enjoy them -as I did; you appeared tired the whole time. I believe you were glad we -danced no longer; but I would have given worlds--all the worlds one ever -has to give--for another half-hour.” - -She played. - -“What felicity it is to hear a tune again which _has_ made one -happy!--If I mistake not that was danced at Weymouth.” - -She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something -else. He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turning -to Emma, said, - -“Here is something quite new to me. Do you know it?--Cramer.--And here -are a new set of Irish melodies. That, from such a quarter, one might -expect. This was all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful of -Colonel Campbell, was not it?--He knew Miss Fairfax could have no music -here. I honour that part of the attention particularly; it shews it to -have been so thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily done; nothing -incomplete. True affection only could have prompted it.” - -Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused; -and when on glancing her eye towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains -of a smile, when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness, -there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in the -amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her.--This -amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very -reprehensible feelings. - -He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together.--Emma -took the opportunity of whispering, - -“You speak too plain. She must understand you.” - -“I hope she does. I would have her understand me. I am not in the least -ashamed of my meaning.” - -“But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never taken up the idea.” - -“I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to me. I have now -a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave shame to her. If she does -wrong, she ought to feel it.” - -“She is not entirely without it, I think.” - -“I do not see much sign of it. She is playing _Robin_ _Adair_ at this -moment--_his_ favourite.” - -Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried Mr. -Knightley on horse-back not far off. - -“Mr. Knightley I declare!--I must speak to him if possible, just to -thank him. I will not open the window here; it would give you all cold; -but I can go into my mother’s room you know. I dare say he will come -in when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have you all meet -so!--Our little room so honoured!” - -She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and opening the -casement there, immediately called Mr. Knightley’s attention, and every -syllable of their conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as -if it had passed within the same apartment. - -“How d’ ye do?--how d’ye do?--Very well, I thank you. So obliged to you -for the carriage last night. We were just in time; my mother just ready -for us. Pray come in; do come in. You will find some friends here.” - -So began Miss Bates; and Mr. Knightley seemed determined to be heard in -his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say, - -“How is your niece, Miss Bates?--I want to inquire after you all, but -particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax?--I hope she caught no cold -last night. How is she to-day? Tell me how Miss Fairfax is.” - -And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before he would hear -her in any thing else. The listeners were amused; and Mrs. Weston gave -Emma a look of particular meaning. But Emma still shook her head in -steady scepticism. - -“So obliged to you!--so very much obliged to you for the carriage,” - resumed Miss Bates. - -He cut her short with, - -“I am going to Kingston. Can I do any thing for you?” - -“Oh! dear, Kingston--are you?--Mrs. Cole was saying the other day she -wanted something from Kingston.” - -“Mrs. Cole has servants to send. Can I do any thing for _you_?” - -“No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you think is here?--Miss -Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so kind as to call to hear the new pianoforte. -Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come in.” - -“Well,” said he, in a deliberating manner, “for five minutes, perhaps.” - -“And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill too!--Quite delightful; -so many friends!” - -“No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes. I must get on -to Kingston as fast as I can.” - -“Oh! do come in. They will be so very happy to see you.” - -“No, no; your room is full enough. I will call another day, and hear the -pianoforte.” - -“Well, I am so sorry!--Oh! Mr. Knightley, what a delightful party last -night; how extremely pleasant.--Did you ever see such dancing?--Was not -it delightful?--Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill; I never saw any -thing equal to it.” - -“Oh! very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss -Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that passes. -And (raising his voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should -not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well; and Mrs. -Weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, -in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say -something pretty loud about you and me in return; but I cannot stay to -hear it.” - -“Oh! Mr. Knightley, one moment more; something of consequence--so -shocked!--Jane and I are both so shocked about the apples!” - -“What is the matter now?” - -“To think of your sending us all your store apples. You said you had -a great many, and now you have not one left. We really are so shocked! -Mrs. Hodges may well be angry. William Larkins mentioned it here. You -should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah! he is off. He never -can bear to be thanked. But I thought he would have staid now, and it -would have been a pity not to have mentioned.... Well, (returning to the -room,) I have not been able to succeed. Mr. Knightley cannot stop. He is -going to Kingston. He asked me if he could do any thing....” - -“Yes,” said Jane, “we heard his kind offers, we heard every thing.” - -“Oh! yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the door was -open, and the window was open, and Mr. Knightley spoke loud. You must -have heard every thing to be sure. ‘Can I do any thing for you at -Kingston?’ said he; so I just mentioned.... Oh! Miss Woodhouse, must you -be going?--You seem but just come--so very obliging of you.” - -Emma found it really time to be at home; the visit had already lasted -long; and on examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived -to be gone, that Mrs. Weston and her companion taking leave also, could -allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield -gates, before they set off for Randalls. - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been -known of young people passing many, many months successively, without -being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrue -either to body or mind;--but when a beginning is made--when the -felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt--it -must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more. - -Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again; -and the last half-hour of an evening which Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded -to spend with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two young -people in schemes on the subject. Frank’s was the first idea; and his -the greatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady was the best judge of the -difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and appearance. -But still she had inclination enough for shewing people again how -delightfully Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse danced--for -doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself with Jane -Fairfax--and even for simple dancing itself, without any of the wicked -aids of vanity--to assist him first in pacing out the room they were in -to see what it could be made to hold--and then in taking the dimensions -of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, in spite of all that -Mr. Weston could say of their exactly equal size, that it was a little -the largest. - -His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at Mr. Cole’s -should be finished there--that the same party should be collected, -and the same musician engaged, met with the readiest acquiescence. Mr. -Weston entered into the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs. Weston -most willingly undertook to play as long as they could wish to dance; -and the interesting employment had followed, of reckoning up exactly who -there would be, and portioning out the indispensable division of space -to every couple. - -“You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss -Coxes five,” had been repeated many times over. “And there will be the -two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr. Knightley. -Yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith, and -Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five; and for five -couple there will be plenty of room.” - -But soon it came to be on one side, - -“But will there be good room for five couple?--I really do not think -there will.” - -On another, - -“And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth while to -stand up. Five couple are nothing, when one thinks seriously about it. -It will not do to _invite_ five couple. It can be allowable only as the -thought of the moment.” - -Somebody said that _Miss_ Gilbert was expected at her brother’s, and -must be invited with the rest. Somebody else believed _Mrs_. Gilbert -would have danced the other evening, if she had been asked. A word was -put in for a second young Cox; and at last, Mr. Weston naming one family -of cousins who must be included, and another of very old acquaintance -who could not be left out, it became a certainty that the five couple -would be at least ten, and a very interesting speculation in what -possible manner they could be disposed of. - -The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. “Might not -they use both rooms, and dance across the passage?” It seemed the -best scheme; and yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted a -better. Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs. Weston was in distress about -the supper; and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on the score of -health. It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be -persevered in. - -“Oh! no,” said he; “it would be the extreme of imprudence. I could not -bear it for Emma!--Emma is not strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. -So would poor little Harriet. So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you would -be quite laid up; do not let them talk of such a wild thing. Pray do -not let them talk of it. That young man (speaking lower) is very -thoughtless. Do not tell his father, but that young man is not quite -the thing. He has been opening the doors very often this evening, -and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the -draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not -quite the thing!” - -Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the importance of -it, and said every thing in her power to do it away. Every door was now -closed, the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing only -in the room they were in resorted to again; and with such good-will on -Frank Churchill’s part, that the space which a quarter of an hour before -had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple, was now endeavoured -to be made out quite enough for ten. - -“We were too magnificent,” said he. “We allowed unnecessary room. Ten -couple may stand here very well.” - -Emma demurred. “It would be a crowd--a sad crowd; and what could be -worse than dancing without space to turn in?” - -“Very true,” he gravely replied; “it was very bad.” But still he went on -measuring, and still he ended with, - -“I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple.” - -“No, no,” said she, “you are quite unreasonable. It would be dreadful -to be standing so close! Nothing can be farther from pleasure than to be -dancing in a crowd--and a crowd in a little room!” - -“There is no denying it,” he replied. “I agree with you exactly. A crowd -in a little room--Miss Woodhouse, you have the art of giving pictures -in a few words. Exquisite, quite exquisite!--Still, however, having -proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up. It would be -a disappointment to my father--and altogether--I do not know that--I am -rather of opinion that ten couple might stand here very well.” - -Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little -self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of -dancing with her; but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest. -Had she intended ever to _marry_ him, it might have been worth while to -pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference, -and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of their -acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough. - -Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield; and he entered -the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of -the scheme. It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement. - -“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” he almost immediately began, “your inclination -for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope, by the terrors -of my father’s little rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject:--a -thought of my father’s, which waits only your approbation to be acted -upon. May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances -of this little projected ball, to be given, not at Randalls, but at the -Crown Inn?” - -“The Crown!” - -“Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot, -my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there. -Better accommodations, he can promise them, and not a less grateful -welcome than at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs. Weston sees no -objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what we all feel. -Oh! you were perfectly right! Ten couple, in either of the Randalls -rooms, would have been insufferable!--Dreadful!--I felt how right you -were the whole time, but was too anxious for securing _any_ _thing_ -to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange?--You consent--I hope you -consent?” - -“It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr. and Mrs. -Weston do not. I think it admirable; and, as far as I can answer for -myself, shall be most happy--It seems the only improvement that could -be. Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?” - -She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully -comprehended; and then, being quite new, farther representations were -necessary to make it acceptable. - -“No; he thought it very far from an improvement--a very bad plan--much -worse than the other. A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous; -never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they -had better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the Crown -in his life--did not know the people who kept it by sight.--Oh! no--a -very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere.” - -“I was going to observe, sir,” said Frank Churchill, “that one of the -great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger -of any body’s catching cold--so much less danger at the Crown than at -Randalls! Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but -nobody else could.” - -“Sir,” said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, “you are very much mistaken -if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that sort of character. Mr. Perry is -extremely concerned when any of us are ill. But I do not understand how -the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father’s house.” - -“From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We shall have no -occasion to open the windows at all--not once the whole evening; and it -is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon -heated bodies, which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief.” - -“Open the windows!--but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody would think of -opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so imprudent! I never -heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows!--I am sure, neither -your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would suffer -it.” - -“Ah! sir--but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a -window-curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected. I have -often known it done myself.” - -“Have you indeed, sir?--Bless me! I never could have supposed it. But I -live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear. However, -this does make a difference; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it -over--but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration. One -cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so -obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what -can be done.” - -“But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited--” - -“Oh!” interrupted Emma, “there will be plenty of time for talking every -thing over. There is no hurry at all. If it can be contrived to be at -the Crown, papa, it will be very convenient for the horses. They will be -so near their own stable.” - -“So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that James ever -complains; but it is right to spare our horses when we can. If I could -be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired--but is Mrs. Stokes to be -trusted? I doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight.” - -“I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, because it will be -under Mrs. Weston’s care. Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the whole.” - -“There, papa!--Now you must be satisfied--Our own dear Mrs. Weston, who -is carefulness itself. Do not you remember what Mr. Perry said, so many -years ago, when I had the measles? ‘If _Miss_ _Taylor_ undertakes to -wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.’ How often have I -heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!” - -“Aye, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never forget it. Poor -little Emma! You were very bad with the measles; that is, you would have -been very bad, but for Perry’s great attention. He came four times a day -for a week. He said, from the first, it was a very good sort--which -was our great comfort; but the measles are a dreadful complaint. I hope -whenever poor Isabella’s little ones have the measles, she will send for -Perry.” - -“My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this moment,” said Frank -Churchill, “examining the capabilities of the house. I left them there -and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you -might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot. I was -desired to say so from both. It would be the greatest pleasure to -them, if you could allow me to attend you there. They can do nothing -satisfactorily without you.” - -Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father, -engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the two young people -set off together without delay for the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. -Weston; delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very busy and -very happy in their different way; she, in some little distress; and he, -finding every thing perfect. - -“Emma,” said she, “this paper is worse than I expected. Look! in places -you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot is more yellow and -forlorn than any thing I could have imagined.” - -“My dear, you are too particular,” said her husband. “What does all that -signify? You will see nothing of it by candlelight. It will be as -clean as Randalls by candlelight. We never see any thing of it on our -club-nights.” - -The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, “Men never know -when things are dirty or not;” and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to -himself, “Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares.” - -One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain. -It regarded a supper-room. At the time of the ballroom’s being built, -suppers had not been in question; and a small card-room adjoining, was -the only addition. What was to be done? This card-room would be wanted -as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary -by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable -supper? Another room of much better size might be secured for the -purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward -passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs. -Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage; -and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being -miserably crowded at supper. - -Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, -&c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched -suggestion. A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was -pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and -Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another line of -expediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed, - -“I do not think it _is_ so very small. We shall not be many, you know.” - -And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through -the passage, was calling out, - -“You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear. It is a -mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the stairs.” - -“I wish,” said Mrs. Weston, “one could know which arrangement our guests -in general would like best. To do what would be most generally pleasing -must be our object--if one could but tell what that would be.” - -“Yes, very true,” cried Frank, “very true. You want your neighbours’ -opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain what the chief -of them--the Coles, for instance. They are not far off. Shall I call -upon them? Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer.--And I do not know -whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of -the rest of the people as any body. I think we do want a larger council. -Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?” - -“Well--if you please,” said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, “if you think -she will be of any use.” - -“You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,” said Emma. “She -will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing. She -will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting -Miss Bates.” - -“But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of hearing -Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you know.” - -Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it -his decided approbation. - -“Aye, do, Frank.--Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at -once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and I do not know a properer -person for shewing us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. -We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be -happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.” - -“Both sir! Can the old lady?”... - -“The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great -blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece.” - -“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect. -Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both.” And -away he ran. - -Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, -and her elegant niece,--Mrs. Weston, like a sweet-tempered woman and -a good wife, had examined the passage again, and found the evils of it -much less than she had supposed before--indeed very trifling; and here -ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation at -least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements of table and -chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves; or were left -as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. -Stokes.--Every body invited, was certainly to come; Frank had already -written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, -which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to -be. - -Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must. -As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer -character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general -and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another -half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, -some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the -future. The party did not break up without Emma’s being positively -secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without -her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, “He has asked her, my -dear. That’s right. I knew he would!” - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely -satisfactory to Emma--its being fixed for a day within the granted -term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston’s -confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the -Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his -fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take -their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were -entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and -hoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of -its being all in vain. - -Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His -wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed. -All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude -generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her -ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley’s provoking -indifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or -because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he -seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its -exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement. -To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, -than, - -“Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this -trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say -against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.--Oh! yes, -I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as -I can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins’s -week’s account; much rather, I confess.--Pleasure in seeing -dancing!--not I, indeed--I never look at it--I do not know who -does.--Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. -Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very -different.” - -This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was not -in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so -indignant; he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball, -for _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made -her animated--open hearted--she voluntarily said;-- - -“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. -What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with -_very_ great pleasure.” - -It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred -the society of William Larkins. No!--she was more and more convinced -that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great -deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--but no -love. - -Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two -days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over-throw of -every thing. A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s -instant return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell--far too unwell to do without -him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) -when writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual -unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of -herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, -and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay. - -The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. -Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone -within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, -to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but -for her own convenience. - -Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow himself time to hurry to -Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there -whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might be -expected at Hartfield very soon.” - -This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had -been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim. The -loss of the ball--the loss of the young man--and all that the young man -might be feeling!--It was too wretched!--Such a delightful evening as -it would have been!--Every body so happy! and she and her partner the -happiest!--“I said it would be so,” was the only consolation. - -Her father’s feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally of -Mrs. Churchill’s illness, and wanted to know how she was treated; and as -for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they -would all be safer at home. - -Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared; but if this -reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want -of spirits when he did come might redeem him. He felt the going away -almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He -sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing -himself, it was only to say, - -“Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.” - -“But you will come again,” said Emma. “This will not be your only visit -to Randalls.” - -“Ah!--(shaking his head)--the uncertainty of when I may be able to -return!--I shall try for it with a zeal!--It will be the object of -all my thoughts and cares!--and if my uncle and aunt go to town this -spring--but I am afraid--they did not stir last spring--I am afraid it -is a custom gone for ever.” - -“Our poor ball must be quite given up.” - -“Ah! that ball!--why did we wait for any thing?--why not seize the -pleasure at once?--How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, -foolish preparation!--You told us it would be so.--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, -why are you always so right?” - -“Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much -rather have been merry than wise.” - -“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends -on it. Do not forget your engagement.” - -Emma looked graciously. - -“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued; “every day more -precious and more delightful than the day before!--every day making -me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can remain at -Highbury!” - -“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will -venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? -Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure -you did not much expect to like us. You would not have been so long in -coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.” - -He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma -was convinced that it had been so. - -“And you must be off this very morning?” - -“Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together, and I -must be off immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment will bring -him.” - -“Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss -Bates? How unlucky! Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind might have -strengthened yours.” - -“Yes--I _have_ called there; passing the door, I thought it better. It -was a right thing to do. I went in for three minutes, and was detained -by Miss Bates’s being absent. She was out; and I felt it impossible not -to wait till she came in. She is a woman that one may, that one _must_ -laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay my -visit, then”-- - -He hesitated, got up, walked to a window. - -“In short,” said he, “perhaps, Miss Woodhouse--I think you can hardly be -quite without suspicion”-- - -He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. She hardly knew -what to say. It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely -serious, which she did not wish. Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in -the hope of putting it by, she calmly said, - -“You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, -then”-- - -He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting -on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard -him sigh. It was natural for him to feel that he had _cause_ to sigh. -He could not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward moments -passed, and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner said, - -“It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be given to -Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is most warm”-- - -He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.--He was more -in love with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say how it might -have ended, if his father had not made his appearance? Mr. Woodhouse -soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him composed. - -A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial. Mr. -Weston, always alert when business was to be done, and as incapable of -procrastinating any evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that -was doubtful, said, “It was time to go;” and the young man, though he -might and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave. - -“I shall hear about you all,” said he; “that is my chief consolation. -I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you. I have engaged -Mrs. Weston to correspond with me. She has been so kind as to promise -it. Oh! the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really -interested in the absent!--she will tell me every thing. In her letters -I shall be at dear Highbury again.” - -A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest “Good-bye,” closed the -speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill. Short had been -the notice--short their meeting; he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry -to part, and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his -absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it too -much. - -It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost every day since his -arrival. Certainly his being at Randalls had given great spirit to -the last two weeks--indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation -of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance of his -attentions, his liveliness, his manners! It had been a very happy -fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common -course of Hartfield days. To complete every other recommendation, he had -_almost_ told her that he loved her. What strength, or what constancy of -affection he might be subject to, was another point; but at present -she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious -preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, -made her think that she _must_ be a little in love with him, in spite of -every previous determination against it. - -“I certainly must,” said she. “This sensation of listlessness, -weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and employ myself, -this feeling of every thing’s being dull and insipid about the house!-- -I must be in love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if I -were not--for a few weeks at least. Well! evil to some is always good to -others. I shall have many fellow-mourners for the ball, if not for Frank -Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend the evening -with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.” - -Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness. He could not say -that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would have -contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he -was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable -kindness added, - -“You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really out -of luck; you are very much out of luck!” - -It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest -regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure -was odious. She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from -headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the ball -taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it; and it was -charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of -ill-health. - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas -only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good -deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing -Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever -in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him, and -quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he was, how were -his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to -Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit -herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed -for employment than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, -pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; and -farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or -working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close -of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing -elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his -side was that she _refused_ _him_. Their affection was always to subside -into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to mark their -parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible of this, -it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of -her previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, never -to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle -than she could foresee in her own feelings. - -“I do not find myself making any use of the word _sacrifice_,” said -she.--“In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is -there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not -really necessary to my happiness. So much the better. I certainly will -not persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I -should be sorry to be more.” - -Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings. - -“_He_ is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes it--very -much in love indeed!--and when he comes again, if his affection -continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage it.--It would be most -inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I -imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he -had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been -so wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and -language at parting would have been different.--Still, however, I must -be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment continuing -what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will; I do not look -upon him to be quite the sort of man--I do not altogether build upon -his steadiness or constancy.--His feelings are warm, but I can imagine -them rather changeable.--Every consideration of the subject, in short, -makes me thankful that my happiness is not more deeply involved.--I -shall do very well again after a little while--and then, it will be a -good thing over; for they say every body is in love once in their lives, -and I shall have been let off easily.” - -When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of it; and -she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which made her -at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she had -undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving -the particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all the -affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable, -and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposed -attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes now of -apology or concern; it was the language of real feeling towards Mrs. -Weston; and the transition from Highbury to Enscombe, the contrast -between the places in some of the first blessings of social life was -just enough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how much more -might have been said but for the restraints of propriety.--The charm -of her own name was not wanting. _Miss_ _Woodhouse_ appeared more than -once, and never without a something of pleasing connexion, either a -compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had said; and in -the very last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by any -such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of -her influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all -conveyed. Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these -words--“I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss -Woodhouse’s beautiful little friend. Pray make my excuses and adieus -to her.” This, Emma could not doubt, was all for herself. Harriet was -remembered only from being _her_ friend. His information and prospects -as to Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated; -Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even in his own -imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again. - -Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material -part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned -to Mrs. Weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she could -still do without the writer, and that he must learn to do without her. -Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only grew more -interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consolation -and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the words which -clothed it, the “beautiful little friend,” suggested to her the -idea of Harriet’s succeeding her in his affections. Was it -impossible?--No.--Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in -understanding; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness -of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner; and all the -probabilities of circumstance and connexion were in her favour.--For -Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful indeed. - -“I must not dwell upon it,” said she.--“I must not think of it. I know -the danger of indulging such speculations. But stranger things have -happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do now, it -will be the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested -friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure.” - -It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet’s behalf, though it -might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that quarter -was at hand. As Frank Churchill’s arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton’s -engagement in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest -had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill’s -disappearance, Mr. Elton’s concerns were assuming the most irresistible -form.--His wedding-day was named. He would soon be among them again; Mr. -Elton and his bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter -from Enscombe before “Mr. Elton and his bride” was in every body’s -mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Emma grew sick at the sound. -She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet’s -mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength. -With Mr. Weston’s ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of -insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had -not attained such a state of composure as could stand against the actual -approach--new carriage, bell-ringing, and all. - -Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the -reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could -give. Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had -a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work -to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed -to, without being able to make their opinions the same. Harriet listened -submissively, and said “it was very true--it was just as Miss Woodhouse -described--it was not worth while to think about them--and she would not -think about them any longer” but no change of subject could avail, and -the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as -before. At last Emma attacked her on another ground. - -“Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr. -Elton’s marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can make _me_. -You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake I fell into. -It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure -you.--Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you--and it will -be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not imagine me in danger of -forgetting it.” - -Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager -exclamation. Emma continued, - -“I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake; think less, talk -less of Mr. Elton for my sake; because for your own sake rather, I -would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more important than my -comfort, a habit of self-command in you, a consideration of what is your -duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the suspicions of -others, to save your health and credit, and restore your tranquillity. -These are the motives which I have been pressing on you. They are very -important--and sorry I am that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act -upon them. My being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. -I want you to save yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes -have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due--or rather what -would be kind by me.” - -This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea of -wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really -loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when the violence -of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to -what was right and support her in it very tolerably. - -“You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life--Want -gratitude to you!--Nobody is equal to you!--I care for nobody as I do -for you!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!” - -Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and -manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so -well, nor valued her affection so highly before. - -“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she afterwards to -herself. “There is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and tenderness -of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all the -clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will. It -is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally -beloved--which gives Isabella all her popularity.--I have it not--but -I know how to prize and respect it.--Harriet is my superior in all the -charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet!--I would not change -you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female -breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!--Harriet is worth a -hundred such--And for a wife--a sensible man’s wife--it is invaluable. I -mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!” - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Mrs. Elton was first seen at church: but though devotion might be -interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride in a pew, and -it must be left for the visits in form which were then to be paid, to -settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or -not pretty at all. - -Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to make -her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects; and she made a -point of Harriet’s going with her, that the worst of the business might -be gone through as soon as possible. - -She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room to -which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago, to -lace up her boot, without _recollecting_. A thousand vexatious thoughts -would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders; and it was -not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too; but -she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent. The visit -was of course short; and there was so much embarrassment and occupation -of mind to shorten it, that Emma would not allow herself entirely to -form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give one, beyond the -nothing-meaning terms of being “elegantly dressed, and very pleasing.” - -She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry to find fault, -but she suspected that there was no elegance;--ease, but not elegance.-- -She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there -was too much ease. Her person was rather good; her face not unpretty; -but neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner, were elegant. Emma -thought at least it would turn out so. - -As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear--but no, she would not -permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners. It was an -awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits, and a man -had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman -was better off; she might have the assistance of fine clothes, and the -privilege of bashfulness, but the man had only his own good sense to -depend on; and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr. -Elton was in being in the same room at once with the woman he had just -married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom he had -been expected to marry, she must allow him to have the right to look as -little wise, and to be as much affectedly, and as little really easy as -could be. - -“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” said Harriet, when they had quitted the -house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin; “Well, Miss -Woodhouse, (with a gentle sigh,) what do you think of her?--Is not she -very charming?” - -There was a little hesitation in Emma’s answer. - -“Oh! yes--very--a very pleasing young woman.” - -“I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.” - -“Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant gown.” - -“I am not at all surprized that he should have fallen in love.” - -“Oh! no--there is nothing to surprize one at all.--A pretty fortune; and -she came in his way.” - -“I dare say,” returned Harriet, sighing again, “I dare say she was very -much attached to him.” - -“Perhaps she might; but it is not every man’s fate to marry the woman -who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and thought this -the best offer she was likely to have.” - -“Yes,” said Harriet earnestly, “and well she might, nobody could ever -have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all my heart. And now, Miss -Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as -superior as ever;--but being married, you know, it is quite a different -thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid; I can sit and -admire him now without any great misery. To know that he has not thrown -himself away, is such a comfort!--She does seem a charming young woman, -just what he deserves. Happy creature! He called her ‘Augusta.’ How -delightful!” - -When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind. She could then see -more and judge better. From Harriet’s happening not to be at Hartfield, -and her father’s being present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter -of an hour of the lady’s conversation to herself, and could composedly -attend to her; and the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that -Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself, and -thinking much of her own importance; that she meant to shine and be very -superior, but with manners which had been formed in a bad school, pert -and familiar; that all her notions were drawn from one set of people, -and one style of living; that if not foolish she was ignorant, and that -her society would certainly do Mr. Elton no good. - -Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or refined herself, -she would have connected him with those who were; but Miss Hawkins, it -might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of -her own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the pride of the -alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of him. - -The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove, “My brother -Mr. Suckling’s seat;”--a comparison of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The -grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty; and the house was -modern and well-built. Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed -by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or -imagine. “Very like Maple Grove indeed!--She was quite struck by the -likeness!--That room was the very shape and size of the morning-room -at Maple Grove; her sister’s favourite room.”--Mr. Elton was appealed -to.--“Was not it astonishingly like?--She could really almost fancy -herself at Maple Grove.” - -“And the staircase--You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the -staircase was; placed exactly in the same part of the house. I really -could not help exclaiming! I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very -delightful to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to -as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy months there! (with a little -sigh of sentiment). A charming place, undoubtedly. Every body who -sees it is struck by its beauty; but to me, it has been quite a home. -Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will -understand how very delightful it is to meet with any thing at all like -what one has left behind. I always say this is quite one of the evils of -matrimony.” - -Emma made as slight a reply as she could; but it was fully sufficient -for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself. - -“So extremely like Maple Grove! And it is not merely the house--the -grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like. -The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and stand -very much in the same way--just across the lawn; and I had a glimpse -of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in -mind! My brother and sister will be enchanted with this place. People -who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with any thing -in the same style.” - -Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a great idea that -people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the -extensive grounds of any body else; but it was not worth while to attack -an error so double-dyed, and therefore only said in reply, - -“When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid you will think you -have overrated Hartfield. Surry is full of beauties.” - -“Oh! yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of England, you -know. Surry is the garden of England.” - -“Yes; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. Many -counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as -Surry.” - -“No, I fancy not,” replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied smile. -“I never heard any county but Surry called so.” - -Emma was silenced. - -“My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring, or summer -at farthest,” continued Mrs. Elton; “and that will be our time for -exploring. While they are with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare -say. They will have their barouche-landau, of course, which holds four -perfectly; and therefore, without saying any thing of _our_ carriage, -we should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well. They -would hardly come in their chaise, I think, at that season of the -year. Indeed, when the time draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their -bringing the barouche-landau; it will be so very much preferable. -When people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss -Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much as possible; and Mr. -Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored to King’s-Weston -twice last summer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their -first having the barouche-landau. You have many parties of that kind -here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer?” - -“No; not immediately here. We are rather out of distance of the very -striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak of; and we -are a very quiet set of people, I believe; more disposed to stay at home -than engage in schemes of pleasure.” - -“Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can -be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple -Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, -‘I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must -go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche-landau -without a companion; but Augusta, I believe, with her own good-will, -would never stir beyond the park paling.’ Many a time has she said so; -and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, -when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very -bad thing; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in -a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I -perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--(looking -towards Mr. Woodhouse), Your father’s state of health must be a great -drawback. Why does not he try Bath?--Indeed he should. Let me recommend -Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse -good.” - -“My father tried it more than once, formerly; but without receiving any -benefit; and Mr. Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, -does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now.” - -“Ah! that’s a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the -waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give. In my Bath -life, I have seen such instances of it! And it is so cheerful a place, -that it could not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse’s spirits, -which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to its -recommendations to _you_, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell -on them. The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally -understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived -so secluded a life; and I could immediately secure you some of the best -society in the place. A line from me would bring you a little host of -acquaintance; and my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have -always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to shew you any -attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public -with.” - -It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea -of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for what was called an -_introduction_--of her going into public under the auspices of a friend -of Mrs. Elton’s--probably some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the -help of a boarder, just made a shift to live!--The dignity of Miss -Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed! - -She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could have -given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly; “but their going to Bath was -quite out of the question; and she was not perfectly convinced that -the place might suit her better than her father.” And then, to prevent -farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly. - -“I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Upon these occasions, -a lady’s character generally precedes her; and Highbury has long known -that you are a superior performer.” - -“Oh! no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea. A superior -performer!--very far from it, I assure you. Consider from how partial -a quarter your information came. I am doatingly fond of -music--passionately fond;--and my friends say I am not entirely devoid -of taste; but as to any thing else, upon my honour my performance is -_mediocre_ to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play -delightfully. I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction, -comfort, and delight to me, to hear what a musical society I am got -into. I absolutely cannot do without music. It is a necessary of life to -me; and having always been used to a very musical society, both at -Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice. I -honestly said as much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future -home, and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be -disagreeable; and the inferiority of the house too--knowing what I had -been accustomed to--of course he was not wholly without apprehension. -When he was speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that _the_ -_world_ I could give up--parties, balls, plays--for I had no fear of -retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was -not necessary to _me_. I could do very well without it. To those who had -no resources it was a different thing; but my resources made me quite -independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had been used to, I -really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was perfectly equal to any -sacrifice of that description. Certainly I had been accustomed to every -luxury at Maple Grove; but I did assure him that two carriages were not -necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. ‘But,’ said I, -‘to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a -musical society. I condition for nothing else; but without music, life -would be a blank to me.’” - -“We cannot suppose,” said Emma, smiling, “that Mr. Elton would hesitate -to assure you of there being a _very_ musical society in Highbury; and -I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be -pardoned, in consideration of the motive.” - -“No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted to -find myself in such a circle. I hope we shall have many sweet little -concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a -musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours. -Will not it be a good plan? If _we_ exert ourselves, I think we shall -not be long in want of allies. Something of that nature would be -particularly desirable for _me_, as an inducement to keep me in -practice; for married women, you know--there is a sad story against -them, in general. They are but too apt to give up music.” - -“But you, who are so extremely fond of it--there can be no danger, -surely?” - -“I should hope not; but really when I look around among my acquaintance, -I tremble. Selina has entirely given up music--never touches the -instrument--though she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs. -Jeffereys--Clara Partridge, that was--and of the two Milmans, now Mrs. -Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of more than I can enumerate. Upon my -word it is enough to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with -Selina; but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has -many things to call her attention. I believe I was half an hour this -morning shut up with my housekeeper.” - -“But every thing of that kind,” said Emma, “will soon be in so regular a -train--” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Elton, laughing, “we shall see.” - -Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing -more to say; and, after a moment’s pause, Mrs. Elton chose another -subject. - -“We have been calling at Randalls,” said she, “and found them both at -home; and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like them extremely. -Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature--quite a first-rate favourite -with me already, I assure you. And _she_ appears so truly good--there is -something so motherly and kind-hearted about her, that it wins upon one -directly. She was your governess, I think?” - -Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs. Elton hardly -waited for the affirmative before she went on. - -“Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her so very -lady-like! But she is really quite the gentlewoman.” - -“Mrs. Weston’s manners,” said Emma, “were always particularly good. -Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance, would make them the safest -model for any young woman.” - -“And who do you think came in while we were there?” - -Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance--and -how could she possibly guess? - -“Knightley!” continued Mrs. Elton; “Knightley himself!--Was not it -lucky?--for, not being within when he called the other day, I had never -seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.’s, -I had a great curiosity. ‘My friend Knightley’ had been so often -mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my -caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. -Knightley is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I -think, a very gentleman-like man.” - -Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off; and Emma could -breathe. - -“Insufferable woman!” was her immediate exclamation. “Worse than I had -supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!--I could not have -believed it. Knightley!--never seen him in her life before, and call -him Knightley!--and discover that he is a gentleman! A little upstart, -vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her _caro_ _sposo_, and her -resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery. -Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman! I doubt whether -he will return the compliment, and discover her to be a lady. I could -not have believed it! And to propose that she and I should unite to -form a musical club! One would fancy we were bosom friends! And Mrs. -Weston!--Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a -gentlewoman! Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond -my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison. Oh! what would Frank -Churchill say to her, if he were here? How angry and how diverted he -would be! Ah! there I am--thinking of him directly. Always the first -person to be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes -as regularly into my mind!”-- - -All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her father -had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons’ departure, and was -ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending. - -“Well, my dear,” he deliberately began, “considering we never saw her -before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I dare say she -was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little -quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe -I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody speaks like you and -poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved -young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think -he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I could for not -having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion; I -said that I hoped I _should_ in the course of the summer. But I ought to -have gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah! it shews -what a sad invalid I am! But I do not like the corner into Vicarage -Lane.” - -“I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton knows you.” - -“Yes: but a young lady--a bride--I ought to have paid my respects to her -if possible. It was being very deficient.” - -“But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore why -should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a _bride_? It ought to -be no recommendation to _you_. It is encouraging people to marry if you -make so much of them.” - -“No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would always -wish to pay every proper attention to a lady--and a bride, especially, -is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due to _her_. A bride, you -know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who -they may.” - -“Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know what -is. And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to -such vanity-baits for poor young ladies.” - -“My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere -common politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing to do with any -encouragement to people to marry.” - -Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand -_her_. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton’s offences, and long, very long, -did they occupy her. - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill -opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct. Such as -Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared -whenever they met again,--self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, -and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, -but so little judgment that she thought herself coming with superior -knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a country neighbourhood; -and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society as Mrs. -Elton’s consequence only could surpass. - -There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently from -his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He had the air -of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to Highbury, -as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater part of her -new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit of judging, -following the lead of Miss Bates’s good-will, or taking it for granted -that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as she professed -herself, were very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton’s praise -passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded by Miss -Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution and talked with -a good grace of her being “very pleasant and very elegantly dressed.” - -In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at -first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.--Offended, probably, by the -little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew -back in her turn and gradually became much more cold and distant; and -though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced it was -necessarily increasing Emma’s dislike. Her manners, too--and Mr. -Elton’s, were unpleasant towards Harriet. They were sneering and -negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet’s cure; but the -sensations which could prompt such behaviour sunk them both very -much.--It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet’s attachment had been -an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story, under -a colouring the least favourable to her and the most soothing to him, -had in all likelihood been given also. She was, of course, the object -of their joint dislike.--When they had nothing else to say, it must be -always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which -they dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader vent in -contemptuous treatment of Harriet. - -Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first. Not -merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to -recommend the other, but from the very first; and she was not satisfied -with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration--but without -solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to assist and -befriend her.--Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about the -third time of their meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton’s knight-errantry -on the subject.-- - -“Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.--I quite rave -about Jane Fairfax.--A sweet, interesting creature. So mild and -ladylike--and with such talents!--I assure you I think she has very -extraordinary talents. I do not scruple to say that she plays extremely -well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh! she -is absolutely charming! You will laugh at my warmth--but, upon my word, -I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.--And her situation is so calculated -to affect one!--Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour -to do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such talent as hers -must not be suffered to remain unknown.--I dare say you have heard those -charming lines of the poet, - - ‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, - ‘And waste its fragrance on the desert air.’ - -We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.” - -“I cannot think there is any danger of it,” was Emma’s calm answer--“and -when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax’s situation and -understand what her home has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I -have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown.” - -“Oh! but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such -obscurity, so thrown away.--Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed -with the Campbells are so palpably at an end! And I think she feels it. -I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she -feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I -must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for -timidity--and I am sure one does not often meet with it.--But in those -who are at all inferior, it is extremely prepossessing. Oh! I assure -you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me more -than I can express.” - -“You appear to feel a great deal--but I am not aware how you or any of -Miss Fairfax’s acquaintance here, any of those who have known her longer -than yourself, can shew her any other attention than”-- - -“My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to -act. You and I need not be afraid. If _we_ set the example, many will -follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations. _We_ -have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and _we_ live in a style -which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax, at any time, the -least inconvenient.--I should be extremely displeased if Wright were to -send us up such a dinner, as could make me regret having asked _more_ -than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of -thing. It is not likely that I _should_, considering what I have been -used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the -other way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense. Maple -Grove will probably be my model more than it ought to be--for we do not -at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income.--However, my -resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.--I shall certainly have -her very often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall -have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly -on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very -extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit -her shortly.--I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my -brother and sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her -extremely; and when she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears -will completely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners -of either but what is highly conciliating.--I shall have her very often -indeed while they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a -seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our exploring parties.” - -“Poor Jane Fairfax!”--thought Emma.--“You have not deserved this. You -may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment -beyond what you can have merited!--The kindness and protection of Mrs. -Elton!--‘Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.’ Heavens! Let me not suppose -that she dares go about, Emma Woodhouse-ing me!--But upon my honour, -there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that woman’s tongue!” - -Emma had not to listen to such paradings again--to any so exclusively -addressed to herself--so disgustingly decorated with a “dear Miss -Woodhouse.” The change on Mrs. Elton’s side soon afterwards appeared, -and she was left in peace--neither forced to be the very particular -friend of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton’s guidance, the very active -patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general -way, in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done. - -She looked on with some amusement.--Miss Bates’s gratitude for -Mrs. Elton’s attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless -simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthies--the -most amiable, affable, delightful woman--just as accomplished and -condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma’s only surprize -was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs. -Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with the Eltons, -sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons! This was -astonishing!--She could not have believed it possible that the taste or -the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as -the Vicarage had to offer. - -“She is a riddle, quite a riddle!” said she.--“To chuse to remain here -month after month, under privations of every sort! And now to chuse the -mortification of Mrs. Elton’s notice and the penury of her conversation, -rather than return to the superior companions who have always loved her -with such real, generous affection.” - -Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells -were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had -promised their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh -invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss -Bates--it all came from her--Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly. -Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends -contrived--no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had -declined it! - -“She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing -this invitation,” was Emma’s conclusion. “She must be under some sort -of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is great -fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.--She is _not_ to be -with the _Dixons_. The decree is issued by somebody. But why must she -consent to be with the Eltons?--Here is quite a separate puzzle.” - -Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before -the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this -apology for Jane. - -“We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage, -my dear Emma--but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a -good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We -must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for -what she goes to.” - -“You are right, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “Miss Fairfax -is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. -Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen -her. But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions from -Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her.” - -Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and she -was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush, she presently -replied, - -“Such attentions as Mrs. Elton’s, I should have imagined, would rather -disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton’s invitations I should -have imagined any thing but inviting.” - -“I should not wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, “if Miss Fairfax were to have -been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt’s eagerness in -accepting Mrs. Elton’s civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may -very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater -appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in -spite of the very natural wish of a little change.” - -Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few -minutes silence, he said, - -“Another thing must be taken into consideration too--Mrs. Elton does -not talk _to_ Miss Fairfax as she speaks _of_ her. We all know the -difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken -amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common -civility in our personal intercourse with each other--a something more -early implanted. We cannot give any body the disagreeable hints that we -may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently. -And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be -sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind -and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the -respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably -never fell in Mrs. Elton’s way before--and no degree of vanity can -prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if -not in consciousness.” - -“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Little Henry -was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her -irresolute what else to say. - -“Yes,” he replied, “any body may know how highly I think of her.” - -“And yet,” said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon -stopping--it was better, however, to know the worst at once--she hurried -on--“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it -is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprize some day or -other.” - -Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick -leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or -some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered, - -“Oh! are you there?--But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me -a hint of it six weeks ago.” - -He stopped.--Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, and did not -herself know what to think. In a moment he went on-- - -“That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare -say, would not have me if I were to ask her--and I am very sure I shall -never ask her.” - -Emma returned her friend’s pressure with interest; and was pleased -enough to exclaim, - -“You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.” - -He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful--and in a manner which -shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said, - -“So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?” - -“No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for match-making, -for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now, -meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without any -idea of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not the smallest -wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body. You would not come -in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were married.” - -Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was, “No, -Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take -me by surprize.--I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure -you.” And soon afterwards, “Jane Fairfax is a very charming young -woman--but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has -not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.” - -Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. “Well,” said -she, “and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?” - -“Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken; -he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or -wittier than his neighbours.” - -“In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants to be wiser and -wittier than all the world! I wonder how she speaks of the Coles--what -she calls them! How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough -in familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley--what can she do for -Mr. Cole? And so I am not to be surprized that Jane Fairfax accepts -her civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument -weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation -of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the triumph of -Miss Fairfax’s mind over Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton’s -acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed; or in her -being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding. -I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting her visitor -with praise, encouragement, and offers of service; that she will not be -continually detailing her magnificent intentions, from the procuring her -a permanent situation to the including her in those delightful exploring -parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau.” - -“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Mr. Knightley--“I do not accuse her -of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong--and her -temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control; -but it wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than -she used to be--And I love an open temper. No--till Cole alluded to my -supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax -and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always--but with no -thought beyond.” - -“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly when he left them, “what do -you say now to Mr. Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?” - -“Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the -idea of _not_ being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it -were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.” - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was -disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. Dinner-parties and -evening-parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed -in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were -never to have a disengaged day. - -“I see how it is,” said she. “I see what a life I am to lead among you. -Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite -the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very -formidable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a -disengaged day!--A woman with fewer resources than I have, need not have -been at a loss.” - -No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made evening-parties -perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for -dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing rooms, at -the poor attempt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury -card-parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a -good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon shew -them how every thing ought to be arranged. In the course of the spring -she must return their civilities by one very superior party--in which -her card-tables should be set out with their separate candles and -unbroken packs in the true style--and more waiters engaged for the -evening than their own establishment could furnish, to carry round the -refreshments at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order. - -Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at -Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do less than others, or she -should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful -resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it for -ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the -usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, -with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him. - -The persons to be invited, required little thought. Besides the -Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley; so far it was all of -course--and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must -be asked to make the eighth:--but this invitation was not given with -equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased -by Harriet’s begging to be allowed to decline it. “She would rather not -be in his company more than she could help. She was not yet quite -able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without feeling -uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would -rather stay at home.” It was precisely what Emma would have wished, had -she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was delighted with the -fortitude of her little friend--for fortitude she knew it was in her to -give up being in company and stay at home; and she could now invite the -very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.-- -Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she -was more conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she had often -been.--Mr. Knightley’s words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane -Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her. - -“This is very true,” said she, “at least as far as relates to me, which -was all that was meant--and it is very shameful.--Of the same age--and -always knowing her--I ought to have been more her friend.--She will -never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her -greater attention than I have done.” - -Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all -happy.--The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet -over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little -Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some -weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and -staying one whole day at Hartfield--which one day would be the very day -of this party.--His professional engagements did not allow of his being -put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening -so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the -utmost that his nerves could bear--and here would be a ninth--and Emma -apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not -being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without -falling in with a dinner-party. - -She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself, by -representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet -he always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very -immaterial. She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to -have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her -instead of his brother. - -The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Emma. John -Knightley came; but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and -must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the -evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease; -and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys and the -philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the -chief of even Emma’s vexation. - -The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr. John -Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being -agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they -waited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, -as elegant as lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in -silence--wanting only to observe enough for Isabella’s information--but -Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk -to her. He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk -with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was -natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said, - -“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am -sure you must have been wet.--We scarcely got home in time. I hope you -turned directly.” - -“I went only to the post-office,” said she, “and reached home before the -rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when -I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out. A walk -before breakfast does me good.” - -“Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.” - -“No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.” - -Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied, - -“That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards -from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry -and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The -post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have -lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going -through the rain for.” - -There was a little blush, and then this answer, - -“I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every -dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing -older should make me indifferent about letters.” - -“Indifferent! Oh! no--I never conceived you could become indifferent. -Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very -positive curse.” - -“You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of -friendship.” - -“I have often thought them the worst of the two,” replied he coolly. -“Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does.” - -“Ah! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well--I am -very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body. I -can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than -to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself which -makes the difference, it is not age, but situation. You have every -body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never shall again; -and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post-office, -I think, must always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than -to-day.” - -“When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years,” - said John Knightley, “I meant to imply the change of situation which -time usually brings. I consider one as including the other. Time will -generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily -circle--but that is not the change I had in view for you. As an old -friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence -you may have as many concentrated objects as I have.” - -It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A pleasant “thank -you” seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear -in the eye, shewed that it was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was -now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such -occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his particular -compliments to the ladies, was ending with her--and with all his mildest -urbanity, said, - -“I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning -in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves.--Young ladies -are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their -complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?” - -“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind -solicitude about me.” - -“My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for.--I -hope your good grand-mama and aunt are well. They are some of my very -old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You -do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I -are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest -satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield.” - -The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that he -had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy. - -By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her -remonstrances now opened upon Jane. - -“My dear Jane, what is this I hear?--Going to the post-office in the -rain!--This must not be, I assure you.--You sad girl, how could you do -such a thing?--It is a sign I was not there to take care of you.” - -Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold. - -“Oh! do not tell _me_. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know -how to take care of yourself.--To the post-office indeed! Mrs. Weston, -did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively exert our -authority.” - -“My advice,” said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, “I certainly do -feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks.--Liable -as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly -careful, especially at this time of year. The spring I always think -requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even -half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your cough -again. Now do not you feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are much too -reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing again.” - -“Oh! she _shall_ _not_ do such a thing again,” eagerly rejoined Mrs. -Elton. “We will not allow her to do such a thing again:”--and nodding -significantly--“there must be some arrangement made, there must indeed. -I shall speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every morning -(one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and -bring them to you. That will obviate all difficulties you know; and from -_us_ I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept -such an accommodation.” - -“You are extremely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up my early -walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk -somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon my word, I have -scarcely ever had a bad morning before.” - -“My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined, that is -(laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing -without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston, -you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter -myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I -meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as -settled.” - -“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to such -an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant. If the errand -were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am -not here, by my grandmama’s.” - -“Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!--And it is a kindness to -employ our men.” - -Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of -answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley. - -“The post-office is a wonderful establishment!” said she.--“The -regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do, -and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!” - -“It is certainly very well regulated.” - -“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that -a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the -kingdom, is even carried wrong--and not one in a million, I suppose, -actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad -hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.” - -“The clerks grow expert from habit.--They must begin with some quickness -of sight and hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther -explanation,” continued he, smiling, “they are paid for it. That is -the key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and must be served -well.” - -The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual -observations made. - -“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort -of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master -teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I should imagine -the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very -little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can -get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not -always known their writing apart.” - -“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness. I know what -you mean--but Emma’s hand is the strongest.” - -“Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and -always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston”--with half a sigh and half a -smile at her. - -“I never saw any gentleman’s handwriting”--Emma began, looking also at -Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending -to some one else--and the pause gave her time to reflect, “Now, how am -I going to introduce him?--Am I unequal to speaking his name at once -before all these people? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout -phrase?--Your Yorkshire friend--your correspondent in Yorkshire;--that -would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.--No, I can pronounce -his name without the smallest distress. I certainly get better and -better.--Now for it.” - -Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again--“Mr. Frank Churchill -writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.” - -“I do not admire it,” said Mr. Knightley. “It is too small--wants -strength. It is like a woman’s writing.” - -This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against -the base aspersion. “No, it by no means wanted strength--it was not a -large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any -letter about her to produce?” No, she had heard from him very lately, -but having answered the letter, had put it away. - -“If we were in the other room,” said Emma, “if I had my writing-desk, I -am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note of his.--Do not you -remember, Mrs. Weston, employing him to write for you one day?” - -“He chose to say he was employed”-- - -“Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince -Mr. Knightley.” - -“Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr. -Knightley dryly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of -course, put forth his best.” - -Dinner was on table.--Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was -ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be -allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was saying-- - -“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way.” - -Jane’s solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma. -She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether -the wet walk of this morning had produced any. She suspected that it -_had_; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full -expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had not been -in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual--a -glow both of complexion and spirits. - -She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the -expense of the Irish mails;--it was at her tongue’s end--but she -abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should hurt -Jane Fairfax’s feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of the -room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly becoming to the -beauty and grace of each. - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found it -hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;--with so -much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross -Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to -be almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton -left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she -soon began again; and though much that passed between them was in a -half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton’s side, there was no avoiding -a knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office--catching -cold--fetching letters--and friendship, were long under discussion; -and to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant -to Jane--inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to -suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton’s meditated activity. - -“Here is April come!” said she, “I get quite anxious about you. June -will soon be here.” - -“But I have never fixed on June or any other month--merely looked -forward to the summer in general.” - -“But have you really heard of nothing?” - -“I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.” - -“Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the -difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.” - -“I not aware!” said Jane, shaking her head; “dear Mrs. Elton, who can -have thought of it as I have done?” - -“But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know -how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations. I saw -a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of -Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every -body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first circle. -Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable! Of all -houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge’s is the one I would most wish to see -you in.” - -“Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,” - said Jane. “I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want -it;--afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would -not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present.” - -“Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me -trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be -more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in -a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out -for any thing eligible.” - -“Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to -her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body -trouble.” - -“But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June, -or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before -us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation such as you deserve, -and your friends would require for you, is no everyday occurrence, -is not obtained at a moment’s notice; indeed, indeed, we must begin -inquiring directly.” - -“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no -inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends. When -I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being -long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry -would soon produce something--Offices for the sale--not quite of human -flesh--but of human intellect.” - -“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at -the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to -the abolition.” - -“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane; -“governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely -different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to -the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But -I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by -applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with -something that would do.” - -“Something that would do!” repeated Mrs. Elton. “Aye, _that_ may suit -your humble ideas of yourself;--I know what a modest creature you are; -but it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any -thing that may offer, any inferior, commonplace situation, in a family -not moving in a certain circle, or able to command the elegancies of -life.” - -“You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent; -it would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications, I -think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison. -A gentleman’s family is all that I should condition for.” - -“I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but I shall -be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite -on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the -first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name -your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family -as much as you chose;--that is--I do not know--if you knew the harp, you -might do all that, I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;--yes, I -really believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what -you chose;--and you must and shall be delightfully, honourably and -comfortably settled before the Campbells or I have any rest.” - -“You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such -a situation together,” said Jane, “they are pretty sure to be equal; -however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted -at present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am -obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing -nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I -shall remain where I am, and as I am.” - -“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs. Elton gaily, -“in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to -watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us.” - -In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till Mr. -Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of object, -and Emma heard her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane, - -“Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!--Only think of his -gallantry in coming away before the other men!--what a dear creature -he is;--I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, -old-fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease; -modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish -you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I -began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I -am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like -it?--Selina’s choice--handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it -is not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being -over-trimmed--quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments -now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear like -a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style -of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the -minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress,--show -and finery are every thing. I have some notion of putting such a -trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will -look well?” - -The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room when Mr. -Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a late dinner, -and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much -expected by the best judges, for surprize--but there was great joy. Mr. -Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been sorry -to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute astonishment.--That -a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day -of business in London, should set off again, and walk half a mile -to another man’s house, for the sake of being in mixed company till -bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise -of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been -in motion since eight o’clock in the morning, and might now have been -still, who had been long talking, and might have been silent, who had -been in more than one crowd, and might have been alone!--Such a man, to -quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the -evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the world!--Could -he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken back his wife, there -would have been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather -than break up the party. John Knightley looked at him with amazement, -then shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I could not have believed it -even of _him_.” - -Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he was -exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being -principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was -making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the -inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all -her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread -abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family -communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he -had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in -the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he -had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it. - -“Read it, read it,” said he, “it will give you pleasure; only a few -lines--will not take you long; read it to Emma.” - -The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking -to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible to -every body. - -“Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think. Well, what do you say -to it?--I always told you he would be here again soon, did not I?--Anne, -my dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me?--In -town next week, you see--at the latest, I dare say; for _she_ is as -impatient as the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most -likely they will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all -nothing of course. But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us -again, so near as town. They will stay a good while when they do come, -and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what I wanted. -Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma read -it all? Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about it some -other time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention the -circumstance to the others in a common way.” - -Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks -and words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she was -happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm and -open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. _She_ was a little occupied -in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the degree of her -agitation, which she rather thought was considerable. - -Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative -to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say, -and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by a partial -communication of what the whole room must have overheard already. - -It was well that he took every body’s joy for granted, or he might -not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly -delighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to -be made happy;--from them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax, but -she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would have -been too positive an interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs. -Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject -with her. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -“I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you,” - said Mr. Weston. - -Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended her -by such a hope, smiled most graciously. - -“You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,” he -continued--“and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name.” - -“Oh! yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr. -Elton will lose no time in calling on him; and we shall both have great -pleasure in seeing him at the Vicarage.” - -“You are very obliging.--Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure.-- -He is to be in town next week, if not sooner. We have notice of it in a -letter to-day. I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my -son’s hand, presumed to open it--though it was not directed to me--it -was to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I -hardly ever get a letter.” - -“And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her! Oh! Mr. -Weston--(laughing affectedly) I must protest against that.--A most -dangerous precedent indeed!--I beg you will not let your neighbours -follow your example.--Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we -married women must begin to exert ourselves!--Oh! Mr. Weston, I could -not have believed it of you!” - -“Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs. -Elton.--This letter tells us--it is a short letter--written in a hurry, -merely to give us notice--it tells us that they are all coming up to -town directly, on Mrs. Churchill’s account--she has not been well the -whole winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her--so they are all to -move southward without loss of time.” - -“Indeed!--from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?” - -“Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London, a -considerable journey.” - -“Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles farther than -from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people -of large fortune?--You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. -Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me--but twice -in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four -horses.” - -“The evil of the distance from Enscombe,” said Mr. Weston, “is, that -Mrs. Churchill, _as_ _we_ _understand_, has not been able to leave the -sofa for a week together. In Frank’s last letter she complained, he -said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory without having -both his arm and his uncle’s! This, you know, speaks a great degree of -weakness--but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to -sleep only two nights on the road.--So Frank writes word. Certainly, -delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You -must grant me that.” - -“No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take the part of my -own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice--You will find me a formidable -antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women--and I assure you, -if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you -would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill’s making incredible exertions to -avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her--and I believe I have -caught a little of her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets; -an excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?” - -“Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does every thing that any other fine -lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be second to any lady in the land -for”-- - -Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with, - -“Oh! Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine lady, I assure -you. Do not run away with such an idea.” - -“Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough -a fine lady as any body ever beheld.” - -Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly. -It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was -_not_ a fine lady; perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of -it;--and she was considering in what way she had best retract, when Mr. -Weston went on. - -“Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect--but -this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and -therefore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health -now; but _that_ indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I would -not say so to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs. -Churchill’s illness.” - -“If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston?--To Bath, or to -Clifton?” “She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for -her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now -been a longer time stationary there, than she ever was before, and she -begins to want change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very -retired.” - -“Aye--like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can stand more retired from -the road than Maple Grove. Such an immense plantation all round it! You -seem shut out from every thing--in the most complete retirement.--And -Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy -that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not have resources enough in -herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say a woman cannot -have too many resources--and I feel very thankful that I have so many -myself as to be quite independent of society.” - -“Frank was here in February for a fortnight.” - -“So I remember to have heard. He will find an _addition_ to the society -of Highbury when he comes again; that is, if I may presume to call -myself an addition. But perhaps he may never have heard of there being -such a creature in the world.” - -This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr. -Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed, - -“My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing possible. -Not heard of you!--I believe Mrs. Weston’s letters lately have been full -of very little else than Mrs. Elton.” - -He had done his duty and could return to his son. - -“When Frank left us,” continued he, “it was quite uncertain when we -might see him again, which makes this day’s news doubly welcome. It has -been completely unexpected. That is, _I_ always had a strong persuasion -he would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable would turn -up--but nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully -desponding. ‘How could he contrive to come? And how could it be supposed -that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?’ and so forth--I always -felt that something would happen in our favour; and so it has, you see. -I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if things -are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next.” - -“Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used to say to -a certain gentleman in company in the days of courtship, when, because -things did not go quite right, did not proceed with all the rapidity -which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that -he was sure at this rate it would be _May_ before Hymen’s saffron robe -would be put on for us. Oh! the pains I have been at to dispel those -gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views! The carriage--we had -disappointments about the carriage;--one morning, I remember, he came to -me quite in despair.” - -She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly -seized the opportunity of going on. - -“You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill -is ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place than -Enscombe--in short, to spend in London; so that we have the agreeable -prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring--precisely the -season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost at -the longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and -never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the best -of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather; -there always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we -intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment; and I -do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the -sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day or -to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than -having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the -state of mind which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be -pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy. He is generally -thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston’s -partiality for him is very great, and, as you may suppose, most -gratifying to me. She thinks nobody equal to him.” - -“And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion -will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of Mr. -Frank Churchill.--At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one -of those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means implicitly -guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your son, so I shall -judge of him.--I am no flatterer.” - -Mr. Weston was musing. - -“I hope,” said he presently, “I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. -Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice; but -there are some traits in her character which make it difficult for me to -speak of her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant, -Mrs. Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of the treatment I have -met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid -to her. She was the instigator. Frank’s mother would never have been -slighted as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride; but his pride -is nothing to his wife’s: his is a quiet, indolent, gentlemanlike sort -of pride that would harm nobody, and only make himself a little helpless -and tiresome; but her pride is arrogance and insolence! And what -inclines one less to bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood. -She was nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of a gentleman; -but ever since her being turned into a Churchill she has out-Churchill’d -them all in high and mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is -an upstart.” - -“Only think! well, that must be infinitely provoking! I have quite -a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to -people of that sort; for there is a family in that neighbourhood who -are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give -themselves! Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them -directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and -encumbered with many low connexions, but giving themselves immense airs, -and expecting to be on a footing with the old established families. -A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West -Hall; and how they got their fortune nobody knows. They came from -Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. -One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is something -direful in the sound: but nothing more is positively known of the -Tupmans, though a good many things I assure you are suspected; and -yet by their manners they evidently think themselves equal even to -my brother, Mr. Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest -neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven -years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before him--I -believe, at least--I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed -the purchase before his death.” - -They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having -said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away. - -After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton sat down with Mr. -Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left to their own powers, -and Emma doubted their getting on very well; for Mr. Knightley seemed -little disposed for conversation; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which -nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of spirits -which would have made her prefer being silent. - -Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was to -leave them early the next day; and he soon began with-- - -“Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more to say about the -boys; but you have your sister’s letter, and every thing is down at full -length there we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise than -her’s, and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have to -recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physic -them.” - -“I rather hope to satisfy you both,” said Emma, “for I shall do all -in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella; and -happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic.” - -“And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again.” - -“That is very likely. You think so, do not you?” - -“I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father--or even -may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to -increase as much as they have done lately.” - -“Increase!” - -“Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half-year has made a -great difference in your way of life.” - -“Difference! No indeed I am not.” - -“There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company than -you used to be. Witness this very time. Here am I come down for only -one day, and you are engaged with a dinner-party!--When did it happen -before, or any thing like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you -mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought -an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole’s, or balls at the -Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in your -goings-on, is very great.” - -“Yes,” said his brother quickly, “it is Randalls that does it all.” - -“Very well--and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less -influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that -Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg -you to send them home.” - -“No,” cried Mr. Knightley, “that need not be the consequence. Let them -be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure.” - -“Upon my word,” exclaimed Emma, “you amuse me! I should like to know how -many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of -the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to -attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine--what have -they been? Dining once with the Coles--and having a ball talked of, -which never took place. I can understand you--(nodding at Mr. John -Knightley)--your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at -once here, delights you too much to pass unnoticed. But you, (turning to -Mr. Knightley,) who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from -Hartfield, why you should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I -cannot imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that if Aunt -Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much better -with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where she -is absent one--and who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself -or settling his accounts.” - -Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and succeeded without -difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton’s beginning to talk to him. - - - - -VOLUME III - - - -CHAPTER I - - -A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the -nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She -was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all -apprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him. Her own attachment had -really subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking of;--but -if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the -two, were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had -taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two -months should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before -her:--caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did -not mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be -incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his. - -She wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration. -That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present -acquaintance! and yet, she could not help rather anticipating something -decisive. She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a -crisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil -state. - -It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston had foreseen, -before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill’s -feelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been -imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down -for a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came from -Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick -observation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she -must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be no doubt -of his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had an almost instant doubt -of his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness -in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was -less in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably -of her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable -effect. - -He was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed -delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories: and he -was not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read -his comparative difference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently -fluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed -a liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief -on the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying -away to make other calls in Highbury. “He had seen a group of old -acquaintance in the street as he passed--he had not stopped, he would -not stop for more than a word--but he had the vanity to think they would -be disappointed if he did not call, and much as he wished to stay longer -at Hartfield, he must hurry off.” She had no doubt as to his being less -in love--but neither his agitated spirits, nor his hurrying away, seemed -like a perfect cure; and she was rather inclined to think it implied a -dread of her returning power, and a discreet resolution of not trusting -himself with her long. - -This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days. -He was often hoping, intending to come--but was always prevented. His -aunt could not bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at -Randall’s. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was -to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill’s removal to London had been of no -service to the wilful or nervous part of her disorder. That she was -really ill was very certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at -Randalls. Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked -back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a -year ago. He did not believe it to proceed from any thing that care -and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many -years of existence before her; but he could not be prevailed on, by all -his father’s doubts, to say that her complaints were merely imaginary, -or that she was as strong as ever. - -It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could -not endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and -suffering; and by the ten days’ end, her nephew’s letter to Randalls -communicated a change of plan. They were going to remove immediately to -Richmond. Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of -an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. A -ready-furnished house in a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit -expected from the change. - -Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement, -and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months -before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends--for the -house was taken for May and June. She was told that now he wrote with -the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as he -could even wish. - -Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects. He was -considering her as the source of all the happiness they offered. She -hoped it was not so. Two months must bring it to the proof. - -Mr. Weston’s own happiness was indisputable. He was quite delighted. -It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would be -really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to -a young man?--An hour’s ride. He would be always coming over. The -difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make -the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen -miles--nay, eighteen--it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street--was -a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be -spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in having him in -London; he might as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very -distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer! - -One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this -removal,--the ball at the Crown. It had not been forgotten before, -but it had been soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, -however, it was absolutely to be; every preparation was resumed, and -very soon after the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from -Frank, to say that his aunt felt already much better for the change, and -that he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at -any given time, induced them to name as early a day as possible. - -Mr. Weston’s ball was to be a real thing. A very few to-morrows stood -between the young people of Highbury and happiness. - -Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened the evil to him. -May was better for every thing than February. Mrs. Bates was engaged to -spend the evening at Hartfield, James had due notice, and he sanguinely -hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have any -thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were gone. - - - -CHAPTER II - - -No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball. The day approached, -the day arrived; and after a morning of some anxious watching, Frank -Churchill, in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls before -dinner, and every thing was safe. - -No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma. The room -at the Crown was to witness it;--but it would be better than a -common meeting in a crowd. Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his -entreaties for her arriving there as soon as possible after themselves, -for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety and comfort of -the rooms before any other persons came, that she could not refuse him, -and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the young man’s company. -She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the Crown in good time, the -Randalls party just sufficiently before them. - -Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch; and though he did not -say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful evening. -They all walked about together, to see that every thing was as it should -be; and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of another -carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of at first, without great -surprize. “So unreasonably early!” she was going to exclaim; but she -presently found that it was a family of old friends, who were coming, -like herself, by particular desire, to help Mr. Weston’s judgment; and -they were so very closely followed by another carriage of cousins, -who had been entreated to come early with the same distinguishing -earnestness, on the same errand, that it seemed as if half the company -might soon be collected together for the purpose of preparatory -inspection. - -Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr. Weston -depended, and felt, that to be the favourite and intimate of a man -who had so many intimates and confidantes, was not the very first -distinction in the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but -a little less of open-heartedness would have made him a higher -character.--General benevolence, but not general friendship, made a -man what he ought to be.--She could fancy such a man. The whole party -walked about, and looked, and praised again; and then, having nothing -else to do, formed a sort of half-circle round the fire, to observe -in their various modes, till other subjects were started, that, though -_May_, a fire in the evening was still very pleasant. - -Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston’s fault that the number of privy -councillors was not yet larger. They had stopped at Mrs. Bates’s door -to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be -brought by the Eltons. - -Frank was standing by her, but not steadily; there was a restlessness, -which shewed a mind not at ease. He was looking about, he was going to -the door, he was watching for the sound of other carriages,--impatient -to begin, or afraid of being always near her. - -Mrs. Elton was spoken of. “I think she must be here soon,” said he. “I -have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton, I have heard so much of her. -It cannot be long, I think, before she comes.” - -A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately; but coming back, -said, - -“I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I have never seen -either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no business to put myself forward.” - -Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and the proprieties -passed. - -“But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!” said Mr. Weston, looking about. “We -thought you were to bring them.” - -The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for them now. Emma -longed to know what Frank’s first opinion of Mrs. Elton might be; how -he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of -graciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion, -by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had passed. - -In a few minutes the carriage returned.--Somebody talked of rain.--“I -will see that there are umbrellas, sir,” said Frank to his father: -“Miss Bates must not be forgotten:” and away he went. Mr. Weston was -following; but Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her opinion -of his son; and so briskly did she begin, that the young man himself, -though by no means moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing. - -“A very fine young man indeed, Mr. Weston. You know I candidly told you -I should form my own opinion; and I am happy to say that I am extremely -pleased with him.--You may believe me. I never compliment. I think him -a very handsome young man, and his manners are precisely what I like and -approve--so truly the gentleman, without the least conceit or puppyism. -You must know I have a vast dislike to puppies--quite a horror of them. -They were never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr. Suckling nor -me had ever any patience with them; and we used sometimes to say very -cutting things! Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them -much better.” - -While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston’s attention was chained; but -when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies -just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away. - -Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. “I have no doubt of its being our -carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachman and horses are so -extremely expeditious!--I believe we drive faster than any body.--What -a pleasure it is to send one’s carriage for a friend!--I understand you -were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary. -You may be very sure I shall always take care of _them_.” - -Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked into -the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as Mrs. -Weston’s to receive them. Her gestures and movements might be understood -by any one who looked on like Emma; but her words, every body’s words, -were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who came in -talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes after her -being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened she was -heard, - -“So very obliging of you!--No rain at all. Nothing to signify. I do not -care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares--Well!--(as soon -as she was within the door) Well! This is brilliant indeed!--This is -admirable!--Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could -not have imagined it.--So well lighted up!--Jane, Jane, look!--did you -ever see any thing? Oh! Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin’s -lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as -I came in; she was standing in the entrance. ‘Oh! Mrs. Stokes,’ said -I--but I had not time for more.” She was now met by Mrs. Weston.--“Very -well, I thank you, ma’am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear -it. So afraid you might have a headache!--seeing you pass by so often, -and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed. -Ah! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage!--excellent -time. Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses a moment. Most -comfortable carriage.--Oh! and I am sure our thanks are due to you, -Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, -or we should have been.--But two such offers in one day!--Never were -such neighbours. I said to my mother, ‘Upon my word, ma’am--.’ Thank -you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse’s. I made her -take her shawl--for the evenings are not warm--her large new shawl-- -Mrs. Dixon’s wedding-present.--So kind of her to think of my mother! -Bought at Weymouth, you know--Mr. Dixon’s choice. There were three -others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel -Campbell rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane, are you sure you did -not wet your feet?--It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid:--but -Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely--and there was a mat to step -upon--I shall never forget his extreme politeness.--Oh! Mr. Frank -Churchill, I must tell you my mother’s spectacles have never been in -fault since; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of -your good-nature. Does not she, Jane?--Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank -Churchill?--Ah! here’s Miss Woodhouse.--Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do -you do?--Very well I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite -in fairy-land!--Such a transformation!--Must not compliment, I know -(eyeing Emma most complacently)--that would be rude--but upon my word, -Miss Woodhouse, you do look--how do you like Jane’s hair?--You are -a judge.--She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her -hair!--No hairdresser from London I think could.--Ah! Dr. Hughes I -declare--and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a -moment.--How do you do? How do you do?--Very well, I thank you. This -is delightful, is not it?--Where’s dear Mr. Richard?--Oh! there he is. -Don’t disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How -do you do, Mr. Richard?--I saw you the other day as you rode through -the town--Mrs. Otway, I protest!--and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway -and Miss Caroline.--Such a host of friends!--and Mr. George and Mr. -Arthur!--How do you do? How do you all do?--Quite well, I am much -obliged to you. Never better.--Don’t I hear another carriage?--Who can -this be?--very likely the worthy Coles.--Upon my word, this is charming -to be standing about among such friends! And such a noble fire!--I am -quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me--never take coffee.--A -little tea if you please, sir, by and bye,--no hurry--Oh! here it comes. -Every thing so good!” - -Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and as soon as Miss -Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse -of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind -her.--He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she could not -determine. After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress and look, -compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs. Elton was evidently -wanting to be complimented herself--and it was, “How do you like -my gown?--How do you like my trimming?--How has Wright done my -hair?”--with many other relative questions, all answered with patient -politeness. Mrs. Elton then said, “Nobody can think less of dress in -general than I do--but upon such an occasion as this, when every body’s -eyes are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons--who I have -no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me honour--I would not wish -to be inferior to others. And I see very few pearls in the room except -mine.--So Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand.--We shall -see if our styles suit.--A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill. -I like him very well.” - -At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that Emma could not -but imagine he had overheard his own praises, and did not want to hear -more;--and the voices of the ladies were drowned for a while, till -another suspension brought Mrs. Elton’s tones again distinctly -forward.--Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife was exclaiming, - -“Oh! you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion?--I was -this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient for -tidings of us.” - -“Jane!”--repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprize and -displeasure.--“That is easy--but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I -suppose.” - -“How do you like Mrs. Elton?” said Emma in a whisper. - -“Not at all.” - -“You are ungrateful.” - -“Ungrateful!--What do you mean?” Then changing from a frown to a -smile--“No, do not tell me--I do not want to know what you mean.--Where -is my father?--When are we to begin dancing?” - -Emma could hardly understand him; he seemed in an odd humour. He walked -off to find his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr. and -Mrs. Weston. He had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be -laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton -must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect it; which -interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.--Emma -heard the sad truth with fortitude. - -“And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?” said Mr. Weston. -“She will think Frank ought to ask her.” - -Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and -boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect -approbation of--and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting _him_ -to dance with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help to -persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.--Mr. Weston and Mrs. -Elton led the way, Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse followed. -Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always -considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost enough to make -her think of marrying. Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this -time, in vanity completely gratified; for though she had intended to -begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the change. Mr. Weston -might be his son’s superior.--In spite of this little rub, however, -Emma was smiling with enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length -of the set as it was forming, and to feel that she had so many hours -of unusual festivity before her.--She was more disturbed by Mr. -Knightley’s not dancing than by any thing else.--There he was, among -the standers-by, where he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing,--not -classing himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players, who -were pretending to feel an interest in the dance till their rubbers were -made up,--so young as he looked!--He could not have appeared to greater -advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he had placed himself. His tall, -firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of -the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body’s eyes; -and, excepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of -young men who could be compared with him.--He moved a few steps nearer, -and those few steps were enough to prove in how gentlemanlike a manner, -with what natural grace, he must have danced, would he but take the -trouble.--Whenever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but -in general he was looking grave. She wished he could love a ballroom -better, and could like Frank Churchill better.--He seemed often -observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought of her -dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel -afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner. -They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers. That Frank -Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was indubitable. - -The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the incessant -attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away. Every body seemed -happy; and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom -bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in -the very beginning of the existence of this. Of very important, very -recordable events, it was not more productive than such meetings usually -are. There was one, however, which Emma thought something of.--The two -last dances before supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner;--the -only young lady sitting down;--and so equal had been hitherto the -number of dancers, that how there could be any one disengaged was the -wonder!--But Emma’s wonder lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton -sauntering about. He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were possible -to be avoided: she was sure he would not--and she was expecting him -every moment to escape into the card-room. - -Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room where -the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in front -of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining -it. He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or -speaking to those who were close to her.--Emma saw it. She was not yet -dancing; she was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore -leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little she saw -it all. When she was half-way up the set, the whole group were exactly -behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to watch; but Mr. -Elton was so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue which -just then took place between him and Mrs. Weston; and she perceived that -his wife, who was standing immediately above her, was not only -listening also, but even encouraging him by significant glances.--The -kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left her seat to join him and say, -“Do not you dance, Mr. Elton?” to which his prompt reply was, “Most -readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me.” - -“Me!--oh! no--I would get you a better partner than myself. I am no -dancer.” - -“If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance,” said he, “I shall have great -pleasure, I am sure--for, though beginning to feel myself rather an old -married man, and that my dancing days are over, it would give me very -great pleasure at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. -Gilbert.” - -“Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady -disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith.” “Miss -Smith!--oh!--I had not observed.--You are extremely obliging--and if I -were not an old married man.--But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. -You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your -command--but my dancing days are over.” - -Mrs. Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine with what surprize and -mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr. Elton! the -amiable, obliging, gentle Mr. Elton.--She looked round for a moment; he -had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself -for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed between him -and his wife. - -She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and she feared her -face might be as hot. - -In another moment a happier sight caught her;--Mr. Knightley leading -Harriet to the set!--Never had she been more surprized, seldom more -delighted, than at that instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, -both for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him; and though -too distant for speech, her countenance said much, as soon as she could -catch his eye again. - -His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, extremely good; -and Harriet would have seemed almost too lucky, if it had not been for -the cruel state of things before, and for the very complete enjoyment -and very high sense of the distinction which her happy features -announced. It was not thrown away on her, she bounded higher than ever, -flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual course of smiles. - -Mr. Elton had retreated into the card-room, looking (Emma trusted) very -foolish. She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife, though -growing very like her;--_she_ spoke some of her feelings, by observing -audibly to her partner, - -“Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith!--Very good-natured, -I declare.” - -Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates might be heard from -that moment, without interruption, till her being seated at table and -taking up her spoon. - -“Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you?--Here is your tippet. Mrs. -Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she is afraid there will -be draughts in the passage, though every thing has been done--One door -nailed up--Quantities of matting--My dear Jane, indeed you must. -Mr. Churchill, oh! you are too obliging! How well you put it on!--so -gratified! Excellent dancing indeed!--Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I -said I should, to help grandmama to bed, and got back again, and -nobody missed me.--I set off without saying a word, just as I told you. -Grandmama was quite well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a -vast deal of chat, and backgammon.--Tea was made downstairs, biscuits -and baked apples and wine before she came away: amazing luck in some -of her throws: and she inquired a great deal about you, how you were -amused, and who were your partners. ‘Oh!’ said I, ‘I shall not forestall -Jane; I left her dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love to tell -you all about it herself to-morrow: her first partner was Mr. Elton, -I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr. William Cox.’ My dear -sir, you are too obliging.--Is there nobody you would not rather?--I am -not helpless. Sir, you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and -me on the other!--Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is -going; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks!--Beautiful lace!--Now we -all follow in her train. Quite the queen of the evening!--Well, here we -are at the passage. Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh! no, -there is but one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! -I was convinced there were two, and there is but one. I never saw any -thing equal to the comfort and style--Candles everywhere.--I was telling -you of your grandmama, Jane,--There was a little disappointment.--The -baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their way, you know; but there -was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at -first, and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite boiled -enough, sent it all out again. Now there is nothing grandmama loves -better than sweetbread and asparagus--so she was rather disappointed, -but we agreed we would not speak of it to any body, for fear of -its getting round to dear Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much -concerned!--Well, this is brilliant! I am all amazement! could not have -supposed any thing!--Such elegance and profusion!--I have seen nothing -like it since--Well, where shall we sit? where shall we sit? Anywhere, -so that Jane is not in a draught. Where _I_ sit is of no consequence. -Oh! do you recommend this side?--Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill--only -it seems too good--but just as you please. What you direct in this house -cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes -for grandmama? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but -it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning.” - -Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley till after supper; -but, when they were all in the ballroom again, her eyes invited -him irresistibly to come to her and be thanked. He was warm in his -reprobation of Mr. Elton’s conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness; -and Mrs. Elton’s looks also received the due share of censure. - -“They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,” said he. “Emma, why is it -that they are your enemies?” - -He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, added, -“_She_ ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may -be.--To that surmise, you say nothing, of course; but confess, Emma, -that you did want him to marry Harriet.” - -“I did,” replied Emma, “and they cannot forgive me.” - -He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and he -only said, - -“I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections.” - -“Can you trust me with such flatterers?--Does my vain spirit ever tell -me I am wrong?” - -“Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit.--If one leads you wrong, -I am sure the other tells you of it.” - -“I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. Elton. There is -a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I did not: and I -was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a -series of strange blunders!” - -“And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the -justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has -chosen for himself.--Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, which -Mrs. Elton is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless -girl--infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a -woman as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than I expected.” - -Emma was extremely gratified.--They were interrupted by the bustle of -Mr. Weston calling on every body to begin dancing again. - -“Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all -doing?--Come Emma, set your companions the example. Every body is lazy! -Every body is asleep!” - -“I am ready,” said Emma, “whenever I am wanted.” - -“Whom are you going to dance with?” asked Mr. Knightley. - -She hesitated a moment, and then replied, “With you, if you will ask -me.” - -“Will you?” said he, offering his hand. - -“Indeed I will. You have shewn that you can dance, and you know we are -not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper.” - -“Brother and sister! no, indeed.” - - - -CHAPTER III - - -This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable -pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which -she walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy.--She was extremely -glad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the -Eltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much -alike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was -peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few -minutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the -occasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward -to another happy result--the cure of Harriet’s infatuation.--From -Harriet’s manner of speaking of the circumstance before they quitted the -ballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly -opened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior -creature she had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could -harbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious -courtesy. She depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for -supplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther -requisite.--Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and -Mr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a summer -must be before her! - -She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that he -could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was -to be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it. - -Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them all -to rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened up -for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa, -when the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she -had never less expected to see together--Frank Churchill, with Harriet -leaning on his arm--actually Harriet!--A moment sufficed to convince -her that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white -and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.--The iron gates and the -front-door were not twenty yards asunder;--they were all three soon in -the hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away. - -A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered, -and surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but the -suspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted -with the whole. - -Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs. -Goddard’s, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and -taken a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough -for safety, had led them into alarm.--About half a mile beyond Highbury, -making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became -for a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young ladies -had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly perceived at a small -distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward by the side, a -party of gipsies. A child on the watch, came towards them to beg; and -Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great scream, and calling -on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at -the top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury. -But poor Harriet could not follow. She had suffered very much from cramp -after dancing, and her first attempt to mount the bank brought on such -a return of it as made her absolutely powerless--and in this state, and -exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain. - -How the trampers might have behaved, had the young ladies been more -courageous, must be doubtful; but such an invitation for attack could -not be resisted; and Harriet was soon assailed by half a dozen children, -headed by a stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent -in look, though not absolutely in word.--More and more frightened, she -immediately promised them money, and taking out her purse, gave them a -shilling, and begged them not to want more, or to use her ill.--She -was then able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving away--but her -terror and her purse were too tempting, and she was followed, or rather -surrounded, by the whole gang, demanding more. - -In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and -conditioning, they loud and insolent. By a most fortunate chance his -leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance -at this critical moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced -him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him by another road, -a mile or two beyond Highbury--and happening to have borrowed a pair -of scissors the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to -restore them, he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a -few minutes: he was therefore later than he had intended; and being -on foot, was unseen by the whole party till almost close to them. The -terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then -their own portion. He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet -eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength -enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome. -It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other -place. - -This was the amount of the whole story,--of his communication and of -Harriet’s as soon as she had recovered her senses and speech.--He dared -not stay longer than to see her well; these several delays left him -not another minute to lose; and Emma engaging to give assurance of her -safety to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being such a set of people -in the neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he set off, with all the grateful -blessings that she could utter for her friend and herself. - -Such an adventure as this,--a fine young man and a lovely young woman -thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain -ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at -least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician -have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and -heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been -at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other?--How much -more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and -foresight!--especially with such a groundwork of anticipation as her -mind had already made. - -It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort had ever -occurred before to any young ladies in the place, within her memory; no -rencontre, no alarm of the kind;--and now it had happened to the very -person, and at the very hour, when the other very person was chancing -to pass by to rescue her!--It certainly was very extraordinary!--And -knowing, as she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this -period, it struck her the more. He was wishing to get the better of his -attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. -It seemed as if every thing united to promise the most interesting -consequences. It was not possible that the occurrence should not be -strongly recommending each to the other. - -In the few minutes’ conversation which she had yet had with him, while -Harriet had been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror, -her naivete, her fervour as she seized and clung to his arm, with a -sensibility amused and delighted; and just at last, after Harriet’s -own account had been given, he had expressed his indignation at the -abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Every thing was -to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted. -She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of -interference. There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme. -It was no more than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account proceed. - -Emma’s first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge of -what had passed,--aware of the anxiety and alarm it would occasion: but -she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour -it was known all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those -who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in -the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. The last night’s -ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, -and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without their -promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again. It was some comfort -to him that many inquiries after himself and Miss Woodhouse (for his -neighbours knew that he loved to be inquired after), as well as Miss -Smith, were coming in during the rest of the day; and he had -the pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all very -indifferent--which, though not exactly true, for she was perfectly well, -and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma would not interfere with. She had -an unhappy state of health in general for the child of such a man, -for she hardly knew what indisposition was; and if he did not invent -illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message. - -The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took -themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury might have -walked again in safety before their panic began, and the whole history -dwindled soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma and her -nephews:--in her imagination it maintained its ground, and Henry and -John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the -gipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right if she varied in the -slightest particular from the original recital. - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one -morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down -and hesitating, thus began: - -“Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should -like to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it -will be over.” - -Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a -seriousness in Harriet’s manner which prepared her, quite as much as her -words, for something more than ordinary. - -“It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,” she continued, “to have -no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered -creature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have -the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is -necessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and -I dare say you understand me.” - -“Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I do.” - -“How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...” cried Harriet, -warmly. “It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary -in him now.--I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the -two I had rather not see him--and indeed I would go any distance round -to avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire -her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and -all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall -never forget her look the other night!--However, I assure you, Miss -Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.--No, let them be ever so happy together, -it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I -have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to -have destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that -very well (blushing as she spoke).--However, now I will destroy it -all--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you -may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel -holds?” said she, with a conscious look. - -“Not the least in the world.--Did he ever give you any thing?” - -“No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued -very much.” - -She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_ -_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. -Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within -abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, -which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but, -excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister. - -“Now,” said Harriet, “you _must_ recollect.” - -“No, indeed I do not.” - -“Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what -passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very last -times we ever met in it!--It was but a very few days before I had my -sore throat--just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came--I think the -very evening.--Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new -penknife, and your recommending court-plaister?--But, as you had none -about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took -mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he -cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he -gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making -a treasure of it--so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now -and then as a great treat.” - -“My dearest Harriet!” cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, -and jumping up, “you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. -Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this -relic--I knew nothing of that till this moment--but the cutting the -finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none -about me!--Oh! my sins, my sins!--And I had plenty all the while in my -pocket!--One of my senseless tricks!--I deserve to be under a continual -blush all the rest of my life.--Well--(sitting down again)--go on--what -else?” - -“And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected -it, you did it so naturally.” - -“And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his sake!” - said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided -between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord -bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a -piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I -never was equal to this.” - -“Here,” resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, “here is something -still more valuable, I mean that _has_ _been_ more valuable, because -this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaister -never did.” - -Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an -old pencil,--the part without any lead. - -“This was really his,” said Harriet.--“Do not you remember one -morning?--no, I dare say you do not. But one morning--I forget exactly -the day--but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before _that_ -_evening_, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was -about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about -brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out -his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and -it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the -table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I -dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.” - -“I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it.--Talking -about spruce-beer.--Oh! yes--Mr. Knightley and I both saying we -liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I -perfectly remember it.--Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was -not he? I have an idea he was standing just here.” - -“Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.--It is very odd, but I cannot -recollect.--Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I -am now.”-- - -“Well, go on.” - -“Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say--except that -I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see -me do it.” - -“My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in -treasuring up these things?” - -“Yes, simpleton as I was!--but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I -could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you -know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was--but -had not resolution enough to part with them.” - -“But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister?--I have not -a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be -useful.” - -“I shall be happier to burn it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable -look to me. I must get rid of every thing.--There it goes, and there is -an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton.” - -“And when,” thought Emma, “will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?” - -She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already -made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had _told_ no -fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet’s.--About a fortnight -after the alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite -undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the -information she received more valuable. She merely said, in the course -of some trivial chat, “Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise -you to do so and so”--and thought no more of it, till after a minute’s -silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious tone, “I shall never -marry.” - -Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a -moment’s debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied, - -“Never marry!--This is a new resolution.” - -“It is one that I shall never change, however.” - -After another short hesitation, “I hope it does not proceed from--I hope -it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton?” - -“Mr. Elton indeed!” cried Harriet indignantly.--“Oh! no”--and Emma could -just catch the words, “so superior to Mr. Elton!” - -She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed no -farther?--should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing?--Perhaps -Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were -totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too -much; and against any thing like such an unreserve as had been, such -an open and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly -resolved.--She believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at -once, all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always -best. She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on any -application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to have the -judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed.--She was decided, -and thus spoke-- - -“Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your -resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from -an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your -superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?” - -“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to suppose-- -Indeed I am not so mad.--But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a -distance--and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of -the world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so -proper, in me especially.” - -“I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you -was enough to warm your heart.” - -“Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation!--The very -recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time--when I saw him -coming--his noble look--and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In -one moment such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness!” - -“It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.--Yes, -honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.--But that -it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can promise. I do not -advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage -for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be -wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not -let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be -observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I -give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on -the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I -know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very -wrong before; we will be cautious now.--He is your superior, no doubt, -and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but -yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been -matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not -have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your -raising your thoughts to _him_, is a mark of good taste which I shall -always know how to value.” - -Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was -very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend. -Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind--and it must be -saving her from the danger of degradation. - - - -CHAPTER V - - -In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon -Hartfield. To Highbury in general it brought no material change. The -Eltons were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use -to be made of their barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was still at her -grandmother’s; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland was again -delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely -to remain there full two months longer, provided at least she were able -to defeat Mrs. Elton’s activity in her service, and save herself from -being hurried into a delightful situation against her will. - -Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had certainly -taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike -him more. He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit -of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing -declared it; his own attentions, his father’s hints, his mother-in-law’s -guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and -indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting him -to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr. Knightley -began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He -could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between -them--he thought so at least--symptoms of admiration on his side, which, -having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think entirely -void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma’s errors -of imagination. _She_ was not present when the suspicion first arose. -He was dining with the Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons’; and he -had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from -the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was -again in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen; -nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper and -his fire at twilight, - -“Myself creating what I saw,” - -brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private -liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane. - -He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend -his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet were going to walk; he joined -them; and, on returning, they fell in with a larger party, who, like -themselves, judged it wisest to take their exercise early, as the -weather threatened rain; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates -and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all united; and, on -reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of -visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in -and drink tea with him. The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and -after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few persons listened -to, she also found it possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse’s most -obliging invitation. - -As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horseback. -The gentlemen spoke of his horse. - -“By the bye,” said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, “what -became of Mr. Perry’s plan of setting up his carriage?” - -Mrs. Weston looked surprized, and said, “I did not know that he ever had -any such plan.” - -“Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago.” - -“Me! impossible!” - -“Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what -was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was -extremely happy about it. It was owing to _her_ persuasion, as she -thought his being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You -must remember it now?” - -“Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment.” - -“Never! really, never!--Bless me! how could it be?--Then I must have -dreamt it--but I was completely persuaded--Miss Smith, you walk as if -you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home.” - -“What is this?--What is this?” cried Mr. Weston, “about Perry and a -carriage? Is Perry going to set up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can -afford it. You had it from himself, had you?” - -“No, sir,” replied his son, laughing, “I seem to have had it from -nobody.--Very odd!--I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston’s having -mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all -these particulars--but as she declares she never heard a syllable of -it before, of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. -I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away--and when I have gone -through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. -Perry.” - -“It is odd though,” observed his father, “that you should have had such -a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you -should be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry’s setting up his carriage! and -his wife’s persuading him to it, out of care for his health--just -what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other; only a little -premature. What an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream! -And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is! Well, Frank, your dream -certainly shews that Highbury is in your thoughts when you are absent. -Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think?” - -Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her guests to -prepare her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr. -Weston’s hint. - -“Why, to own the truth,” cried Miss Bates, who had been trying in vain -to be heard the last two minutes, “if I must speak on this subject, -there is no denying that Mr. Frank Churchill might have--I do not mean -to say that he did not dream it--I am sure I have sometimes the oddest -dreams in the world--but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge -that there was such an idea last spring; for Mrs. Perry herself -mentioned it to my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as -ourselves--but it was quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only -thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he should -have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one morning -because she thought she had prevailed. Jane, don’t you remember -grandmama’s telling us of it when we got home? I forget where we -had been walking to--very likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to -Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother--indeed -I do not know who is not--and she had mentioned it to her in confidence; -she had no objection to her telling us, of course, but it was not to go -beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that -I know of. At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having -never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before -I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and -then I have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like -Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it _she_ never betrayed the least -thing in the world. Where is she?--Oh! just behind. Perfectly remember -Mrs. Perry’s coming.--Extraordinary dream, indeed!” - -They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley’s eyes had preceded Miss -Bates’s in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill’s face, where -he thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had -involuntarily turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy -with her shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited -at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank -Churchill the determination of catching her eye--he seemed watching her -intently--in vain, however, if it were so--Jane passed between them -into the hall, and looked at neither. - -There was no time for farther remark or explanation. The dream must be -borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his seat with the rest round the -large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and -which none but Emma could have had power to place there and persuade her -father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on which two of his -daily meals had, for forty years been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly, -and nobody seemed in a hurry to move. - -“Miss Woodhouse,” said Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind -him, which he could reach as he sat, “have your nephews taken away their -alphabets--their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? -This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather -as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one -morning. I want to puzzle you again.” - -Emma was pleased with the thought; and producing the box, the table -was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so much -disposed to employ as their two selves. They were rapidly forming words -for each other, or for any body else who would be puzzled. The quietness -of the game made it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had -often been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston had -occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting, -with tender melancholy, over the departure of the “poor little boys,” - or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray letter near him, how -beautifully Emma had written it. - -Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight -glance round the table, and applied herself to it. Frank was next to -Emma, Jane opposite to them--and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them -all; and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as little -apparent observation. The word was discovered, and with a faint smile -pushed away. If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and -buried from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of -looking just across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after -every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up, and fell to -work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and turned to him for help. The -word was _blunder_; and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a -blush on Jane’s cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible. -Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream; but how it could all be, -was beyond his comprehension. How the delicacy, the discretion of his -favourite could have been so lain asleep! He feared there must be some -decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed to meet -him at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and -trick. It was a child’s play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank -Churchill’s part. - -With great indignation did he continue to observe him; with great alarm -and distrust, to observe also his two blinded companions. He saw a short -word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He -saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly entertaining, -though it was something which she judged it proper to appear to censure; -for she said, “Nonsense! for shame!” He heard Frank Churchill next say, -with a glance towards Jane, “I will give it to her--shall I?”--and as -clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing warmth. “No, no, you -must not; you shall not, indeed.” - -It was done however. This gallant young man, who seemed to love without -feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance, directly handed -over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate -civility entreated her to study it. Mr. Knightley’s excessive curiosity -to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible moment -for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw it -to be _Dixon_. Jane Fairfax’s perception seemed to accompany his; -her comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, -the superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She was -evidently displeased; looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed -more deeply than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, “I did not -know that proper names were allowed,” pushed away the letters with even -an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no other word -that could be offered. Her face was averted from those who had made the -attack, and turned towards her aunt. - -“Aye, very true, my dear,” cried the latter, though Jane had not spoken -a word--“I was just going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be -going indeed. The evening is closing in, and grandmama will be looking -for us. My dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you good -night.” - -Jane’s alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her aunt had -preconceived. She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table; but -so many were also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr. Knightley -thought he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards -her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was afterwards -looking for her shawl--Frank Churchill was looking also--it was growing -dusk, and the room was in confusion; and how they parted, Mr. Knightley -could not tell. - -He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts full of -what he had seen; so full, that when the candles came to assist his -observations, he must--yes, he certainly must, as a friend--an anxious -friend--give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her -in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was -his duty. - -“Pray, Emma,” said he, “may I ask in what lay the great amusement, the -poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the -word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the -one, and so very distressing to the other.” - -Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to give him the true -explanation; for though her suspicions were by no means removed, she was -really ashamed of having ever imparted them. - -“Oh!” she cried in evident embarrassment, “it all meant nothing; a mere -joke among ourselves.” - -“The joke,” he replied gravely, “seemed confined to you and Mr. -Churchill.” - -He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. She would rather -busy herself about any thing than speak. He sat a little while in -doubt. A variety of evils crossed his mind. Interference--fruitless -interference. Emma’s confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to -declare her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, -to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, -rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the -remembrance of neglect in such a cause. - -“My dear Emma,” said he at last, with earnest kindness, “do you -think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the -gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?” - -“Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh! yes, perfectly.--Why -do you make a doubt of it?” - -“Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or -that she admired him?” - -“Never, never!” she cried with a most open eagerness--“Never, for the -twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could -it possibly come into your head?” - -“I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between -them--certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be -public.” - -“Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can -vouchsafe to let your imagination wander--but it will not do--very sorry -to check you in your first essay--but indeed it will not do. There is no -admiration between them, I do assure you; and the appearances which -have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar circumstances--feelings -rather of a totally different nature--it is impossible exactly to -explain:--there is a good deal of nonsense in it--but the part which is -capable of being communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as far -from any attachment or admiration for one another, as any two beings in -the world can be. That is, I _presume_ it to be so on her side, and I -can _answer_ for its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman’s -indifference.” - -She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction -which silenced, Mr. Knightley. She was in gay spirits, and would have -prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his -suspicions, every look described, and all the wheres and hows of a -circumstance which highly entertained her: but his gaiety did not meet -hers. He found he could not be useful, and his feelings were too much -irritated for talking. That he might not be irritated into an absolute -fever, by the fire which Mr. Woodhouse’s tender habits required almost -every evening throughout the year, he soon afterwards took a hasty -leave, and walked home to the coolness and solitude of Donwell Abbey. - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs. -Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification -of hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No such -importation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at -present. In the daily interchange of news, they must be again restricted -to the other topics with which for a while the Sucklings’ coming had -been united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health -seemed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs. -Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually be as much -increased by the arrival of a child, as that of all her neighbours was -by the approach of it. - -Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay of a great deal -of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations must all -wait, and every projected party be still only talked of. So she thought -at first;--but a little consideration convinced her that every thing -need not be put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill though -the Sucklings did not come? They could go there again with them in the -autumn. It was settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was -to be such a party had been long generally known: it had even given the -idea of another. Emma had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what -every body found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed -to chuse some fine morning and drive thither. Two or three more of the -chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a -quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and -preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the -Eltons and the Sucklings. - -This was so very well understood between them, that Emma could not but -feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston -that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had -failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together; and that -as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she -had no objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her very great -dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be perfectly -aware, it was not worth bringing forward again:--it could not be done -without a reproof to him, which would be giving pain to his wife; and -she found herself therefore obliged to consent to an arrangement which -she would have done a great deal to avoid; an arrangement which would -probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. -Elton’s party! Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her -outward submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her -reflections on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston’s temper. - -“I am glad you approve of what I have done,” said he very comfortably. -“But I thought you would. Such schemes as these are nothing without -numbers. One cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its -own amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all. One could not -leave her out.” - -Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private. - -It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton -was growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to -pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw every thing -into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, -before the horse were useable; but no preparations could be ventured -on, and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton’s resources were -inadequate to such an attack. - -“Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?” she cried.--“And such weather -for exploring!--These delays and disappointments are quite odious. What -are we to do?--The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing -done. Before this time last year I assure you we had had a delightful -exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston.” - -“You had better explore to Donwell,” replied Mr. Knightley. “That may -be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening -fast.” - -If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, -for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the “Oh! I should like -it of all things,” was not plainer in words than manner. Donwell was -famous for its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation: -but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds would have been enough to tempt -the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere. She promised him again -and again to come--much oftener than he doubted--and was extremely -gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment -as she chose to consider it. - -“You may depend upon me,” said she. “I certainly will come. Name your -day, and I will come. You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?” - -“I cannot name a day,” said he, “till I have spoken to some others whom -I would wish to meet you.” - -“Oh! leave all that to me. Only give me a carte-blanche.--I am Lady -Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends with me.” - -“I hope you will bring Elton,” said he: “but I will not trouble you to -give any other invitations.” - -“Oh! now you are looking very sly. But consider--you need not be afraid -of delegating power to _me_. I am no young lady on her preferment. -Married women, you know, may be safely authorised. It is my party. Leave -it all to me. I will invite your guests.” - -“No,”--he calmly replied,--“there is but one married woman in the world -whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and -that one is--” - -“--Mrs. Weston, I suppose,” interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified. - -“No--Mrs. Knightley;--and till she is in being, I will manage such -matters myself.” - -“Ah! you are an odd creature!” she cried, satisfied to have no one -preferred to herself.--“You are a humourist, and may say what you -like. Quite a humourist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me--Jane and her -aunt.--The rest I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting -the Hartfield family. Don’t scruple. I know you are attached to them.” - -“You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss -Bates in my way home.” - -“That’s quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:--but as you like. It -is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. I -shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging -on my arm. Here,--probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be -more simple, you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be -no form or parade--a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk about -your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under -trees;--and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out -of doors--a table spread in the shade, you know. Every thing as natural -and simple as possible. Is not that your idea?” - -“Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have -the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of -gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is -best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating -strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house.” - -“Well--as you please; only don’t have a great set out. And, by the bye, -can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with our opinion?--Pray be -sincere, Knightley. If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect -anything--” - -“I have not the least wish for it, I thank you.” - -“Well--but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper is extremely -clever.” - -“I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and -would spurn any body’s assistance.” - -“I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come on -donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me--and my caro sposo walking by. I -really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life -I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever -so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at -home;--and very long walks, you know--in summer there is dust, and in -winter there is dirt.” - -“You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is -never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if -you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole’s. I would wish every thing to -be as much to your taste as possible.” - -“That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my good friend. -Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you have the -warmest heart. As I tell Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist.--Yes, -believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in -the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please -me.” - -Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade. He -wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the party; -and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors to -eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the -specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at -Donwell, be tempted away to his misery. - -He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him for -his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two -years. “Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet, could go -very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear girls -walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could be damp now, -in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old house again -exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and -any other of his neighbours.--He could not see any objection at all to -his, and Emma’s, and Harriet’s going there some very fine morning. He -thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them--very kind -and sensible--much cleverer than dining out.--He was not fond of dining -out.” - -Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body’s most ready concurrence. The -invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as if, like -Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular compliment -to themselves.--Emma and Harriet professed very high expectations of -pleasure from it; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get Frank over to -join them, if possible; a proof of approbation and gratitude which could -have been dispensed with.--Mr. Knightley was then obliged to say that -he should be glad to see him; and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in -writing, and spare no arguments to induce him to come. - -In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that the party to -Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell was -settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next,--the weather appearing -exactly right. - -Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr. Woodhouse was -safely conveyed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake of -this al-fresco party; and in one of the most comfortable rooms in the -Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was -happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of what -had been achieved, and advise every body to come and sit down, and not -to heat themselves.--Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have walked there on -purpose to be tired, and sit all the time with him, remained, when -all the others were invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and -sympathiser. - -It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she was -satisfied of her father’s comfort, she was glad to leave him, and look -around her; eager to refresh and correct her memory with more particular -observation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds which must -ever be so interesting to her and all her family. - -She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with -the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed -the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming, -characteristic situation, low and sheltered--its ample gardens -stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with -all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight--and its abundance -of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance -had rooted up.--The house was larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike -it, covering a good deal of ground, rambling and irregular, with many -comfortable, and one or two handsome rooms.--It was just what it ought -to be, and it looked what it was--and Emma felt an increasing respect -for it, as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted -in blood and understanding.--Some faults of temper John Knightley had; -but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them -neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush. These were -pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them till it -was necessary to do as the others did, and collect round the -strawberry-beds.--The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank -Churchill, who was expected every moment from Richmond; and Mrs. Elton, -in all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket, -was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or -talking--strawberries, and only strawberries, could now be thought or -spoken of.--“The best fruit in England--every body’s favourite--always -wholesome.--These the finest beds and finest sorts.--Delightful to -gather for one’s self--the only way of really enjoying them.--Morning -decidedly the best time--never tired--every sort good--hautboy -infinitely superior--no comparison--the others hardly eatable--hautboys -very scarce--Chili preferred--white wood finest flavour of all--price -of strawberries in London--abundance about Bristol--Maple -Grove--cultivation--beds when to be renewed--gardeners thinking exactly -different--no general rule--gardeners never to be put out of their -way--delicious fruit--only too rich to be eaten much of--inferior -to cherries--currants more refreshing--only objection to gathering -strawberries the stooping--glaring sun--tired to death--could bear it no -longer--must go and sit in the shade.” - -Such, for half an hour, was the conversation--interrupted only once by -Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law, to -inquire if he were come--and she was a little uneasy.--She had some -fears of his horse. - -Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged -to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of.--A -situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had -received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not -with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and -splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a cousin of Mrs. -Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove. -Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, -every thing--and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with -immediately.--On her side, all was warmth, energy, and triumph--and she -positively refused to take her friend’s negative, though Miss Fairfax -continued to assure her that she would not at present engage in any -thing, repeating the same motives which she had been heard to urge -before.--Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to write an -acquiescence by the morrow’s post.--How Jane could bear it at all, was -astonishing to Emma.--She did look vexed, she did speak pointedly--and -at last, with a decision of action unusual to her, proposed a -removal.--“Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the -gardens--all the gardens?--She wished to see the whole extent.”--The -pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear. - -It was hot; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered, -dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one -another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which -stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed -the finish of the pleasure grounds.--It led to nothing; nothing but a -view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars, which seemed -intended, in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to -the house, which never had been there. Disputable, however, as might be -the taste of such a termination, it was in itself a charming walk, and -the view which closed it extremely pretty.--The considerable slope, at -nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper -form beyond its grounds; and at half a mile distant was a bank of -considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with wood;--and at -the bottom of this bank, favourably placed and sheltered, rose the -Abbey Mill Farm, with meadows in front, and the river making a close and -handsome curve around it. - -It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure, -English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being -oppressive. - -In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled; and -towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet -distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and -Harriet!--It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it.--There -had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and -turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant -conversation. There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry -to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm; but now -she feared it not. It might be safely viewed with all its appendages of -prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in -blossom, and light column of smoke ascending.--She joined them at the -wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around. He -was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc. and Emma -received a smile which seemed to say, “These are my own concerns. I have -a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of -introducing Robert Martin.”--She did not suspect him. It was too old -a story.--Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.--They -took a few turns together along the walk.--The shade was most -refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day. - -The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;--and they -were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs. -Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own himself -uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing -that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as to -coming, with more than common certainty. “His aunt was so much better, -that he had not a doubt of getting over to them.”--Mrs. Churchill’s -state, however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such -sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable -dependence--and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, -that it must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was -prevented coming.--Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under -consideration; she behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion. - -The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to see -what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far -as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at -any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again.--Mr. -Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in the highest part -of the gardens, where no damps from the river were imagined even by him, -stirred no more; and his daughter resolved to remain with him, that -Mrs. Weston might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and -variety which her spirits seemed to need. - -Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse’s -entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, -shells, and every other family collection within his cabinets, had been -prepared for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness -had perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused. -Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now he would shew them -all to Emma;--fortunate in having no other resemblance to a child, than -in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and -methodical.--Before this second looking over was begun, however, Emma -walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments’ free observation of -the entrance and ground-plot of the house--and was hardly there, when -Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a -look of escape.--Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there -was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in -quest of. - -“Will you be so kind,” said she, “when I am missed, as to say that I am -gone home?--I am going this moment.--My aunt is not aware how late it -is, nor how long we have been absent--but I am sure we shall be wanted, -and I am determined to go directly.--I have said nothing about it to any -body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the -ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be -missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am -gone?” - -“Certainly, if you wish it;--but you are not going to walk to Highbury -alone?” - -“Yes--what should hurt me?--I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty -minutes.” - -“But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my -father’s servant go with you.--Let me order the carriage. It can be -round in five minutes.” - -“Thank you, thank you--but on no account.--I would rather walk.--And -for _me_ to be afraid of walking alone!--I, who may so soon have to -guard others!” - -She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, “That -can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the -carriage. The heat even would be danger.--You are fatigued already.” - -“I am,”--she answered--“I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of -fatigue--quick walking will refresh me.--Miss Woodhouse, we all know -at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are -exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have -my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary.” - -Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into -her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and -watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was -grateful--and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of -being sometimes alone!”--seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and -to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, -even towards some of those who loved her best. - -“Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!” said Emma, as she turned back into -the hall again. “I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray of -their just horrors, the more I shall like you.” - -Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only -accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank -Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had -forgotten to think of him--but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston -would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; _they_ were right -who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by -a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had -lasted some hours--and he had quite given up every thought of coming, -till very late;--and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and -how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have -come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing -like it--almost wished he had staid at home--nothing killed him -like heat--he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was -intolerable--and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the -slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable. - -“You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,” said Emma. - -“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be -spared--but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be -going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met _one_ as I -came--Madness in such weather!--absolute madness!” - -Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s -state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of -humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such might be -his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often -the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking -some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the -dining-room--and she humanely pointed out the door. - -“No--he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him -hotter.” In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and -muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma returned all her -attention to her father, saying in secret-- - -“I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man -who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet’s sweet easy temper -will not mind it.” - -He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came -back all the better--grown quite cool--and, with good manners, like -himself--able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their -employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. -He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, -at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking -over views in Swisserland. - -“As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he. “I shall -never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my -sketches, some time or other, to look at--or my tour to read--or my -poem. I shall do something to expose myself.” - -“That may be--but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will never go to -Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England.” - -“They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed for -her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I -assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I -shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I -want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating -eyes may fancy--I am sick of England--and would leave it to-morrow, if -I could.” - -“You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent a few -hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?” - -“_I_ sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken. I do -not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted -in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate -person.” - -“You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came. Go and -eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another slice of -cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on -a par with the rest of us.” - -“No--I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best cure.” - -“We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;--you will join us. It is not -Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of -a change. You will stay, and go with us?” - -“No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening.” - -“But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning.” - -“No--It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross.” - -“Then pray stay at Richmond.” - -“But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of you -all there without me.” - -“These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Chuse your -own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more.” - -The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected. -With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others -took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and -disturbance on Miss Fairfax’s disappearance being explained. That it was -time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with a short final -arrangement for the next day’s scheme, they parted. Frank Churchill’s -little inclination to exclude himself increased so much, that his last -words to Emma were, - -“Well;--if _you_ wish me to stay and join the party, I will.” - -She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond -was to take him back before the following evening. - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward -circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in -favour of a pleasant party. Mr. Weston directed the whole, officiating -safely between Hartfield and the Vicarage, and every body was in good -time. Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece, with -the Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs. Weston remained with Mr. -Woodhouse. Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there. -Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body -had a burst of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount -of the day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits, -a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much -into parties. The Eltons walked together; Mr. Knightley took charge of -Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. -And Mr. Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It seemed -at first an accidental division, but it never materially varied. Mr. and -Mrs. Elton, indeed, shewed no unwillingness to mix, and be as agreeable -as they could; but during the two whole hours that were spent on the -hill, there seemed a principle of separation, between the other parties, -too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold collation, or any -cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove. - -At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank -Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing--looked -without seeing--admired without intelligence--listened without knowing -what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet -should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable. - -When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, -for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. -Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her. -To amuse her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared -for--and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered, was gay -and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission -to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating -period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, -meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must -have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very -well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted together -excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase--and -to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to -Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any -real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she had -expected. She laughed because she was disappointed; and though she liked -him for his attentions, and thought them all, whether in friendship, -admiration, or playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning -back her heart. She still intended him for her friend. - -“How much I am obliged to you,” said he, “for telling me to come -to-day!--If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all -the happiness of this party. I had quite determined to go away again.” - -“Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except that you -were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend than you -deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to come.” - -“Don’t say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me.” - -“It is hotter to-day.” - -“Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day.” - -“You are comfortable because you are under command.” - -“Your command?--Yes.” - -“Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command. You had, -somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your own -management; but to-day you are got back again--and as I cannot be always -with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own command -rather than mine.” - -“It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without a -motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always -with me. You are always with me.” - -“Dating from three o’clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could not -begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before.” - -“Three o’clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen you -first in February.” - -“Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But (lowering her voice)--nobody -speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking -nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people.” - -“I say nothing of which I am ashamed,” replied he, with lively -impudence. “I saw you first in February. Let every body on the Hill -hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one side, -and Dorking on the other. I saw you first in February.” And then -whispering--“Our companions are excessively stupid. What shall we do -to rouse them? Any nonsense will serve. They _shall_ talk. Ladies -and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, -presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking -of?” - -Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great -deal; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse’s presiding; Mr. -Knightley’s answer was the most distinct. - -“Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all -thinking of?” - -“Oh! no, no”--cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could--“Upon no -account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt -of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking -of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps, (glancing -at Mr. Weston and Harriet,) whose thoughts I might not be afraid of -knowing.” - -“It is a sort of thing,” cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, “which _I_ -should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though, -perhaps, as the _Chaperon_ of the party--_I_ never was in any -circle--exploring parties--young ladies--married women--” - -Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply, - -“Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed--quite unheard -of--but some ladies say any thing. Better pass it off as a joke. Every -body knows what is due to _you_.” - -“It will not do,” whispered Frank to Emma; “they are most of them -affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and gentlemen--I -am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of -knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires -something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way. Here -are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is pleased to say, am very -entertaining already,) and she only demands from each of you either one -thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated--or two -things moderately clever--or three things very dull indeed, and she -engages to laugh heartily at them all.” - -“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. -‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I -shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, -shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every -body’s assent)--Do not you all think I shall?” - -Emma could not resist. - -“Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me--but you will be -limited as to number--only three at once.” - -Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not -immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not -anger, though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her. - -“Ah!--well--to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. -Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very -disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.” - -“I like your plan,” cried Mr. Weston. “Agreed, agreed. I will do my -best. I am making a conundrum. How will a conundrum reckon?” - -“Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,” answered his son;--“but we shall be -indulgent--especially to any one who leads the way.” - -“No, no,” said Emma, “it will not reckon low. A conundrum of Mr. -Weston’s shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me -hear it.” - -“I doubt its being very clever myself,” said Mr. Weston. “It is too much -a matter of fact, but here it is.--What two letters of the alphabet are -there, that express perfection?” - -“What two letters!--express perfection! I am sure I do not know.” - -“Ah! you will never guess. You, (to Emma), I am certain, will never -guess.--I will tell you.--M. and A.--Em-ma.--Do you understand?” - -Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very -indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and -enjoy in it--and so did Frank and Harriet.--It did not seem to touch -the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. -Knightley gravely said, - -“This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston -has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body -else. _Perfection_ should not have come quite so soon.” - -“Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,” said Mrs. Elton; “_I_ -really cannot attempt--I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had -an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all -pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!--You know -who I mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are very -well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of -place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer. -Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty -things at every body’s service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a -great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to -judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please, -Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing -clever to say--not one of us. - -“Yes, yes, pray pass _me_,” added her husband, with a sort of sneering -consciousness; “_I_ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss -Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married man--quite good for -nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta?” - -“With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot. -Come, Jane, take my other arm.” - -Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. -“Happy couple!” said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of -hearing:--“How well they suit one another!--Very lucky--marrying as they -did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!--They only knew -each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky!--for as to -any real knowledge of a person’s disposition that Bath, or any public -place, can give--it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is -only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as -they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it -is all guess and luck--and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man -has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest -of his life!” - -Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own -confederates, spoke now. - -“Such things do occur, undoubtedly.”--She was stopped by a cough. Frank -Churchill turned towards her to listen. - -“You were speaking,” said he, gravely. She recovered her voice. - -“I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances -do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be -very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise--but there is -generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to -mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness -must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate -acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever.” - -He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon -afterwards said, in a lively tone, - -“Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I -marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me. Will you? (turning to -Emma.) Will you chuse a wife for me?--I am sure I should like any body -fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know, (with a smile at -his father). Find some body for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her, educate -her.” - -“And make her like myself.” - -“By all means, if you can.” - -“Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming wife.” - -“She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care for nothing else. -I shall go abroad for a couple of years--and when I return, I shall come -to you for my wife. Remember.” - -Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch every -favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described? -Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished. -He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say? -Referring the education to her seemed to imply it. - -“Now, ma’am,” said Jane to her aunt, “shall we join Mrs. Elton?” - -“If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite ready. I was -ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well. We shall -soon overtake her. There she is--no, that’s somebody else. That’s one -of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her.--Well, I -declare--” - -They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley. Mr. Weston, -his son, Emma, and Harriet, only remained; and the young man’s spirits -now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last of -flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly about -with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended -to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her. The -appearance of the servants looking out for them to give notice of the -carriages was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting and -preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to have _her_ -carriage first, were gladly endured, in the prospect of the quiet drive -home which was to close the very questionable enjoyments of this day of -pleasure. Such another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, -she hoped never to be betrayed into again. - -While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by her side. He -looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said, - -“Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a -privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. -I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be -so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to -a woman of her character, age, and situation?--Emma, I had not thought -it possible.” - -Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off. - -“Nay, how could I help saying what I did?--Nobody could have helped it. -It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand me.” - -“I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of -it since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it--with what -candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring your -forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for -ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be -so irksome.” - -“Oh!” cried Emma, “I know there is not a better creature in the world: -but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most -unfortunately blended in her.” - -“They are blended,” said he, “I acknowledge; and, were she prosperous, -I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over -the good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless -absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any -liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation--but, Emma, -consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk -from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must -probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was -badly done, indeed! You, whom she had known from an infant, whom she had -seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour, to have you -now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, -humble her--and before her niece, too--and before others, many of whom -(certainly _some_,) would be entirely guided by _your_ treatment -of her.--This is not pleasant to you, Emma--and it is very far from -pleasant to me; but I must, I will,--I will tell you truths while I can; -satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and -trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you -can do now.” - -While they talked, they were advancing towards the carriage; it was -ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in. He had -misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and her -tongue motionless. They were combined only of anger against herself, -mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak; and, on -entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment overcome--then reproaching -herself for having taken no leave, making no acknowledgment, parting in -apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand eager to shew a -difference; but it was just too late. He had turned away, and the horses -were in motion. She continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with -what appeared unusual speed, they were half way down the hill, and -every thing left far behind. She was vexed beyond what could have been -expressed--almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so -agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was -most forcibly struck. The truth of this representation there was no -denying. She felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, -so cruel to Miss Bates! How could she have exposed herself to such ill -opinion in any one she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without -saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness! - -Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel -it more. She never had been so depressed. Happily it was not necessary -to speak. There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, -fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears running -down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to -check them, extraordinary as they were. - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma’s thoughts all the -evening. How it might be considered by the rest of the party, she could -not tell. They, in their different homes, and their different ways, -might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view it was -a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational -satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection, than -any she had ever passed. A whole evening of back-gammon with her father, -was felicity to it. _There_, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she -was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort; and -feeling that, unmerited as might be the degree of his fond affection and -confiding esteem, she could not, in her general conduct, be open to any -severe reproach. As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart. -She hoped no one could have said to her, “How could you be so unfeeling -to your father?--I must, I will tell you truths while I can.” Miss -Bates should never again--no, never! If attention, in future, could do -away the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss, -her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; -scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the warmth of true -contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should -be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse. - -She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that -nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought, that she -might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in -while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not be -ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers. -Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not. - -“The ladies were all at home.” She had never rejoiced at the sound -before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the stairs, -with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of -deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule. - -There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking. -She heard Miss Bates’s voice, something was to be done in a hurry; the -maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased to wait a -moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and niece seemed both -escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she had a distinct glimpse of, -looking extremely ill; and, before the door had shut them out, she heard -Miss Bates saying, “Well, my dear, I shall _say_ you are laid down upon -the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough.” - -Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she did not -quite understand what was going on. - -“I am afraid Jane is not very well,” said she, “but I do not know; they -_tell_ me she is well. I dare say my daughter will be here presently, -Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am -very little able--Have you a chair, ma’am? Do you sit where you like? I -am sure she will be here presently.” - -Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment’s fear of Miss Bates -keeping away from her. But Miss Bates soon came--“Very happy and -obliged”--but Emma’s conscience told her that there was not the same -cheerful volubility as before--less ease of look and manner. A very -friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead the way to a -return of old feelings. The touch seemed immediate. - -“Ah! Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!--I suppose you have heard--and -are come to give us joy. This does not seem much like joy, indeed, in -me--(twinkling away a tear or two)--but it will be very trying for us -to part with her, after having had her so long, and she has a dreadful -headache just now, writing all the morning:--such long letters, you -know, to be written to Colonel Campbell, and Mrs. Dixon. ‘My dear,’ said -I, ‘you will blind yourself’--for tears were in her eyes perpetually. -One cannot wonder, one cannot wonder. It is a great change; and though -she is amazingly fortunate--such a situation, I suppose, as no -young woman before ever met with on first going out--do not think us -ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune--(again -dispersing her tears)--but, poor dear soul! if you were to see what a -headache she has. When one is in great pain, you know one cannot feel -any blessing quite as it may deserve. She is as low as possible. To -look at her, nobody would think how delighted and happy she is to have -secured such a situation. You will excuse her not coming to you--she is -not able--she is gone into her own room--I want her to lie down upon the -bed. ‘My dear,’ said I, ‘I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:’ -but, however, she is not; she is walking about the room. But, now that -she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well. She will -be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your -kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door--I was quite -ashamed--but somehow there was a little bustle--for it so happened that -we had not heard the knock, and till you were on the stairs, we did not -know any body was coming. ‘It is only Mrs. Cole,’ said I, ‘depend upon -it. Nobody else would come so early.’ ‘Well,’ said she, ‘it must be -borne some time or other, and it may as well be now.’ But then Patty -came in, and said it was you. ‘Oh!’ said I, ‘it is Miss Woodhouse: I am -sure you will like to see her.’--‘I can see nobody,’ said she; and -up she got, and would go away; and that was what made us keep you -waiting--and extremely sorry and ashamed we were. ‘If you must go, my -dear,’ said I, ‘you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the -bed.’” - -Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing -kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her present sufferings acted -as a cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing but -pity; and the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations of -the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve on -seeing Mrs. Cole or any other steady friend, when she might not bear -to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and -solicitude--sincerely wishing that the circumstances which she collected -from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as much for -Miss Fairfax’s advantage and comfort as possible. “It must be a severe -trial to them all. She had understood it was to be delayed till Colonel -Campbell’s return.” - -“So very kind!” replied Miss Bates. “But you are always kind.” - -There was no bearing such an “always;” and to break through her dreadful -gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of-- - -“Where--may I ask?--is Miss Fairfax going?” - -“To a Mrs. Smallridge--charming woman--most superior--to have the charge -of her three little girls--delightful children. Impossible that any -situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps, -Mrs. Suckling’s own family, and Mrs. Bragge’s; but Mrs. Smallridge is -intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:--lives only four -miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove.” - -“Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax owes--” - -“Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend. She -would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say, ‘No;’ for when Jane -first heard of it, (it was the day before yesterday, the very morning -we were at Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she was quite decided -against accepting the offer, and for the reasons you mention; exactly -as you say, she had made up her mind to close with nothing till Colonel -Campbell’s return, and nothing should induce her to enter into any -engagement at present--and so she told Mrs. Elton over and over -again--and I am sure I had no more idea that she would change her -mind!--but that good Mrs. Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw -farther than I did. It is not every body that would have stood out in -such a kind way as she did, and refuse to take Jane’s answer; but she -positively declared she would _not_ write any such denial yesterday, as -Jane wished her; she would wait--and, sure enough, yesterday evening it -was all settled that Jane should go. Quite a surprize to me! I had not -the least idea!--Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that -upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Smallridge’s situation, she -had come to the resolution of accepting it.--I did not know a word of it -till it was all settled.” - -“You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?” - -“Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was settled so, upon -the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley. ‘You _must_ -_all_ spend your evening with us,’ said she--‘I positively must have you -_all_ come.’” - -“Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?” - -“No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though I -thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she would not let him -off, he did not;--but my mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and -a very agreeable evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss -Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable, though every body seemed -rather fagged after the morning’s party. Even pleasure, you know, is -fatiguing--and I cannot say that any of them seemed very much to have -enjoyed it. However, _I_ shall always think it a very pleasant party, -and feel extremely obliged to the kind friends who included me in it.” - -“Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had been -making up her mind the whole day?” - -“I dare say she had.” - -“Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and all her -friends--but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation that is -possible--I mean, as to the character and manners of the family.” - -“Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is every thing -in the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings and -Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal -and elegant, in all Mrs. Elton’s acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most -delightful woman!--A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove--and as -to the children, except the little Sucklings and little Bragges, there -are not such elegant sweet children anywhere. Jane will be treated with -such regard and kindness!--It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of -pleasure.--And her salary!--I really cannot venture to name her salary -to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would -hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like Jane.” - -“Ah! madam,” cried Emma, “if other children are at all like what I -remember to have been myself, I should think five times the amount of -what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such occasions, dearly -earned.” - -“You are so noble in your ideas!” - -“And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?” - -“Very soon, very soon, indeed; that’s the worst of it. Within a -fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother does not -know how to bear it. So then, I try to put it out of her thoughts, and -say, Come ma’am, do not let us think about it any more.” - -“Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel and -Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself before their -return?” - -“Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such a situation -as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I was so astonished -when she first told me what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when -Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon it! It was -before tea--stay--no, it could not be before tea, because we were -just going to cards--and yet it was before tea, because I remember -thinking--Oh! no, now I recollect, now I have it; something happened -before tea, but not that. Mr. Elton was called out of the room before -tea, old John Abdy’s son wanted to speak with him. Poor old John, I -have a great regard for him; he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven -years; and now, poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the -rheumatic gout in his joints--I must go and see him to-day; and so will -Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor John’s son came to -talk to Mr. Elton about relief from the parish; he is very well to do -himself, you know, being head man at the Crown, ostler, and every thing -of that sort, but still he cannot keep his father without some help; -and so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what John ostler had been -telling him, and then it came out about the chaise having been sent to -Randalls to take Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. That was what happened -before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke to Mrs. Elton.” - -Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this -circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible that she -could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill’s -going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence. - -What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being the -accumulation of the ostler’s own knowledge, and the knowledge of the -servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over from Richmond -soon after the return of the party from Box Hill--which messenger, -however, had been no more than was expected; and that Mr. Churchill had -sent his nephew a few lines, containing, upon the whole, a tolerable -account of Mrs. Churchill, and only wishing him not to delay coming -back beyond the next morning early; but that Mr. Frank Churchill having -resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and his horse -seeming to have got a cold, Tom had been sent off immediately for the -Crown chaise, and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy -going a good pace, and driving very steady. - -There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and it -caught Emma’s attention only as it united with the subject which already -engaged her mind. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill’s importance in -the world, and Jane Fairfax’s, struck her; one was every thing, the -other nothing--and she sat musing on the difference of woman’s destiny, -and quite unconscious on what her eyes were fixed, till roused by Miss -Bates’s saying, - -“Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What is to become -of that?--Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of it just now.--‘You -must go,’ said she. ‘You and I must part. You will have no business -here.--Let it stay, however,’ said she; ‘give it houseroom till Colonel -Campbell comes back. I shall talk about it to him; he will settle for -me; he will help me out of all my difficulties.’--And to this day, I do -believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter’s.” - -Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remembrance of -all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little pleasing, -that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long enough; -and, with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to say of -the good wishes which she really felt, took leave. - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Emma’s pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted; -but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her. Mr. -Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting -with her father.--Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and in a manner -decidedly graver than usual, said, - -“I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, -and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend -a few days with John and Isabella. Have you any thing to send or say, -besides the ‘love,’ which nobody carries?” - -“Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?” - -“Yes--rather--I have been thinking of it some little time.” - -Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself. Time, -however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends -again. While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going--her father -began his inquiries. - -“Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?--And how did you find my -worthy old friend and her daughter?--I dare say they must have been very -much obliged to you for coming. Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. -and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She is always so -attentive to them!” - -Emma’s colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a -smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr. -Knightley.--It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in -her favour, as if his eyes received the truth from hers, and all that -had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.-- -He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly gratified--and in -another moment still more so, by a little movement of more than common -friendliness on his part.--He took her hand;--whether she had not -herself made the first motion, she could not say--she might, perhaps, -have rather offered it--but he took her hand, pressed it, and certainly -was on the point of carrying it to his lips--when, from some fancy or -other, he suddenly let it go.--Why he should feel such a scruple, why -he should change his mind when it was all but done, she could not -perceive.--He would have judged better, she thought, if he had not -stopped.--The intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was -that his manners had in general so little gallantry, or however else it -happened, but she thought nothing became him more.--It was with him, -of so simple, yet so dignified a nature.--She could not but recall the -attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity.--He left -them immediately afterwards--gone in a moment. He always moved with the -alertness of a mind which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but -now he seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance. - -Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished she -had left her ten minutes earlier;--it would have been a great pleasure -to talk over Jane Fairfax’s situation with Mr. Knightley.--Neither -would she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for she -knew how much his visit would be enjoyed--but it might have happened -at a better time--and to have had longer notice of it, would have been -pleasanter.--They parted thorough friends, however; she could not -be deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his unfinished -gallantry;--it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered -his good opinion.--He had been sitting with them half an hour, she -found. It was a pity that she had not come back earlier! - -In the hope of diverting her father’s thoughts from the disagreeableness -of Mr. Knightley’s going to London; and going so suddenly; and going on -horseback, which she knew would be all very bad; Emma communicated her -news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was justified; -it supplied a very useful check,--interested, without disturbing him. He -had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax’s going out as governess, and -could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley’s going to London had -been an unexpected blow. - -“I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably -settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare say -her acquaintance are just what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry -situation, and that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to -be a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor’s always was with me. -You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor -was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be -induced to go away after it has been her home so long.” - -The following day brought news from Richmond to throw every thing else -into the background. An express arrived at Randalls to announce the -death of Mrs. Churchill! Though her nephew had had no particular reason -to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty -hours after his return. A sudden seizure of a different nature from any -thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short -struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no more. - -It was felt as such things must be felt. Every body had a degree of -gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for the -surviving friends; and, in a reasonable time, curiosity to know where -she would be buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops -to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops to be -disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill-fame. -Mrs. Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty-five years, was -now spoken of with compassionate allowances. In one point she was fully -justified. She had never been admitted before to be seriously ill. The -event acquitted her of all the fancifulness, and all the selfishness of -imaginary complaints. - -“Poor Mrs. Churchill! no doubt she had been suffering a great deal: -more than any body had ever supposed--and continual pain would try the -temper. It was a sad event--a great shock--with all her faults, what -would Mr. Churchill do without her? Mr. Churchill’s loss would be -dreadful indeed. Mr. Churchill would never get over it.”--Even Mr. -Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and said, “Ah! poor woman, -who would have thought it!” and resolved, that his mourning should be as -handsome as possible; and his wife sat sighing and moralising over her -broad hems with a commiseration and good sense, true and steady. How it -would affect Frank was among the earliest thoughts of both. It was also -a very early speculation with Emma. The character of Mrs. Churchill, -the grief of her husband--her mind glanced over them both with awe and -compassion--and then rested with lightened feelings on how Frank might -be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed. She saw in a moment -all the possible good. Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have -nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared -by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any thing by his -nephew. All that remained to be wished was, that the nephew should form -the attachment, as, with all her goodwill in the cause, Emma could feel -no certainty of its being already formed. - -Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great self-command. -What ever she might feel of brighter hope, she betrayed nothing. Emma -was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, -and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance. -They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill’s death with mutual -forbearance. - -Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, communicating all -that was immediately important of their state and plans. Mr. Churchill -was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the -departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very -old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a -visit the last ten years. At present, there was nothing to be done for -Harriet; good wishes for the future were all that could yet be possible -on Emma’s side. - -It was a more pressing concern to shew attention to Jane Fairfax, whose -prospects were closing, while Harriet’s opened, and whose engagements -now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury, who wished to shew her -kindness--and with Emma it was grown into a first wish. She had scarcely -a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and the person, whom she -had been so many months neglecting, was now the very one on whom she -would have lavished every distinction of regard or sympathy. She wanted -to be of use to her; wanted to shew a value for her society, and testify -respect and consideration. She resolved to prevail on her to spend a day -at Hartfield. A note was written to urge it. The invitation was refused, -and by a verbal message. “Miss Fairfax was not well enough to write;” - and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, the same morning, it appeared -that she was so much indisposed as to have been visited, though against -her own consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under severe -headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the -possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge’s at the time proposed. -Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged--appetite quite -gone--and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing -touching the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension -of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had -undertaken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, -though she would not own it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her -present home, he could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous -disorder:--confined always to one room;--he could have wished it -otherwise--and her good aunt, though his very old friend, he must -acknowledge to be not the best companion for an invalid of that -description. Her care and attention could not be questioned; they were, -in fact, only too great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived -more evil than good from them. Emma listened with the warmest concern; -grieved for her more and more, and looked around eager to discover some -way of being useful. To take her--be it only an hour or two--from -her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational -conversation, even for an hour or two, might do her good; and the -following morning she wrote again to say, in the most feeling language -she could command, that she would call for her in the carriage at any -hour that Jane would name--mentioning that she had Mr. Perry’s decided -opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The answer was only -in this short note: - -“Miss Fairfax’s compliments and thanks, but is quite unequal to any -exercise.” - -Emma felt that her own note had deserved something better; but it was -impossible to quarrel with words, whose tremulous inequality shewed -indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she might best -counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the -answer, therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs. Bates’s, -in the hope that Jane would be induced to join her--but it would not -do;--Miss Bates came to the carriage door, all gratitude, and agreeing -with her most earnestly in thinking an airing might be of the greatest -service--and every thing that message could do was tried--but all in -vain. Miss Bates was obliged to return without success; Jane was -quite unpersuadable; the mere proposal of going out seemed to make her -worse.--Emma wished she could have seen her, and tried her own powers; -but, almost before she could hint the wish, Miss Bates made it appear -that she had promised her niece on no account to let Miss Woodhouse in. -“Indeed, the truth was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see any -body--any body at all--Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not be denied--and -Mrs. Cole had made such a point--and Mrs. Perry had said so much--but, -except them, Jane would really see nobody.” - -Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons, the Mrs. Perrys, -and the Mrs. Coles, who would force themselves anywhere; neither could -she feel any right of preference herself--she submitted, therefore, and -only questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece’s appetite and diet, -which she longed to be able to assist. On that subject poor Miss Bates -was very unhappy, and very communicative; Jane would hardly eat any -thing:--Mr. Perry recommended nourishing food; but every thing -they could command (and never had any body such good neighbours) was -distasteful. - -Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly, to an -examination of her stores; and some arrowroot of very superior quality -was speedily despatched to Miss Bates with a most friendly note. In half -an hour the arrowroot was returned, with a thousand thanks from Miss -Bates, but “dear Jane would not be satisfied without its being sent -back; it was a thing she could not take--and, moreover, she insisted on -her saying, that she was not at all in want of any thing.” - -When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had been seen wandering -about the meadows, at some distance from Highbury, on the afternoon of -the very day on which she had, under the plea of being unequal to any -exercise, so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the carriage, -she could have no doubt--putting every thing together--that Jane was -resolved to receive no kindness from _her_. She was sorry, very sorry. -Her heart was grieved for a state which seemed but the more pitiable -from this sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency of action, and -inequality of powers; and it mortified her that she was given so little -credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so little worthy as a friend: but -she had the consolation of knowing that her intentions were good, and of -being able to say to herself, that could Mr. Knightley have been privy -to all her attempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even have seen -into her heart, he would not, on this occasion, have found any thing to -reprove. - - - -CHAPTER X - - -One morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill’s decease, Emma was -called downstairs to Mr. Weston, who “could not stay five minutes, -and wanted particularly to speak with her.”--He met her at the -parlour-door, and hardly asking her how she did, in the natural key of -his voice, sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father, - -“Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning?--Do, if it be -possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you. She must see you.” - -“Is she unwell?” - -“No, no, not at all--only a little agitated. She would have ordered the -carriage, and come to you, but she must see you _alone_, and that you -know--(nodding towards her father)--Humph!--Can you come?” - -“Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible to refuse what -you ask in such a way. But what can be the matter?--Is she really not -ill?” - -“Depend upon me--but ask no more questions. You will know it all in -time. The most unaccountable business! But hush, hush!” - -To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for Emma. Something -really important seemed announced by his looks; but, as her friend was -well, she endeavoured not to be uneasy, and settling it with her father, -that she would take her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were soon out of -the house together and on their way at a quick pace for Randalls. - -“Now,”--said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the sweep gates,--“now -Mr. Weston, do let me know what has happened.” - -“No, no,”--he gravely replied.--“Don’t ask me. I promised my wife to -leave it all to her. She will break it to you better than I can. Do not -be impatient, Emma; it will all come out too soon.” - -“Break it to me,” cried Emma, standing still with terror.--“Good -God!--Mr. Weston, tell me at once.--Something has happened in Brunswick -Square. I know it has. Tell me, I charge you tell me this moment what it -is.” - -“No, indeed you are mistaken.”-- - -“Mr. Weston do not trifle with me.--Consider how many of my dearest -friends are now in Brunswick Square. Which of them is it?--I charge you -by all that is sacred, not to attempt concealment.” - -“Upon my word, Emma.”-- - -“Your word!--why not your honour!--why not say upon your honour, that -it has nothing to do with any of them? Good Heavens!--What can be to be -_broke_ to me, that does not relate to one of that family?” - -“Upon my honour,” said he very seriously, “it does not. It is not in -the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of -Knightley.” - -Emma’s courage returned, and she walked on. - -“I was wrong,” he continued, “in talking of its being _broke_ to you. -I should not have used the expression. In fact, it does not concern -you--it concerns only myself,--that is, we hope.--Humph!--In short, my -dear Emma, there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don’t -say that it is not a disagreeable business--but things might be much -worse.--If we walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls.” - -Emma found that she must wait; and now it required little effort. She -asked no more questions therefore, merely employed her own fancy, and -that soon pointed out to her the probability of its being some money -concern--something just come to light, of a disagreeable nature in the -circumstances of the family,--something which the late event at Richmond -had brought forward. Her fancy was very active. Half a dozen natural -children, perhaps--and poor Frank cut off!--This, though very -undesirable, would be no matter of agony to her. It inspired little more -than an animating curiosity. - -“Who is that gentleman on horseback?” said she, as they -proceeded--speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in keeping his secret, -than with any other view. - -“I do not know.--One of the Otways.--Not Frank;--it is not Frank, I -assure you. You will not see him. He is half way to Windsor by this -time.” - -“Has your son been with you, then?” - -“Oh! yes--did not you know?--Well, well, never mind.” - -For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone much more guarded -and demure, - -“Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how we did.” - -They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls.--“Well, my dear,” said -he, as they entered the room--“I have brought her, and now I hope you -will soon be better. I shall leave you together. There is no use in -delay. I shall not be far off, if you want me.”--And Emma distinctly -heard him add, in a lower tone, before he quitted the room,--“I have -been as good as my word. She has not the least idea.” - -Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much perturbation, -that Emma’s uneasiness increased; and the moment they were alone, she -eagerly said, - -“What is it my dear friend? Something of a very unpleasant nature, I -find, has occurred;--do let me know directly what it is. I have been -walking all this way in complete suspense. We both abhor suspense. -Do not let mine continue longer. It will do you good to speak of your -distress, whatever it may be.” - -“Have you indeed no idea?” said Mrs. Weston in a trembling voice. -“Cannot you, my dear Emma--cannot you form a guess as to what you are to -hear?” - -“So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do guess.” - -“You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell you directly;” - (resuming her work, and seeming resolved against looking up.) “He has -been here this very morning, on a most extraordinary errand. It is -impossible to express our surprize. He came to speak to his father on a -subject,--to announce an attachment--” - -She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself, and then of -Harriet. - -“More than an attachment, indeed,” resumed Mrs. Weston; “an -engagement--a positive engagement.--What will you say, Emma--what will -any body say, when it is known that Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are -engaged;--nay, that they have been long engaged!” - -Emma even jumped with surprize;--and, horror-struck, exclaimed, - -“Jane Fairfax!--Good God! You are not serious? You do not mean it?” - -“You may well be amazed,” returned Mrs. Weston, still averting her eyes, -and talking on with eagerness, that Emma might have time to recover-- -“You may well be amazed. But it is even so. There has been a solemn -engagement between them ever since October--formed at Weymouth, and -kept a secret from every body. Not a creature knowing it but -themselves--neither the Campbells, nor her family, nor his.--It is so -wonderful, that though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost -incredible to myself. I can hardly believe it.--I thought I knew him.” - -Emma scarcely heard what was said.--Her mind was divided between two -ideas--her own former conversations with him about Miss Fairfax; and -poor Harriet;--and for some time she could only exclaim, and require -confirmation, repeated confirmation. - -“Well,” said she at last, trying to recover herself; “this is a -circumstance which I must think of at least half a day, before I can at -all comprehend it. What!--engaged to her all the winter--before either -of them came to Highbury?” - -“Engaged since October,--secretly engaged.--It has hurt me, Emma, very -much. It has hurt his father equally. _Some_ _part_ of his conduct we -cannot excuse.” - -Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, “I will not pretend _not_ to -understand you; and to give you all the relief in my power, be assured -that no such effect has followed his attentions to me, as you are -apprehensive of.” - -Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma’s countenance was as -steady as her words. - -“That you may have less difficulty in believing this boast, of my -present perfect indifference,” she continued, “I will farther tell you, -that there was a period in the early part of our acquaintance, when I -did like him, when I was very much disposed to be attached to him--nay, -was attached--and how it came to cease, is perhaps the wonder. -Fortunately, however, it did cease. I have really for some time past, -for at least these three months, cared nothing about him. You may -believe me, Mrs. Weston. This is the simple truth.” - -Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when she could find -utterance, assured her, that this protestation had done her more good -than any thing else in the world could do. - -“Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself,” said she. “On -this point we have been wretched. It was our darling wish that you -might be attached to each other--and we were persuaded that it was so.-- -Imagine what we have been feeling on your account.” - -“I have escaped; and that I should escape, may be a matter of grateful -wonder to you and myself. But this does not acquit _him_, Mrs. Weston; -and I must say, that I think him greatly to blame. What right had he -to come among us with affection and faith engaged, and with manners -so _very_ disengaged? What right had he to endeavour to please, as -he certainly did--to distinguish any one young woman with persevering -attention, as he certainly did--while he really belonged to -another?--How could he tell what mischief he might be doing?--How could -he tell that he might not be making me in love with him?--very wrong, -very wrong indeed.” - -“From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather imagine--” - -“And how could _she_ bear such behaviour! Composure with a witness! -to look on, while repeated attentions were offering to another woman, -before her face, and not resent it.--That is a degree of placidity, -which I can neither comprehend nor respect.” - -“There were misunderstandings between them, Emma; he said so expressly. -He had not time to enter into much explanation. He was here only a -quarter of an hour, and in a state of agitation which did not allow -the full use even of the time he could stay--but that there had been -misunderstandings he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed, -seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings might very -possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct.” - -“Impropriety! Oh! Mrs. Weston--it is too calm a censure. Much, much -beyond impropriety!--It has sunk him, I cannot say how it has sunk him -in my opinion. So unlike what a man should be!--None of that upright -integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of -trick and littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of -his life.” - -“Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part; for though he has been wrong -in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for his having -many, very many, good qualities; and--” - -“Good God!” cried Emma, not attending to her.--“Mrs. Smallridge, too! -Jane actually on the point of going as governess! What could he mean by -such horrible indelicacy? To suffer her to engage herself--to suffer her -even to think of such a measure!” - -“He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I can fully acquit -him. It was a private resolution of hers, not communicated to him--or at -least not communicated in a way to carry conviction.--Till yesterday, I -know he said he was in the dark as to her plans. They burst on him, I do -not know how, but by some letter or message--and it was the discovery of -what she was doing, of this very project of hers, which determined him -to come forward at once, own it all to his uncle, throw himself on -his kindness, and, in short, put an end to the miserable state of -concealment that had been carrying on so long.” - -Emma began to listen better. - -“I am to hear from him soon,” continued Mrs. Weston. “He told me at -parting, that he should soon write; and he spoke in a manner which -seemed to promise me many particulars that could not be given now. Let -us wait, therefore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations. It -may make many things intelligible and excusable which now are not to -be understood. Don’t let us be severe, don’t let us be in a hurry to -condemn him. Let us have patience. I must love him; and now that I am -satisfied on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely anxious -for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that it may. They must -both have suffered a great deal under such a system of secresy and -concealment.” - -“_His_ sufferings,” replied Emma dryly, “do not appear to have done him -much harm. Well, and how did Mr. Churchill take it?” - -“Most favourably for his nephew--gave his consent with scarcely a -difficulty. Conceive what the events of a week have done in that family! -While poor Mrs. Churchill lived, I suppose there could not have been a -hope, a chance, a possibility;--but scarcely are her remains at rest in -the family vault, than her husband is persuaded to act exactly opposite -to what she would have required. What a blessing it is, when undue -influence does not survive the grave!--He gave his consent with very -little persuasion.” - -“Ah!” thought Emma, “he would have done as much for Harriet.” - -“This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the light this -morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the Bates’s, I fancy, some time--and -then came on hither; but was in such a hurry to get back to his uncle, -to whom he is just now more necessary than ever, that, as I tell you, -he could stay with us but a quarter of an hour.--He was very much -agitated--very much, indeed--to a degree that made him appear quite -a different creature from any thing I had ever seen him before.--In -addition to all the rest, there had been the shock of finding her so -very unwell, which he had had no previous suspicion of--and there was -every appearance of his having been feeling a great deal.” - -“And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying on with such -perfect secresy?--The Campbells, the Dixons, did none of them know of -the engagement?” - -Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush. - -“None; not one. He positively said that it had been known to no being in -the world but their two selves.” - -“Well,” said Emma, “I suppose we shall gradually grow reconciled to the -idea, and I wish them very happy. But I shall always think it a -very abominable sort of proceeding. What has it been but a system of -hypocrisy and deceit,--espionage, and treachery?--To come among us with -professions of openness and simplicity; and such a league in secret -to judge us all!--Here have we been, the whole winter and spring, -completely duped, fancying ourselves all on an equal footing of truth -and honour, with two people in the midst of us who may have been -carrying round, comparing and sitting in judgment on sentiments and -words that were never meant for both to hear.--They must take the -consequence, if they have heard each other spoken of in a way not -perfectly agreeable!” - -“I am quite easy on that head,” replied Mrs. Weston. “I am very sure -that I never said any thing of either to the other, which both might not -have heard.” - -“You are in luck.--Your only blunder was confined to my ear, when you -imagined a certain friend of ours in love with the lady.” - -“True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss -Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her; and -as to speaking ill of him, there I must have been safe.” - -At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance from the window, -evidently on the watch. His wife gave him a look which invited him -in; and, while he was coming round, added, “Now, dearest Emma, let me -intreat you to say and look every thing that may set his heart at ease, -and incline him to be satisfied with the match. Let us make the best of -it--and, indeed, almost every thing may be fairly said in her favour. It -is not a connexion to gratify; but if Mr. Churchill does not feel that, -why should we? and it may be a very fortunate circumstance for him, for -Frank, I mean, that he should have attached himself to a girl of such -steadiness of character and good judgment as I have always given her -credit for--and still am disposed to give her credit for, in spite of -this one great deviation from the strict rule of right. And how much may -be said in her situation for even that error!” - -“Much, indeed!” cried Emma feelingly. “If a woman can ever be -excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation like Jane -Fairfax’s.--Of such, one may almost say, that ‘the world is not their’s, -nor the world’s law.’” - -She met Mr. Weston on his entrance, with a smiling countenance, -exclaiming, - -“A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word! This was a -device, I suppose, to sport with my curiosity, and exercise my talent of -guessing. But you really frightened me. I thought you had lost half -your property, at least. And here, instead of its being a matter of -condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation.--I congratulate -you, Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect of having one of the -most lovely and accomplished young women in England for your daughter.” - -A glance or two between him and his wife, convinced him that all was as -right as this speech proclaimed; and its happy effect on his spirits was -immediate. His air and voice recovered their usual briskness: he shook -her heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the subject in -a manner to prove, that he now only wanted time and persuasion to think -the engagement no very bad thing. His companions suggested only what -could palliate imprudence, or smooth objections; and by the time they -had talked it all over together, and he had talked it all over again -with Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he was become perfectly -reconciled, and not far from thinking it the very best thing that Frank -could possibly have done. - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -“Harriet, poor Harriet!”--Those were the words; in them lay the -tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted -the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had behaved very -ill by herself--very ill in many ways,--but it was not so much _his_ -behaviour as her _own_, which made her so angry with him. It was the -scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet’s account, that gave the -deepest hue to his offence.--Poor Harriet! to be a second time the -dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken -prophetically, when he once said, “Emma, you have been no friend -to Harriet Smith.”--She was afraid she had done her nothing but -disservice.--It was true that she had not to charge herself, in this -instance as in the former, with being the sole and original author of -the mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might otherwise -never have entered Harriet’s imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged -her admiration and preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever -given her a hint on the subject; but she felt completely guilty -of having encouraged what she might have repressed. She might have -prevented the indulgence and increase of such sentiments. Her influence -would have been enough. And now she was very conscious that she ought -to have prevented them.--She felt that she had been risking her friend’s -happiness on most insufficient grounds. Common sense would have directed -her to tell Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him, -and that there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring -for her.--“But, with common sense,” she added, “I am afraid I have had -little to do.” - -She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been angry -with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.--As for Jane -Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present -solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need -no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill-health -having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under cure.--Her -days of insignificance and evil were over.--She would soon be well, and -happy, and prosperous.--Emma could now imagine why her own attentions -had been slighted. This discovery laid many smaller matters open. No -doubt it had been from jealousy.--In Jane’s eyes she had been a rival; -and well might any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be -repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the rack, -and arrowroot from the Hartfield storeroom must have been poison. She -understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage itself from -the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that -Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her -desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! There was little -sympathy to be spared for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful -that this second disappointment would be more severe than the first. -Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; and -judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet’s mind, producing -reserve and self-command, it would.--She must communicate the painful -truth, however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy had -been among Mr. Weston’s parting words. “For the present, the whole -affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of -it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost; -and every body admitted it to be no more than due decorum.”--Emma had -promised; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty. - -In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost -ridiculous, that she should have the very same distressing and delicate -office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by -herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her, -she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick -on hearing Harriet’s footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. -Weston felt when _she_ was approaching Randalls. Could the event of -the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!--But of that, unfortunately, -there could be no chance. - -“Well, Miss Woodhouse!” cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room--“is -not this the oddest news that ever was?” - -“What news do you mean?” replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or -voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint. - -“About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!--you -need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me -himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; -and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you, -but he said you knew it.” - -“What did Mr. Weston tell you?”--said Emma, still perplexed. - -“Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill -are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one -another this long while. How very odd!” - -It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet’s behaviour was so extremely odd, -that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared -absolutely changed. She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or -disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at -her, quite unable to speak. - -“Had you any idea,” cried Harriet, “of his being in love with her?--You, -perhaps, might.--You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every -body’s heart; but nobody else--” - -“Upon my word,” said Emma, “I begin to doubt my having any such talent. -Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached -to another woman at the very time that I was--tacitly, if not -openly--encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?--I never -had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank -Churchill’s having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very -sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.” - -“Me!” cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. “Why should you caution -me?--You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill.” - -“I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,” replied -Emma, smiling; “but you do not mean to deny that there was a time--and -not very distant either--when you gave me reason to understand that you -did care about him?” - -“Him!--never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?” - turning away distressed. - -“Harriet!” cried Emma, after a moment’s pause--“What do you mean?--Good -Heaven! what do you mean?--Mistake you!--Am I to suppose then?--” - -She could not speak another word.--Her voice was lost; and she sat down, -waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer. - -Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from -her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was -in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma’s. - -“I should not have thought it possible,” she began, “that you could have -misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him--but considering -how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have -thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person. -Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in -the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of -Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And that you should -have been so mistaken, is amazing!--I am sure, but for believing that -you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I -should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost, -to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that more -wonderful things had happened; that there had been matches of greater -disparity (those were your very words);--I should not have dared to -give way to--I should not have thought it possible--But if _you_, who -had been always acquainted with him--” - -“Harriet!” cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely--“Let us understand -each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you -speaking of--Mr. Knightley?” - -“To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else--and so -I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as -possible.” - -“Not quite,” returned Emma, with forced calmness, “for all that you then -said, appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost -assert that you had _named_ Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service -Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the -gipsies, was spoken of.” - -“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!” - -“My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said on -the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment; -that considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely -natural:--and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to -your sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sensations had -been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.--The impression of it is -strong on my memory.” - -“Oh, dear,” cried Harriet, “now I recollect what you mean; but I -was thinking of something very different at the time. It was not the -gipsies--it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No! (with some -elevation) I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance--of Mr. -Knightley’s coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not -stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room. That -was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that -was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every -other being upon earth.” - -“Good God!” cried Emma, “this has been a most unfortunate--most -deplorable mistake!--What is to be done?” - -“You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood me? At -least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, if the -other had been the person; and now--it _is_ possible--” - -She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak. - -“I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse,” she resumed, “that you should feel a -great difference between the two, as to me or as to any body. You must -think one five hundred million times more above me than the other. But -I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing--that if--strange as it may -appear--. But you know they were your own words, that _more_ wonderful -things had happened, matches of _greater_ disparity had taken place than -between Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as if such -a thing even as this, may have occurred before--and if I should be so -fortunate, beyond expression, as to--if Mr. Knightley should really--if -_he_ does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss Woodhouse, you will -not set yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way. But -you are too good for that, I am sure.” - -Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look at -her in consternation, and hastily said, - -“Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley’s returning your affection?” - -“Yes,” replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully--“I must say that I -have.” - -Emma’s eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating, -in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient -for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, -once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched--she -admitted--she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse -that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank -Churchill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet’s having -some hope of a return? It darted through her, with the speed of an -arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself! - -Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same -few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed -her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How -inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been -her conduct! What blindness, what madness, had led her on! It struck her -with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the -world. Some portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all -these demerits--some concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense -of justice by Harriet--(there would be no need of _compassion_ to the -girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley--but justice required -that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the -resolution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent -kindness.--For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost -extent of Harriet’s hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done -nothing to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily -formed and maintained--or to deserve to be slighted by the person, whose -counsels had never led her right.--Rousing from reflection, therefore, -and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again, and, in a more -inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to the subject which -had first introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was -quite sunk and lost.--Neither of them thought but of Mr. Knightley and -themselves. - -Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very glad -to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, and -such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give -the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.--Emma’s -tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than -Harriet’s, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady; but her -mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such -a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing -emotions, must create.--She listened with much inward suffering, but -with great outward patience, to Harriet’s detail.--Methodical, or well -arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it -contained, when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of -the narration, a substance to sink her spirit--especially with the -corroborating circumstances, which her own memory brought in favour of -Mr. Knightley’s most improved opinion of Harriet. - -Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since -those two decisive dances.--Emma knew that he had, on that occasion, -found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at -least from the time of Miss Woodhouse’s encouraging her to think of him, -Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he -had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a different manner -towards her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!--Latterly she had been -more and more aware of it. When they had been all walking together, -he had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very -delightfully!--He seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma knew it -to have been very much the case. She had often observed the change, to -almost the same extent.--Harriet repeated expressions of approbation -and praise from him--and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement -with what she had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for -being without art or affectation, for having simple, honest, generous, -feelings.--She knew that he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he -had dwelt on them to her more than once.--Much that lived in Harriet’s -memory, many little particulars of the notice she had received from -him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compliment -implied, a preference inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected, -by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to half an hour’s relation, -and contained multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed -undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two latest occurrences to -be mentioned, the two of strongest promise to Harriet, were not without -some degree of witness from Emma herself.--The first, was his walking -with her apart from the others, in the lime-walk at Donwell, where they -had been walking some time before Emma came, and he had taken pains (as -she was convinced) to draw her from the rest to himself--and at first, -he had talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever done -before, in a very particular way indeed!--(Harriet could not recall -it without a blush.) He seemed to be almost asking her, whether her -affections were engaged.--But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared -likely to join them, he changed the subject, and began talking about -farming:--The second, was his having sat talking with her nearly half -an hour before Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of -his being at Hartfield--though, when he first came in, he had said that -he could not stay five minutes--and his having told her, during their -conversation, that though he must go to London, it was very much against -his inclination that he left home at all, which was much more (as -Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to _her_. The superior degree of -confidence towards Harriet, which this one article marked, gave her -severe pain. - -On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a -little reflection, venture the following question. “Might he not?--Is -not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought, into the state of -your affections, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin--he might have -Mr. Martin’s interest in view? But Harriet rejected the suspicion with -spirit. - -“Mr. Martin! No indeed!--There was not a hint of Mr. Martin. I hope I -know better now, than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it.” - -When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss -Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope. - -“I never should have presumed to think of it at first,” said she, “but -for you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour -be the rule of mine--and so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may -deserve him; and that if he does chuse me, it will not be any thing so -very wonderful.” - -The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings, -made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma’s side, to enable her to say -on reply, - -“Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last -man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his -feeling for her more than he really does.” - -Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so -satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which -at that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her -father’s footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too -much agitated to encounter him. “She could not compose herself-- -Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed--she had better go;”--with most ready -encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another -door--and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of -Emma’s feelings: “Oh God! that I had never seen her!” - -The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her -thoughts.--She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had -rushed on her within the last few hours. Every moment had brought a -fresh surprize; and every surprize must be matter of humiliation to -her.--How to understand it all! How to understand the deceptions she had -been thus practising on herself, and living under!--The blunders, the -blindness of her own head and heart!--she sat still, she walked about, -she tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery--in every place, every -posture, she perceived that she had acted most weakly; that she had -been imposed on by others in a most mortifying degree; that she had -been imposing on herself in a degree yet more mortifying; that she -was wretched, and should probably find this day but the beginning of -wretchedness. - -To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first -endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father’s -claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind. - -How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling -declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun?-- -When had he succeeded to that place in her affection, which Frank -Churchill had once, for a short period, occupied?--She looked back; -she compared the two--compared them, as they had always stood in her -estimation, from the time of the latter’s becoming known to her--and as -they must at any time have been compared by her, had it--oh! had it, by -any blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.--She -saw that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr. -Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not -been infinitely the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, -in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a -delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart--and, in short, that she had -never really cared for Frank Churchill at all! - -This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. This was -the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which -she reached; and without being long in reaching it.--She was most -sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed -to her--her affection for Mr. Knightley.--Every other part of her mind -was disgusting. - -With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every -body’s feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every -body’s destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken; and -she had not quite done nothing--for she had done mischief. She had -brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared, on Mr. -Knightley.--Were this most unequal of all connexions to take place, on -her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for his -attachment, she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of -Harriet’s;--and even were this not the case, he would never have known -Harriet at all but for her folly. - -Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every -wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax -became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no -surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or -thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her -side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it -must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers, -the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and -disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--Could -it be?--No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from -impossible.--Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities -to be captivated by very inferior powers? Was it new for one, perhaps -too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who would seek him?--Was -it new for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent, -incongruous--or for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct -the human fate? - -Oh! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where she -ought, and where he had told her she ought!--Had she not, with a -folly which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying the -unexceptionable young man who would have made her happy and respectable -in the line of life to which she ought to belong--all would have been -safe; none of this dreadful sequel would have been. - -How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to -Mr. Knightley!--How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such -a man till actually assured of it!--But Harriet was less humble, had -fewer scruples than formerly.--Her inferiority, whether of mind or -situation, seemed little felt.--She had seemed more sensible of Mr. -Elton’s being to stoop in marrying her, than she now seemed of Mr. -Knightley’s.--Alas! was not that her own doing too? Who had been at -pains to give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself?--Who but -herself had taught her, that she was to elevate herself if possible, -and that her claims were great to a high worldly establishment?--If -Harriet, from being humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too. - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Till now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma had never known -how much of her happiness depended on being _first_ with Mr. Knightley, -first in interest and affection.--Satisfied that it was so, and feeling -it her due, she had enjoyed it without reflection; and only in the -dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly important it had -been.--Long, very long, she felt she had been first; for, having no -female connexions of his own, there had been only Isabella whose claims -could be compared with hers, and she had always known exactly how far -he loved and esteemed Isabella. She had herself been first with him for -many years past. She had not deserved it; she had often been negligent -or perverse, slighting his advice, or even wilfully opposing him, -insensible of half his merits, and quarrelling with him because he would -not acknowledge her false and insolent estimate of her own--but still, -from family attachment and habit, and thorough excellence of mind, he -had loved her, and watched over her from a girl, with an endeavour to -improve her, and an anxiety for her doing right, which no other creature -had at all shared. In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear -to him; might she not say, very dear?--When the suggestions of hope, -however, which must follow here, presented themselves, she could not -presume to indulge them. Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy -of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionately loved by Mr. Knightley. -_She_ could not. She could not flatter herself with any idea of -blindness in his attachment to _her_. She had received a very recent -proof of its impartiality.--How shocked had he been by her behaviour to -Miss Bates! How directly, how strongly had he expressed himself to her -on the subject!--Not too strongly for the offence--but far, far too -strongly to issue from any feeling softer than upright justice and -clear-sighted goodwill.--She had no hope, nothing to deserve the name -of hope, that he could have that sort of affection for herself which was -now in question; but there was a hope (at times a slight one, at -times much stronger,) that Harriet might have deceived herself, and be -overrating his regard for _her_.--Wish it she must, for his sake--be the -consequence nothing to herself, but his remaining single all his life. -Could she be secure of that, indeed, of his never marrying at all, she -believed she should be perfectly satisfied.--Let him but continue the -same Mr. Knightley to her and her father, the same Mr. Knightley to -all the world; let Donwell and Hartfield lose none of their precious -intercourse of friendship and confidence, and her peace would be -fully secured.--Marriage, in fact, would not do for her. It would be -incompatible with what she owed to her father, and with what she felt -for him. Nothing should separate her from her father. She would not -marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley. - -It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be disappointed; and she -hoped, that when able to see them together again, she might at least -be able to ascertain what the chances for it were.--She should see them -henceforward with the closest observance; and wretchedly as she had -hitherto misunderstood even those she was watching, she did not know how -to admit that she could be blinded here.--He was expected back every -day. The power of observation would be soon given--frightfully soon it -appeared when her thoughts were in one course. In the meanwhile, she -resolved against seeing Harriet.--It would do neither of them good, -it would do the subject no good, to be talking of it farther.--She was -resolved not to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet had -no authority for opposing Harriet’s confidence. To talk would be only to -irritate.--She wrote to her, therefore, kindly, but decisively, to beg -that she would not, at present, come to Hartfield; acknowledging it to -be her conviction, that all farther confidential discussion of _one_ -topic had better be avoided; and hoping, that if a few days were allowed -to pass before they met again, except in the company of others--she -objected only to a tete-a-tete--they might be able to act as if they -had forgotten the conversation of yesterday.--Harriet submitted, and -approved, and was grateful. - -This point was just arranged, when a visitor arrived to tear Emma’s -thoughts a little from the one subject which had engrossed them, -sleeping or waking, the last twenty-four hours--Mrs. Weston, who had -been calling on her daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her -way home, almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to herself, to -relate all the particulars of so interesting an interview. - -Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates’s, and gone through his -share of this essential attention most handsomely; but she having then -induced Miss Fairfax to join her in an airing, was now returned with -much more to say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than a quarter -of an hour spent in Mrs. Bates’s parlour, with all the encumbrance of -awkward feelings, could have afforded. - -A little curiosity Emma had; and she made the most of it while her -friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to pay the visit in a good deal -of agitation herself; and in the first place had wished not to go at all -at present, to be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and -to defer this ceremonious call till a little time had passed, and Mr. -Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement’s becoming known; as, -considering every thing, she thought such a visit could not be paid -without leading to reports:--but Mr. Weston had thought differently; he -was extremely anxious to shew his approbation to Miss Fairfax and her -family, and did not conceive that any suspicion could be excited by it; -or if it were, that it would be of any consequence; for “such things,” - he observed, “always got about.” Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston -had very good reason for saying so. They had gone, in short--and very -great had been the evident distress and confusion of the lady. She had -hardly been able to speak a word, and every look and action had shewn -how deeply she was suffering from consciousness. The quiet, heart-felt -satisfaction of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of her -daughter--who proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had been a -gratifying, yet almost an affecting, scene. They were both so truly -respectable in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation; -thought so much of Jane; so much of every body, and so little of -themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss -Fairfax’s recent illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. Weston to -invite her to an airing; she had drawn back and declined at first, but, -on being pressed had yielded; and, in the course of their drive, -Mrs. Weston had, by gentle encouragement, overcome so much of her -embarrassment, as to bring her to converse on the important subject. -Apologies for her seemingly ungracious silence in their first reception, -and the warmest expressions of the gratitude she was always feeling -towards herself and Mr. Weston, must necessarily open the cause; but -when these effusions were put by, they had talked a good deal of the -present and of the future state of the engagement. Mrs. Weston was -convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her -companion, pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long been, -and was very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject. - -“On the misery of what she had suffered, during the concealment of so -many months,” continued Mrs. Weston, “she was energetic. This was one -of her expressions. ‘I will not say, that since I entered into the -engagement I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that I have -never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:’--and the quivering lip, -Emma, which uttered it, was an attestation that I felt at my heart.” - -“Poor girl!” said Emma. “She thinks herself wrong, then, for having -consented to a private engagement?” - -“Wrong! No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed -to blame herself. ‘The consequence,’ said she, ‘has been a state of -perpetual suffering to me; and so it ought. But after all the punishment -that misconduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is no -expiation. I never can be blameless. I have been acting contrary to all -my sense of right; and the fortunate turn that every thing has taken, -and the kindness I am now receiving, is what my conscience tells me -ought not to be.’ ‘Do not imagine, madam,’ she continued, ‘that I was -taught wrong. Do not let any reflection fall on the principles or the -care of the friends who brought me up. The error has been all my own; -and I do assure you that, with all the excuse that present circumstances -may appear to give, I shall yet dread making the story known to Colonel -Campbell.’” - -“Poor girl!” said Emma again. “She loves him then excessively, I -suppose. It must have been from attachment only, that she could be -led to form the engagement. Her affection must have overpowered her -judgment.” - -“Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to him.” - -“I am afraid,” returned Emma, sighing, “that I must often have -contributed to make her unhappy.” - -“On your side, my love, it was very innocently done. But she -probably had something of that in her thoughts, when alluding to the -misunderstandings which he had given us hints of before. One natural -consequence of the evil she had involved herself in,” she said, “was -that of making her _unreasonable_. The consciousness of having done -amiss, had exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious -and irritable to a degree that must have been--that had been--hard for -him to bear. ‘I did not make the allowances,’ said she, ‘which I ought -to have done, for his temper and spirits--his delightful spirits, and -that gaiety, that playfulness of disposition, which, under any other -circumstances, would, I am sure, have been as constantly bewitching to -me, as they were at first.’ She then began to speak of you, and of the -great kindness you had shewn her during her illness; and with a blush -which shewed me how it was all connected, desired me, whenever I had -an opportunity, to thank you--I could not thank you too much--for every -wish and every endeavour to do her good. She was sensible that you had -never received any proper acknowledgment from herself.” - -“If I did not know her to be happy now,” said Emma, seriously, “which, -in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous conscience, she -must be, I could not bear these thanks;--for, oh! Mrs. Weston, if there -were an account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss -Fairfax!--Well (checking herself, and trying to be more lively), this -is all to be forgotten. You are very kind to bring me these interesting -particulars. They shew her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is -very good--I hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune -should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on hers.” - -Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs. Weston. She thought -well of Frank in almost every respect; and, what was more, she loved him -very much, and her defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked with a -great deal of reason, and at least equal affection--but she had too much -to urge for Emma’s attention; it was soon gone to Brunswick Square or -to Donwell; she forgot to attempt to listen; and when Mrs. Weston ended -with, “We have not yet had the letter we are so anxious for, you know, -but I hope it will soon come,” she was obliged to pause before she -answered, and at last obliged to answer at random, before she could at -all recollect what letter it was which they were so anxious for. - -“Are you well, my Emma?” was Mrs. Weston’s parting question. - -“Oh! perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to give me -intelligence of the letter as soon as possible.” - -Mrs. Weston’s communications furnished Emma with more food for -unpleasant reflection, by increasing her esteem and compassion, and her -sense of past injustice towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted -not having sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the -envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause. -Had she followed Mr. Knightley’s known wishes, in paying that attention -to Miss Fairfax, which was every way her due; had she tried to know her -better; had she done her part towards intimacy; had she endeavoured -to find a friend there instead of in Harriet Smith; she must, in all -probability, have been spared from every pain which pressed on her -now.--Birth, abilities, and education, had been equally marking one as -an associate for her, to be received with gratitude; and the other--what -was she?--Supposing even that they had never become intimate friends; -that she had never been admitted into Miss Fairfax’s confidence on this -important matter--which was most probable--still, in knowing her as -she ought, and as she might, she must have been preserved from the -abominable suspicions of an improper attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she -had not only so foolishly fashioned and harboured herself, but had so -unpardonably imparted; an idea which she greatly feared had been made a -subject of material distress to the delicacy of Jane’s feelings, by the -levity or carelessness of Frank Churchill’s. Of all the sources of evil -surrounding the former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded -that she must herself have been the worst. She must have been a -perpetual enemy. They never could have been all three together, without -her having stabbed Jane Fairfax’s peace in a thousand instances; and on -Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony of a mind that would bear no -more. - -The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield. -The weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in, and -nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was -despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights -the longer visible. - -The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably -comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter’s side, and by -exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It reminded -her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening of Mrs. Weston’s -wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, -and dissipated every melancholy fancy. Alas! such delightful proofs of -Hartfield’s attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly -be over. The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the -approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, -no pleasures had been lost.--But her present forebodings she feared -would experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now, -was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled--that -might not be even partially brightened. If all took place that -might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be -comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the -spirits only of ruined happiness. - -The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than -herself; and Mrs. Weston’s heart and time would be occupied by it. -They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband -also.--Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss -Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to -Highbury. They would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe. -All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the -loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or -of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer -coming there for his evening comfort!--No longer walking in at all -hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their’s!--How was -it to be endured? And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet’s sake; -if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in Harriet’s society -all that he wanted; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, -the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the best -blessings of existence; what could be increasing Emma’s wretchedness but -the reflection never far distant from her mind, that it had been all her -own work? - -When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to refrain from -a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking about the room for a -few seconds--and the only source whence any thing like consolation -or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better -conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety might -be the following and every future winter of her life to the past, it -would yet find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and -leave her less to regret when it were gone. - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and -the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at -Hartfield--but in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a -softer quarter; the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was -summer again. With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma -resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite -sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after -a storm, been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they -might gradually introduce; and on Mr. Perry’s coming in soon after -dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time -in hurrying into the shrubbery.--There, with spirits freshened, and -thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. -Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her.--It -was the first intimation of his being returned from London. She had -been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles -distant.--There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She -must be collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. The -“How d’ye do’s” were quiet and constrained on each side. She asked after -their mutual friends; they were all well.--When had he left them?--Only -that morning. He must have had a wet ride.--Yes.--He meant to walk with -her, she found. “He had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was -not wanted there, preferred being out of doors.”--She thought he neither -looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible cause for it, -suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps been communicating his -plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had -been received. - -They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking -at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to -give. And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to -speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for -encouragement to begin.--She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the -way to any such subject. He must do it all himself. Yet she could -not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural. She -considered--resolved--and, trying to smile, began-- - -“You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather -surprize you.” - -“Have I?” said he quietly, and looking at her; “of what nature?” - -“Oh! the best nature in the world--a wedding.” - -After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, he -replied, - -“If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that -already.” - -“How is it possible?” cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards -him; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might have called -at Mrs. Goddard’s in his way. - -“I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this morning, and -at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened.” - -Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more -composure, - -“_You_ probably have been less surprized than any of us, for you have -had your suspicions.--I have not forgotten that you once tried to give -me a caution.--I wish I had attended to it--but--(with a sinking voice -and a heavy sigh) I seem to have been doomed to blindness.” - -For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of having -excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn within -his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone -of great sensibility, speaking low, - -“Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.--Your own excellent -sense--your exertions for your father’s sake--I know you will not allow -yourself--.” Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more -broken and subdued accent, “The feelings of the warmest -friendship--Indignation--Abominable scoundrel!”--And in a louder, -steadier tone, he concluded with, “He will soon be gone. They will soon -be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for _her_. She deserves a better fate.” - -Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter -of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied, - -“You are very kind--but you are mistaken--and I must set you right.-- -I am not in want of that sort of compassion. My blindness to what was -going on, led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed -of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may -well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other reason -to regret that I was not in the secret earlier.” - -“Emma!” cried he, looking eagerly at her, “are you, indeed?”--but -checking himself--“No, no, I understand you--forgive me--I am pleased -that you can say even so much.--He is no object of regret, indeed! and -it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment -of more than your reason.--Fortunate that your affections were not -farther entangled!--I could never, I confess, from your manners, assure -myself as to the degree of what you felt--I could only be certain that -there was a preference--and a preference which I never believed him to -deserve.--He is a disgrace to the name of man.--And is he to be rewarded -with that sweet young woman?--Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable -creature.” - -“Mr. Knightley,” said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confused--“I -am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot let you continue in your -error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave such an impression, I -have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been -at all attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural -for a woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse.--But I never -have.” - -He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would -not. She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his -clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in -his opinion. She went on, however. - -“I have very little to say for my own conduct.--I was tempted by his -attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased.--An old story, -probably--a common case--and no more than has happened to hundreds of my -sex before; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up -as I do for Understanding. Many circumstances assisted the temptation. -He was the son of Mr. Weston--he was continually here--I always found -him very pleasant--and, in short, for (with a sigh) let me swell out the -causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last--my vanity -was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, however--for some -time, indeed--I have had no idea of their meaning any thing.--I thought -them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side. -He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me. I have never been -attached to him. And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He -never wished to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real -situation with another.--It was his object to blind all about him; and -no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded than myself--except -that I was _not_ blinded--that it was my good fortune--that, in short, I -was somehow or other safe from him.” - -She had hoped for an answer here--for a few words to say that her -conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she -could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, -he said, - -“I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.--I can suppose, -however, that I may have underrated him. My acquaintance with him has -been but trifling.--And even if I have not underrated him hitherto, he -may yet turn out well.--With such a woman he has a chance.--I have no -motive for wishing him ill--and for her sake, whose happiness will be -involved in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him -well.” - -“I have no doubt of their being happy together,” said Emma; “I believe -them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached.” - -“He is a most fortunate man!” returned Mr. Knightley, with energy. “So -early in life--at three-and-twenty--a period when, if a man chuses a -wife, he generally chuses ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such -a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, -has before him!--Assured of the love of such a woman--the disinterested -love, for Jane Fairfax’s character vouches for her disinterestedness; -every thing in his favour,--equality of situation--I mean, as far as -regards society, and all the habits and manners that are important; -equality in every point but one--and that one, since the purity of her -heart is not to be doubted, such as must increase his felicity, for it -will be his to bestow the only advantages she wants.--A man would always -wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her from; -and he who can do it, where there is no doubt of _her_ regard, must, -I think, be the happiest of mortals.--Frank Churchill is, indeed, the -favourite of fortune. Every thing turns out for his good.--He meets -with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot even -weary her by negligent treatment--and had he and all his family sought -round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found -her superior.--His aunt is in the way.--His aunt dies.--He has only to -speak.--His friends are eager to promote his happiness.--He had used -every body ill--and they are all delighted to forgive him.--He is a -fortunate man indeed!” - -“You speak as if you envied him.” - -“And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy.” - -Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence -of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if -possible. She made her plan; she would speak of something totally -different--the children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for -breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying, - -“You will not ask me what is the point of envy.--You are determined, I -see, to have no curiosity.--You are wise--but _I_ cannot be wise. Emma, -I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the -next moment.” - -“Oh! then, don’t speak it, don’t speak it,” she eagerly cried. “Take a -little time, consider, do not commit yourself.” - -“Thank you,” said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not -another syllable followed. - -Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in -her--perhaps to consult her;--cost her what it would, she would listen. -She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give -just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, -relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more -intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.--They had -reached the house. - -“You are going in, I suppose?” said he. - -“No,”--replied Emma--quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which -he still spoke--“I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not -gone.” And, after proceeding a few steps, she added--“I stopped you -ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you -pain.--But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or -to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation--as -a friend, indeed, you may command me.--I will hear whatever you like. I -will tell you exactly what I think.” - -“As a friend!”--repeated Mr. Knightley.--“Emma, that I fear is a -word--No, I have no wish--Stay, yes, why should I hesitate?--I -have gone too far already for concealment.--Emma, I accept your -offer--Extraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to -you as a friend.--Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?” - -He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression -of his eyes overpowered her. - -“My dearest Emma,” said he, “for dearest you will always be, whatever -the event of this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most beloved -Emma--tell me at once. Say ‘No,’ if it is to be said.”--She could -really say nothing.--“You are silent,” he cried, with great animation; -“absolutely silent! at present I ask no more.” - -Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The -dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most -prominent feeling. - -“I cannot make speeches, Emma:” he soon resumed; and in a tone of -such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably -convincing.--“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it -more. But you know what I am.--You hear nothing but truth from me.--I -have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other -woman in England would have borne it.--Bear with the truths I would -tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The -manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have -been a very indifferent lover.--But you understand me.--Yes, you see, -you understand my feelings--and will return them if you can. At present, -I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” - -While he spoke, Emma’s mind was most busy, and, with all the wonderful -velocity of thought, had been able--and yet without losing a word--to -catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole; to see that Harriet’s -hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a -delusion as any of her own--that Harriet was nothing; that she was every -thing herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet -had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her -agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all -received as discouragement from herself.--And not only was there time -for these convictions, with all their glow of attendant happiness; there -was time also to rejoice that Harriet’s secret had not escaped her, and -to resolve that it need not, and should not.--It was all the service -she could now render her poor friend; for as to any of that heroism of -sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him to transfer his -affection from herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the -two--or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at -once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not -marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet, with pain and -with contrition; but no flight of generosity run mad, opposing all that -could be probable or reasonable, entered her brain. She had led her -friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever; but her -judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever -been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal -and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.--She spoke -then, on being so entreated.--What did she say?--Just what she ought, -of course. A lady always does.--She said enough to shew there need not -be despair--and to invite him to say more himself. He _had_ despaired at -one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, -as for the time crushed every hope;--she had begun by refusing to hear -him.--The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;--her proposal of -taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had -just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!--She felt its -inconsistency; but Mr. Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, -and seek no farther explanation. - -Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; -seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a -little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is -mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.--Mr. -Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she -possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his. - -He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He had -followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He had come, -in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill’s engagement, with no -selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an -opening, to soothe or to counsel her.--The rest had been the work of -the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The -delightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, -of her having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth -to the hope, that, in time, he might gain her affection himself;--but -it had been no present hope--he had only, in the momentary conquest of -eagerness over judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his -attempt to attach her.--The superior hopes which gradually opened were -so much the more enchanting.--The affection, which he had been asking -to be allowed to create, if he could, was already his!--Within half -an hour, he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to -something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name. - -_Her_ change was equal.--This one half-hour had given to each the same -precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same -degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.--On his side, there had been -a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, -of Frank Churchill.--He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank -Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably -enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill -that had taken him from the country.--The Box Hill party had decided -him on going away. He would save himself from witnessing again -such permitted, encouraged attentions.--He had gone to learn to be -indifferent.--But he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much -domestic happiness in his brother’s house; woman wore too amiable a form -in it; Isabella was too much like Emma--differing only in those striking -inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before -him, for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.--He had -stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day--till this very morning’s -post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.--Then, with the gladness -which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never -believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much -fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no -longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly -after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, -faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery. - -He had found her agitated and low.--Frank Churchill was a villain.-- -He heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill’s -character was not desperate.--She was his own Emma, by hand and word, -when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank -Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow. - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house from -what she had brought out!--she had then been only daring to hope for -a little respite of suffering;--she was now in an exquisite flutter of -happiness, and such happiness moreover as she believed must still be -greater when the flutter should have passed away. - -They sat down to tea--the same party round the same table--how often -it had been collected!--and how often had her eyes fallen on the same -shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the -western sun!--But never in such a state of spirits, never in any thing -like it; and it was with difficulty that she could summon enough of her -usual self to be the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive -daughter. - -Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting against him in the -breast of that man whom he was so cordially welcoming, and so anxiously -hoping might not have taken cold from his ride.--Could he have seen the -heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs; but without the -most distant imagination of the impending evil, without the slightest -perception of any thing extraordinary in the looks or ways of either, -he repeated to them very comfortably all the articles of news he had -received from Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment, -totally unsuspicious of what they could have told him in return. - -As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma’s fever continued; -but when he was gone, she began to be a little tranquillised and -subdued--and in the course of the sleepless night, which was the tax -for such an evening, she found one or two such very serious points -to consider, as made her feel, that even her happiness must have some -alloy. Her father--and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling -the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort -of both to the utmost, was the question. With respect to her father, -it was a question soon answered. She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley -would ask; but a very short parley with her own heart produced the most -solemn resolution of never quitting her father.--She even wept over -the idea of it, as a sin of thought. While he lived, it must be only an -engagement; but she flattered herself, that if divested of the danger of -drawing her away, it might become an increase of comfort to him.--How -to do her best by Harriet, was of more difficult decision;--how to spare -her from any unnecessary pain; how to make her any possible atonement; -how to appear least her enemy?--On these subjects, her perplexity -and distress were very great--and her mind had to pass again and -again through every bitter reproach and sorrowful regret that had ever -surrounded it.--She could only resolve at last, that she would still -avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that need be told by -letter; that it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her removed -just now for a time from Highbury, and--indulging in one scheme -more--nearly resolve, that it might be practicable to get an invitation -for her to Brunswick Square.--Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; -and a few weeks spent in London must give her some amusement.--She did -not think it in Harriet’s nature to escape being benefited by novelty -and variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children.--At any rate, -it would be a proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom -every thing was due; a separation for the present; an averting of the -evil day, when they must all be together again. - -She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet; an employment which -left her so very serious, so nearly sad, that Mr. Knightley, in walking -up to Hartfield to breakfast, did not arrive at all too soon; and half -an hour stolen afterwards to go over the same ground again with him, -literally and figuratively, was quite necessary to reinstate her in a -proper share of the happiness of the evening before. - -He had not left her long, by no means long enough for her to have the -slightest inclination for thinking of any body else, when a letter was -brought her from Randalls--a very thick letter;--she guessed what it -must contain, and deprecated the necessity of reading it.--She was now -in perfect charity with Frank Churchill; she wanted no explanations, she -wanted only to have her thoughts to herself--and as for understanding -any thing he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it.--It must be -waded through, however. She opened the packet; it was too surely so;--a -note from Mrs. Weston to herself, ushered in the letter from Frank to -Mrs. Weston. - -“I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forwarding to you the -enclosed. I know what thorough justice you will do it, and have scarcely -a doubt of its happy effect.--I think we shall never materially disagree -about the writer again; but I will not delay you by a long preface.--We -are quite well.--This letter has been the cure of all the little -nervousness I have been feeling lately.--I did not quite like your looks -on Tuesday, but it was an ungenial morning; and though you will never -own being affected by weather, I think every body feels a north-east -wind.--I felt for your dear father very much in the storm of Tuesday -afternoon and yesterday morning, but had the comfort of hearing last -night, by Mr. Perry, that it had not made him ill. - - “Yours ever, - “A. W.” - - [To Mrs. Weston.] - - - WINDSOR-JULY. -MY DEAR MADAM, - -“If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this letter will be -expected; but expected or not, I know it will be read with candour and -indulgence.--You are all goodness, and I believe there will be need of -even all your goodness to allow for some parts of my past conduct.--But -I have been forgiven by one who had still more to resent. My courage -rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosperous to be -humble. I have already met with such success in two applications for -pardon, that I may be in danger of thinking myself too sure of yours, -and of those among your friends who have had any ground of offence.--You -must all endeavour to comprehend the exact nature of my situation when I -first arrived at Randalls; you must consider me as having a secret which -was to be kept at all hazards. This was the fact. My right to place -myself in a situation requiring such concealment, is another question. -I shall not discuss it here. For my temptation to _think_ it a right, -I refer every caviller to a brick house, sashed windows below, and -casements above, in Highbury. I dared not address her openly; my -difficulties in the then state of Enscombe must be too well known to -require definition; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before we -parted at Weymouth, and to induce the most upright female mind in the -creation to stoop in charity to a secret engagement.--Had she refused, I -should have gone mad.--But you will be ready to say, what was your -hope in doing this?--What did you look forward to?--To any thing, every -thing--to time, chance, circumstance, slow effects, sudden bursts, -perseverance and weariness, health and sickness. Every possibility of -good was before me, and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her -promises of faith and correspondence. If you need farther explanation, -I have the honour, my dear madam, of being your husband’s son, and -the advantage of inheriting a disposition to hope for good, which no -inheritance of houses or lands can ever equal the value of.--See -me, then, under these circumstances, arriving on my first visit to -Randalls;--and here I am conscious of wrong, for that visit might have -been sooner paid. You will look back and see that I did not come till -Miss Fairfax was in Highbury; and as _you_ were the person slighted, you -will forgive me instantly; but I must work on my father’s compassion, by -reminding him, that so long as I absented myself from his house, so long -I lost the blessing of knowing you. My behaviour, during the very -happy fortnight which I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to -reprehension, excepting on one point. And now I come to the principal, -the only important part of my conduct while belonging to you, which -excites my own anxiety, or requires very solicitous explanation. With -the greatest respect, and the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss -Woodhouse; my father perhaps will think I ought to add, with the deepest -humiliation.--A few words which dropped from him yesterday spoke his -opinion, and some censure I acknowledge myself liable to.--My behaviour -to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe, more than it ought.--In order to -assist a concealment so essential to me, I was led on to make more than -an allowable use of the sort of intimacy into which we were immediately -thrown.--I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse was my ostensible object--but -I am sure you will believe the declaration, that had I not been -convinced of her indifference, I would not have been induced by any -selfish views to go on.--Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse is, -she never gave me the idea of a young woman likely to be attached; and -that she was perfectly free from any tendency to being attached to me, -was as much my conviction as my wish.--She received my attentions with -an easy, friendly, goodhumoured playfulness, which exactly suited me. -We seemed to understand each other. From our relative situation, those -attentions were her due, and were felt to be so.--Whether Miss Woodhouse -began really to understand me before the expiration of that fortnight, -I cannot say;--when I called to take leave of her, I remember that I was -within a moment of confessing the truth, and I then fancied she was not -without suspicion; but I have no doubt of her having since detected me, -at least in some degree.--She may not have surmised the whole, but her -quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt it. You will find, -whenever the subject becomes freed from its present restraints, that it -did not take her wholly by surprize. She frequently gave me hints of it. -I remember her telling me at the ball, that I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude -for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.--I hope this history of my conduct -towards her will be admitted by you and my father as great extenuation -of what you saw amiss. While you considered me as having sinned against -Emma Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either. Acquit me here, and -procure for me, when it is allowable, the acquittal and good wishes -of that said Emma Woodhouse, whom I regard with so much brotherly -affection, as to long to have her as deeply and as happily in love as -myself.--Whatever strange things I said or did during that fortnight, -you have now a key to. My heart was in Highbury, and my business was to -get my body thither as often as might be, and with the least suspicion. -If you remember any queernesses, set them all to the right account.--Of -the pianoforte so much talked of, I feel it only necessary to say, that -its being ordered was absolutely unknown to Miss F--, who would never -have allowed me to send it, had any choice been given her.--The -delicacy of her mind throughout the whole engagement, my dear madam, -is much beyond my power of doing justice to. You will soon, I earnestly -hope, know her thoroughly yourself.--No description can describe her. -She must tell you herself what she is--yet not by word, for never -was there a human creature who would so designedly suppress her own -merit.--Since I began this letter, which will be longer than I foresaw, -I have heard from her.--She gives a good account of her own health; but -as she never complains, I dare not depend. I want to have your opinion -of her looks. I know you will soon call on her; she is living in dread -of the visit. Perhaps it is paid already. Let me hear from you without -delay; I am impatient for a thousand particulars. Remember how few -minutes I was at Randalls, and in how bewildered, how mad a state: and -I am not much better yet; still insane either from happiness or -misery. When I think of the kindness and favour I have met with, of her -excellence and patience, and my uncle’s generosity, I am mad with joy: -but when I recollect all the uneasiness I occasioned her, and how little -I deserve to be forgiven, I am mad with anger. If I could but see her -again!--But I must not propose it yet. My uncle has been too good for me -to encroach.--I must still add to this long letter. You have not heard -all that you ought to hear. I could not give any connected detail -yesterday; but the suddenness, and, in one light, the unseasonableness -with which the affair burst out, needs explanation; for though the event -of the 26th ult., as you will conclude, immediately opened to me the -happiest prospects, I should not have presumed on such early measures, -but from the very particular circumstances, which left me not an hour to -lose. I should myself have shrunk from any thing so hasty, and she -would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and -refinement.--But I had no choice. The hasty engagement she had entered -into with that woman--Here, my dear madam, I was obliged to leave off -abruptly, to recollect and compose myself.--I have been walking over -the country, and am now, I hope, rational enough to make the rest of -my letter what it ought to be.--It is, in fact, a most mortifying -retrospect for me. I behaved shamefully. And here I can admit, that -my manners to Miss W., in being unpleasant to Miss F., were highly -blameable. _She_ disapproved them, which ought to have been enough.--My -plea of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient.--She was -displeased; I thought unreasonably so: I thought her, on a thousand -occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cautious: I thought her even -cold. But she was always right. If I had followed her judgment, and -subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed proper, I should have -escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known.--We quarrelled.-- -Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell?--_There_ every little -dissatisfaction that had occurred before came to a crisis. I was late; -I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, but she -would not suffer it. She absolutely refused to allow me, which I then -thought most unreasonable. Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very -natural and consistent degree of discretion. While I, to blind the -world to our engagement, was behaving one hour with objectionable -particularity to another woman, was she to be consenting the next to a -proposal which might have made every previous caution useless?--Had we -been met walking together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth must -have been suspected.--I was mad enough, however, to resent.--I doubted -her affection. I doubted it more the next day on Box Hill; when, -provoked by such conduct on my side, such shameful, insolent neglect -of her, and such apparent devotion to Miss W., as it would have been -impossible for any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in -a form of words perfectly intelligible to me.--In short, my dear -madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abominable on mine; and -I returned the same evening to Richmond, though I might have staid with -you till the next morning, merely because I would be as angry with -her as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to -be reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured by her -coldness, and I went away determined that she should make the first -advances.--I shall always congratulate myself that you were not of -the Box Hill party. Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly -suppose you would ever have thought well of me again. Its effect upon -her appears in the immediate resolution it produced: as soon as she -found I was really gone from Randalls, she closed with the offer of that -officious Mrs. Elton; the whole system of whose treatment of her, by the -bye, has ever filled me with indignation and hatred. I must not quarrel -with a spirit of forbearance which has been so richly extended towards -myself; but, otherwise, I should loudly protest against the share of it -which that woman has known.--‘Jane,’ indeed!--You will observe that I -have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that name, even to you. -Think, then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between -the Eltons with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the -insolence of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall soon -have done.--She closed with this offer, resolving to break with me -entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me that we never were to meet -again.--_She_ _felt_ _the_ _engagement_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _source_ _of_ -_repentance_ _and_ _misery_ _to_ _each_: _she_ _dissolved_ _it_.--This -letter reached me on the very morning of my poor aunt’s death. I -answered it within an hour; but from the confusion of my mind, and the -multiplicity of business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of -being sent with all the many other letters of that day, was locked up in -my writing-desk; and I, trusting that I had written enough, though but -a few lines, to satisfy her, remained without any uneasiness.--I was -rather disappointed that I did not hear from her again speedily; but I -made excuses for her, and was too busy, and--may I add?--too cheerful -in my views to be captious.--We removed to Windsor; and two -days afterwards I received a parcel from her, my own letters all -returned!--and a few lines at the same time by the post, stating her -extreme surprize at not having had the smallest reply to her last; and -adding, that as silence on such a point could not be misconstrued, -and as it must be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate -arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe -conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly -command hers, so as to send them to Highbury within a week, I would -forward them after that period to her at--: in short, the full direction -to Mr. Smallridge’s, near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew the -name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had -been doing. It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character -which I knew her to possess; and the secrecy she had maintained, as to -any such design in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its -anxious delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to threaten -me.--Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my -own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post.--What was to be -done?--One thing only.--I must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction I -could not hope to be listened to again.--I spoke; circumstances were -in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and he was, -earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; -and could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that he wished I -might find as much happiness in the marriage state as he had done.--I -felt that it would be of a different sort.--Are you disposed to pity -me for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, for my -suspense while all was at stake?--No; do not pity me till I reached -Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. Do not pity me till I saw her -wan, sick looks.--I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my -knowledge of their late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance -of finding her alone.--I was not disappointed; and at last I was not -disappointed either in the object of my journey. A great deal of very -reasonable, very just displeasure I had to persuade away. But it is -done; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment’s -uneasiness can ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will -release you; but I could not conclude before. A thousand and a thousand -thanks for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for -the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.--If you think me in -a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.--Miss -W. calls me the child of good fortune. I hope she is right.--In one -respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe -myself, - - Your obliged and affectionate Son, - - F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL. - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -This letter must make its way to Emma’s feelings. She was obliged, in -spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all the -justice that Mrs. Weston foretold. As soon as she came to her own name, -it was irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting, -and almost every line agreeable; and when this charm ceased, the subject -could still maintain itself, by the natural return of her former regard -for the writer, and the very strong attraction which any picture of -love must have for her at that moment. She never stopt till she had gone -through the whole; and though it was impossible not to feel that he had -been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed--and he had -suffered, and was very sorry--and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and -so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that -there was no being severe; and could he have entered the room, she must -have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever. - -She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley came again, -she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs. Weston’s wishing it to -be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so -much to blame in his conduct. - -“I shall be very glad to look it over,” said he; “but it seems long. I -will take it home with me at night.” - -But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she -must return it by him. - -“I would rather be talking to you,” he replied; “but as it seems a -matter of justice, it shall be done.” - -He began--stopping, however, almost directly to say, “Had I been offered -the sight of one of this gentleman’s letters to his mother-in-law a few -months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken with such indifference.” - -He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and then, with a -smile, observed, “Humph! a fine complimentary opening: But it is his -way. One man’s style must not be the rule of another’s. We will not be -severe.” - -“It will be natural for me,” he added shortly afterwards, “to speak my -opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I am near you. -It will not be so great a loss of time: but if you dislike it--” - -“Not at all. I should wish it.” - -Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity. - -“He trifles here,” said he, “as to the temptation. He knows he is wrong, -and has nothing rational to urge.--Bad.--He ought not to have formed the -engagement.--‘His father’s disposition:’--he is unjust, however, to his -father. Mr. Weston’s sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright -and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston earned every present comfort -before he endeavoured to gain it.--Very true; he did not come till Miss -Fairfax was here.” - -“And I have not forgotten,” said Emma, “how sure you were that he might -have come sooner if he would. You pass it over very handsomely--but you -were perfectly right.” - -“I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:--but yet, I think--had -_you_ not been in the case--I should still have distrusted him.” - -When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole of it -aloud--all that related to her, with a smile; a look; a shake of the -head; a word or two of assent, or disapprobation; or merely of love, as -the subject required; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady -reflection, thus-- - -“Very bad--though it might have been worse.--Playing a most dangerous -game. Too much indebted to the event for his acquittal.--No judge of -his own manners by you.--Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and -regardless of little besides his own convenience.--Fancying you to have -fathomed his secret. Natural enough!--his own mind full of intrigue, -that he should suspect it in others.--Mystery; Finesse--how they pervert -the understanding! My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more -and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each -other?” - -Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet’s account, -which she could not give any sincere explanation of. - -“You had better go on,” said she. - -He did so, but very soon stopt again to say, “the pianoforte! Ah! That -was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider whether -the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure. A -boyish scheme, indeed!--I cannot comprehend a man’s wishing to give a -woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense -with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument’s -coming if she could.” - -After this, he made some progress without any pause. Frank Churchill’s -confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call for -more than a word in passing. - -“I perfectly agree with you, sir,”--was then his remark. “You did behave -very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line.” And having gone through -what immediately followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his -persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax’s sense of right, -he made a fuller pause to say, “This is very bad.--He had induced her -to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty and -uneasiness, and it should have been his first object to prevent her from -suffering unnecessarily.--She must have had much more to contend -with, in carrying on the correspondence, than he could. He should have -respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were -all reasonable. We must look to her one fault, and remember that she -had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she -should have been in such a state of punishment.” - -Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew -uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so very improper! She was -deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look. It was all read, -however, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark; and, -excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear -of giving pain--no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist. - -“There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the -Eltons,” was his next observation.--“His feelings are natural.--What! -actually resolve to break with him entirely!--She felt the engagement to -be a source of repentance and misery to each--she dissolved it.--What a -view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!--Well, he must be a most -extraordinary--” - -“Nay, nay, read on.--You will find how very much he suffers.” - -“I hope he does,” replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resuming the letter. -“‘Smallridge!’--What does this mean? What is all this?” - -“She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge’s children--a -dear friend of Mrs. Elton’s--a neighbour of Maple Grove; and, by the -bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?” - -“Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read--not even of -Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done. What a letter -the man writes!” - -“I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him.” - -“Well, there _is_ feeling here.--He does seem to have suffered in -finding her ill.--Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of -her. ‘Dearer, much dearer than ever.’ I hope he may long continue to -feel all the value of such a reconciliation.--He is a very liberal -thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.--‘Happier than I -deserve.’ Come, he knows himself there. ‘Miss Woodhouse calls me the -child of good fortune.’--Those were Miss Woodhouse’s words, were they?-- -And a fine ending--and there is the letter. The child of good fortune! -That was your name for him, was it?” - -“You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still -you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I -hope it does him some service with you.” - -“Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of -inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion -in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he -is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it -may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very -ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the -steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk -to you of something else. I have another person’s interest at present -so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. -Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work -on one subject.” - -The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike -English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the woman he was in love -with, how to be able to ask her to marry him, without attacking the -happiness of her father. Emma’s answer was ready at the first word. -“While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible -for her. She could never quit him.” Part only of this answer, however, -was admitted. The impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr. -Knightley felt as strongly as herself; but the inadmissibility of any -other change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking it over most -deeply, most intently; he had at first hoped to induce Mr. Woodhouse to -remove with her to Donwell; he had wanted to believe it feasible, but -his knowledge of Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive himself -long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a transplantation -would be a risk of her father’s comfort, perhaps even of his life, which -must not be hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!--No, he felt -that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which had arisen on the -sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would not find in any -respect objectionable; it was, that he should be received at Hartfield; -that so long as her father’s happiness--in other words, his life--required -Hartfield to continue her home, it should be his likewise. - -Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had her own passing -thoughts. Like him, she had tried the scheme and rejected it; but such -an alternative as this had not occurred to her. She was sensible of all -the affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he must -be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits; that -in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there -would be much, very much, to be borne with. She promised to think of it, -and advised him to think of it more; but he was fully convinced, that no -reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject. He had -given it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration; he had -been walking away from William Larkins the whole morning, to have his -thoughts to himself. - -“Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,” cried Emma. “I am sure -William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you -ask mine.” - -She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly promised, -moreover, to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good -scheme. - -It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view in -which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never -struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as -heir-expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must -of the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet she only -gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and found amusement in -detecting the real cause of that violent dislike of Mr. Knightley’s -marrying Jane Fairfax, or any body else, which at the time she had -wholly imputed to the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt. - -This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at -Hartfield--the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became. -His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual -good to outweigh every drawback. Such a companion for herself in the -periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!--Such a partner in -all those duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of -melancholy! - -She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet; but every blessing -of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, -who must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family -party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere -charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser in -every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction -from her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a -dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a -peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of -unmerited punishment. - -In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, -supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. -Knightley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;--not -like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly -considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped -than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she -could be in love with more than _three_ men in one year. - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desirous as -herself to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse was painful enough by -letter. How much worse, had they been obliged to meet! - -Harriet expressed herself very much as might be supposed, without -reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage; and yet Emma fancied there -was a something of resentment, a something bordering on it in her style, -which increased the desirableness of their being separate.--It might be -only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have -been quite without resentment under such a stroke. - -She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella’s invitation; and she was -fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting -to invention.--There was a tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and -had wished some time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was -delighted to be of use; any thing of ill health was a recommendation to -her--and though not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was -quite eager to have Harriet under her care.--When it was thus settled -on her sister’s side, Emma proposed it to her friend, and found her -very persuadable.--Harriet was to go; she was invited for at least a -fortnight; she was to be conveyed in Mr. Woodhouse’s carriage.--It was -all arranged, it was all completed, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick -Square. - -Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley’s visits; now she could -talk, and she could listen with true happiness, unchecked by that sense -of injustice, of guilt, of something most painful, which had haunted her -when remembering how disappointed a heart was near her, how much might -at that moment, and at a little distance, be enduring by the feelings -which she had led astray herself. - -The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard’s, or in London, made perhaps -an unreasonable difference in Emma’s sensations; but she could not think -of her in London without objects of curiosity and employment, which must -be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself. - -She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place -in her mind which Harriet had occupied. There was a communication before -her, one which _she_ only could be competent to make--the confession of -her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing to do with it -at present.--She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston -were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this -period among those she loved--and the evil should not act on herself -by anticipation before the appointed time.--A fortnight, at least, of -leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but more agitating, -delight, should be hers. - -She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half an -hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax.--She ought -to go--and she was longing to see her; the resemblance of their present -situations increasing every other motive of goodwill. It would be a -_secret_ satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect -would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to any -thing Jane might communicate. - -She went--she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door, but had not -been into the house since the morning after Box Hill, when poor Jane had -been in such distress as had filled her with compassion, though all the -worst of her sufferings had been unsuspected.--The fear of being still -unwelcome, determined her, though assured of their being at home, to -wait in the passage, and send up her name.--She heard Patty announcing -it; but no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before made so -happily intelligible.--No; she heard nothing but the instant reply of, -“Beg her to walk up;”--and a moment afterwards she was met on the stairs -by Jane herself, coming eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her -were felt sufficient.--Emma had never seen her look so well, so lovely, -so engaging. There was consciousness, animation, and warmth; there was -every thing which her countenance or manner could ever have wanted.-- -She came forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very -feeling tone, - -“This is most kind, indeed!--Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible for me -to express--I hope you will believe--Excuse me for being so entirely -without words.” - -Emma was gratified, and would soon have shewn no want of words, if the -sound of Mrs. Elton’s voice from the sitting-room had not checked -her, and made it expedient to compress all her friendly and all her -congratulatory sensations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand. - -Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates was out, which -accounted for the previous tranquillity. Emma could have wished Mrs. -Elton elsewhere; but she was in a humour to have patience with every -body; and as Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the -rencontre would do them no harm. - -She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton’s thoughts, and -understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in -Miss Fairfax’s confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was -still a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately in -the expression of her face; and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. -Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady’s replies, she saw -her with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which she -had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it into -the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with significant nods, - -“We can finish this some other time, you know. You and I shall not want -opportunities. And, in fact, you have heard all the essential already. I -only wanted to prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is -not offended. You see how delightfully she writes. Oh! she is a sweet -creature! You would have doated on her, had you gone.--But not a word -more. Let us be discreet--quite on our good behaviour.--Hush!--You -remember those lines--I forget the poem at this moment: - - “For when a lady’s in the case, - “You know all other things give place.” - -Now I say, my dear, in _our_ case, for _lady_, read----mum! a word to -the wise.--I am in a fine flow of spirits, an’t I? But I want to set -your heart at ease as to Mrs. S.--_My_ representation, you see, has -quite appeased her.” - -And again, on Emma’s merely turning her head to look at Mrs. Bates’s -knitting, she added, in a half whisper, - -“I mentioned no _names_, you will observe.--Oh! no; cautious as a -minister of state. I managed it extremely well.” - -Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, repeated on every -possible occasion. When they had all talked a little while in harmony of -the weather and Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with, - -“Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is -charmingly recovered?--Do not you think her cure does Perry the highest -credit?--(here was a side-glance of great meaning at Jane.) Upon my -word, Perry has restored her in a wonderful short time!--Oh! if you had -seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst!”--And when Mrs. Bates -was saying something to Emma, whispered farther, “We do not say a word -of any _assistance_ that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young -physician from Windsor.--Oh! no; Perry shall have all the credit.” - -“I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,” she -shortly afterwards began, “since the party to Box Hill. Very pleasant -party. But yet I think there was something wanting. Things did not -seem--that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some.--So -it appeared to me at least, but I might be mistaken. However, I think -it answered so far as to tempt one to go again. What say you both to our -collecting the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again, while the -fine weather lasts?--It must be the same party, you know, quite the -same party, not _one_ exception.” - -Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could not help being -diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting, -she supposed, from doubt of what might be said, and impatience to say -every thing. - -“Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness.--It is impossible -to say--Yes, indeed, I quite understand--dearest Jane’s prospects--that -is, I do not mean.--But she is charmingly recovered.--How is Mr. -Woodhouse?--I am so glad.--Quite out of my power.--Such a happy little -circle as you find us here.--Yes, indeed.--Charming young man!--that -is--so very friendly; I mean good Mr. Perry!--such attention to -Jane!”--And from her great, her more than commonly thankful delight -towards Mrs. Elton for being there, Emma guessed that there had been a -little show of resentment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, -which was now graciously overcome.--After a few whispers, indeed, which -placed it beyond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said, - -“Yes, here I am, my good friend; and here I have been so long, that -anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but, the truth -is, that I am waiting for my lord and master. He promised to join me -here, and pay his respects to you.” - -“What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr. Elton?--That will -be a favour indeed! for I know gentlemen do not like morning visits, and -Mr. Elton’s time is so engaged.” - -“Upon my word it is, Miss Bates.--He really is engaged from morning to -night.--There is no end of people’s coming to him, on some pretence or -other.--The magistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always -wanting his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing without -him.--‘Upon my word, Mr. E.,’ I often say, ‘rather you than I.--I do -not know what would become of my crayons and my instrument, if I had -half so many applicants.’--Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect -them both to an unpardonable degree.--I believe I have not played a bar -this fortnight.--However, he is coming, I assure you: yes, indeed, on -purpose to wait on you all.” And putting up her hand to screen her -words from Emma--“A congratulatory visit, you know.--Oh! yes, quite -indispensable.” - -Miss Bates looked about her, so happily--! - -“He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage himself -from Knightley; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep -consultation.--Mr. E. is Knightley’s right hand.” - -Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, “Is Mr. Elton -gone on foot to Donwell?--He will have a hot walk.” - -“Oh! no, it is a meeting at the Crown, a regular meeting. Weston and -Cole will be there too; but one is apt to speak only of those who -lead.--I fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have every thing their own way.” - -“Have not you mistaken the day?” said Emma. “I am almost certain that -the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow.--Mr. Knightley was at -Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday.” - -“Oh! no, the meeting is certainly to-day,” was the abrupt answer, which -denoted the impossibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton’s side.--“I do -believe,” she continued, “this is the most troublesome parish that ever -was. We never heard of such things at Maple Grove.” - -“Your parish there was small,” said Jane. - -“Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subject -talked of.” - -“But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I have heard -you speak of, as under the patronage of your sister and Mrs. Bragge; the -only school, and not more than five-and-twenty children.” - -“Ah! you clever creature, that’s very true. What a thinking brain you -have! I say, Jane, what a perfect character you and I should make, if we -could be shaken together. My liveliness and your solidity would produce -perfection.--Not that I presume to insinuate, however, that _some_ -people may not think _you_ perfection already.--But hush!--not a word, -if you please.” - -It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting to give her words, -not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw. -The wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility permitted, was very -evident, though it could not often proceed beyond a look. - -Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him with some of her -sparkling vivacity. - -“Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an -encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come!--But -you knew what a dutiful creature you had to deal with. You knew I should -not stir till my lord and master appeared.--Here have I been sitting -this hour, giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal -obedience--for who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?” - -Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown away. -His civilities to the other ladies must be paid; but his subsequent -object was to lament over himself for the heat he was suffering, and the -walk he had had for nothing. - -“When I got to Donwell,” said he, “Knightley could not be found. Very -odd! very unaccountable! after the note I sent him this morning, and the -message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till one.” - -“Donwell!” cried his wife.--“My dear Mr. E., you have not been to -Donwell!--You mean the Crown; you come from the meeting at the Crown.” - -“No, no, that’s to-morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley -to-day on that very account.--Such a dreadful broiling morning!--I went -over the fields too--(speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,) which made -it so much the worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you -I am not at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The -housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected.--Very -extraordinary!--And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps -to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods.--Miss -Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley!--Can you explain it?” - -Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary, -indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him. - -“I cannot imagine,” said Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife -ought to do,) “I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of -all people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to -be forgotten!--My dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for you, I am -sure he must.--Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric;--and his -servants forgot it. Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely -to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, -extremely awkward and remiss.--I am sure I would not have such a -creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And -as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.--She promised -Wright a receipt, and never sent it.” - -“I met William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house, -and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not -believe him.--William seemed rather out of humour. He did not know what -was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the -speech of him. I have nothing to do with William’s wants, but it really -is of very great importance that _I_ should see Knightley to-day; and it -becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should -have had this hot walk to no purpose.” - -Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In -all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr. -Knightley might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards -Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins. - -She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to -attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it gave her -an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say, - -“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you -not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to -introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might -have been strictly correct.--I feel that I should certainly have been -impertinent.” - -“Oh!” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought -infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual -composure--“there would have been no danger. The danger would have -been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than -by expressing an interest--. Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking more -collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of misconduct, very -great misconduct, it is particularly consoling to me to know that those -of my friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not -disgusted to such a degree as to--I have not time for half that I could -wish to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for -myself. I feel it so very due. But, unfortunately--in short, if your -compassion does not stand my friend--” - -“Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,” cried Emma warmly, and -taking her hand. “You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you -might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted -even--” - -“You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you.--So -cold and artificial!--I had always a part to act.--It was a life of -deceit!--I know that I must have disgusted you.” - -“Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. -Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done -quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you -have pleasant accounts from Windsor?” - -“Very.” - -“And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you--just as -I begin to know you.” - -“Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet. I am here -till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.” - -“Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,” replied Emma, -smiling--“but, excuse me, it must be thought of.” - -The smile was returned as Jane answered, - -“You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to you, (I -am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill -at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least, of -deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing -more to wait for.” - -“Thank you, thank you.--This is just what I wanted to be assured -of.--Oh! if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and -open!--Good-bye, good-bye.” - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Mrs. Weston’s friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the -satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by -knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in -wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with -any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s -sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father -and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew -older--and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence--to -have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks -and the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston--no -one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be -quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have -their powers in exercise again. - -“She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,” she -continued--“like La Baronne d’Almane on La Comtesse d’Ostalis, in Madame -de Genlis’ Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little -Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan.” - -“That is,” replied Mr. Knightley, “she will indulge her even more than -she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will -be the only difference.” - -“Poor child!” cried Emma; “at that rate, what will become of her?” - -“Nothing very bad.--The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable -in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my -bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all -my happiness to _you_, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be -severe on them?” - -Emma laughed, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all your -endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether -my own sense would have corrected me without it.” - -“Do you?--I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--Miss Taylor -gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference was quite -as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say, what -right has he to lecture me?--and I am afraid very natural for you to -feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did -you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the -tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without -doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, -have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.” - -“I am sure you were of use to me,” cried Emma. “I was very often -influenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own at the time. I -am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be -spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her -as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is -thirteen.” - -“How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your -saucy looks--‘Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says I -may, or I have Miss Taylor’s leave’--something which, you knew, I -did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving you two bad -feelings instead of one.” - -“What an amiable creature I was!--No wonder you should hold my speeches -in such affectionate remembrance.” - -“‘Mr. Knightley.’--You always called me, ‘Mr. Knightley;’ and, from -habit, it has not so very formal a sound.--And yet it is formal. I want -you to call me something else, but I do not know what.” - -“I remember once calling you ‘George,’ in one of my amiable fits, about -ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as -you made no objection, I never did it again.” - -“And cannot you call me ‘George’ now?” - -“Impossible!--I never can call you any thing but ‘Mr. Knightley.’ I -will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by -calling you Mr. K.--But I will promise,” she added presently, laughing -and blushing--“I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. -I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where;--in the building in -which N. takes M. for better, for worse.” - -Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important -service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the -advice which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly -follies--her wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a -subject.--She could not enter on it.--Harriet was very seldom mentioned -between them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being -thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, -and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship were -declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other -circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and that -her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did, on -Isabella’s letters. He might observe that it was so. The pain of being -obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very little inferior to -the pain of having made Harriet unhappy. - -Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be -expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits, which -appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted; but, -since that business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet -different from what she had known her before.--Isabella, to be sure, -was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been equal to playing -with the children, it would not have escaped her. Emma’s comforts and -hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet’s being to stay longer; -her fortnight was likely to be a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John -Knightley were to come down in August, and she was invited to remain -till they could bring her back. - -“John does not even mention your friend,” said Mr. Knightley. “Here is -his answer, if you like to see it.” - -It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage. Emma -accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all alive to know -what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her -friend was unmentioned. - -“John enters like a brother into my happiness,” continued Mr. Knightley, -“but he is no complimenter; and though I well know him to have, -likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far from making -flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rather cool in -her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes.” - -“He writes like a sensible man,” replied Emma, when she had read the -letter. “I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the -good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not -without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as -you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear a different -construction, I should not have believed him.” - -“My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means--” - -“He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,” - interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile--“much less, perhaps, than -he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the -subject.” - -“Emma, my dear Emma--” - -“Oh!” she cried with more thorough gaiety, “if you fancy your brother -does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, -and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing -_you_ justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on -your side of the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not -sink into ‘poor Emma’ with him at once.--His tender compassion towards -oppressed worth can go no farther.” - -“Ah!” he cried, “I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as -John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be -happy together. I am amused by one part of John’s letter--did you notice -it?--where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by -surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the -kind.” - -“If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having -some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly -unprepared for that.” - -“Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my -feelings. What has he been judging by?--I am not conscious of any -difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at -this time for my marrying any more than at another.--But it was so, I -suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them -the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so much -as usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, ‘Uncle seems -always tired now.’” - -The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other -persons’ reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently -recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Emma having it in view that -her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to -announce it at home, and then at Randalls.--But how to break it to her -father at last!--She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. -Knightley’s absence, or when it came to the point her heart would have -failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come -at such a time, and follow up the beginning she was to make.--She was -forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a -more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. -She must not appear to think it a misfortune.--With all the spirits she -could command, she prepared him first for something strange, and then, -in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be -obtained--which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, -since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all--she and Mr. -Knightley meant to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the -constant addition of that person’s company whom she knew he loved, next -to his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world. - -Poor man!--it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried -earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once, of -having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be -a great deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor Isabella, -and poor Miss Taylor.--But it would not do. Emma hung about him -affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so; and that he must -not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them -from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change: but she was not -going from Hartfield; she should be always there; she was introducing -no change in their numbers or their comforts but for the better; and she -was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr. -Knightley always at hand, when he were once got used to the idea.--Did -he not love Mr. Knightley very much?--He would not deny that he did, -she was sure.--Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. -Knightley?--Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, -who so glad to assist him?--Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached -to him?--Would not he like to have him always on the spot?--Yes. That -was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should -be glad to see him every day;--but they did see him every day as it -was.--Why could not they go on as they had done? - -Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome, -the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest.--To -Emma’s entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley’s, whose fond -praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and he was soon -used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion.--They had all -the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the strongest -approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to -consider the subject in the most serviceable light--first, as a settled, -and, secondly, as a good one--well aware of the nearly equal importance -of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse’s mind.--It was agreed -upon, as what was to be; and every body by whom he was used to be -guided assuring him that it would be for his happiness; and having some -feelings himself which almost admitted it, he began to think that some -time or other--in another year or two, perhaps--it might not be so very -bad if the marriage did take place. - -Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that she -said to him in favour of the event.--She had been extremely surprized, -never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her; but she -saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in -urging him to the utmost.--She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as -to think he deserved even her dearest Emma; and it was in every respect -so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one -respect, one point of the highest importance, so peculiarly eligible, -so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed as if Emma could not safely -have attached herself to any other creature, and that she had herself -been the stupidest of beings in not having thought of it, and wished it -long ago.--How very few of those men in a rank of life to address Emma -would have renounced their own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. -Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such -an arrangement desirable!--The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. -Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband’s plans and her own, for -a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe -and Hartfield had been a continual impediment--less acknowledged by Mr. -Weston than by herself--but even he had never been able to finish -the subject better than by saying--“Those matters will take care of -themselves; the young people will find a way.” But here there was -nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was -all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name. -It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without -one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it. - -Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections -as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing could -increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have -outgrown its first set of caps. - -The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr. Weston -had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough to -familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.--He saw the advantages -of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; -but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he -was not far from believing that he had always foreseen it. - -“It is to be a secret, I conclude,” said he. “These matters are always a -secret, till it is found out that every body knows them. Only let me be -told when I may speak out.--I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.” - -He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that -point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest -daughter?--he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, -of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately -afterwards. It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they -had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it -would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening -wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity. - -In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him, and -others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend their -all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys; -and another might predict disagreements among their servants; but yet, -upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in one -habitation, the Vicarage.--There, the surprize was not softened by any -satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife; -he only hoped “the young lady’s pride would now be contented;” and -supposed “she had always meant to catch Knightley if she could;” and, -on the point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, “Rather -he than I!”--But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--“Poor -Knightley! poor fellow!--sad business for him.”--She was extremely -concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good -qualities.--How could he be so taken in?--Did not think him at all in -love--not in the least.--Poor Knightley!--There would be an end of all -pleasant intercourse with him.--How happy he had been to come and dine -with them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now.--Poor -fellow!--No more exploring parties to Donwell made for _her_. Oh! -no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on every -thing.--Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all sorry that -she had abused the housekeeper the other day.--Shocking plan, living -together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who -had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first -quarter. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party from London would -be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it one -morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when -Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. After the -first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began -with, - -“I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.” - -“Good or bad?” said she, quickly, looking up in his face. - -“I do not know which it ought to be called.” - -“Oh! good I am sure.--I see it in your countenance. You are trying not -to smile.” - -“I am afraid,” said he, composing his features, “I am very much afraid, -my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.” - -“Indeed! but why so?--I can hardly imagine that any thing which pleases -or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too.” - -“There is one subject,” he replied, “I hope but one, on which we do not -think alike.” He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on -her face. “Does nothing occur to you?--Do not you recollect?--Harriet -Smith.” - -Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though -she knew not what. - -“Have you heard from her yourself this morning?” cried he. “You have, I -believe, and know the whole.” - -“No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me.” - -“You are prepared for the worst, I see--and very bad it is. Harriet -Smith marries Robert Martin.” - -Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared--and her eyes, -in eager gaze, said, “No, this is impossible!” but her lips were closed. - -“It is so, indeed,” continued Mr. Knightley; “I have it from Robert -Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago.” - -She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement. - -“You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.--I wish our opinions were -the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one -or the other of us think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not -talk much on the subject.” - -“You mistake me, you quite mistake me,” she replied, exerting herself. -“It is not that such a circumstance would now make me unhappy, but I -cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility!--You cannot mean to say, -that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot mean that he -has even proposed to her again--yet. You only mean, that he intends it.” - -“I mean that he has done it,” answered Mr. Knightley, with smiling but -determined decision, “and been accepted.” - -“Good God!” she cried.--“Well!”--Then having recourse to her workbasket, -in excuse for leaning down her face, and concealing all the exquisite -feelings of delight and entertainment which she knew she must be -expressing, she added, “Well, now tell me every thing; make this -intelligible to me. How, where, when?--Let me know it all. I never was -more surprized--but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you.--How--how -has it been possible?” - -“It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago, -and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send -to John.--He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was -asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley’s. They were -going to take the two eldest boys to Astley’s. The party was to be our -brother and sister, Henry, John--and Miss Smith. My friend Robert could -not resist. They called for him in their way; were all extremely amused; -and my brother asked him to dine with them the next day--which he -did--and in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an -opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak -in vain.--She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is -deserving. He came down by yesterday’s coach, and was with me this -morning immediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first -on my affairs, and then on his own. This is all that I can relate of -the how, where, and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much -longer history when you see her.--She will give you all the minute -particulars, which only woman’s language can make interesting.--In our -communications we deal only in the great.--However, I must say, that -Robert Martin’s heart seemed for _him_, and to _me_, very overflowing; -and that he did mention, without its being much to the purpose, that -on quitting their box at Astley’s, my brother took charge of Mrs. John -Knightley and little John, and he followed with Miss Smith and Henry; -and that at one time they were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith -rather uneasy.” - -He stopped.--Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply. To speak, she -was sure would be to betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness. -She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed -him; and after observing her a little while, he added, - -“Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you -unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His -situation is an evil--but you must consider it as what satisfies your -friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him -as you know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight -you.--As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend -in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is -saying a great deal I assure you, Emma.--You laugh at me about William -Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin.” - -He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now brought herself not -to smile too broadly--she did--cheerfully answering, - -“You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I think -Harriet is doing extremely well. _Her_ connexions may be worse than -_his_. In respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they -are. I have been silent from surprize merely, excessive surprize. You -cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me! how peculiarly unprepared -I was!--for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined -against him, much more, than she was before.” - -“You ought to know your friend best,” replied Mr. Knightley; “but I -should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be -very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her.” - -Emma could not help laughing as she answered, “Upon my word, I believe -you know her quite as well as I do.--But, Mr. Knightley, are you -perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright _accepted_ him. -I could suppose she might in time--but can she already?--Did not you -misunderstand him?--You were both talking of other things; of business, -shows of cattle, or new drills--and might not you, in the confusion of -so many subjects, mistake him?--It was not Harriet’s hand that he was -certain of--it was the dimensions of some famous ox.” - -The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. Knightley and Robert -Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma’s feelings, and so strong -was the recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet’s -side, so fresh the sound of those words, spoken with such emphasis, -“No, I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin,” that she was -really expecting the intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature. -It could not be otherwise. - -“Do you dare say this?” cried Mr. Knightley. “Do you dare to suppose me -so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of?--What do -you deserve?” - -“Oh! I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with -any other; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are -you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and -Harriet now are?” - -“I am quite sure,” he replied, speaking very distinctly, “that he -told me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing -doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that -it must be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew -of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of -her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, -than to go to Mrs. Goddard? I assured him that I could not. Then, he -said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day.” - -“I am perfectly satisfied,” replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, -“and most sincerely wish them happy.” - -“You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before.” - -“I hope so--for at that time I was a fool.” - -“And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all -Harriet’s good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for -Robert Martin’s sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much -in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often -talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, -indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor -Martin’s cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, -I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good -notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in -the affections and utility of domestic life.--Much of this, I have no -doubt, she may thank you for.” - -“Me!” cried Emma, shaking her head.--“Ah! poor Harriet!” - -She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more -praise than she deserved. - -Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her -father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be alone. Her mind was in a -state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to be -collected. She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she -had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she -could be fit for nothing rational. - -Her father’s business was to announce James’s being gone out to put the -horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls; and she -had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing. - -The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be -imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect of -Harriet’s welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy for -security.--What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of -him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own. -Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility -and circumspection in future. - -Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and in her -resolutions; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the -very midst of them. She must laugh at such a close! Such an end of the -doleful disappointment of five weeks back! Such a heart--such a Harriet! - -Now there would be pleasure in her returning--Every thing would be a -pleasure. It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin. - -High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities, was the -reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr. Knightley would -soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to -practise, might soon be over. She could now look forward to giving him -that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to -welcome as a duty. - -In the gayest and happiest spirits she set forward with her father; not -always listening, but always agreeing to what he said; and, whether in -speech or silence, conniving at the comfortable persuasion of his -being obliged to go to Randalls every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be -disappointed. - -They arrived.--Mrs. Weston was alone in the drawing-room:--but hardly -had they been told of the baby, and Mr. Woodhouse received the thanks -for coming, which he asked for, when a glimpse was caught through the -blind, of two figures passing near the window. - -“It is Frank and Miss Fairfax,” said Mrs. Weston. “I was just going to -tell you of our agreeable surprize in seeing him arrive this morning. He -stays till to-morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the -day with us.--They are coming in, I hope.” - -In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was extremely glad to -see him--but there was a degree of confusion--a number of embarrassing -recollections on each side. They met readily and smiling, but with a -consciousness which at first allowed little to be said; and having all -sat down again, there was for some time such a blank in the circle, that -Emma began to doubt whether the wish now indulged, which she had long -felt, of seeing Frank Churchill once more, and of seeing him with Jane, -would yield its proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined the -party, however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no longer a -want of subject or animation--or of courage and opportunity for Frank -Churchill to draw near her and say, - -“I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message -in one of Mrs. Weston’s letters. I hope time has not made you less -willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said.” - -“No, indeed,” cried Emma, most happy to begin, “not in the least. I am -particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy -in person.” - -He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with -serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. - -“Is not she looking well?” said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. -“Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston -doat upon her.” - -But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after -mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of -Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. - -“I can never think of it,” she cried, “without extreme shame.” - -“The shame,” he answered, “is all mine, or ought to be. But is it -possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you -had none.” - -“I never had the smallest, I assure you.” - -“That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I -had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong -things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no -service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken -the bond of secrecy and told you every thing.” - -“It is not now worth a regret,” said Emma. - -“I have some hope,” resumed he, “of my uncle’s being persuaded to pay a -visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells -are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, -till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from -her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not -once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?” - -Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay -thought, he cried, - -“Ah! by the bye,” then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the -moment--“I hope Mr. Knightley is well?” He paused.--She coloured and -laughed.--“I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish -in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that -I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is -a man whom I cannot presume to praise.” - -Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but -his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, -and his next words were, - -“Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and -yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a -most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most -distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour -enough for beauty.” - -“I have always admired her complexion,” replied Emma, archly; “but -do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so -pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?” - -“Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--” - -But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help -saying, - -“I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you -had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am -sure it was a consolation to you.” - -“Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most -miserable wretch!” - -“Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a -source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us -all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the -truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same -situation. I think there is a little likeness between us.” - -He bowed. - -“If not in our dispositions,” she presently added, with a look of true -sensibility, “there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids -fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own.” - -“True, true,” he answered, warmly. “No, not true on your side. You can -have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look -at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her -throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will -be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my -uncle means to give her all my aunt’s jewels. They are to be new set. -I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be -beautiful in her dark hair?” - -“Very beautiful, indeed,” replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he -gratefully burst out, - -“How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent -looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should -certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come.” - -The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account -of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the -infant’s appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, -but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending -for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been -almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had -been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly -interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for -thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done -it. “She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the -slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be -too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, -that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, -very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had -seen it.” - -Frank Churchill caught the name. - -“Perry!” said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss -Fairfax’s eye. “My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. -Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has -he set up his carriage?” - -Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the -laugh, it was evident from Jane’s countenance that she too was really -hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. - -“Such an extraordinary dream of mine!” he cried. “I can never think of -it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see -it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do -not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, -which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole -blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, -though pretending to listen to the others?” - -Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly -remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet -steady voice, - -“How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They -_will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!” - -He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but -Emma’s feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving -Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she -felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really -regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more -sensible of Mr. Knightley’s high superiority of character. The happiness -of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated -contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a -momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her -attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from -unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the -recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party -from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour -alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable -as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, -and was now forming all her views of happiness. - -Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: -but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and -self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with -the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the -fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend’s -approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by -meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was -most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley’s, and the -dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. -But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now -acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his -continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever -be unintelligible to Emma. - -The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh -reason for thinking so.--Harriet’s parentage became known. She proved -to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the -comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to -have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility -which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to -be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what -a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the -Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, -unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. - -No objection was raised on the father’s side; the young man was treated -liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted -with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully -acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could -bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet’s -happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he -offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and -improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, -and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, -and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into -temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable -and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the -world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a -man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. - -Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, -was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The -intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change -into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, -and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural -manner. - -Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw -her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as -no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, -could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, -but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on -herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of -the three, were the first to be married. - -Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the -comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills -were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. - -The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by -Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought -to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to -allow them the fortnight’s absence in a tour to the seaside, which was -the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in -approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced -to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a -distant event. - -When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were -almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He -began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very -promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he -was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter’s -courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know -him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost -acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when -once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she -hesitated--she could not proceed. - -In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden -illumination of Mr. Woodhouse’s mind, or any wonderful change of his -nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another -way.--Mrs. Weston’s poultry-house was robbed one night of all her -turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in -the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. -Woodhouse’s fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his -son-in-law’s protection, would have been under wretched alarm every -night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the -Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them -protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must -be in London again by the end of the first week in November. - -The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, -cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the -moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called -on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to -join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. - -The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have -no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars -detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very -inferior to her own.--“Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a -most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it.”--But, -in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, -the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the -ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. - - - -FINIS +EMMA + +By Jane Austen + + + + +VOLUME I + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home +and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of +existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very +little to distress or vex her. + +She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, +indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister’s marriage, been +mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died +too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of +her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as +governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. + +Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse’s family, less as a +governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly +of Emma. Between _them_ it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before +Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the +mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; +and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been +living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma +doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor’s judgment, but +directed chiefly by her own. + +The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of having +rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too +well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to +her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, +that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. + +Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of any +disagreeable consciousness.--Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor’s +loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this +beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any +continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and +herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer +a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as +usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost. + +The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr. Weston +was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and +pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering +with what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and +promoted the match; but it was a black morning’s work for her. The want +of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her +past kindness--the kindness, the affection of sixteen years--how she had +taught and how she had played with her from five years old--how she had +devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health--and how +nursed her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of +gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven +years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed +Isabella’s marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a +dearer, tenderer recollection. She had been a friend and companion such +as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing +all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and +peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme of +hers--one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and who had +such an affection for her as could never find fault. + +How was she to bear the change?--It was true that her friend was going +only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great must be the +difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss +Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic, +she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. She +dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not +meet her in conversation, rational or playful. + +The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had +not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; +for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of +mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though +everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable +temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time. + +Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, being +settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her daily +reach; and many a long October and November evening must be struggled +through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit from +Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to fill the house, +and give her pleasant society again. + +Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town, +to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and +name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses +were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many +acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but +not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even +half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over +it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it +necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support. He was a nervous +man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and +hating to part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the +origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet +reconciled to his own daughter’s marrying, nor could ever speak of her +but with compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, +when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his +habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that +other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much +disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for +them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the +rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully +as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was +impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner, + +“Poor Miss Taylor!--I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that +Mr. Weston ever thought of her!” + +“I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such +a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves +a good wife;--and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for +ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her +own?” + +“A house of her own!--But where is the advantage of a house of her own? +This is three times as large.--And you have never any odd humours, my +dear.” + +“How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us!--We +shall be always meeting! _We_ must begin; we must go and pay wedding +visit very soon.” + +“My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could +not walk half so far.” + +“No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, +to be sure.” + +“The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a +little way;--and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our +visit?” + +“They are to be put into Mr. Weston’s stable, papa. You know we have +settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last +night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going +to Randalls, because of his daughter’s being housemaid there. I only +doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, +papa. You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah till you +mentioned her--James is so obliged to you!” + +“I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not +have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am +sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty-spoken +girl; I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always +curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you +have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock +of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an +excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor +to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes +over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. He will +be able to tell her how we all are.” + +Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and +hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably +through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The +backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked +in and made it unnecessary. + +Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not +only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly +connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella’s husband. He lived +about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, +and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their +mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after +some days’ absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were +well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated +Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which +always did him good; and his many inquiries after “poor Isabella” and +her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. +Woodhouse gratefully observed, “It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, +to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have +had a shocking walk.” + +“Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I +must draw back from your great fire.” + +“But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not +catch cold.” + +“Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.” + +“Well! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain +here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at +breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding.” + +“By the bye--I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what +sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my +congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you +all behave? Who cried most?” + +“Ah! poor Miss Taylor! ‘Tis a sad business.” + +“Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly say +‘poor Miss Taylor.’ I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it +comes to the question of dependence or independence!--At any rate, it +must be better to have only one to please than two.” + +“Especially when _one_ of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome +creature!” said Emma playfully. “That is what you have in your head, I +know--and what you would certainly say if my father were not by.” + +“I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,” said Mr. Woodhouse, with a +sigh. “I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome.” + +“My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean _you_, or suppose Mr. +Knightley to mean _you_. What a horrible idea! Oh no! I meant only +myself. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know--in a +joke--it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another.” + +Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see faults +in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them: and +though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew +it would be so much less so to her father, that she would not have him +really suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought perfect by +every body. + +“Emma knows I never flatter her,” said Mr. Knightley, “but I meant no +reflection on any body. Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons +to please; she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a +gainer.” + +“Well,” said Emma, willing to let it pass--“you want to hear about +the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved +charmingly. Every body was punctual, every body in their best looks: not +a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. Oh no; we all felt that we +were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every +day.” + +“Dear Emma bears every thing so well,” said her father. “But, Mr. +Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am +sure she _will_ miss her more than she thinks for.” + +Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles. “It +is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion,” said Mr. +Knightley. “We should not like her so well as we do, sir, if we could +suppose it; but she knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor’s +advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor’s +time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to +her to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow +herself to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor +must be glad to have her so happily married.” + +“And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,” said Emma, “and a very +considerable one--that I made the match myself. I made the match, you +know, four years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in the +right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may +comfort me for any thing.” + +Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied, “Ah! +my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for +whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more +matches.” + +“I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for +other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after such +success, you know!--Every body said that Mr. Weston would never marry +again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a widower so long, and who +seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied +either in his business in town or among his friends here, always +acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful--Mr. Weston need not spend +a single evening in the year alone if he did not like it. Oh no! Mr. +Weston certainly would never marry again. Some people even talked of a +promise to his wife on her deathbed, and others of the son and the +uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the +subject, but I believed none of it. + +“Ever since the day--about four years ago--that Miss Taylor and I met +with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted +away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from +Farmer Mitchell’s, I made up my mind on the subject. I planned the match +from that hour; and when such success has blessed me in this instance, +dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match-making.” + +“I do not understand what you mean by ‘success,’” said Mr. Knightley. +“Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately +spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring +about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady’s mind! But +if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means +only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, ‘I think it +would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry +her,’ and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards, why +do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You +made a lucky guess; and _that_ is all that can be said.” + +“And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess?--I +pity you.--I thought you cleverer--for, depend upon it a lucky guess is +never merely luck. There is always some talent in it. And as to my +poor word ‘success,’ which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so +entirely without any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures; +but I think there may be a third--a something between the do-nothing and +the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston’s visits here, and given +many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might +not have come to any thing after all. I think you must know Hartfield +enough to comprehend that.” + +“A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational, +unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their +own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than +good to them, by interference.” + +“Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others,” rejoined +Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part. “But, my dear, pray do not +make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one’s family +circle grievously.” + +“Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. +Elton, papa,--I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in +Highbury who deserves him--and he has been here a whole year, and has +fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him +single any longer--and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, +he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office +done for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I +have of doing him a service.” + +“Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young +man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any +attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will +be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to +meet him.” + +“With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,” said Mr. Knightley, +laughing, “and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better +thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish +and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a +man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself.” + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family, +which for the last two or three generations had been rising into +gentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on +succeeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed +for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged, +and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering +into the militia of his county, then embodied. + +Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his +military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire +family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized, +except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were +full of pride and importance, which the connexion would offend. + +Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her +fortune--though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate--was +not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the +infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with +due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much +happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a +husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing due +to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him; +but though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had +resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, +but not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’s +unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home. +They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison +of Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at +once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe. + +Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills, +as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of +the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years’ marriage, he +was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain. +From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy +had, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his +mother’s, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs. +Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature +of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge of the +little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance +the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were +overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to the care and +the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfort to seek, +and his own situation to improve as he could. + +A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and +engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way in +London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern which +brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury, +where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful occupation +and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his +life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time, realised an easy +competence--enough to secure the purchase of a little estate adjoining +Highbury, which he had always longed for--enough to marry a woman as +portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of +his own friendly and social disposition. + +It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his +schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth, +it had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could +purchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to; +but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were +accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained +his wife; and was beginning a new period of existence, with every +probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had +never been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that, +even in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful +a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the +pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to be +chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it. + +He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own; +for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his +uncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume +the name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, +that he should ever want his father’s assistance. His father had no +apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her +husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature to imagine that +any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he +believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in London, and +was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man +had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as +sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects a +kind of common concern. + +Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively +curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little +returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit +his father had been often talked of but never achieved. + +Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a +most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a +dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with +Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now +was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope +strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new +mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in Highbury +included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. +“I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill +has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome letter, +indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and +he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life.” + +It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course, +formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing +attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most +welcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulation +which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most +fortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate +she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial +separation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and +who could ill bear to part with her. + +She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, without +pain, of Emma’s losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour’s ennui, +from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble +character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would +have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped +would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and +privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance of +Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female walking, +and in Mr. Weston’s disposition and circumstances, which would make the +approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in +the week together. + +Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. +Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction--her more +than satisfaction--her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent, +that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by surprize +at his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when they left her +at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go away +in the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her +own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh, +and saying, “Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.” + +There was no recovering Miss Taylor--nor much likelihood of ceasing to +pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. +The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by +being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which +had been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach +could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be +different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit +for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them +from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as +earnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He had been at the +pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. Perry +was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one +of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and upon being applied to, he +could not but acknowledge (though it seemed rather against the bias +of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with +many--perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an +opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence +every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten; +and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone. + +There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being +seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr. +Woodhouse would never believe it. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked very much to +have his friends come and see him; and from various united causes, from +his long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, +his house, and his daughter, he could command the visits of his +own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked. He had not much +intercourse with any families beyond that circle; his horror of late +hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfit for any acquaintance but +such as would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, Highbury, +including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the parish +adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such. Not +unfrequently, through Emma’s persuasion, he had some of the chosen and +the best to dine with him: but evening parties were what he preferred; +and, unless he fancied himself at any time unequal to company, there +was scarcely an evening in the week in which Emma could not make up a +card-table for him. + +Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; and by +Mr. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the privilege +of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the +elegancies and society of Mr. Woodhouse’s drawing-room, and the smiles +of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away. + +After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able of whom were +Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, three ladies almost always at +the service of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and +carried home so often, that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship for +either James or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it +would have been a grievance. + +Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old +lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille. She lived with her +single daughter in a very small way, and was considered with all the +regard and respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward +circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree +of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor married. +Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for having +much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual superiority to +make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her into +outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her +youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted +to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small +income go as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman +whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal good-will +and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body, +was interested in every body’s happiness, quicksighted to every body’s +merits; thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with +blessings in such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbours +and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The simplicity and +cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a +recommendation to every body, and a mine of felicity to herself. She was +a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, +full of trivial communications and harmless gossip. + +Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School--not of a seminary, or an +establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences of +refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality, +upon new principles and new systems--and where young ladies for enormous +pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity--but a real, +honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of +accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might +be sent to be out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little +education, without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard’s +school was in high repute--and very deservedly; for Highbury was +reckoned a particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and garden, +gave the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great +deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own +hands. It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked +after her to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who +had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself entitled to the +occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and having formerly owed much to Mr. +Woodhouse’s kindness, felt his particular claim on her to leave her neat +parlour, hung round with fancy-work, whenever she could, and win or lose +a few sixpences by his fireside. + +These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to +collect; and happy was she, for her father’s sake, in the power; though, +as far as she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of +Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look comfortable, and +very much pleased with herself for contriving things so well; but the +quiet prosings of three such women made her feel that every evening so +spent was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully anticipated. + +As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of the +present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most +respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most +welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom Emma knew +very well by sight, and had long felt an interest in, on account of +her beauty. A very gracious invitation was returned, and the evening no +longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion. + +Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had placed +her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard’s school, and somebody +had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of +parlour-boarder. This was all that was generally known of her history. +She had no visible friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and +was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young +ladies who had been at school there with her. + +She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort +which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a +fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great +sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased +with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the +acquaintance. + +She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in Miss Smith’s +conversation, but she found her altogether very engaging--not +inconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk--and yet so far from pushing, +shewing so proper and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly +grateful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed +by the appearance of every thing in so superior a style to what she had +been used to, that she must have good sense, and deserve encouragement. +Encouragement should be given. Those soft blue eyes, and all those +natural graces, should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury +and its connexions. The acquaintance she had already formed were +unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted, though very +good sort of people, must be doing her harm. They were a family of the +name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as renting a large +farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish of Donwell--very +creditably, she believed--she knew Mr. Knightley thought highly of +them--but they must be coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the +intimates of a girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and elegance +to be quite perfect. _She_ would notice her; she would improve her; she +would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good +society; she would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an +interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her +own situation in life, her leisure, and powers. + +She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking and +listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, that the +evening flew away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table, which +always closed such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and +watch the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the +fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse +of a spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every +thing well and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted +with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and +help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with an +urgency which she knew would be acceptable to the early hours and civil +scruples of their guests. + +Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse’s feelings were in sad warfare. +He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of his +youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him +rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while his hospitality would +have welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their health +made him grieve that they would eat. + +Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all that he could, +with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though he might constrain +himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to +say: + +“Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg +boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg +better than any body. I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body +else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see--one of +our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a +_little_ bit of tart--a _very_ little bit. Ours are all apple-tarts. You +need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the +custard. Mrs. Goddard, what say you to _half_ a glass of wine? A +_small_ half-glass, put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could +disagree with you.” + +Emma allowed her father to talk--but supplied her visitors in a much +more satisfactory style, and on the present evening had particular +pleasure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was +quite equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage +in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had given as much +panic as pleasure; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with +highly gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss +Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken hands +with her at last! + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Harriet Smith’s intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing. Quick +and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and +telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so +did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had +very early foreseen how useful she might find her. In that respect +Mrs. Weston’s loss had been important. Her father never went beyond the +shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for his long +walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs. Weston’s marriage +her exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured once alone to +Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, +one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable +addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as she saw more of +her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs. + +Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful +disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be +guided by any one she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself +was very amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power of +appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was no +want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be expected. +Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith’s being exactly the +young friend she wanted--exactly the something which her home required. +Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could +never be granted. Two such she did not want. It was quite a different +sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the +object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem. Harriet +would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there +was nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing. + +Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who +were the parents, but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to tell +every thing in her power, but on this subject questions were vain. Emma +was obliged to fancy what she liked--but she could never believe that in +the same situation _she_ should not have discovered the truth. Harriet +had no penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and believe just what +Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her; and looked no farther. + +Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of +the school in general, formed naturally a great part of the +conversation--and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of +Abbey-Mill Farm, it must have been the whole. But the Martins occupied +her thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy months with them, +and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe +the many comforts and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her +talkativeness--amused by such a picture of another set of beings, +and enjoying the youthful simplicity which could speak with so much +exultation of Mrs. Martin’s having “_two_ parlours, two very good +parlours, indeed; one of them quite as large as Mrs. Goddard’s +drawing-room; and of her having an upper maid who had lived +five-and-twenty years with her; and of their having eight cows, two of +them Alderneys, and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch +cow indeed; and of Mrs. Martin’s saying as she was so fond of it, +it should be called _her_ cow; and of their having a very handsome +summer-house in their garden, where some day next year they were all to +drink tea:--a very handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen +people.” + +For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate +cause; but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings +arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and +daughter, a son and son’s wife, who all lived together; but when it +appeared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was +always mentioned with approbation for his great good-nature in doing +something or other, was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. +Martin, no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her poor little +friend from all this hospitality and kindness, and that, if she were not +taken care of, she might be required to sink herself forever. + +With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number and +meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, +and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to +speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening +games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and +obliging. He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring her +some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in +every thing else he was so very obliging. He had his shepherd’s son into +the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond +of singing. He could sing a little himself. She believed he was very +clever, and understood every thing. He had a very fine flock, and, while +she was with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any body in +the country. She believed every body spoke well of him. His mother and +sisters were very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and +there was a blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any body +to be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he +would make a good husband. Not that she _wanted_ him to marry. She was +in no hurry at all. + +“Well done, Mrs. Martin!” thought Emma. “You know what you are about.” + +“And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to send +Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose--the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever +seen. Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three +teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with +her.” + +“Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the line of +his own business? He does not read?” + +“Oh yes!--that is, no--I do not know--but I believe he has read a +good deal--but not what you would think any thing of. He reads the +Agricultural Reports, and some other books that lay in one of the window +seats--but he reads all _them_ to himself. But sometimes of an evening, +before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the +Elegant Extracts, very entertaining. And I know he has read the Vicar of +Wakefield. He never read the Romance of the Forest, nor The Children of +the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but +he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can.” + +The next question was-- + +“What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?” + +“Oh! not handsome--not at all handsome. I thought him very plain at +first, but I do not think him so plain now. One does not, you know, +after a time. But did you never see him? He is in Highbury every now and +then, and he is sure to ride through every week in his way to Kingston. +He has passed you very often.” + +“That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without having +any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, +is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are +precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. +A degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance might interest me; +I might hope to be useful to their families in some way or other. But +a farmer can need none of my help, and is, therefore, in one sense, as +much above my notice as in every other he is below it.” + +“To be sure. Oh yes! It is not likely you should ever have observed him; +but he knows you very well indeed--I mean by sight.” + +“I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I know, +indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do you imagine +his age to be?” + +“He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday is the +23rd just a fortnight and a day’s difference--which is very odd.” + +“Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother is +perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable as they +are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would probably +repent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of young +woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very +desirable.” + +“Six years hence! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!” + +“Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who are not +born to an independence. Mr. Martin, I imagine, has his fortune entirely +to make--cannot be at all beforehand with the world. Whatever money he +might come into when his father died, whatever his share of the family +property, it is, I dare say, all afloat, all employed in his stock, and +so forth; and though, with diligence and good luck, he may be rich in +time, it is next to impossible that he should have realised any thing +yet.” + +“To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. They have no +indoors man, else they do not want for any thing; and Mrs. Martin talks +of taking a boy another year.” + +“I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he does +marry;--I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife--for though his +sisters, from a superior education, are not to be altogether objected +to, it does not follow that he might marry any body at all fit for you +to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly +careful as to your associates. There can be no doubt of your being a +gentleman’s daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by +every thing within your own power, or there will be plenty of people who +would take pleasure in degrading you.” + +“Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield, +and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what any +body can do.” + +“You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but I would +have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent +even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently +well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to have as few odd +acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I say that if you should still +be in this country when Mr. Martin marries, I wish you may not be drawn +in by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife, +who will probably be some mere farmer’s daughter, without education.” + +“To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any body +but what had had some education--and been very well brought up. However, +I do not mean to set up my opinion against yours--and I am sure I shall +not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always have a great +regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth, and should be very +sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well educated as me. But +if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not +visit her, if I can help it.” + +Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw no +alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first admirer, but +she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious +difficulty, on Harriet’s side, to oppose any friendly arrangement of her +own. + +They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the +Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at +her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion. Emma was +not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking a few +yards forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye +sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin. His appearance was very +neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no +other advantage; and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, +she thought he must lose all the ground he had gained in Harriet’s +inclination. Harriet was not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily +noticed her father’s gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. +Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was. + +They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not be +kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling face, +and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to +compose. + +“Only think of our happening to meet him!--How very odd! It was quite +a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls. He did not +think we ever walked this road. He thought we walked towards Randalls +most days. He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest yet. +He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, +but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet! Well, +Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected? What do you think of him? +Do you think him so very plain?” + +“He is very plain, undoubtedly--remarkably plain:--but that is nothing +compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right to expect +much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so +very clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined him, I confess, a +degree or two nearer gentility.” + +“To be sure,” said Harriet, in a mortified voice, “he is not so genteel +as real gentlemen.” + +“I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been +repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you +must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield, +you have had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men. I +should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company +with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior +creature--and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him +at all agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not +you struck? I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and +abrupt manner, and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly +unmodulated as I stood here.” + +“Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air and +way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain enough. But +Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!” + +“Mr. Knightley’s air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to +compare Mr. Martin with _him_. You might not see one in a hundred with +_gentleman_ so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the +only gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston +and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of _them_. Compare their +manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of speaking; of being silent. +You must see the difference.” + +“Oh yes!--there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost an old +man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty.” + +“Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a person +grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not +be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or +awkwardness becomes. What is passable in youth is detestable in later +age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. +Weston’s time of life?” + +“There is no saying, indeed,” replied Harriet rather solemnly. + +“But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely gross, +vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of +nothing but profit and loss.” + +“Will he, indeed? That will be very bad.” + +“How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from the +circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended. +He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thing +else--which is just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to +do with books? And I have no doubt that he _will_ thrive, and be a very +rich man in time--and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb +_us_.” + +“I wonder he did not remember the book”--was all Harriet’s answer, and +spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought might be +safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no more for some time. Her +next beginning was, + +“In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton’s manners are superior to Mr. +Knightley’s or Mr. Weston’s. They have more gentleness. They might be +more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, +almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in _him_, +because there is so much good-humour with it--but that would not do to +be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley’s downright, decided, commanding +sort of manner, though it suits _him_ very well; his figure, and look, +and situation in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to set +about copying him, he would not be sufferable. On the contrary, I think +a young man might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a +model. Mr. Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. +He seems to me to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know +whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with either of us, +Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that his manners are +softer than they used to be. If he means any thing, it must be to please +you. Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?” + +She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn from Mr. +Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and smiled, and +said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable. + +Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young +farmer out of Harriet’s head. She thought it would be an excellent +match; and only too palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for her +to have much merit in planning it. She feared it was what every body +else must think of and predict. It was not likely, however, that any +body should have equalled her in the date of the plan, as it had +entered her brain during the very first evening of Harriet’s coming to +Hartfield. The longer she considered it, the greater was her sense +of its expediency. Mr. Elton’s situation was most suitable, quite the +gentleman himself, and without low connexions; at the same time, not of +any family that could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. +He had a comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient +income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known +to have some independent property; and she thought very highly of him +as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, without any +deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the world. + +She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a beautiful +girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at Hartfield, was +foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet’s there could be little +doubt that the idea of being preferred by him would have all the usual +weight and efficacy. And he was really a very pleasing young man, a +young man whom any woman not fastidious might like. He was reckoned very +handsome; his person much admired in general, though not by her, +there being a want of elegance of feature which she could not dispense +with:--but the girl who could be gratified by a Robert Martin’s riding +about the country to get walnuts for her might very well be conquered by +Mr. Elton’s admiration. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +“I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. +Knightley, “of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I +think it a bad thing.” + +“A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--why so?” + +“I think they will neither of them do the other any good.” + +“You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying her with a +new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have been +seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently +we feel!--Not think they will do each other any good! This will +certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. +Knightley.” + +“Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing +Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.” + +“Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he thinks +exactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yesterday, +and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a +girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not +allow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live +alone, that you do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps no +man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of +one of her own sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine +your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman +which Emma’s friend ought to be. But on the other hand, as Emma wants +to see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more +herself. They will read together. She means it, I know.” + +“Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years old. +I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of +books that she meant to read regularly through--and very good lists +they were--very well chosen, and very neatly arranged--sometimes +alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew +up when only fourteen--I remember thinking it did her judgment so much +credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made +out a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of +steady reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing +requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the +understanding. Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely +affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.--You never could persuade her +to read half so much as you wished.--You know you could not.” + +“I dare say,” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “that I thought so +_then_;--but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma’s omitting +to do any thing I wished.” + +“There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as _that_,”--said +Mr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done. “But I,” + he soon added, “who have had no such charm thrown over my senses, must +still see, hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest +of her family. At ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to +answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always +quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she +was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and of you all. In her +mother she lost the only person able to cope with her. She inherits her +mother’s talents, and must have been under subjection to her.” + +“I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on _your_ +recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse’s family and wanted another +situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to +any body. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held.” + +“Yes,” said he, smiling. “You are better placed _here_; very fit for a +wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to +be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might +not give Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to +promise; but you were receiving a very good education from _her_, on the +very material matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing +as you were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I +should certainly have named Miss Taylor.” + +“Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife to +such a man as Mr. Weston.” + +“Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and that +with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We +will not despair, however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of +comfort, or his son may plague him.” + +“I hope not _that_.--It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not +foretell vexation from that quarter.” + +“Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to Emma’s +genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart, the +young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.--But +Harriet Smith--I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the +very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows +nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every thing. She is a +flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned. +Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine she has any +thing to learn herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful +inferiority? And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that _she_ cannot +gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit +with all the other places she belongs to. She will grow just refined +enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and circumstances +have placed her home. I am much mistaken if Emma’s doctrines give any +strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally +to the varieties of her situation in life.--They only give a little +polish.” + +“I either depend more upon Emma’s good sense than you do, or am more +anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance. +How well she looked last night!” + +“Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very +well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma’s being pretty.” + +“Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect +beauty than Emma altogether--face and figure?” + +“I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom +seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial +old friend.” + +“Such an eye!--the true hazle eye--and so brilliant! regular features, +open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health, +and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure! +There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her +glance. One hears sometimes of a child being ‘the picture of health;’ +now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of +grown-up health. She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?” + +“I have not a fault to find with her person,” he replied. “I think her +all you describe. I love to look at her; and I will add this praise, +that I do not think her personally vain. Considering how very handsome +she is, she appears to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies +another way. Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of +Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them both harm.” + +“And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not +doing them any harm. With all dear Emma’s little faults, she is an +excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder +sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be +trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no +lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred +times.” + +“Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel, and +I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isabella. +John loves Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affection, +and Isabella always thinks as he does; except when he is not quite +frightened enough about the children. I am sure of having their opinions +with me.” + +“I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind; +but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty (I consider myself, +you know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that Emma’s +mother might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not think any +possible good can arise from Harriet Smith’s intimacy being made a +matter of much discussion among you. Pray excuse me; but supposing any +little inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be +expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father, who perfectly +approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it, so long as it is a +source of pleasure to herself. It has been so many years my province to +give advice, that you cannot be surprized, Mr. Knightley, at this little +remains of office.” + +“Not at all,” cried he; “I am much obliged to you for it. It is very +good advice, and it shall have a better fate than your advice has often +found; for it shall be attended to.” + +“Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy about +her sister.” + +“Be satisfied,” said he, “I will not raise any outcry. I will keep my +ill-humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma. Isabella +does not seem more my sister; has never excited a greater interest; +perhaps hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one +feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her!” + +“So do I,” said Mrs. Weston gently, “very much.” + +“She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just +nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she +cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love +with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some +doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts +to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home.” + +“There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her resolution +at present,” said Mrs. Weston, “as can well be; and while she is so +happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which +would be creating such difficulties on poor Mr. Woodhouse’s account. I +do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight +to the state, I assure you.” + +Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her own +and Mr. Weston’s on the subject, as much as possible. There were wishes +at Randalls respecting Emma’s destiny, but it was not desirable to +have them suspected; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon +afterwards made to “What does Weston think of the weather; shall we have +rain?” convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about +Hartfield. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet’s fancy a proper +direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good +purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. +Elton’s being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners; +and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance of his +admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident of creating +as much liking on Harriet’s side, as there could be any occasion for. +She was quite convinced of Mr. Elton’s being in the fairest way of +falling in love, if not in love already. She had no scruple with regard +to him. He talked of Harriet, and praised her so warmly, that she could +not suppose any thing wanting which a little time would not add. His +perception of the striking improvement of Harriet’s manner, since her +introduction at Hartfield, was not one of the least agreeable proofs of +his growing attachment. + +“You have given Miss Smith all that she required,” said he; “you have +made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she +came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are +infinitely superior to what she received from nature.” + +“I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only wanted +drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints. She had all the +natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself. I have +done very little.” + +“If it were admissible to contradict a lady,” said the gallant Mr. +Elton-- + +“I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character, have +taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way before.” + +“Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So much superadded +decision of character! Skilful has been the hand!” + +“Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met with a disposition +more truly amiable.” + +“I have no doubt of it.” And it was spoken with a sort of sighing +animation, which had a vast deal of the lover. She was not less pleased +another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers, +to have Harriet’s picture. + +“Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?” said she: “did you +ever sit for your picture?” + +Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say, +with a very interesting naivete, + +“Oh! dear, no, never.” + +No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed, + +“What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be! I would +give any money for it. I almost long to attempt her likeness myself. +You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great +passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends, and +was thought to have a tolerable eye in general. But from one cause or +another, I gave it up in disgust. But really, I could almost venture, +if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such a delight to have her +picture!” + +“Let me entreat you,” cried Mr. Elton; “it would indeed be a delight! +Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a talent +in favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are. How could +you suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens of your +landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable +figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at Randalls?” + +Yes, good man!--thought Emma--but what has all that to do with taking +likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don’t pretend to be in raptures +about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet’s face. “Well, if you give me +such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can do. +Harriet’s features are very delicate, which makes a likeness difficult; +and yet there is a peculiarity in the shape of the eye and the lines +about the mouth which one ought to catch.” + +“Exactly so--The shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth--I have +not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray attempt it. As you will do it, +it will indeed, to use your own words, be an exquisite possession.” + +“But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She thinks +so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe her manner of answering +me? How completely it meant, ‘why should my picture be drawn?’” + +“Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on me. But still +I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.” + +Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made; +and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the +earnest pressing of both the others. Emma wished to go to work directly, +and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at +portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they might +decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many beginnings were +displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon, and +water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had always wanted to do +every thing, and had made more progress both in drawing and music than +many might have done with so little labour as she would ever submit to. +She played and sang;--and drew in almost every style; but steadiness +had always been wanting; and in nothing had she approached the degree of +excellence which she would have been glad to command, and ought not to +have failed of. She was not much deceived as to her own skill either +as an artist or a musician, but she was not unwilling to have others +deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment often +higher than it deserved. + +There was merit in every drawing--in the least finished, perhaps the +most; her style was spirited; but had there been much less, or had there +been ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two companions +would have been the same. They were both in ecstasies. A likeness +pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse’s performances must be capital. + +“No great variety of faces for you,” said Emma. “I had only my own +family to study from. There is my father--another of my father--but the +idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only +take him by stealth; neither of them very like therefore. Mrs. Weston +again, and again, and again, you see. Dear Mrs. Weston! always my +kindest friend on every occasion. She would sit whenever I asked her. +There is my sister; and really quite her own little elegant figure!--and +the face not unlike. I should have made a good likeness of her, if she +would have sat longer, but she was in such a hurry to have me draw +her four children that she would not be quiet. Then, here come all my +attempts at three of those four children;--there they are, Henry and +John and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of +them might do for any one of the rest. She was so eager to have them +drawn that I could not refuse; but there is no making children of three +or four years old stand still you know; nor can it be very easy to take +any likeness of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they are +coarser featured than any of mama’s children ever were. Here is my +sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as he was sleeping on +the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would +wish to see. He had nestled down his head most conveniently. That’s very +like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa is very +good. Then here is my last,”--unclosing a pretty sketch of a gentleman +in small size, whole-length--“my last and my best--my brother, Mr. John +Knightley.--This did not want much of being finished, when I put it away +in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness. I could not +help being provoked; for after all my pains, and when I had really made +a very good likeness of it--(Mrs. Weston and I were quite agreed in +thinking it _very_ like)--only too handsome--too flattering--but +that was a fault on the right side”--after all this, came poor dear +Isabella’s cold approbation of--“Yes, it was a little like--but to be +sure it did not do him justice. We had had a great deal of trouble +in persuading him to sit at all. It was made a great favour of; and +altogether it was more than I could bear; and so I never would finish +it, to have it apologised over as an unfavourable likeness, to every +morning visitor in Brunswick Square;--and, as I said, I did then +forswear ever drawing any body again. But for Harriet’s sake, or rather +for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives in the case _at_ +_present_, I will break my resolution now.” + +Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea, and was +repeating, “No husbands and wives in the case at present indeed, as +you observe. Exactly so. No husbands and wives,” with so interesting a +consciousness, that Emma began to consider whether she had not better +leave them together at once. But as she wanted to be drawing, the +declaration must wait a little longer. + +She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be +a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John Knightley’s, and was +destined, if she could please herself, to hold a very honourable station +over the mantelpiece. + +The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraid of not +keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture of +youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist. But there was no +doing any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her and watching every +touch. She gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze +and gaze again without offence; but was really obliged to put an end to +it, and request him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her +to employ him in reading. + +“If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness +indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen the +irksomeness of Miss Smith’s.” + +Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in peace. +She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look; any thing less +would certainly have been too little in a lover; and he was ready at the +smallest intermission of the pencil, to jump up and see the progress, +and be charmed.--There was no being displeased with such an encourager, +for his admiration made him discern a likeness almost before it +was possible. She could not respect his eye, but his love and his +complaisance were unexceptionable. + +The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quite enough +pleased with the first day’s sketch to wish to go on. There was no want +of likeness, she had been fortunate in the attitude, and as she meant +to throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more +height, and considerably more elegance, she had great confidence of +its being in every way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling +its destined place with credit to them both--a standing memorial of the +beauty of one, the skill of the other, and the friendship of both; +with as many other agreeable associations as Mr. Elton’s very promising +attachment was likely to add. + +Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought, +entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again. + +“By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the +party.” + +The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction, +took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the +picture, which was rapid and happy. Every body who saw it was pleased, +but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through every +criticism. + +“Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she +wanted,”--observed Mrs. Weston to him--not in the least suspecting that +she was addressing a lover.--“The expression of the eye is most correct, +but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of +her face that she has them not.” + +“Do you think so?” replied he. “I cannot agree with you. It appears +to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a +likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know.” + +“You have made her too tall, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley. + +Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly +added, + +“Oh no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she +is sitting down--which naturally presents a different--which in short +gives exactly the idea--and the proportions must be preserved, you know. +Proportions, fore-shortening.--Oh no! it gives one exactly the idea of +such a height as Miss Smith’s. Exactly so indeed!” + +“It is very pretty,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “So prettily done! Just as your +drawings always are, my dear. I do not know any body who draws so well +as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems +to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her +shoulders--and it makes one think she must catch cold.” + +“But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. +Look at the tree.” + +“But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.” + +“You, sir, may say any thing,” cried Mr. Elton, “but I must confess that +I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of +doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other +situation would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss +Smith’s manners--and altogether--Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep +my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.” + +The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few +difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London; the +order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose taste +could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, +must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhouse +could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs of +December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it +was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. “Might he be trusted +with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing +it! he could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say how +much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand.” + +“He was too good!--she could not endure the thought!--she would not give +him such a troublesome office for the world,”--brought on the desired +repetition of entreaties and assurances,--and a very few minutes settled +the business. + +Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and give +the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure its +safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of +not being incommoded enough. + +“What a precious deposit!” said he with a tender sigh, as he received +it. + +“This man is almost too gallant to be in love,” thought Emma. “I should +say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of +being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet +exactly; it will be an ‘Exactly so,’ as he says himself; but he does +sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could +endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. +But it is his gratitude on Harriet’s account.” + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The very day of Mr. Elton’s going to London produced a fresh occasion +for Emma’s services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield, +as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to +return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had been +talked of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something +extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a +minute brought it all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to +Mrs. Goddard’s, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and +finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a +little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on +opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which +she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was +from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage. +“Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what +to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, +at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very +much--but she did not know--and so, she was come as fast as she could to +ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.--” Emma was half-ashamed of her +friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful. + +“Upon my word,” she cried, “the young man is determined not to lose any +thing for want of asking. He will connect himself well if he can.” + +“Will you read the letter?” cried Harriet. “Pray do. I’d rather you +would.” + +Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized. The style +of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no +grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a +gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and +the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was +short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, +even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood +anxiously watching for her opinion, with a “Well, well,” and was at last +forced to add, “Is it a good letter? or is it too short?” + +“Yes, indeed, a very good letter,” replied Emma rather slowly--“so +good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his +sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom +I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if +left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; +no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a +woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural +talent for--thinks strongly and clearly--and when he takes a pen in +hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. +Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments +to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet +(returning it,) than I had expected.” + +“Well,” said the still waiting Harriet;--“well--and--and what shall I +do?” + +“What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to this +letter?” + +“Yes.” + +“But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course--and +speedily.” + +“Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me.” + +“Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own. You will express +yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not +being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be +unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude +and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will +present themselves unbidden to _your_ mind, I am persuaded. You need +not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his +disappointment.” + +“You think I ought to refuse him then,” said Harriet, looking down. + +“Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any +doubt as to that? I thought--but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been +under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel +in doubt as to the _purport_ of your answer. I had imagined you were +consulting me only as to the wording of it.” + +Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued: + +“You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.” + +“No, I do not; that is, I do not mean--What shall I do? What would you +advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do.” + +“I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do +with it. This is a point which you must settle with your feelings.” + +“I had no notion that he liked me so very much,” said Harriet, +contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her +silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that +letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say, + +“I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman _doubts_ as +to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse +him. If she can hesitate as to ‘Yes,’ she ought to say ‘No’ directly. +It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with +half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, +to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence +you.” + +“Oh! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to--but if you would +just advise me what I had best do--No, no, I do not mean that--As +you say, one’s mind ought to be quite made up--One should not be +hesitating--It is a very serious thing.--It will be safer to say ‘No,’ +perhaps.--Do you think I had better say ‘No?’” + +“Not for the world,” said Emma, smiling graciously, “would I advise you +either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you +prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think him the most +agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you +hesitate? You blush, Harriet.--Does any body else occur to you at +this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive +yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion. At this +moment whom are you thinking of?” + +The symptoms were favourable.--Instead of answering, Harriet turned away +confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter was +still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard. +Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong hopes. At +last, with some hesitation, Harriet said-- + +“Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well +as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost +made up my mind--to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?” + +“Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just +what you ought. While you were at all in suspense I kept my feelings to +myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation +in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would +have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the +consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest +degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence; +but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have +visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you +for ever.” + +Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her +forcibly. + +“You could not have visited me!” she cried, looking aghast. “No, to be +sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That would have +been too dreadful!--What an escape!--Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not +give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any thing +in the world.” + +“Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you; but it +must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all good society. +I must have given you up.” + +“Dear me!--How should I ever have borne it! It would have killed me +never to come to Hartfield any more!” + +“Dear affectionate creature!--_You_ banished to Abbey-Mill Farm!--_You_ +confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life! I +wonder how the young man could have the assurance to ask it. He must +have a pretty good opinion of himself.” + +“I do not think he is conceited either, in general,” said Harriet, her +conscience opposing such censure; “at least, he is very good natured, +and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard +for--but that is quite a different thing from--and you know, though +he may like me, it does not follow that I should--and certainly I must +confess that since my visiting here I have seen people--and if one comes +to compare them, person and manners, there is no comparison at all, +_one_ is so very handsome and agreeable. However, I do really think Mr. +Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him; and +his being so much attached to me--and his writing such a letter--but as +to leaving you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration.” + +“Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be +parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or +because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter.” + +“Oh no;--and it is but a short letter too.” + +Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a “very +true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for the clownish +manner which might be offending her every hour of the day, to know that +her husband could write a good letter.” + +“Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be always +happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. But +how shall I do? What shall I say?” + +Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and advised +its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the hope of her +assistance; and though Emma continued to protest against any assistance +being wanted, it was in fact given in the formation of every sentence. +The looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a +softening tendency, that it was particularly necessary to brace her up +with a few decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at +the idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother +and sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should not +fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had come in +her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after all. + +This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business +was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening, but +Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by +speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of +Mr. Elton. + +“I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,” was said in rather a +sorrowful tone. + +“Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet. You +are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey-Mill.” + +“And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happy but +at Hartfield.” + +Some time afterwards it was, “I think Mrs. Goddard would be very much +surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash would--for +Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only a +linen-draper.” + +“One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher +of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an +opportunity as this of being married. Even this conquest would appear +valuable in her eyes. As to any thing superior for you, I suppose she +is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly be +among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I +are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained +themselves.” + +Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that +people should like her so much. The idea of Mr. Elton was certainly +cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards +the rejected Mr. Martin. + +“Now he has got my letter,” said she softly. “I wonder what they are all +doing--whether his sisters know--if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy +too. I hope he will not mind it so very much.” + +“Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully +employed,” cried Emma. “At this moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is shewing +your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful +is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, +allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name.” + +“My picture!--But he has left my picture in Bond-street.” + +“Has he so!--Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No, my dear little modest +Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in Bond-street till +just before he mounts his horse to-morrow. It is his companion all this +evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, +it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those +pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm +prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy +their imaginations all are!” + +Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had been +spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have +a bed-room appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in every +respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible +just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning for an hour or +two to Mrs. Goddard’s, but it was then to be settled that she should +return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some days. + +While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some time with Mr. +Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, who had previously made up his +mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was +induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his +own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose. Mr. Knightley, +who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, +decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and +civil hesitations of the other. + +“Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if you will not +consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma’s advice and +go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had +better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, +Mr. Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people.” + +“My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.” + +“I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy to +entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse and take my +three turns--my winter walk.” + +“You cannot do better, sir.” + +“I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley, but I am a +very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you; and, besides, you +have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey.” + +“Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and I think +the sooner _you_ go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat and open the +garden door for you.” + +Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead of being +immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more +chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more +voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before. + +“I cannot rate her beauty as you do,” said he; “but she is a +pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her +disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good +hands she will turn out a valuable woman.” + +“I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be +wanting.” + +“Come,” said he, “you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you +that you have improved her. You have cured her of her school-girl’s +giggle; she really does you credit.” + +“Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been +of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they +may. _You_ do not often overpower me with it.” + +“You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?” + +“Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she +intended.” + +“Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps.” + +“Highbury gossips!--Tiresome wretches!” + +“Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would.” + +Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said +nothing. He presently added, with a smile, + +“I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that +I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of +something to her advantage.” + +“Indeed! how so? of what sort?” + +“A very serious sort, I assure you;” still smiling. + +“Very serious! I can think of but one thing--Who is in love with her? +Who makes you their confidant?” + +Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton’s having dropt a hint. +Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. +Elton looked up to him. + +“I have reason to think,” he replied, “that Harriet Smith will soon have +an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter:--Robert +Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have +done his business. He is desperately in love and means to marry her.” + +“He is very obliging,” said Emma; “but is he sure that Harriet means to +marry him?” + +“Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that do? He came to +the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it. He knows +I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, +considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether +I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early; whether +I thought her too young: in short, whether I approved his choice +altogether; having some apprehension perhaps of her being considered +(especially since _your_ making so much of her) as in a line of society +above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear +better sense from any one than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the +purpose; open, straightforward, and very well judging. He told me every +thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in +the event of his marriage. He is an excellent young man, both as son and +brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me +that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was convinced he +could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent +him away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he +would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house +thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened +the night before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow +much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear +to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. +Goddard’s to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking +him at all a tiresome wretch.” + +“Pray, Mr. Knightley,” said Emma, who had been smiling to herself +through a great part of this speech, “how do you know that Mr. Martin +did not speak yesterday?” + +“Certainly,” replied he, surprized, “I do not absolutely know it; but it +may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?” + +“Come,” said she, “I will tell you something, in return for what +you have told me. He did speak yesterday--that is, he wrote, and was +refused.” + +This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. +Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood +up, in tall indignation, and said, + +“Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the +foolish girl about?” + +“Oh! to be sure,” cried Emma, “it is always incomprehensible to a man +that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always +imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.” + +“Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the +meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is +so; but I hope you are mistaken.” + +“I saw her answer!--nothing could be clearer.” + +“You saw her answer!--you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your +doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.” + +“And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not +feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, +but I cannot admit him to be Harriet’s equal; and am rather surprized +indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your account, he +does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever +got over.” + +“Not Harriet’s equal!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and +with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, “No, he is +not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in +situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are +Harriet Smith’s claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any +connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of +nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and +certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder +at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any +information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and +too simple to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she can have +no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have +any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and +that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, +as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt that, +as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as +to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I +could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there +being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in +good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. +The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the +smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cry-out +upon her extreme good luck. Even _your_ satisfaction I made sure of. +It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend’s +leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember +saying to myself, ‘Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will +think this a good match.’” + +“I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any +such thing. What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all his +merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend! +Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom +I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should +think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are +very different. I must think your statement by no means fair. You are +not just to Harriet’s claims. They would be estimated very differently +by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, +but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society.--The sphere in +which she moves is much above his.--It would be a degradation.” + +“A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a +respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!” + +“As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may +be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay +for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with +whom she is brought up.--There can scarcely be a doubt that her father +is a gentleman--and a gentleman of fortune.--Her allowance is +very liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or +comfort.--That she is a gentleman’s daughter, is indubitable to me; that +she associates with gentlemen’s daughters, no one, I apprehend, will +deny.--She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.” + +“Whoever might be her parents,” said Mr. Knightley, “whoever may have +had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of +their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society. After +receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard’s +hands to shift as she can;--to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard’s line, +to have Mrs. Goddard’s acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought +this good enough for her; and it _was_ good enough. She desired nothing +better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had +no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as +happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of +superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no +friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded +so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to +him. I know him well. He has too much real feeling to address any +woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is +the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had +encouragement.” + +It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this +assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject +again. + +“You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, +are unjust to Harriet. Harriet’s claims to marry well are not so +contemptible as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she +has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her +understanding spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and +supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, +let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not +trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a +beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an +hundred; and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the +subject of beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fall +in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with +such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought +after, of having the power of chusing from among many, consequently a +claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, +comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and +manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to +be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if your sex in +general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims +a woman could possess.” + +“Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost +enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply +it as you do.” + +“To be sure!” cried she playfully. “I know _that_ is the feeling of +you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every +man delights in--what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his +judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to +marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just +entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at +because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No--pray let +her have time to look about her.” + +“I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,” said Mr. Knightley +presently, “though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive +that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up +with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, +in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. +Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing +so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss +Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though +she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to +say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of +connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity--and most prudent +men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be +involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let +her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for +ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her +to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large +fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s all the rest +of her life--or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry +somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the +old writing-master’s son.” + +“We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there +can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more +angry. But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; +she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any +second application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, +whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to +say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there +was very little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so much +against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to +favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that before she had seen +any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her +friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen +nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not, +while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case +is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a +gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet.” + +“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr. +Knightley.--“Robert Martin’s manners have sense, sincerity, and +good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than +Harriet Smith could understand.” + +Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was +really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She +did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better +judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be; +but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, +which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him +sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable. +Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt +on Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was +thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words. + +“Robert Martin has no great loss--if he can but think so; and I hope it +will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known +to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it +is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;--and as +a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it +will be all labour in vain.” + +Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued, + +“Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, +and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make +an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any +body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is +as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet’s. +He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite +wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved +moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does +not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great +animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are +intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.” + +“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing again. “If I had +set my heart on Mr. Elton’s marrying Harriet, it would have been very +kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to +myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to +equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well.” + +“Good morning to you,”--said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was +very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was +mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had +given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair, +was provoking him exceedingly. + +Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more +indistinctness in the causes of her’s, than in his. She did not always +feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that +her opinions were right and her adversary’s wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He +walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She +was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and +the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet’s staying +away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the +young man’s coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning, and meeting with +Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread +of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when +Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any +such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which +settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr. +Knightley think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman’s +friendship and woman’s feelings would not justify. + +He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered +that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither +with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of +Mr. Knightley’s pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such +a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she +was able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully +to be true, than what he knew any thing about. He certainly might have +heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and +Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to +money matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise +to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the +influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Mr. +Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its +effects; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming +any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and +more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure +did not belong to Mr. Elton. + +Harriet’s cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, not +to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been +telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great +delight. Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard’s to attend a sick child, +and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was +coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met Mr. Elton, and +found to his great surprize, that Mr. Elton was actually on his road +to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the +whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr. +Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it +was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to +persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it would not +do; Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a _very_ +_particular_ way indeed, that he was going on business which he would +not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a +very enviable commission, and being the bearer of something exceedingly +precious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure +there must be a _lady_ in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton +only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits. +Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about +Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very significantly at her, “that she did +not pretend to understand what his business might be, but she only +knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the +luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his +equal for beauty or agreeableness.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with +herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before +he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks +shewed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. +On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified +and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days. + +The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. +Elton’s return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common +sitting-room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences +of admiration just as he ought; and as for Harriet’s feelings, they were +visibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as +her youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied +of Mr. Martin’s being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a +contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter. + +Her views of improving her little friend’s mind, by a great deal of +useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few +first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much +easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination +range and work at Harriet’s fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge +her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary +pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the only mental provision she +was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing +all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin +quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented with +ciphers and trophies. + +In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are +not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s, had written out +at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it +from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse’s help, to get a great many more. +Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote +a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first +order, in form as well as quantity. + +Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the +girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting +in. “So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young--he +wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time.” + And it always ended in “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.” + +His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, +did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he +had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, +something, he thought, might come from that quarter. + +It was by no means his daughter’s wish that the intellects of Highbury +in general should be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one +whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good +enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had +the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; +and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that +nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the +sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest +puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and +rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade, + + My first doth affliction denote, + Which my second is destin’d to feel + And my whole is the best antidote + That affliction to soften and heal.-- + +made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some +pages ago already. + +“Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?” said she; “that +is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to +you.” + +“Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his +life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse”--he +stopt a moment--“or Miss Smith could inspire him.” + +The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He +called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table +containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed +to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his +manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own. + +“I do not offer it for Miss Smith’s collection,” said he. “Being my +friend’s, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye, +but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it.” + +The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could +understand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found +it easier to meet her eye than her friend’s. He was gone the next +moment:--after another moment’s pause, + +“Take it,” said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards +Harriet--“it is for you. Take your own.” + +But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never +loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself. + + To Miss-- + + CHARADE. + + My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, + Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease. + Another view of man, my second brings, + Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! + + But ah! united, what reverse we have! + Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown; + Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, + And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. + + Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, + May its approval beam in that soft eye! + +She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through +again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then +passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, while +Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and +dulness, “Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse +charades. _Courtship_--a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This +is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly--‘Pray, Miss Smith, +give me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade and my +intentions in the same glance.’ + + May its approval beam in that soft eye! + +Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye--of all epithets, the +justest that could be given. + + Thy ready wit the word will soon supply. + +Humph--Harriet’s ready wit! All the better. A man must be very much in +love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the +benefit of this; I think this would convince you. For once in your life +you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade +indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon +now.” + +She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, +which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the +eagerness of Harriet’s wondering questions. + +“What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?--what can it be? I have not an idea--I +cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find +it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is it +kingdom? I wonder who the friend was--and who could be the young lady. +Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman? + + And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. + +Can it be Neptune? + + Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! + +Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no! shark is only one +syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh! +Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?” + +“Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you thinking +of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend +upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen. + +For Miss ------, read Miss Smith. + + My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, + Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease. + +That is _court_. + + Another view of man, my second brings; + Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! + +That is _ship_;--plain as it can be.--Now for the cream. + + But ah! united, (_courtship_, you know,) what reverse we have! + Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown. + Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, + And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. + +A very proper compliment!--and then follows the application, which +I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in +comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of +its being written for you and to you.” + +Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read +the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not +speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel. +Emma spoke for her. + +“There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,” + said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton’s intentions. You +are his object--and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I +thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it +is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on +the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long +have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen that has happened. +I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were +most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have +really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I congratulate you, my +dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may +well feel pride in creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing +but good. It will give you every thing that you want--consideration, +independence, a proper home--it will fix you in the centre of all your +real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy +for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in +either of us.” + +“Dear Miss Woodhouse!”--and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet, +with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did +arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to +her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she +ought. Mr. Elton’s superiority had very ample acknowledgment. + +“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “and therefore I +suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not +have imagined it. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, +who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions about _him_. He +is so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses--‘To Miss ------.’ +Dear me, how clever!--Could it really be meant for me?” + +“I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a +certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to +the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by +matter-of-fact prose.” + +“It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am sure, +a month ago, I had no more idea myself!--The strangest things do take +place!” + +“When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted--they do indeed--and +really it is strange; it is out of the common course that what is so +evidently, so palpably desirable--what courts the pre-arrangement of +other people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form. +You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belong to one +another by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying +will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a +something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right +direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow. + + The course of true love never did run smooth-- + +A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that +passage.” + +“That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,--me, of all people, +who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas! And he, the very +handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, +quite like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after, that every body +says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it; +that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so +excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has +ever preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me! When I look back +to the first time I saw him! How little did I think!--The two Abbots and +I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when we heard he +was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and staid to look +through herself; however, she called me back presently, and let me +look too, which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he +looked! He was arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole.” + +“This is an alliance which, whoever--whatever your friends may be, must +be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense; and we +are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to +see you _happily_ married, here is a man whose amiable character gives +every assurance of it;--if they wish to have you settled in the same +country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will +be accomplished; and if their only object is that you should, in the +common phrase, be _well_ married, here is the comfortable fortune, the +respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy +them.” + +“Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You understand +every thing. You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other. This +charade!--If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any +thing like it.” + +“I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it +yesterday.” + +“I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read.” + +“I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.” + +“It is as long again as almost all we have had before.” + +“I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things +in general cannot be too short.” + +Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory +comparisons were rising in her mind. + +“It is one thing,” said she, presently--her cheeks in a glow--“to have +very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there is +any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you +must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like +this.” + +Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin’s +prose. + +“Such sweet lines!” continued Harriet--“these two last!--But how shall I +ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?--Oh! Miss +Woodhouse, what can we do about that?” + +“Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare +say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will +pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--Your soft eyes shall +chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me.” + +“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful +charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good.” + +“Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not +write it into your book.” + +“Oh! but those two lines are”-- + +--“The best of all. Granted;--for private enjoyment; and for private +enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know, +because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its +meaning change. But take it away, and all _appropriation_ ceases, and a +very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon +it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his +passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or +neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be +no possible reflection on you.” + +Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, +so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a +declaration of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree +of publicity. + +“I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,” said she. + +“Very well,” replied Emma; “a most natural feeling; and the longer it +lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming: you +will not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him +so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any +thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of +gallantry towards us all!--You must let me read it to him.” + +Harriet looked grave. + +“My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade.--You +will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too +quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning +which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little +tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not +have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me +than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has +encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over +this charade.” + +“Oh! no--I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please.” + +Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the +recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of “Well, my dears, how does +your book go on?--Have you got any thing fresh?” + +“Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A +piece of paper was found on the table this morning--(dropt, we suppose, +by a fairy)--containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied +it in.” + +She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and +distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every +part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and, as she had +foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion. + +“Aye, that’s very just, indeed, that’s very properly said. Very true. +‘Woman, lovely woman.’ It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I +can easily guess what fairy brought it.--Nobody could have written so +prettily, but you, Emma.” + +Emma only nodded, and smiled.--After a little thinking, and a very +tender sigh, he added, + +“Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear mother +was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But I can +remember nothing;--not even that particular riddle which you have +heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are +several. + + Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, + Kindled a flame I yet deplore, + The hood-wink’d boy I called to aid, + Though of his near approach afraid, + So fatal to my suit before. + +And that is all that I can recollect of it--but it is very clever all +the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it.” + +“Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the +Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick’s, you know.” + +“Aye, very true.--I wish I could recollect more of it. + + Kitty, a fair but frozen maid. + +The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near being +christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have her here +next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her--and what +room there will be for the children?” + +“Oh! yes--she will have her own room, of course; the room she always +has;--and there is the nursery for the children,--just as usual, you +know. Why should there be any change?” + +“I do not know, my dear--but it is so long since she was here!--not +since last Easter, and then only for a few days.--Mr. John Knightley’s +being a lawyer is very inconvenient.--Poor Isabella!--she is sadly taken +away from us all!--and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see +Miss Taylor here!” + +“She will not be surprized, papa, at least.” + +“I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when I +first heard she was going to be married.” + +“We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is +here.” + +“Yes, my dear, if there is time.--But--(in a very depressed tone)--she +is coming for only one week. There will not be time for any thing.” + +“It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer--but it seems a case of +necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th, and we +ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time +they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken +out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this +Christmas--though you know it is longer since they were with him, than +with us.” + +“It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be +anywhere but at Hartfield.” + +Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley’s claims on his +brother, or any body’s claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing +a little while, and then said, + +“But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so +soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to +stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well.” + +“Ah! papa--that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I +do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her +husband.” + +This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhouse +could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits affected +by the idea of his daughter’s attachment to her husband, she immediately +led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them. + +“Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my brother +and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children. +We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she +will think the handsomest, Henry or John?” + +“Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be +to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet.” + +“I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not.” + +“Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is the +eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, +is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that +the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I +thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They +are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will +come and stand by my chair, and say, ‘Grandpapa, can you give me a bit +of string?’ and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives +were only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with +them very often.” + +“He appears rough to you,” said Emma, “because you are so very gentle +yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you would not +think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if +they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but he is an +affectionate father--certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate +father. The children are all fond of him.” + +“And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a +very frightful way!” + +“But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such +enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of +their taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other.” + +“Well, I cannot understand it.” + +“That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot +understand the pleasures of the other.” + +Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate +in preparation for the regular four o’clock dinner, the hero of this +inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma could +receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in +his the consciousness of having made a push--of having thrown a die; +and she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible +reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse’s party could be made +up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest +degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give +way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his +dining with him--had made such a point of it, that he had promised him +conditionally to come. + +Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend +on their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged--she +re-declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the +paper from the table, she returned it-- + +“Oh! here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us; thank +you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have ventured +to write it into Miss Smith’s collection. Your friend will not take it +amiss I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the first eight +lines.” + +Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked rather +doubtingly--rather confused; said something about “honour,”--glanced at +Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took +it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an +awkward moment, Emma smilingly said, + +“You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade +must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman’s +approbation while he writes with such gallantry.” + +“I have no hesitation in saying,” replied Mr. Elton, though hesitating +a good deal while he spoke; “I have no hesitation in saying--at least +if my friend feels at all as _I_ do--I have not the smallest doubt that, +could he see his little effusion honoured as _I_ see it, (looking at the +book again, and replacing it on the table), he would consider it as the +proudest moment of his life.” + +After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think +it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities, there was +a sort of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to +laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and +the sublime of pleasure to Harriet’s share. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to +prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the +morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who +lived a little way out of Highbury. + +Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane +leading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of +the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. +Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about +a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not +very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be. It had +no advantage of situation; but had been very much smartened up by the +present proprietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility +of the two friends passing it without a slackened pace and observing +eyes.--Emma’s remark was-- + +“There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of these +days.”--Harriet’s was-- + +“Oh, what a sweet house!--How very beautiful!--There are the yellow +curtains that Miss Nash admires so much.” + +“I do not often walk this way _now_,” said Emma, as they proceeded, “but +_then_ there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately +acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part +of Highbury.” + +Harriet, she found, had never in her life been inside the Vicarage, +and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors +and probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with +Mr. Elton’s seeing ready wit in her. + +“I wish we could contrive it,” said she; “but I cannot think of any +tolerable pretence for going in;--no servant that I want to inquire +about of his housekeeper--no message from my father.” + +She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual silence of some +minutes, Harriet thus began again-- + +“I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or +going to be married! so charming as you are!”-- + +Emma laughed, and replied, + +“My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry; +I must find other people charming--one other person at least. And I +am not only, not going to be married, at present, but have very little +intention of ever marrying at all.” + +“Ah!--so you say; but I cannot believe it.” + +“I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be +tempted; Mr. Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,) is out of the +question: and I do _not_ wish to see any such person. I would rather not +be tempted. I cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry, I +must expect to repent it.” + +“Dear me!--it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!”-- + +“I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were I to fall +in love, indeed, it would be a different thing! but I never have been in +love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall. +And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a +situation as mine. Fortune I do not want; employment I do not want; +consequence I do not want: I believe few married women are half as much +mistress of their husband’s house as I am of Hartfield; and never, never +could I expect to be so truly beloved and important; so always first and +always right in any man’s eyes as I am in my father’s.” + +“But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!” + +“That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if +I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates! so silly--so satisfied--so +smiling--so prosing--so undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so apt +to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry +to-morrow. But between _us_, I am convinced there never can be any +likeness, except in being unmarried.” + +“But still, you will be an old maid! and that’s so dreadful!” + +“Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is poverty +only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public! A single +woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old +maid! the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman, of good +fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant +as any body else. And the distinction is not quite so much against the +candour and common sense of the world as appears at first; for a very +narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper. +Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and +generally very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross. This +does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good natured and +too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste +of every body, though single and though poor. Poverty certainly has not +contracted her mind: I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the +world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of it; and nobody +is afraid of her: that is a great charm.” + +“Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourself when you +grow old?” + +“If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great +many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more +in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman’s +usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then as they +are now; or with no important variation. If I draw less, I shall read +more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work. And as for +objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the +great point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil +to be avoided in _not_ marrying, I shall be very well off, with all the +children of a sister I love so much, to care about. There will be enough +of them, in all probability, to supply every sort of sensation that +declining life can need. There will be enough for every hope and every +fear; and though my attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it +suits my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer and blinder. My +nephews and nieces!--I shall often have a niece with me.” + +“Do you know Miss Bates’s niece? That is, I know you must have seen her +a hundred times--but are you acquainted?” + +“Oh! yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comes to +Highbury. By the bye, _that_ is almost enough to put one out of conceit +with a niece. Heaven forbid! at least, that I should ever bore people +half so much about all the Knightleys together, as she does about Jane +Fairfax. One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from +her is read forty times over; her compliments to all friends go round +and round again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of a +stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her grandmother, one hears of +nothing else for a month. I wish Jane Fairfax very well; but she tires +me to death.” + +They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were +superseded. Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor +were as sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her +counsel and her patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways, +could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic +expectations of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had +done so little; entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and +always gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In +the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she +came to visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give +comfort or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of +the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away, + +“These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they make +every thing else appear!--I feel now as if I could think of nothing but +these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how +soon it may all vanish from my mind?” + +“Very true,” said Harriet. “Poor creatures! one can think of nothing +else.” + +“And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over,” said +Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended +the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought them +into the lane again. “I do not think it will,” stopping to look once +more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still +greater within. + +“Oh! dear, no,” said her companion. + +They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend was +passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give Emma +time only to say farther, + +“Ah! Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good +thoughts. Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion +has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that +is truly important. If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can +for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves.” + +Harriet could just answer, “Oh! dear, yes,” before the gentleman joined +them. The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the +first subject on meeting. He had been going to call on them. His visit +he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about +what could be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to +accompany them. + +“To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,” thought Emma; +“to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase +of love on each side. I should not wonder if it were to bring on the +declaration. It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else.” + +Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon +afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one +side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road. But she had +not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet’s habits of +dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, +they would both be soon after her. This would not do; she immediately +stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing +of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the +footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would +follow in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and by the time +she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she had the comfort +of farther delay in her power, being overtaken by a child from the +cottage, setting out, according to orders, with her pitcher, to fetch +broth from Hartfield. To walk by the side of this child, and talk to +and question her, was the most natural thing in the world, or would have +been the most natural, had she been acting just then without design; +and by this means the others were still able to keep ahead, without +any obligation of waiting for her. She gained on them, however, +involuntarily: the child’s pace was quick, and theirs rather slow; +and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently in +a conversation which interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking with +animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention; and Emma, +having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might draw back +a little more, when they both looked around, and she was obliged to join +them. + +Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail; +and Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only +giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday’s party at his +friend Cole’s, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese, +the north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beet-root, and all the +dessert. + +“This would soon have led to something better, of course,” was her +consoling reflection; “any thing interests between those who love; and +any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the heart. If I +could but have kept longer away!” + +They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage +pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into the +house, made her again find something very much amiss about her boot, and +fall behind to arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short, +and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to +entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to put herself to +rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort. + +“Part of my lace is gone,” said she, “and I do not know how I am to +contrive. I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but I +hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop +at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband or string, +or any thing just to keep my boot on.” + +Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing could +exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his house and +endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage. The room they were +taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards; behind +it was another with which it immediately communicated; the door between +them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to receive +her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was obliged to leave +the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton +should close it. It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but +by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make +it practicable for him to chuse his own subject in the adjoining +room. For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself. It could be +protracted no longer. She was then obliged to be finished, and make her +appearance. + +The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a most +favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of having +schemed successfully. But it would not do; he had not come to the point. +He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that +he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little +gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious. + +“Cautious, very cautious,” thought Emma; “he advances inch by inch, and +will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure.” + +Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her +ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been +the occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading them +forward to the great event. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma’s power +to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming of her +sister’s family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation, +and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest; +and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be +expected--she did not herself expect--that any thing beyond occasional, +fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might +advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or +other whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure +for them. There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they +will do for themselves. + +Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent +from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest. +Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been +divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of +this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was +therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their +Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be +induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella’s sake; and +who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in +forestalling this too short visit. + +He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little +of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some +of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless; +the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John +Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids, +all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival, +the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed +and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could +not have borne under any other cause, nor have endured much longer even +for this; but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father +were so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal +solicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their +having instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and +drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish for, +without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed to be long +a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any restless attendance +on them. + +Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, quiet +manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate; wrapt +up in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly +attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, a +warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a fault +in any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding or any +quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she inherited also +much of his constitution; was delicate in her own health, over-careful +of that of her children, had many fears and many nerves, and was as fond +of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her father could be of Mr. Perry. +They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong +habit of regard for every old acquaintance. + +Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man; +rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his private +character; but with reserved manners which prevented his being generally +pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was not an +ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a +reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with +such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects +in it should not be increased. The extreme sweetness of her temper +must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she +wanted, and he could sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing. + +He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong +in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries to +Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might have +passed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella’s sister, +but they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without +praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal +compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault of +all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of respectful +forbearance towards her father. There he had not always the patience +that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse’s peculiarities and +fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or +sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr. John +Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally +a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for Emma’s +charity, especially as there was all the pain of apprehension frequently +to be endured, though the offence came not. The beginning, however, of +every visit displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being of +necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality. +They had not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a +melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter’s attention +to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last. + +“Ah, my dear,” said he, “poor Miss Taylor--It is a grievous business.” + +“Oh yes, sir,” cried she with ready sympathy, “how you must miss her! +And dear Emma, too!--What a dreadful loss to you both!--I have been so +grieved for you.--I could not imagine how you could possibly do without +her.--It is a sad change indeed.--But I hope she is pretty well, sir.” + +“Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.--I do not know but that the +place agrees with her tolerably.” + +Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any doubts +of the air of Randalls. + +“Oh! no--none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston better in my +life--never looking so well. Papa is only speaking his own regret.” + +“Very much to the honour of both,” was the handsome reply. + +“And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?” asked Isabella in the +plaintive tone which just suited her father. + +Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--“Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish.” + +“Oh! papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since they +married. Either in the morning or evening of every day, excepting one, +have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, +either at Randalls or here--and as you may suppose, Isabella, most +frequently here. They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston +is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, +you will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all. Every body must be +aware that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every body ought also to be +assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by +any means to the extent we ourselves anticipated--which is the exact +truth.” + +“Just as it should be,” said Mr. John Knightley, “and just as I hoped +it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you attention could not be +doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I +have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change +being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you have +Emma’s account, I hope you will be satisfied.” + +“Why, to be sure,” said Mr. Woodhouse--“yes, certainly--I cannot +deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty +often--but then--she is always obliged to go away again.” + +“It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa.--You quite +forget poor Mr. Weston.” + +“I think, indeed,” said John Knightley pleasantly, “that Mr. Weston has +some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the part of the +poor husband. I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims +of the man may very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, +she has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting all +the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can.” + +“Me, my love,” cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.-- +“Are you talking about me?--I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a +greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not been for +the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss +Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world; and as to slighting +Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does +not deserve. I believe he is one of the very best-tempered men that ever +existed. Excepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal +for temper. I shall never forget his flying Henry’s kite for him that +very windy day last Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last +September twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o’clock at night, +on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I +have been convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better +man in existence.--If any body can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor.” + +“Where is the young man?” said John Knightley. “Has he been here on this +occasion--or has he not?” + +“He has not been here yet,” replied Emma. “There was a strong +expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in +nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately.” + +“But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,” said her father. +“He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very +proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me. I thought it very +well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea you know, one +cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps--” + +“My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time passes.” + +“Three-and-twenty!--is he indeed?--Well, I could not have thought +it--and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother! Well, +time does fly indeed!--and my memory is very bad. However, it was an +exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal +of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept. +28th--and began, ‘My dear Madam,’ but I forget how it went on; and it +was signed ‘F. C. Weston Churchill.’--I remember that perfectly.” + +“How very pleasing and proper of him!” cried the good-hearted Mrs. John +Knightley. “I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young man. But +how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father! There is +something so shocking in a child’s being taken away from his parents and +natural home! I never could comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with +him. To give up one’s child! I really never could think well of any body +who proposed such a thing to any body else.” + +“Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,” observed Mr. +John Knightley coolly. “But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt +what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather +an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than a man of strong feelings; he takes +things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, +depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called society for his +comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and playing +whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon family affection, +or any thing that home affords.” + +Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had +half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass. She +would keep the peace if possible; and there was something honourable and +valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to +himself, whence resulted her brother’s disposition to look down on +the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was +important.--It had a high claim to forbearance. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Mr. Knightley was to dine with them--rather against the inclination of +Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should share with him in +Isabella’s first day. Emma’s sense of right however had decided it; +and besides the consideration of what was due to each brother, she had +particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement +between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the proper +invitation. + +She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was time +to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. _She_ certainly had not been +in the wrong, and _he_ would never own that he had. Concession must be +out of the question; but it was time to appear to forget that they had +ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of +friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children +with her--the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who +was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced +about in her aunt’s arms. It did assist; for though he began with grave +looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in +the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the +unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; +and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then +a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the +baby, + +“What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces. +As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with +regard to these children, I observe we never disagree.” + +“If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, +and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with +them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always +think alike.” + +“To be sure--our discordancies must always arise from my being in the +wrong.” + +“Yes,” said he, smiling--“and reason good. I was sixteen years old when +you were born.” + +“A material difference then,” she replied--“and no doubt you were much +my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but does not the +lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal +nearer?” + +“Yes--a good deal _nearer_.” + +“But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we +think differently.” + +“I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years’ experience, and by +not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, +let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little +Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old +grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now.” + +“That’s true,” she cried--“very true. Little Emma, grow up a better +woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited. +Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and I have done. As far as good +intentions went, we were _both_ right, and I must say that no effects on +my side of the argument have yet proved wrong. I only want to know that +Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed.” + +“A man cannot be more so,” was his short, full answer. + +“Ah!--Indeed I am very sorry.--Come, shake hands with me.” + +This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley +made his appearance, and “How d’ye do, George?” and “John, how are +you?” succeeded in the true English style, burying under a calmness that +seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which would have led +either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the +other. + +The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse declined cards +entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella, and +the little party made two natural divisions; on one side he and his +daughter; on the other the two Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally +distinct, or very rarely mixing--and Emma only occasionally joining in +one or the other. + +The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally +of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative, +and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally +some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some curious +anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-farm at +Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bear next year, and to +give all such local information as could not fail of being interesting +to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest part of his +life, and whose attachments were strong. The plan of a drain, the change +of a fence, the felling of a tree, and the destination of every acre for +wheat, turnips, or spring corn, was entered into with as much equality +of interest by John, as his cooler manners rendered possible; and if his +willing brother ever left him any thing to inquire about, his inquiries +even approached a tone of eagerness. + +While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a +full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter. + +“My poor dear Isabella,” said he, fondly taking her hand, and +interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some one of her +five children--“How long it is, how terribly long since you were here! +And how tired you must be after your journey! You must go to bed early, +my dear--and I recommend a little gruel to you before you go.--You and +I will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, suppose we all +have a little gruel.” + +Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing as she did, that both the +Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that article as herself;--and +two basins only were ordered. After a little more discourse in praise of +gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening by every +body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection, + +“It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South +End instead of coming here. I never had much opinion of the sea air.” + +“Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir--or we should not +have gone. He recommended it for all the children, but particularly for +the weakness in little Bella’s throat,--both sea air and bathing.” + +“Ah! my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing her any +good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced, though +perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use +to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once.” + +“Come, come,” cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, “I must +beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable;--I +who have never seen it! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear +Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; and +he never forgets you.” + +“Oh! good Mr. Perry--how is he, sir?” + +“Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry is bilious, and he has +not time to take care of himself--he tells me he has not time to take +care of himself--which is very sad--but he is always wanted all round +the country. I suppose there is not a man in such practice anywhere. But +then there is not so clever a man any where.” + +“And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? do the children grow? +I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he will be calling soon. He +will be so pleased to see my little ones.” + +“I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two to ask +him about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he comes, +you had better let him look at little Bella’s throat.” + +“Oh! my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any +uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the greatest service to +her, or else it is to be attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. +Wingfield’s, which we have been applying at times ever since August.” + +“It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have been of use +to her--and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation, I would have +spoken to-- + +“You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,” said Emma, “I +have not heard one inquiry after them.” + +“Oh! the good Bateses--I am quite ashamed of myself--but you mention +them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. +Bates--I will call upon her to-morrow, and take my children.--They +are always so pleased to see my children.--And that excellent Miss +Bates!--such thorough worthy people!--How are they, sir?” + +“Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs. Bates had a +bad cold about a month ago.” + +“How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they have been +this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known them more +general or heavy--except when it has been quite an influenza.” + +“That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but not to the degree you +mention. Perry says that colds have been very general, but not so heavy +as he has very often known them in November. Perry does not call it +altogether a sickly season.” + +“No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it _very_ sickly +except-- + +“Ah! my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is always +a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be. It is a +dreadful thing to have you forced to live there! so far off!--and the +air so bad!” + +“No, indeed--_we_ are not at all in a bad air. Our part of London is +very superior to most others!--You must not confound us with London +in general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very +different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy! I should be +unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;--there is +hardly any other that I could be satisfied to have my children in: +but _we_ are so remarkably airy!--Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of +Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable as to air.” + +“Ah! my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best of it--but +after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all of you different +creatures; you do not look like the same. Now I cannot say, that I think +you are any of you looking well at present.” + +“I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting those +little nervous head-aches and palpitations which I am never entirely +free from anywhere, I am quite well myself; and if the children were +rather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they were a +little more tired than usual, from their journey and the happiness of +coming. I hope you will think better of their looks to-morrow; for I +assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that he did not believe he had ever +sent us off altogether, in such good case. I trust, at least, that +you do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill,” turning her eyes with +affectionate anxiety towards her husband. + +“Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr. John Knightley +very far from looking well.” + +“What is the matter, sir?--Did you speak to me?” cried Mr. John +Knightley, hearing his own name. + +“I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking +well--but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued. I could have +wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you +left home.” + +“My dear Isabella,”--exclaimed he hastily--“pray do not concern yourself +about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and +the children, and let me look as I chuse.” + +“I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,” + cried Emma, “about your friend Mr. Graham’s intending to have a bailiff +from Scotland, to look after his new estate. What will it answer? Will +not the old prejudice be too strong?” + +And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced to +give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing +worse to hear than Isabella’s kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax; and Jane +Fairfax, though no great favourite with her in general, she was at that +moment very happy to assist in praising. + +“That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!” said Mrs. John Knightley.--“It +is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a moment +accidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good old +grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always +regret excessively on dear Emma’s account that she cannot be more at +Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. +Campbell will not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a +delightful companion for Emma.” + +Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added, + +“Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty +kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma could not have a +better companion than Harriet.” + +“I am most happy to hear it--but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so +very accomplished and superior!--and exactly Emma’s age.” + +This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar +moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but the evening did not +close without a little return of agitation. The gruel came and supplied +a great deal to be said--much praise and many comments--undoubting +decision of its wholesomeness for every constitution, and pretty +severe Philippics upon the many houses where it was never met with +tolerably;--but, unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter +had to instance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent, was in +her own cook at South End, a young woman hired for the time, who never +had been able to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth +gruel, thin, but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered +it, she had never been able to get any thing tolerable. Here was a +dangerous opening. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes on her +with tender concern.--The ejaculation in Emma’s ear expressed, “Ah! +there is no end of the sad consequences of your going to South End. It +does not bear talking of.” And for a little while she hoped he would not +talk of it, and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him to +the relish of his own smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, +however, he began with, + +“I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn, +instead of coming here.” + +“But why should you be sorry, sir?--I assure you, it did the children a +great deal of good.” + +“And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not have been +to South End. South End is an unhealthy place. Perry was surprized to +hear you had fixed upon South End.” + +“I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed it is quite +a mistake, sir.--We all had our health perfectly well there, never +found the least inconvenience from the mud; and Mr. Wingfield says it is +entirely a mistake to suppose the place unhealthy; and I am sure he may +be depended on, for he thoroughly understands the nature of the air, and +his own brother and family have been there repeatedly.” + +“You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.--Perry +was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of all the +sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by +what I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite away from +the sea--a quarter of a mile off--very comfortable. You should have +consulted Perry.” + +“But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;--only consider how +great it would have been.--An hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty.” + +“Ah! my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing else +should be considered; and if one is to travel, there is not much to +chuse between forty miles and an hundred.--Better not move at all, +better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to get into +a worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to him a very +ill-judged measure.” + +Emma’s attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he +had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her +brother-in-law’s breaking out. + +“Mr. Perry,” said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure, “would do +as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why does he make it +any business of his, to wonder at what I do?--at my taking my family to +one part of the coast or another?--I may be allowed, I hope, the use of +my judgment as well as Mr. Perry.--I want his directions no more than +his drugs.” He paused--and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only +sarcastic dryness, “If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and +five children a distance of an hundred and thirty miles with no greater +expense or inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as +willing to prefer Cromer to South End as he could himself.” + +“True, true,” cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition--“very +true. That’s a consideration indeed.--But John, as to what I was telling +you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the +right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive +any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of +inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly +the present line of the path.... The only way of proving it, however, +will be to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow +morning I hope, and then we will look them over, and you shall give me +your opinion.” + +Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections on his +friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact, though unconsciously, been +attributing many of his own feelings and expressions;--but the soothing +attentions of his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and +the immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections of the +other, prevented any renewal of it. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs. John +Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning +among her old acquaintance with her five children, and talking over what +she had done every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing +to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly. It was a +delightful visit;--perfect, in being much too short. + +In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their +mornings; but one complete dinner engagement, and out of the house too, +there was no avoiding, though at Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no +denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day;--even Mr. Woodhouse was +persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of +the party. + +How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made a difficulty if he +could, but as his son and daughter’s carriage and horses were actually +at Hartfield, he was not able to make more than a simple question on +that head; it hardly amounted to a doubt; nor did it occupy Emma long +to convince him that they might in one of the carriages find room for +Harriet also. + +Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own especial set, were the +only persons invited to meet them;--the hours were to be early, as +well as the numbers few; Mr. Woodhouse’s habits and inclination being +consulted in every thing. + +The evening before this great event (for it was a very great event that +Mr. Woodhouse should dine out, on the 24th of December) had been spent +by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much indisposed with +a cold, that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. +Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave the house. Emma called +on her the next day, and found her doom already signed with regard to +Randalls. She was very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard +was full of care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and Harriet +herself was too ill and low to resist the authority which excluded her +from this delightful engagement, though she could not speak of her loss +without many tears. + +Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in Mrs. Goddard’s +unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits by representing how much Mr. +Elton’s would be depressed when he knew her state; and left her at last +tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most +comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very much. She had not +advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard’s door, when she was met by Mr. +Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they walked on slowly +together in conversation about the invalid--of whom he, on the rumour +of considerable illness, had been going to inquire, that he might +carry some report of her to Hartfield--they were overtaken by Mr. John +Knightley returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest +boys, whose healthy, glowing faces shewed all the benefit of a country +run, and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice +pudding they were hastening home for. They joined company and +proceeded together. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend’s +complaint;--“a throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat +about her, a quick, low pulse, &c. and she was sorry to find from Mrs. +Goddard that Harriet was liable to very bad sore-throats, and had often +alarmed her with them.” Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as +he exclaimed, + +“A sore-throat!--I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid +infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take care of +yourself as well as of your friend. Let me entreat you to run no risks. +Why does not Perry see her?” + +Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised this +excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs. Goddard’s experience and +care; but as there must still remain a degree of uneasiness which she +could not wish to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist +than not, she added soon afterwards--as if quite another subject, + +“It is so cold, so very cold--and looks and feels so very much like +snow, that if it were to any other place or with any other party, I +should really try not to go out to-day--and dissuade my father from +venturing; but as he has made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the +cold himself, I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great +a disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But, upon my word, Mr. Elton, +in your case, I should certainly excuse myself. You appear to me a +little hoarse already, and when you consider what demand of voice and +what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be no more than +common prudence to stay at home and take care of yourself to-night.” + +Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make; +which was exactly the case; for though very much gratified by the kind +care of such a fair lady, and not liking to resist any advice of her’s, +he had not really the least inclination to give up the visit;--but Emma, +too eager and busy in her own previous conceptions and views to hear him +impartially, or see him with clear vision, was very well satisfied with +his muttering acknowledgment of its being “very cold, certainly very +cold,” and walked on, rejoicing in having extricated him from Randalls, +and secured him the power of sending to inquire after Harriet every hour +of the evening. + +“You do quite right,” said she;--“we will make your apologies to Mr. and +Mrs. Weston.” + +But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her brother was civilly +offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton’s only +objection, and Mr. Elton actually accepting the offer with much prompt +satisfaction. It was a done thing; Mr. Elton was to go, and never had +his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; +never had his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when +he next looked at her. + +“Well,” said she to herself, “this is most strange!--After I had got +him off so well, to chuse to go into company, and leave Harriet ill +behind!--Most strange indeed!--But there is, I believe, in many men, +especially single men, such an inclination--such a passion for dining +out--a dinner engagement is so high in the class of their pleasures, +their employments, their dignities, almost their duties, that any +thing gives way to it--and this must be the case with Mr. Elton; a most +valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in love +with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he must dine +out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is! he can see ready +wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for her.” + +Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could not but do him +the justice of feeling that there was a great deal of sentiment in his +manner of naming Harriet at parting; in the tone of his voice while +assuring her that he should call at Mrs. Goddard’s for news of her fair +friend, the last thing before he prepared for the happiness of meeting +her again, when he hoped to be able to give a better report; and +he sighed and smiled himself off in a way that left the balance of +approbation much in his favour. + +After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley began +with-- + +“I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. +Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With +men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, +every feature works.” + +“Mr. Elton’s manners are not perfect,” replied Emma; “but where there is +a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a great +deal. Where a man does his best with only moderate powers, he will +have the advantage over negligent superiority. There is such perfect +good-temper and good-will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, “he seems +to have a great deal of good-will towards you.” + +“Me!” she replied with a smile of astonishment, “are you imagining me to +be Mr. Elton’s object?” + +“Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never +occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now.” + +“Mr. Elton in love with me!--What an idea!” + +“I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider whether it +is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your +manners to him encouraging. I speak as a friend, Emma. You had better +look about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do.” + +“I thank you; but I assure you you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and +I are very good friends, and nothing more;” and she walked on, amusing +herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise from a +partial knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high +pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not very well +pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant, and in +want of counsel. He said no more. + +Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit, that in +spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of shrinking +from it, and set forward at last most punctually with his eldest +daughter in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the +weather than either of the others; too full of the wonder of his own +going, and the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was +cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it. The cold, however, was severe; +and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow +were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being so +overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a very white world +in a very short time. + +Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. The +preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice of +his children after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, +which Mr. John Knightley did not by any means like; he anticipated +nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase; and the +whole of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his +discontent. + +“A man,” said he, “must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks +people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as +this, for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most +agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest +absurdity--Actually snowing at this moment!--The folly of not allowing +people to be comfortable at home--and the folly of people’s not staying +comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such +an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we +should deem it;--and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing +than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of +the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view +or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter +that he can;--here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in +another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said +and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. +Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;--four horses and +four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering +creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had +at home.” + +Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which no +doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the “Very true, +my love,” which must have been usually administered by his travelling +companion; but she had resolution enough to refrain from making +any answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded being +quarrelsome; her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed him to +talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening +her lips. + +They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, +spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with +pleasure of some change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and +cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she +began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from +what had reached her. She had sent while dressing, and the answer had +been, “Much the same--not better.” + +“_My_ report from Mrs. Goddard’s,” said she presently, “was not so +pleasant as I had hoped--‘Not better’ was _my_ answer.” + +His face lengthened immediately; and his voice was the voice of +sentiment as he answered. + +“Oh! no--I am grieved to find--I was on the point of telling you that +when I called at Mrs. Goddard’s door, which I did the very last thing +before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, +by no means better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned--I +had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I +knew had been given her in the morning.” + +Emma smiled and answered--“My visit was of use to the nervous part of +her complaint, I hope; but not even I can charm away a sore throat; +it is a most severe cold indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her, as you +probably heard.” + +“Yes--I imagined--that is--I did not--” + +“He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to-morrow +morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is +impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day!” + +“Dreadful!--Exactly so, indeed.--She will be missed every moment.” + +This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really +estimable; but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay +when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, +and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment. + +“What an excellent device,” said he, “the use of a sheepskin for +carriages. How very comfortable they make it;--impossible to feel cold +with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days indeed have +rendered a gentleman’s carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced +and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way +unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. It is a very +cold afternoon--but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter.--Ha! +snows a little I see.” + +“Yes,” said John Knightley, “and I think we shall have a good deal of +it.” + +“Christmas weather,” observed Mr. Elton. “Quite seasonable; and +extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin +yesterday, and prevent this day’s party, which it might very possibly +have done, for Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there been +much snow on the ground; but now it is of no consequence. This is quite +the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas every body invites +their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst +weather. I was snowed up at a friend’s house once for a week. Nothing +could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not get away +till that very day se’nnight.” + +Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure, but +said only, coolly, + +“I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls.” + +At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much +astonished now at Mr. Elton’s spirits for other feelings. Harriet seemed +quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party. + +“We are sure of excellent fires,” continued he, “and every thing in the +greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston;--Mrs. Weston +indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so +hospitable, and so fond of society;--it will be a small party, but where +small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any. +Mr. Weston’s dining-room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; +and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by +two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with me, (turning with +a soft air to Emma,) I think I shall certainly have your approbation, +though Mr. Knightley perhaps, from being used to the large parties of +London, may not quite enter into our feelings.” + +“I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir--I never dine with +any body.” + +“Indeed! (in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea that the law had +been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when you will +be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great +enjoyment.” + +“My first enjoyment,” replied John Knightley, as they passed through the +sweep-gate, “will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again.” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they +walked into Mrs. Weston’s drawing-room;--Mr. Elton must compose his +joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr. +Elton must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the +place.--Emma only might be as nature prompted, and shew herself just as +happy as she was. To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons. +Mr. Weston was a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the +world to whom she spoke with such unreserve, as to his wife; not any +one, to whom she related with such conviction of being listened to and +understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the +little affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father +and herself. She could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which Mrs. Weston +had not a lively concern; and half an hour’s uninterrupted communication +of all those little matters on which the daily happiness of private life +depends, was one of the first gratifications of each. + +This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day’s visit might not +afford, which certainly did not belong to the present half-hour; but the +very sight of Mrs. Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice was grateful +to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. +Elton’s oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy all that +was enjoyable to the utmost. + +The misfortune of Harriet’s cold had been pretty well gone through +before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough +to give the history of it, besides all the history of his own and +Isabella’s coming, and of Emma’s being to follow, and had indeed just +got to the end of his satisfaction that James should come and see his +daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston, who had been almost +wholly engrossed by her attentions to him, was able to turn away and +welcome her dear Emma. + +Emma’s project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while made her rather sorry +to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close to her. +The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility towards +Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but +was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and +solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting +him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal +suggestion of “Can it really be as my brother imagined? can it be +possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from +Harriet to me?--Absurd and insufferable!”--Yet he would be so anxious +for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested about her father, +and so delighted with Mrs. Weston; and at last would begin admiring her +drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as seemed terribly +like a would-be lover, and made it some effort with her to preserve her +good manners. For her own sake she could not be rude; and for Harriet’s, +in the hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even positively +civil; but it was an effort; especially as something was going on +amongst the others, in the most overpowering period of Mr. Elton’s +nonsense, which she particularly wished to listen to. She heard enough +to know that Mr. Weston was giving some information about his son; she +heard the words “my son,” and “Frank,” and “my son,” repeated several +times over; and, from a few other half-syllables very much suspected +that he was announcing an early visit from his son; but before she could +quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving +question from her would have been awkward. + +Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never +marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr. +Frank Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently +thought--especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor--that +if she _were_ to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, +character and condition. He seemed by this connexion between the +families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be +a match that every body who knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. +Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though +not meaning to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up a +situation which she believed more replete with good than any she could +change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention +of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and +a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ +imaginations. + +With such sensations, Mr. Elton’s civilities were dreadfully ill-timed; +but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very +cross--and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not possibly +pass without bringing forward the same information again, or the +substance of it, from the open-hearted Mr. Weston.--So it proved;--for +when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston, +at dinner, he made use of the very first interval in the cares of +hospitality, the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say to +her, + +“We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to see +two more here,--your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son--and +then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me +telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank. +I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a +fortnight.” + +Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented to +his proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their party +quite complete. + +“He has been wanting to come to us,” continued Mr. Weston, “ever since +September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his +own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between +ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices. +But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in +January.” + +“What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and Mrs. Weston is so +anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as +yourself.” + +“Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off. +She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but she does not +know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is--(but this is +quite between ourselves: I did not mention a syllable of it in the other +room. There are secrets in all families, you know)--The case is, that a +party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in January; and +that Frank’s coming depends upon their being put off. If they are not +put off, he cannot stir. But I know they will, because it is a family +that a certain lady, of some consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular +dislike to: and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in +two or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point. +I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing +Frank here before the middle of January, as I am of being here myself: +but your good friend there (nodding towards the upper end of the table) +has so few vagaries herself, and has been so little used to them at +Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their effects, as I have been +long in the practice of doing.” + +“I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case,” replied +Emma; “but am disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston. If you think he +will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe.” + +“Yes--I have some right to that knowledge; though I have never been at +the place in my life.--She is an odd woman!--But I never allow myself +to speak ill of her, on Frank’s account; for I do believe her to be very +fond of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of +any body, except herself: but she has always been kind to him (in her +way--allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting every thing +to be as she likes). And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, +that he should excite such an affection; for, though I would not say +it to any body else, she has no more heart than a stone to people in +general; and the devil of a temper.” + +Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it, to Mrs. Weston, +very soon after their moving into the drawing-room: wishing her joy--yet +observing, that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming.-- +Mrs. Weston agreed to it; but added, that she should be very glad to be +secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked +of: “for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as +Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr. +Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?” + +“Yes--it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour of Mrs. +Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world.” + +“My Emma!” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “what is the certainty +of caprice?” Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending +before--“You must know, my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means +so sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father +thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt’s spirits and pleasure; in +short, upon her temper. To you--to my two daughters--I may venture on +the truth. Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered +woman; and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare him.” + +“Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,” replied Isabella: +“and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest +compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered person, must +be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any thing of; but +it must be a life of misery. What a blessing, that she never had any +children! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!” + +Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston. She should then have +heard more: Mrs. Weston would speak to her, with a degree of unreserve +which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really believed, +would scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills +from her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own +imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at +present there was nothing more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon +followed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after +dinner, was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor +conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move to those with +whom he was always comfortable. + +While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of +saying, + +“And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means +certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant, +whenever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over, the better.” + +“Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays. Even +if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that +some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine +any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish on +the Churchills’ to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They +are jealous even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no +dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine.” + +“He ought to come,” said Emma. “If he could stay only a couple of days, +he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man’s not having +it in his power to do as much as that. A young _woman_, if she fall into +bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a distance from those she wants +to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young _man_‘s being under such +restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he +likes it.” + +“One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before +one decides upon what he can do,” replied Mrs. Weston. “One ought to +use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one +individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must +not be judged by general rules: _she_ is so very unreasonable; and every +thing gives way to her.” + +“But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite. Now, +according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it would be most natural, that +while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to whom she +owes every thing, while she exercises incessant caprice towards _him_, +she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom she owes +nothing at all.” + +“My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand +a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own way. +I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence; but it +may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand _when_ it will +be.” + +Emma listened, and then coolly said, “I shall not be satisfied, unless +he comes.” + +“He may have a great deal of influence on some points,” continued Mrs. +Weston, “and on others, very little: and among those, on which she is +beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance of +his coming away from them to visit us.” + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank his +tea he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his three +companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness of +the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty and +convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort; but at last +the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr. Elton, in very +good spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and Emma +were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately, and, with +scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them. + +Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by +the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late +improprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his +making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most +friendly smiles. + +He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend--her fair, +lovely, amiable friend. “Did she know?--had she heard any thing about +her, since their being at Randalls?--he felt much anxiety--he must +confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably.” + And in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much +attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror +of a bad sore throat; and Emma was quite in charity with him. + +But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as if he +were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than on +Harriet’s--more anxious that she should escape the infection, than +that there should be no infection in the complaint. He began with great +earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick-chamber +again, for the present--to entreat her to _promise_ _him_ not to venture +into such hazard till he had seen Mr. Perry and learnt his opinion; and +though she tried to laugh it off and bring the subject back into its +proper course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solicitude +about her. She was vexed. It did appear--there was no concealing +it--exactly like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of +Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable! +and she had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs. Weston +to implore her assistance, “Would not she give him her support?--would +not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go +to Mrs. Goddard’s till it were certain that Miss Smith’s disorder had +no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise--would not she +give him her influence in procuring it?” + +“So scrupulous for others,” he continued, “and yet so careless for +herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and +yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore +throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?--Judge between us. Have not I +some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid.” + +Emma saw Mrs. Weston’s surprize, and felt that it must be great, at an +address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himself the right of +first interest in her; and as for herself, she was too much provoked and +offended to have the power of directly saying any thing to the purpose. +She could only give him a look; but it was such a look as she thought +must restore him to his senses, and then left the sofa, removing to a +seat by her sister, and giving her all her attention. + +She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidly did +another subject succeed; for Mr. John Knightley now came into the room +from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the information +of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing +fast, with a strong drifting wind; concluding with these words to Mr. +Woodhouse: + +“This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, +sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way +through a storm of snow.” + +Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body else +had something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized, +and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston +and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his +son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly. + +“I admired your resolution very much, sir,” said he, “in venturing out +in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snow very soon. +Every body must have seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; and +I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or two’s snow can +hardly make the road impassable; and we are two carriages; if one is +blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other +at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight.” + +Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that he +had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest +it should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his +hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely +to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke; he was afraid they +would find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impassable, that +he might be able to keep them all at Randalls; and with the utmost +good-will was sure that accommodation might be found for every body, +calling on his wife to agree with him, that with a little contrivance, +every body might be lodged, which she hardly knew how to do, from the +consciousness of there being but two spare rooms in the house. + +“What is to be done, my dear Emma?--what is to be done?” was Mr. +Woodhouse’s first exclamation, and all that he could say for some +time. To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety, her +representation of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of +their having so many friends about them, revived him a little. + +His eldest daughter’s alarm was equal to his own. The horror of being +blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield, was full +in her imagination; and fancying the road to be now just passable for +adventurous people, but in a state that admitted no delay, she was eager +to have it settled, that her father and Emma should remain at Randalls, +while she and her husband set forward instantly through all the possible +accumulations of drifted snow that might impede them. + +“You had better order the carriage directly, my love,” said she; “I dare +say we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly; and if we +do come to any thing very bad, I can get out and walk. I am not at all +afraid. I should not mind walking half the way. I could change my shoes, +you know, the moment I got home; and it is not the sort of thing that +gives me cold.” + +“Indeed!” replied he. “Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most +extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general every thing +does give you cold. Walk home!--you are prettily shod for walking home, +I dare say. It will be bad enough for the horses.” + +Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the plan. Mrs. +Weston could only approve. Isabella then went to Emma; but Emma could +not so entirely give up the hope of their being all able to get away; +and they were still discussing the point, when Mr. Knightley, who had +left the room immediately after his brother’s first report of the snow, +came back again, and told them that he had been out of doors to examine, +and could answer for there not being the smallest difficulty in their +getting home, whenever they liked it, either now or an hour hence. He +had gone beyond the sweep--some way along the Highbury road--the snow +was nowhere above half an inch deep--in many places hardly enough to +whiten the ground; a very few flakes were falling at present, but the +clouds were parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon +over. He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there +being nothing to apprehend. + +To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great, and they were +scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father’s account, who +was immediately set as much at ease on the subject as his nervous +constitution allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could not be +appeased so as to admit of any comfort for him while he continued at +Randalls. He was satisfied of there being no present danger in returning +home, but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay; and +while the others were variously urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley +and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus-- + +“Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?” + +“I am ready, if the others are.” + +“Shall I ring the bell?” + +“Yes, do.” + +And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A few minutes more, +and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in his own +house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper and +happiness when this visit of hardship were over. + +The carriage came: and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first object on such +occasions, was carefully attended to his own by Mr. Knightley and Mr. +Weston; but not all that either could say could prevent some renewal +of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and the +discovery of a much darker night than he had been prepared for. “He was +afraid they should have a very bad drive. He was afraid poor Isabella +would not like it. And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind. +He did not know what they had best do. They must keep as much together +as they could;” and James was talked to, and given a charge to go very +slow and wait for the other carriage. + +Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that he +did not belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally; +so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second +carriage by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, +and that they were to have a tete-a-tete drive. It would not have been +the awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, +previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talked to +him of Harriet, and the three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but +one. But now, she would rather it had not happened. She believed he had +been drinking too much of Mr. Weston’s good wine, and felt sure that he +would want to be talking nonsense. + +To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was +immediately preparing to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of +the weather and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they +passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her +subject cut up--her hand seized--her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton +actually making violent love to her: availing himself of the precious +opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, +hoping--fearing--adoring--ready to die if she refused him; but +flattering himself that his ardent attachment and unequalled love and +unexampled passion could not fail of having some effect, and in short, +very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible. It +really was so. Without scruple--without apology--without much apparent +diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself +_her_ lover. She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say +it all. Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to +restrain herself when she did speak. She felt that half this folly must +be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to +the passing hour. Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the +playful, which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she +replied, + +“I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to _me_! you forget +yourself--you take me for my friend--any message to Miss Smith I shall +be happy to deliver; but no more of this to _me_, if you please.” + +“Miss Smith!--message to Miss Smith!--What could she possibly +mean!”--And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such +boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with +quickness, + +“Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! and I can account +for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak +either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Command yourself enough +to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it.” + +But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at +all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning; and +having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious, and +slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,--but +acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all,--he +resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a +favourable answer. + +As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his +inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, +replied, + +“It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself +too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I can +express. After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last +month, to Miss Smith--such attentions as I have been in the daily +habit of observing--to be addressing me in this manner--this is an +unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible! +Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object +of such professions.” + +“Good Heaven!” cried Mr. Elton, “what can be the meaning of this?--Miss +Smith!--I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my +existence--never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never +cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she +has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very +sorry--extremely sorry--But, Miss Smith, indeed!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse! +who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my +honour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of +you. I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one +else. Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has +been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You +cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No!--(in an accent meant to be +insinuating)--I am sure you have seen and understood me.” + +It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this--which +of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She was too completely +overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence +being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton’s sanguine state of mind, he +tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed-- + +“Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting +silence. It confesses that you have long understood me.” + +“No, sir,” cried Emma, “it confesses no such thing. So far from having +long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect +to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I am very sorry that you +should have been giving way to any feelings--Nothing could be farther +from my wishes--your attachment to my friend Harriet--your pursuit of +her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave me great pleasure, and I have been +very earnestly wishing you success: but had I supposed that she were not +your attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you judged +ill in making your visits so frequent. Am I to believe that you have +never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith?--that you +have never thought seriously of her?” + +“Never, madam,” cried he, affronted in his turn: “never, I assure you. +_I_ think seriously of Miss Smith!--Miss Smith is a very good sort of +girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish +her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object +to--Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, +quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal +alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith!--No, madam, my +visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I +received--” + +“Encouragement!--I give you encouragement!--Sir, you have been entirely +mistaken in supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirer of my +friend. In no other light could you have been more to me than a common +acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well that the mistake +ends where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might +have been led into a misconception of your views; not being aware, +probably, any more than myself, of the very great inequality which you +are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I +trust, will not be lasting. I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.” + +He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decided to invite +supplication; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually +deep mortification, they had to continue together a few minutes longer, +for the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace. If +there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate +awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the +little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when the carriage +turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves, +all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before another +syllable passed.--Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him a good +night. The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under +indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfield. + +There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father, who +had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage +Lane--turning a corner which he could never bear to think of--and in +strange hands--a mere common coachman--no James; and there it seemed as +if her return only were wanted to make every thing go well: for Mr. +John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour, was now all kindness and +attention; and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her +father, as to seem--if not quite ready to join him in a basin of +gruel--perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome; and the +day was concluding in peace and comfort to all their little party, +except herself.--But her mind had never been in such perturbation; and +it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the +usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think +and be miserable.--It was a wretched business indeed!--Such an overthrow +of every thing she had been wishing for!--Such a development of every +thing most unwelcome!--Such a blow for Harriet!--that was the worst +of all. Every part of it brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or +other; but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and +she would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken--more in +error--more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the +effects of her blunders have been confined to herself. + +“If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have +borne any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me--but poor +Harriet!” + +How she could have been so deceived!--He protested that he had never +thought seriously of Harriet--never! She looked back as well as +she could; but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she +supposed, and made every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must +have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so +misled. + +The picture!--How eager he had been about the picture!--and the +charade!--and an hundred other circumstances;--how clearly they had +seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its “ready +wit”--but then the “soft eyes”--in fact it suited neither; it was +a jumble without taste or truth. Who could have seen through such +thick-headed nonsense? + +Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to +herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere +error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among others +that he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the +gentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but, +till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean +any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet’s friend. + +To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the +subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying +that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley +had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, +the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry +indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his +character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It +was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many +respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; +proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little +concerned about the feelings of others. + +Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton’s wanting to pay his +addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions and his +proposals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachment, +and was insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and having the +arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in love; but she was +perfectly easy as to his not suffering any disappointment that need be +cared for. There had been no real affection either in his language or +manners. Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance; but she could +hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less +allied with real love. She need not trouble herself to pity him. He +only wanted to aggrandise and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse +of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so +easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody +else with twenty, or with ten. + +But--that he should talk of encouragement, should consider her as aware +of his views, accepting his attentions, meaning (in short), to marry +him!--should suppose himself her equal in connexion or mind!--look down +upon her friend, so well understanding the gradations of rank below +him, and be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy himself shewing no +presumption in addressing her!--It was most provoking. + +Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was her +inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. The very want of +such equality might prevent his perception of it; but he must know that +in fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must +know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at +Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family--and that the +Eltons were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly was +inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, +to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune, from +other sources, was such as to make them scarcely secondary to Donwell +Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence; and the Woodhouses had +long held a high place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which +Mr. Elton had first entered not two years ago, to make his way as he +could, without any alliances but in trade, or any thing to recommend him +to notice but his situation and his civility.--But he had fancied her +in love with him; that evidently must have been his dependence; and +after raving a little about the seeming incongruity of gentle manners +and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in common honesty to stop +and admit that her own behaviour to him had been so complaisant and +obliging, so full of courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real +motive unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary observation and +delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided favourite. +If _she_ had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little right to +wonder that _he_, with self-interest to blind him, should have mistaken +hers. + +The first error and the worst lay at her door. It was foolish, it was +wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together. It +was adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what +ought to be serious, a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite +concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more. + +“Here have I,” said she, “actually talked poor Harriet into being very +much attached to this man. She might never have thought of him but for +me; and certainly never would have thought of him with hope, if I had +not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and humble as I +used to think him. Oh! that I had been satisfied with persuading her not +to accept young Martin. There I was quite right. That was well done +of me; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to time and +chance. I was introducing her into good company, and giving her the +opportunity of pleasing some one worth having; I ought not to have +attempted more. But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time. +I have been but half a friend to her; and if she were _not_ to feel this +disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea of any body +else who would be at all desirable for her;--William Coxe--Oh! no, I +could not endure William Coxe--a pert young lawyer.” + +She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed a more +serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and might be, +and must be. The distressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, and +all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness of +future meetings, the difficulties of continuing or discontinuing the +acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and avoiding +eclat, were enough to occupy her in most unmirthful reflections some +time longer, and she went to bed at last with nothing settled but the +conviction of her having blundered most dreadfully. + +To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma’s, though under temporary +gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return of +spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy, +and of powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough +to keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations of +softened pain and brighter hope. + +Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had gone +to bed, more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to +depend on getting tolerably out of it. + +It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in +love with her, or so particularly amiable as to make it shocking to +disappoint him--that Harriet’s nature should not be of that superior +sort in which the feelings are most acute and retentive--and that there +could be no necessity for any body’s knowing what had passed except the +three principals, and especially for her father’s being given a moment’s +uneasiness about it. + +These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of snow +on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcome that +might justify their all three being quite asunder at present. + +The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas Day, she +could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse would have been miserable had his +daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting +or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered +with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and +thaw, which is of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, every +morning beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting in to +freeze, she was for many days a most honourable prisoner. No intercourse +with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any +more than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton’s +absenting himself. + +It was weather which might fairly confine every body at home; and though +she hoped and believed him to be really taking comfort in some society +or other, it was very pleasant to have her father so well satisfied with +his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to +hear him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from +them,-- + +“Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr. Elton?” + +These days of confinement would have been, but for her private +perplexities, remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited +her brother, whose feelings must always be of great importance to +his companions; and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his +ill-humour at Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the +rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, +and speaking pleasantly of every body. But with all the hopes of +cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was still such +an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as +made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield. The +weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move; and Mr. +Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay +behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole party +set off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor +Isabella;--which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doated +on, full of their merits, blind to their faults, and always innocently +busy, might have been a model of right feminine happiness. + +The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from Mr. +Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with +Mr. Elton’s best compliments, “that he was proposing to leave Highbury +the following morning in his way to Bath; where, in compliance with +the pressing entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few +weeks, and very much regretted the impossibility he was under, from +various circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal +leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever +retain a grateful sense--and had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be +happy to attend to them.” + +Emma was most agreeably surprized.--Mr. Elton’s absence just at this +time was the very thing to be desired. She admired him for contriving +it, though not able to give him much credit for the manner in which it +was announced. Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than +in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly excluded. +She had not even a share in his opening compliments.--Her name was not +mentioned;--and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an +ill-judged solemnity of leave-taking in his graceful acknowledgments, as +she thought, at first, could not escape her father’s suspicion. + +It did, however.--Her father was quite taken up with the surprize of so +sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton might never get safely to +the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in his language. It was a +very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought +and conversation during the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. Woodhouse +talked over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away +with all her usual promptitude. + +She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason +to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that +she should have as much time as possible for getting the better of +her other complaint before the gentleman’s return. She went to Mrs. +Goddard’s accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary +penance of communication; and a severe one it was.--She had to destroy +all the hopes which she had been so industriously feeding--to appear in +the ungracious character of the one preferred--and acknowledge herself +grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her ideas on one subject, all +her observations, all her convictions, all her prophecies for the last +six weeks. + +The confession completely renewed her first shame--and the sight of +Harriet’s tears made her think that she should never be in charity with +herself again. + +Harriet bore the intelligence very well--blaming nobody--and in every +thing testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion +of herself, as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to +her friend. + +Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost; +and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on +Harriet’s side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having +any thing to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton +would have been too great a distinction.--She never could have deserved +him--and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would +have thought it possible. + +Her tears fell abundantly--but her grief was so truly artless, that +no dignity could have made it more respectable in Emma’s eyes--and +she listened to her and tried to console her with all her heart and +understanding--really for the time convinced that Harriet was the +superior creature of the two--and that to resemble her would be more for +her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could +do. + +It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded and +ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed of +being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of +her life. Her second duty now, inferior only to her father’s claims, was +to promote Harriet’s comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection +in some better method than by match-making. She got her to Hartfield, +and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and +amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her +thoughts. + +Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and +she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters in +general, and very inadequate to sympathise in an attachment to Mr. Elton +in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet’s age, +and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a progress might be +made towards a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton’s return, as +to allow them all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance, +without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them. + +Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintained the non-existence +of any body equal to him in person or goodness--and did, in truth, +prove herself more resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen; but yet +it appeared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an +inclination of that sort _unrequited_, that she could not comprehend its +continuing very long in equal force. + +If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and +indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not +imagine Harriet’s persisting to place her happiness in the sight or the +recollection of him. + +Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad for +each, for all three. Not one of them had the power of removal, or of +effecting any material change of society. They must encounter each +other, and make the best of it. + +Harriet was farther unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. +Goddard’s; Mr. Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great +girls in the school; and it must be at Hartfield only that she could +have any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or +repellent truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be +found if anywhere; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in the way of +cure, there could be no true peace for herself. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, Mrs. +Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For +the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great mortification +and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to +Randalls at no distant period.” + +Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed--much more disappointed, in +fact, than her husband, though her dependence on seeing the young man +had been so much more sober: but a sanguine temper, though for ever +expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by +any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, +and begins to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and +sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank’s coming two or three +months later would be a much better plan; better time of year; +better weather; and that he would be able, without any doubt, to stay +considerably longer with them than if he had come sooner. + +These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of +a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of +excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was +to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself. + +Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. +Frank Churchill’s not coming, except as a disappointment at Randalls. +The acquaintance at present had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to +be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was desirable that she +should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took care to express +as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as warmly into Mr. +and Mrs. Weston’s disappointment, as might naturally belong to their +friendship. + +She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite +as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather +more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away. She then +proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage of +such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of +looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the +sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the +Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement +with Mr. Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that she was +taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making +use of Mrs. Weston’s arguments against herself. + +“The Churchills are very likely in fault,” said Mr. Knightley, coolly; +“but I dare say he might come if he would.” + +“I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to come; but +his uncle and aunt will not spare him.” + +“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a +point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof.” + +“How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose +him such an unnatural creature?” + +“I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that +he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very little +for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who have +always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural than +one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are proud, +luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If +Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it +between September and January. A man at his age--what is he?--three or +four-and-twenty--cannot be without the means of doing as much as that. +It is impossible.” + +“That’s easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your +own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the +difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have tempers +to manage.” + +“It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty +should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot want +money--he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so +much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in +the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-place or other. A +little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the +Churchills.” + +“Yes, sometimes he can.” + +“And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever +there is any temptation of pleasure.” + +“It is very unfair to judge of any body’s conduct, without an intimate +knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in the interior +of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that +family may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. +Churchill’s temper, before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew +can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at +others.” + +“There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and +that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and +resolution. It is Frank Churchill’s duty to pay this attention to his +father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he +wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would say at +once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill--‘Every sacrifice of +mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your convenience; +but I must go and see my father immediately. I know he would be hurt by +my failing in such a mark of respect to him on the present occasion. +I shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.’--If he would say so to her +at once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no +opposition made to his going.” + +“No,” said Emma, laughing; “but perhaps there might be some made to his +coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely dependent, to +use!--Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible. But you +have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite to +your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to +the uncle and aunt, who have brought him up, and are to provide for +him!--Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as +loud as he could!--How can you imagine such conduct practicable?” + +“Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it. He +would feel himself in the right; and the declaration--made, of course, +as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner--would do him more +good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the people he +depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients can ever do. +Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that they could +trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his father, would do +rightly by them; for they know, as well as he does, as well as all the +world must know, that he ought to pay this visit to his father; and +while meanly exerting their power to delay it, are in their hearts not +thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims. Respect for +right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act in this sort of +manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their little minds would +bend to his.” + +“I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds; but +where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they have +a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable as great +ones. I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be +transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill’s situation, +you would be able to say and do just what you have been recommending for +him; and it might have a very good effect. The Churchills might not have +a word to say in return; but then, you would have no habits of early +obedience and long observance to break through. To him who has, it might +not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect independence, and set +all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought. He may have as +strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, without being so +equal, under particular circumstances, to act up to it.” + +“Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal +exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.” + +“Oh, the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try to +understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly +opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his +life.” + +“Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first +occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the +will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of +following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for +the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he +ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in +their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their +side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there +would have been no difficulty now.” + +“We shall never agree about him,” cried Emma; “but that is nothing +extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: +I feel sure that he is not. Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, +though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, +complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man’s +perfection. I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some +advantages, it will secure him many others.” + +“Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and +of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely +expert in finding excuses for it. He can sit down and write a fine +flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade +himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the world of +preserving peace at home and preventing his father’s having any right to +complain. His letters disgust me.” + +“Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every body else.” + +“I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly can satisfy +a woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother’s +place, but without a mother’s affection to blind her. It is on her +account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly +feel the omission. Had she been a person of consequence herself, he +would have come I dare say; and it would not have signified whether +he did or no. Can you think your friend behindhand in these sort of +considerations? Do you suppose she does not often say all this to +herself? No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only in French, +not in English. He may be very ‘amiable,’ have very good manners, and be +very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy towards the feelings +of other people: nothing really amiable about him.” + +“You seem determined to think ill of him.” + +“Me!--not at all,” replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased; “I do not +want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits +as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; +that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners.” + +“Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure +at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and +agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the +bargain. Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a _sensation_ his +coming will produce? There will be but one subject throughout the +parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but one interest--one object of +curiosity; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill; we shall think and speak +of nobody else.” + +“You will excuse my being so much over-powered. If I find him +conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a +chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.” + +“My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of +every body, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally +agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; +and so on to every body, having that general information on all subjects +which will enable him to follow the lead, or take the lead, just as +propriety may require, and to speak extremely well on each; that is my +idea of him.” + +“And mine,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “is, that if he turn out any +thing like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing! What! +at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company--the great man--the +practised politician, who is to read every body’s character, and make +every body’s talents conduce to the display of his own superiority; to +be dispensing his flatteries around, that he may make all appear like +fools compared with himself! My dear Emma, your own good sense could not +endure such a puppy when it came to the point.” + +“I will say no more about him,” cried Emma, “you turn every thing to +evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no +chance of agreeing till he is really here.” + +“Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced.” + +“But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My love for +Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour.” + +“He is a person I never think of from one month’s end to another,” said +Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately +talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should be +angry. + +To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of a +different disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality of +mind which she was always used to acknowledge in him; for with all the +high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she had +never before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to the merit +of another. + + + + +VOLUME II + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in Emma’s +opinion, had been talking enough of Mr. Elton for that day. She could +not think that Harriet’s solace or her own sins required more; and +she was therefore industriously getting rid of the subject as they +returned;--but it burst out again when she thought she had succeeded, +and after speaking some time of what the poor must suffer in winter, and +receiving no other answer than a very plaintive--“Mr. Elton is so good +to the poor!” she found something else must be done. + +They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs. and Miss Bates. +She determined to call upon them and seek safety in numbers. There was +always sufficient reason for such an attention; Mrs. and Miss Bates +loved to be called on, and she knew she was considered by the very few +who presumed ever to see imperfection in her, as rather negligent in +that respect, and as not contributing what she ought to the stock of +their scanty comforts. + +She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley and some from her own heart, +as to her deficiency--but none were equal to counteract the persuasion +of its being very disagreeable,--a waste of time--tiresome women--and +all the horror of being in danger of falling in with the second-rate and +third-rate of Highbury, who were calling on them for ever, and therefore +she seldom went near them. But now she made the sudden resolution of not +passing their door without going in--observing, as she proposed it to +Harriet, that, as well as she could calculate, they were just now quite +safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax. + +The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and Miss Bates occupied +the drawing-room floor; and there, in the very moderate-sized apartment, +which was every thing to them, the visitors were most cordially and even +gratefully welcomed; the quiet neat old lady, who with her knitting was +seated in the warmest corner, wanting even to give up her place to +Miss Woodhouse, and her more active, talking daughter, almost ready +to overpower them with care and kindness, thanks for their visit, +solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after Mr. Woodhouse’s +health, cheerful communications about her mother’s, and sweet-cake from +the beaufet--“Mrs. Cole had just been there, just called in for ten +minutes, and had been so good as to sit an hour with them, and _she_ had +taken a piece of cake and been so kind as to say she liked it very much; +and, therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith would do them +the favour to eat a piece too.” + +The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that of Mr. Elton. +There was intimacy between them, and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. Elton +since his going away. Emma knew what was coming; they must have the +letter over again, and settle how long he had been gone, and how much +he was engaged in company, and what a favourite he was wherever he went, +and how full the Master of the Ceremonies’ ball had been; and she went +through it very well, with all the interest and all the commendation +that could be requisite, and always putting forward to prevent Harriet’s +being obliged to say a word. + +This she had been prepared for when she entered the house; but meant, +having once talked him handsomely over, to be no farther incommoded by +any troublesome topic, and to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses +and Misses of Highbury, and their card-parties. She had not been +prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton; but he was actually +hurried off by Miss Bates, she jumped away from him at last abruptly to +the Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece. + +“Oh! yes--Mr. Elton, I understand--certainly as to dancing--Mrs. Cole +was telling me that dancing at the rooms at Bath was--Mrs. Cole was so +kind as to sit some time with us, talking of Jane; for as soon as +she came in, she began inquiring after her, Jane is so very great a +favourite there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not know how to +shew her kindness enough; and I must say that Jane deserves it as much +as any body can. And so she began inquiring after her directly, saying, +‘I know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is not her +time for writing;’ and when I immediately said, ‘But indeed we have, we +had a letter this very morning,’ I do not know that I ever saw any body +more surprized. ‘Have you, upon your honour?’ said she; ‘well, that is +quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.’” + +Emma’s politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest-- + +“Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately? I am extremely happy. I +hope she is well?” + +“Thank you. You are so kind!” replied the happily deceived aunt, while +eagerly hunting for the letter.--“Oh! here it is. I was sure it could +not be far off; but I had put my huswife upon it, you see, without being +aware, and so it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately +that I was almost sure it must be on the table. I was reading it to Mrs. +Cole, and since she went away, I was reading it again to my mother, for +it is such a pleasure to her--a letter from Jane--that she can never +hear it often enough; so I knew it could not be far off, and here it is, +only just under my huswife--and since you are so kind as to wish to hear +what she says;--but, first of all, I really must, in justice to +Jane, apologise for her writing so short a letter--only two pages you +see--hardly two--and in general she fills the whole paper and crosses +half. My mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. She often +says, when the letter is first opened, ‘Well, Hetty, now I think +you will be put to it to make out all that checker-work’--don’t you, +ma’am?--And then I tell her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out +herself, if she had nobody to do it for her--every word of it--I am sure +she would pore over it till she had made out every word. And, indeed, +though my mother’s eyes are not so good as they were, she can see +amazingly well still, thank God! with the help of spectacles. It is such +a blessing! My mother’s are really very good indeed. Jane often says, +when she is here, ‘I am sure, grandmama, you must have had very strong +eyes to see as you do--and so much fine work as you have done too!--I +only wish my eyes may last me as well.’” + +All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath; +and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss +Fairfax’s handwriting. + +“You are extremely kind,” replied Miss Bates, highly gratified; “you who +are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself. I am sure there is +nobody’s praise that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse’s. +My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf you know. Ma’am,” + addressing her, “do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say +about Jane’s handwriting?” + +And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly compliment repeated +twice over before the good old lady could comprehend it. She was +pondering, in the meanwhile, upon the possibility, without seeming very +rude, of making her escape from Jane Fairfax’s letter, and had almost +resolved on hurrying away directly under some slight excuse, when Miss +Bates turned to her again and seized her attention. + +“My mother’s deafness is very trifling you see--just nothing at all. By +only raising my voice, and saying any thing two or three times over, +she is sure to hear; but then she is used to my voice. But it is very +remarkable that she should always hear Jane better than she does me. +Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will not find her grandmama at all +deafer than she was two years ago; which is saying a great deal at my +mother’s time of life--and it really is full two years, you know, since +she was here. We never were so long without seeing her before, and as +I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly know how to make enough of her +now.” + +“Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?” + +“Oh yes; next week.” + +“Indeed!--that must be a very great pleasure.” + +“Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Every body is so +surprized; and every body says the same obliging things. I am sure she +will be as happy to see her friends at Highbury, as they can be to see +her. Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because Colonel +Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those days. So very +good of them to send her the whole way! But they always do, you know. Oh +yes, Friday or Saturday next. That is what she writes about. That is +the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it; for, in the +common course, we should not have heard from her before next Tuesday or +Wednesday.” + +“Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little chance of my +hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to-day.” + +“So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if it had not been +for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so soon. My +mother is so delighted!--for she is to be three months with us at +least. Three months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the +pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you see, that the Campbells are +going to Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother to come +over and see her directly. They had not intended to go over till the +summer, but she is so impatient to see them again--for till she married, +last October, she was never away from them so much as a week, which must +make it very strange to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say, +but however different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter +to her mother--or her father, I declare I do not know which it was, but +we shall see presently in Jane’s letter--wrote in Mr. Dixon’s name as +well as her own, to press their coming over directly, and they would +give them the meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country +seat, Baly-craig, a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great +deal of its beauty; from Mr. Dixon, I mean--I do not know that she ever +heard about it from any body else; but it was very natural, you know, +that he should like to speak of his own place while he was paying his +addresses--and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them--for +Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s +not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all +blame them; of course she heard every thing he might be telling Miss +Campbell about his own home in Ireland; and I think she wrote us word +that he had shewn them some drawings of the place, views that he had +taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I believe. Jane +was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his account of things.” + +At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion entering Emma’s +brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming Mr. Dixon, and the +not going to Ireland, she said, with the insidious design of farther +discovery, + +“You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed to +come to you at such a time. Considering the very particular friendship +between her and Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be +excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.” + +“Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we have always been +rather afraid of; for we should not have liked to have her at such a +distance from us, for months together--not able to come if any thing was +to happen. But you see, every thing turns out for the best. They want +her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel and Mrs. +Campbell; quite depend upon it; nothing can be more kind or pressing +than their _joint_ invitation, Jane says, as you will hear presently; +Mr. Dixon does not seem in the least backward in any attention. He is +a most charming young man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane at +Weymouth, when they were out in that party on the water, and she, by the +sudden whirling round of something or other among the sails, would have +been dashed into the sea at once, and actually was all but gone, if he +had not, with the greatest presence of mind, caught hold of her habit-- +(I can never think of it without trembling!)--But ever since we had the +history of that day, I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon!” + +“But, in spite of all her friends’ urgency, and her own wish of seeing +Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs. Bates?” + +“Yes--entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice; and Colonel +and Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right, just what they should +recommend; and indeed they particularly _wish_ her to try her native +air, as she has not been quite so well as usual lately.” + +“I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely. But Mrs. +Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs. Dixon, I understand, has +no remarkable degree of personal beauty; is not, by any means, to be +compared with Miss Fairfax.” + +“Oh! no. You are very obliging to say such things--but certainly not. +There is no comparison between them. Miss Campbell always was absolutely +plain--but extremely elegant and amiable.” + +“Yes, that of course.” + +“Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! so long ago as the 7th of November, +(as I am going to read to you,) and has never been well since. A long +time, is not it, for a cold to hang upon her? She never mentioned +it before, because she would not alarm us. Just like her! so +considerate!--But however, she is so far from well, that her kind +friends the Campbells think she had better come home, and try an air +that always agrees with her; and they have no doubt that three or four +months at Highbury will entirely cure her--and it is certainly a great +deal better that she should come here, than go to Ireland, if she is +unwell. Nobody could nurse her, as we should do.” + +“It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world.” + +“And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and the Campbells +leave town in their way to Holyhead the Monday following--as you will +find from Jane’s letter. So sudden!--You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, +what a flurry it has thrown me in! If it was not for the drawback of +her illness--but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and +looking very poorly. I must tell you what an unlucky thing happened to +me, as to that. I always make a point of reading Jane’s letters through +to myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you know, for +fear of there being any thing in them to distress her. Jane desired me +to do it, so I always do: and so I began to-day with my usual caution; +but no sooner did I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I +burst out, quite frightened, with ‘Bless me! poor Jane is ill!’--which +my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed +at. However, when I read on, I found it was not near so bad as I had +fancied at first; and I make so light of it now to her, that she does +not think much about it. But I cannot imagine how I could be so off my +guard. If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in Mr. Perry. The +expense shall not be thought of; and though he is so liberal, and so +fond of Jane that I dare say he would not mean to charge any thing for +attendance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know. He has a wife and +family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time. Well, now I +have just given you a hint of what Jane writes about, we will turn to +her letter, and I am sure she tells her own story a great deal better +than I can tell it for her.” + +“I am afraid we must be running away,” said Emma, glancing at Harriet, +and beginning to rise--“My father will be expecting us. I had no +intention, I thought I had no power of staying more than five minutes, +when I first entered the house. I merely called, because I would not +pass the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I have been so +pleasantly detained! Now, however, we must wish you and Mrs. Bates good +morning.” + +And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. She regained +the street--happy in this, that though much had been forced on her +against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of +Jane Fairfax’s letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates’s youngest +daughter. + +The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax of the ----regiment of infantry, +and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame and pleasure, hope +and interest; but nothing now remained of it, save the melancholy +remembrance of him dying in action abroad--of his widow sinking under +consumption and grief soon afterwards--and this girl. + +By birth she belonged to Highbury: and when at three years old, on +losing her mother, she became the property, the charge, the consolation, +the foundling of her grandmother and aunt, there had seemed every +probability of her being permanently fixed there; of her being taught +only what very limited means could command, and growing up with no +advantages of connexion or improvement, to be engrafted on what +nature had given her in a pleasing person, good understanding, and +warm-hearted, well-meaning relations. + +But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change +to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell, who had very highly regarded +Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most deserving young man; and +farther, had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe +camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were claims which +he did not learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the +death of poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing in +his power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice +of her. He was a married man, with only one living child, a girl, about +Jane’s age: and Jane became their guest, paying them long visits and +growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine years old, his +daughter’s great fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real +friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell of undertaking +the whole charge of her education. It was accepted; and from that period +Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell’s family, and had lived with them +entirely, only visiting her grandmother from time to time. + +The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the +very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making +independence impossible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel +Campbell’s power; for though his income, by pay and appointments, was +handsome, his fortune was moderate and must be all his daughter’s; +but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means of +respectable subsistence hereafter. + +Such was Jane Fairfax’s history. She had fallen into good hands, known +nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent +education. Living constantly with right-minded and well-informed people, +her heart and understanding had received every advantage of discipline +and culture; and Colonel Campbell’s residence being in London, every +lighter talent had been done full justice to, by the attendance of +first-rate masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy +of all that friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was, +as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of children, +fully competent to the office of instruction herself; but she was too +much beloved to be parted with. Neither father nor mother could promote, +and the daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put off. It was +easy to decide that she was still too young; and Jane remained with +them, sharing, as another daughter, in all the rational pleasures of +an elegant society, and a judicious mixture of home and amusement, with +only the drawback of the future, the sobering suggestions of her own +good understanding to remind her that all this might soon be over. + +The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss +Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to each party from +the circumstance of Jane’s decided superiority both in beauty and +acquirements. That nature had given it in feature could not be unseen +by the young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the +parents. They continued together with unabated regard however, till the +marriage of Miss Campbell, who by that chance, that luck which so often +defies anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what is +moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of +Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable, almost as soon as they were +acquainted; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had +yet her bread to earn. + +This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to be +yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path +of duty; though she had now reached the age which her own judgment had +fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty +should be the period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had +resolved at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from +all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace +and hope, to penance and mortification for ever. + +The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not oppose such +a resolution, though their feelings did. As long as they lived, no +exertions would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever; and for +their own comfort they would have retained her wholly; but this would +be selfishness:--what must be at last, had better be soon. Perhaps they +began to feel it might have been kinder and wiser to have resisted the +temptation of any delay, and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments +of ease and leisure as must now be relinquished. Still, however, +affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for not hurrying +on the wretched moment. She had never been quite well since the time of +their daughter’s marriage; and till she should have completely recovered +her usual strength, they must forbid her engaging in duties, which, so +far from being compatible with a weakened frame and varying spirits, +seemed, under the most favourable circumstances, to require something +more than human perfection of body and mind to be discharged with +tolerable comfort. + +With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her +aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths +not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to +Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with +those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells, +whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or +treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they +depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery +of her health, than on any thing else. Certain it was that she was to +come; and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which +had been so long promised it--Mr. Frank Churchill--must put up for the +present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness of a two +years’ absence. + +Emma was sorry;--to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like +through three long months!--to be always doing more than she wished, +and less than she ought! Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be a +difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was +because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she +wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly +refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which +her conscience could not quite acquit her. But “she could never get +acquainted with her: she did not know how it was, but there was such +coldness and reserve--such apparent indifference whether she pleased or +not--and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker!--and she was made +such a fuss with by every body!--and it had been always imagined that +they were to be so intimate--because their ages were the same, every +body had supposed they must be so fond of each other.” These were her +reasons--she had no better. + +It was a dislike so little just--every imputed fault was so magnified +by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax the first time after any +considerable absence, without feeling that she had injured her; and +now, when the due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two years’ +interval, she was particularly struck with the very appearance and +manners, which for those two whole years she had been depreciating. Jane +Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself the +highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just such as almost +every body would think tall, and nobody could think very tall; her +figure particularly graceful; her size a most becoming medium, between +fat and thin, though a slight appearance of ill-health seemed to point +out the likeliest evil of the two. Emma could not but feel all this; and +then, her face--her features--there was more beauty in them altogether +than she had remembered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing +beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, had +never been denied their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to +cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really +needed no fuller bloom. It was a style of beauty, of which elegance was +the reigning character, and as such, she must, in honour, by all her +principles, admire it:--elegance, which, whether of person or of mind, +she saw so little in Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, +and merit. + +In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax with +twofold complacency; the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering +justice, and was determining that she would dislike her no longer. When +she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty; +when she considered what all this elegance was destined to, what she was +going to sink from, how she was going to live, it seemed impossible +to feel any thing but compassion and respect; especially, if to every +well-known particular entitling her to interest, were added the highly +probable circumstance of an attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had +so naturally started to herself. In that case, nothing could be more +pitiable or more honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on. +Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon’s +actions from his wife, or of any thing mischievous which her imagination +had suggested at first. If it were love, it might be simple, single, +successless love on her side alone. She might have been unconsciously +sucking in the sad poison, while a sharer of his conversation with her +friend; and from the best, the purest of motives, might now be +denying herself this visit to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself +effectually from him and his connexions by soon beginning her career of +laborious duty. + +Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings, +as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury +afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence; nobody that she +could wish to scheme about for her. + +These were charming feelings--but not lasting. Before she had committed +herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, +or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than +saying to Mr. Knightley, “She certainly is handsome; she is better than +handsome!” Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandmother +and aunt, and every thing was relapsing much into its usual state. +Former provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresome as ever; more +tiresome, because anxiety for her health was now added to admiration +of her powers; and they had to listen to the description of exactly how +little bread and butter she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice +of mutton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new +workbags for her mother and herself; and Jane’s offences rose again. +They had music; Emma was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise +which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an +air of greatness, meaning only to shew off in higher style her own very +superior performance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so +cold, so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in +a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was +disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved. + +If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved on +the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing. She seemed bent +on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon’s character, or her own value +for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the match. It was all +general approbation and smoothness; nothing delineated or distinguished. +It did her no service however. Her caution was thrown away. Emma saw +its artifice, and returned to her first surmises. There probably _was_ +something more to conceal than her own preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, +had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only +to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds. + +The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. Frank Churchill +had been at Weymouth at the same time. It was known that they were a +little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could Emma +procure as to what he truly was. “Was he handsome?”--“She believed +he was reckoned a very fine young man.” “Was he agreeable?”--“He was +generally thought so.” “Did he appear a sensible young man; a young +man of information?”--“At a watering-place, or in a common London +acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were +all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than +they had yet had of Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his +manners pleasing.” Emma could not forgive her. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Emma could not forgive her;--but as neither provocation nor resentment +were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who had been of the party, and had +seen only proper attention and pleasing behaviour on each side, he was +expressing the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business with +Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole; not so openly as he might +have done had her father been out of the room, but speaking plain enough +to be very intelligible to Emma. He had been used to think her unjust to +Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an improvement. + +“A very pleasant evening,” he began, as soon as Mr. Woodhouse had been +talked into what was necessary, told that he understood, and the papers +swept away;--“particularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave us some +very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state, sir, than sitting +at one’s ease to be entertained a whole evening by two such young women; +sometimes with music and sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss +Fairfax must have found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left nothing +undone. I was glad you made her play so much, for having no instrument +at her grandmother’s, it must have been a real indulgence.” + +“I am happy you approved,” said Emma, smiling; “but I hope I am not +often deficient in what is due to guests at Hartfield.” + +“No, my dear,” said her father instantly; “_that_ I am sure you are not. +There is nobody half so attentive and civil as you are. If any thing, +you are too attentive. The muffin last night--if it had been handed +round once, I think it would have been enough.” + +“No,” said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; “you are not often +deficient; not often deficient either in manner or comprehension. I +think you understand me, therefore.” + +An arch look expressed--“I understand you well enough;” but she said +only, “Miss Fairfax is reserved.” + +“I always told you she was--a little; but you will soon overcome all +that part of her reserve which ought to be overcome, all that has its +foundation in diffidence. What arises from discretion must be honoured.” + +“You think her diffident. I do not see it.” + +“My dear Emma,” said he, moving from his chair into one close by her, +“you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not a pleasant +evening.” + +“Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and +amused to think how little information I obtained.” + +“I am disappointed,” was his only answer. + +“I hope every body had a pleasant evening,” said Mr. Woodhouse, in his +quiet way. “I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I +moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. +Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though +she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. +Bates too, in a different way. I like old friends; and Miss Jane +Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very pretty and a +very well-behaved young lady indeed. She must have found the evening +agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma.” + +“True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax.” + +Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the +present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question-- + +“She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one’s eyes from. +I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart.” + +Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to +express; and before he could make any reply, Mr. Woodhouse, whose +thoughts were on the Bates’s, said-- + +“It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined! a +great pity indeed! and I have often wished--but it is so little one can +venture to do--small, trifling presents, of any thing uncommon--Now we +have killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg; +it is very small and delicate--Hartfield pork is not like any other +pork--but still it is pork--and, my dear Emma, unless one could be sure +of their making it into steaks, nicely fried, as ours are fried, without +the smallest grease, and not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast +pork--I think we had better send the leg--do not you think so, my dear?” + +“My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish it. +There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and +the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like.” + +“That’s right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of it before, but +that is the best way. They must not over-salt the leg; and then, if it +is not over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle +boils ours, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a +little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome.” + +“Emma,” said Mr. Knightley presently, “I have a piece of news for you. +You like news--and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will +interest you.” + +“News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?--why do you smile +so?--where did you hear it?--at Randalls?” + +He had time only to say, + +“No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,” when the door was +thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full +of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. +Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another +syllable of communication could rest with him. + +“Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse--I +come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You +are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be +married.” + +Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so +completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and a +little blush, at the sound. + +“There is my news:--I thought it would interest you,” said Mr. +Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what +had passed between them. + +“But where could _you_ hear it?” cried Miss Bates. “Where could you +possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I +received Mrs. Cole’s note--no, it cannot be more than five--or at least +ten--for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out--I +was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork--Jane was +standing in the passage--were not you, Jane?--for my mother was so +afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would +go down and see, and Jane said, ‘Shall I go down instead? for I think +you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.’--‘Oh! +my dear,’ said I--well, and just then came the note. A Miss +Hawkins--that’s all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, +how could you possibly have heard it? for the very moment Mr. Cole told +Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins--” + +“I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago. He had just +read Elton’s letter as I was shewn in, and handed it to me directly.” + +“Well! that is quite--I suppose there never was a piece of news more +generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My +mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand +thanks, and says you really quite oppress her.” + +“We consider our Hartfield pork,” replied Mr. Woodhouse--“indeed it +certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot +have a greater pleasure than--” + +“Oh! my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good +to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth +themselves, had every thing they could wish for, I am sure it is us. +We may well say that ‘our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.’ Well, Mr. +Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter; well--” + +“It was short--merely to announce--but cheerful, exulting, of course.”-- +Here was a sly glance at Emma. “He had been so fortunate as to--I forget +the precise words--one has no business to remember them. The information +was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By +his style, I should imagine it just settled.” + +“Mr. Elton going to be married!” said Emma, as soon as she could speak. +“He will have every body’s wishes for his happiness.” + +“He is very young to settle,” was Mr. Woodhouse’s observation. “He had +better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he was. We +were always glad to see him at Hartfield.” + +“A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!” said Miss Bates, joyfully; +“my mother is so pleased!--she says she cannot bear to have the poor old +Vicarage without a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have +never seen Mr. Elton!--no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see +him.” + +Jane’s curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly to +occupy her. + +“No--I have never seen Mr. Elton,” she replied, starting on this appeal; +“is he--is he a tall man?” + +“Who shall answer that question?” cried Emma. “My father would say +‘yes,’ Mr. Knightley ‘no;’ and Miss Bates and I that he is just the +happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, +you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in +Highbury, both in person and mind.” + +“Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young +man--But, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he +was precisely the height of Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins,--I dare say, an +excellent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother--wanting +her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my +mother is a little deaf, you know--it is not much, but she does not +hear quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He +fancied bathing might be good for it--the warm bath--but she says it did +him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. +And Mr. Dixon seems a very charming young man, quite worthy of him. It +is such a happiness when good people get together--and they always do. +Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, +such very good people; and the Perrys--I suppose there never was a +happier or a better couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir,” turning +to Mr. Woodhouse, “I think there are few places with such society as +Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours.--My dear +sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than another, it is +pork--a roast loin of pork--” + +“As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted +with her,” said Emma, “nothing I suppose can be known. One feels that it +cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four weeks.” + +Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few more wonderings, +Emma said, + +“You are silent, Miss Fairfax--but I hope you mean to take an interest +in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late +on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss +Campbell’s account--we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. +Elton and Miss Hawkins.” + +“When I have seen Mr. Elton,” replied Jane, “I dare say I shall be +interested--but I believe it requires _that_ with me. And as it is some +months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn +off.” + +“Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, Miss Woodhouse,” + said Miss Bates, “four weeks yesterday.--A Miss Hawkins!--Well, I had +always rather fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts; not that +I ever--Mrs. Cole once whispered to me--but I immediately said, ‘No, Mr. +Elton is a most worthy young man--but’--In short, I do not think I am +particularly quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend to it. +What is before me, I see. At the same time, nobody could wonder if +Mr. Elton should have aspired--Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so +good-humouredly. She knows I would not offend for the world. How does +Miss Smith do? She seems quite recovered now. Have you heard from Mrs. +John Knightley lately? Oh! those dear little children. Jane, do you +know I always fancy Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley. I mean in +person--tall, and with that sort of look--and not very talkative.” + +“Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness at all.” + +“Very odd! but one never does form a just idea of any body beforehand. +One takes up a notion, and runs away with it. Mr. Dixon, you say, is +not, strictly speaking, handsome?” + +“Handsome! Oh! no--far from it--certainly plain. I told you he was +plain.” + +“My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow him to be plain, +and that you yourself--” + +“Oh! as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where I have a regard, +I always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed the +general opinion, when I called him plain.” + +“Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. The weather does +not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy. You are too obliging, my +dear Miss Woodhouse; but we really must take leave. This has been a most +agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs. Cole’s; +but I shall not stop three minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home +directly--I would not have you out in a shower!--We think she is the +better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do indeed. I shall not +attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for I really do not think she cares for +any thing but _boiled_ pork: when we dress the leg it will be another +thing. Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh! Mr. Knightley is coming +too. Well, that is so very!--I am sure if Jane is tired, you will be +so kind as to give her your arm.--Mr. Elton, and Miss Hawkins!--Good +morning to you.” + +Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him while +he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry--and to +marry strangers too--and the other half she could give to her own view +of the subject. It was to herself an amusing and a very welcome piece +of news, as proving that Mr. Elton could not have suffered long; but she +was sorry for Harriet: Harriet must feel it--and all that she could hope +was, by giving the first information herself, to save her from hearing +it abruptly from others. It was now about the time that she was likely +to call. If she were to meet Miss Bates in her way!--and upon its +beginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would +be detaining her at Mrs. Goddard’s, and that the intelligence would +undoubtedly rush upon her without preparation. + +The shower was heavy, but short; and it had not been over five minutes, +when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which +hurrying thither with a full heart was likely to give; and the “Oh! Miss +Woodhouse, what do you think has happened!” which instantly burst forth, +had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the blow was +given, Emma felt that she could not now shew greater kindness than in +listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what she had to +tell. “She had set out from Mrs. Goddard’s half an hour ago--she had +been afraid it would rain--she had been afraid it would pour down +every moment--but she thought she might get to Hartfield first--she +had hurried on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing by the +house where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she +would just step in and see how it went on; and though she did not seem +to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out it began to rain, +and she did not know what to do; so she ran on directly, as fast as +she could, and took shelter at Ford’s.”--Ford’s was the principal +woollen-draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher’s shop united; the shop +first in size and fashion in the place.--“And so, there she had +set, without an idea of any thing in the world, full ten minutes, +perhaps--when, all of a sudden, who should come in--to be sure it was +so very odd!--but they always dealt at Ford’s--who should come in, but +Elizabeth Martin and her brother!--Dear Miss Woodhouse! only think. I +thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was sitting +near the door--Elizabeth saw me directly; but he did not; he was busy +with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, +and took no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end of the +shop; and I kept sitting near the door!--Oh! dear; I was so miserable! +I am sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go away +you know, because of the rain; but I did so wish myself anywhere in the +world but there.--Oh! dear, Miss Woodhouse--well, at last, I fancy, he +looked round and saw me; for instead of going on with her buyings, they +began whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking of me; and +I could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me--(do +you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?)--for presently she came forward--came +quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, +if I would. She did not do any of it in the same way that she used; I +could see she was altered; but, however, she seemed to _try_ to be very +friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some time; but I know no +more what I said--I was in such a tremble!--I remember she said she +was sorry we never met now; which I thought almost too kind! Dear, Miss +Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable! By that time, it was beginning to +hold up, and I was determined that nothing should stop me from getting +away--and then--only think!--I found he was coming up towards me +too--slowly you know, and as if he did not quite know what to do; and +so he came and spoke, and I answered--and I stood for a minute, feeling +dreadfully, you know, one can’t tell how; and then I took courage, and +said it did not rain, and I must go; and so off I set; and I had not got +three yards from the door, when he came after me, only to say, if I was +going to Hartfield, he thought I had much better go round by Mr. Cole’s +stables, for I should find the near way quite floated by this rain. Oh! +dear, I thought it would have been the death of me! So I said, I was +very much obliged to him: you know I could not do less; and then he went +back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables--I believe I did--but +I hardly knew where I was, or any thing about it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, +I would rather done any thing than have it happen: and yet, you know, +there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and +so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and +make me comfortable again.” + +Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so; but it was not immediately in +her power. She was obliged to stop and think. She was not thoroughly +comfortable herself. The young man’s conduct, and his sister’s, seemed +the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet +described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection +and genuine delicacy in their behaviour. But she had believed them to be +well-meaning, worthy people before; and what difference did this make +in the evils of the connexion? It was folly to be disturbed by it. Of +course, he must be sorry to lose her--they must be all sorry. Ambition, +as well as love, had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped +to rise by Harriet’s acquaintance: and besides, what was the value of +Harriet’s description?--So easily pleased--so little discerning;--what +signified her praise? + +She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by considering +all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being dwelt +on, + +“It might be distressing, for the moment,” said she; “but you seem to +have behaved extremely well; and it is over--and may never--can never, +as a first meeting, occur again, and therefore you need not think about +it.” + +Harriet said, “very true,” and she “would not think about it;” but still +she talked of it--still she could talk of nothing else; and Emma, at +last, in order to put the Martins out of her head, was obliged to hurry +on the news, which she had meant to give with so much tender caution; +hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be angry, ashamed or only +amused, at such a state of mind in poor Harriet--such a conclusion of +Mr. Elton’s importance with her! + +Mr. Elton’s rights, however, gradually revived. Though she did not feel +the first intelligence as she might have done the day before, or an hour +before, its interest soon increased; and before their first conversation +was over, she had talked herself into all the sensations of curiosity, +wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate Miss Hawkins, +which could conduce to place the Martins under proper subordination in +her fancy. + +Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting. It +had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining any +influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get +at her, without seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted either the +courage or the condescension to seek her; for since her refusal of the +brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs. Goddard’s; and a twelvemonth +might pass without their being thrown together again, with any +necessity, or even any power of speech. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting +situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of +being kindly spoken of. + +A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins’s name was first mentioned in +Highbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have +every recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly +accomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton himself arrived +to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame of her merits, +there was very little more for him to do, than to tell her Christian +name, and say whose music she principally played. + +Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and +mortified--disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what +appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing the right +lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He +had gone away deeply offended--he came back engaged to another--and +to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such +circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay +and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, +and defying Miss Smith. + +The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages of +perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune, +of so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some +dignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had not +thrown himself away--he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. or thereabouts; +and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity--the first hour of +introduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice; +the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and progress +of the affair was so glorious--the steps so quick, from the accidental +rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green’s, and the party at Mrs. +Brown’s--smiles and blushes rising in importance--with consciousness and +agitation richly scattered--the lady had been so easily impressed--so +sweetly disposed--had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase, +been so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally +contented. + +He had caught both substance and shadow--both fortune and affection, and +was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself and +his own concerns--expecting to be congratulated--ready to be laughed +at--and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young +ladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have been more +cautiously gallant. + +The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves to +please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and +when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which +a certain glance of Mrs. Cole’s did not seem to contradict, that when he +next entered Highbury he would bring his bride. + +During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just enough +to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the impression +of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and pretension, now +spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very much to wonder +that she had ever thought him pleasing at all; and his sight was so +inseparably connected with some very disagreeable feelings, that, +except in a moral light, as a penance, a lesson, a source of profitable +humiliation to her own mind, she would have been thankful to be assured +of never seeing him again. She wished him very well; but he gave +her pain, and his welfare twenty miles off would administer most +satisfaction. + +The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must +certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be +prevented--many awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A _Mrs._ _Elton_ would +be an excuse for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink +without remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility +again. + +Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little. She was good enough +for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury--handsome +enough--to look plain, probably, by Harriet’s side. As to connexion, +there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after all his own vaunted +claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On that article, +truth seemed attainable. _What_ she was, must be uncertain; but _who_ +she was, might be found out; and setting aside the 10,000 l., it did not +appear that she was at all Harriet’s superior. She brought no name, no +blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two daughters +of a Bristol--merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as the whole +of the profits of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it +was not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very +moderate also. Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath; +but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though the +father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained--in the law +line--nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded of him, than +that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter had lived. Emma +guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise. +And all the grandeur of the connexion seemed dependent on the elder +sister, who was _very_ _well_ _married_, to a gentleman in a _great_ +_way_, near Bristol, who kept two carriages! That was the wind-up of the +history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins. + +Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had +talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be talked out +of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet’s +mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by another; he +certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even a Robert Martin +would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she feared, would cure +her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be always +in love. And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse from this +reappearance of Mr. Elton. She was always having a glimpse of him +somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once; but two or three times every +day Harriet was sure _just_ to meet with him, or _just_ to miss him, +_just_ to hear his voice, or see his shoulder, _just_ to have something +occur to preserve him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of +surprize and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about +him; for, excepting when at Hartfield, she was always among those who +saw no fault in Mr. Elton, and found nothing so interesting as +the discussion of his concerns; and every report, therefore, every +guess--all that had already occurred, all that might occur in the +arrangement of his affairs, comprehending income, servants, and +furniture, was continually in agitation around her. Her regard was +receiving strength by invariable praise of him, and her regrets kept +alive, and feelings irritated by ceaseless repetitions of Miss +Hawkins’s happiness, and continual observation of, how much he seemed +attached!--his air as he walked by the house--the very sitting of his +hat, being all in proof of how much he was in love! + +Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her +friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet’s mind, +Emma would have been amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton +predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful +as a check to the other. Mr. Elton’s engagement had been the cure of +the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced by the +knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by Elizabeth +Martin’s calling at Mrs. Goddard’s a few days afterwards. Harriet had +not been at home; but a note had been prepared and left for her, written +in the very style to touch; a small mixture of reproach, with a great +deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had been much +occupied by it, continually pondering over what could be done in return, +and wishing to do more than she dared to confess. But Mr. Elton, in +person, had driven away all such cares. While he staid, the Martins were +forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off for Bath again, +Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned, judged it best +for her to return Elizabeth Martin’s visit. + +How that visit was to be acknowledged--what would be necessary--and +what might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful consideration. +Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to come, would +be ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the +acquaintance--! + +After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than +Harriet’s returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had +understanding, should convince them that it was to be only a formal +acquaintance. She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the +Abbey Mill, while she drove a little farther, and call for her again +so soon, as to allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous +recurrences to the past, and give the most decided proof of what degree +of intimacy was chosen for the future. + +She could think of nothing better: and though there was something in it +which her own heart could not approve--something of ingratitude, merely +glossed over--it must be done, or what would become of Harriet? + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an hour before her +friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard’s, her evil stars had led her +to the very spot where, at that moment, a trunk, directed to _The Rev. +Philip Elton, White-Hart, Bath_, was to be seen under the operation of +being lifted into the butcher’s cart, which was to convey it to where +the coaches past; and every thing in this world, excepting that trunk +and the direction, was consequently a blank. + +She went, however; and when they reached the farm, and she was to be +put down, at the end of the broad, neat gravel walk, which led between +espalier apple-trees to the front door, the sight of every thing which +had given her so much pleasure the autumn before, was beginning to +revive a little local agitation; and when they parted, Emma observed her +to be looking around with a sort of fearful curiosity, which determined +her not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed quarter of an hour. +She went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old servant who +was married, and settled in Donwell. + +The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the white gate again; +and Miss Smith receiving her summons, was with her without delay, and +unattended by any alarming young man. She came solitarily down the +gravel walk--a Miss Martin just appearing at the door, and parting with +her seemingly with ceremonious civility. + +Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account. She was +feeling too much; but at last Emma collected from her enough to +understand the sort of meeting, and the sort of pain it was creating. +She had seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls. They had received her +doubtingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest commonplace had +been talked almost all the time--till just at last, when Mrs. Martin’s +saying, all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had +brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. In that very +room she had been measured last September, with her two friends. There +were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by the window. +_He_ had done it. They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, +the party, the occasion--to feel the same consciousness, the same +regrets--to be ready to return to the same good understanding; and they +were just growing again like themselves, (Harriet, as Emma must suspect, +as ready as the best of them to be cordial and happy,) when the carriage +reappeared, and all was over. The style of the visit, and the shortness +of it, were then felt to be decisive. Fourteen minutes to be given +to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months +ago!--Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might +resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad business. She +would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had +the Martins in a higher rank of life. They were so deserving, that a +_little_ higher should have been enough: but as it was, how could she +have done otherwise?--Impossible!--She could not repent. They must be +separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process--so much +to herself at this time, that she soon felt the necessity of a little +consolation, and resolved on going home by way of Randalls to +procure it. Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins. The +refreshment of Randalls was absolutely necessary. + +It was a good scheme; but on driving to the door they heard that neither +“master nor mistress was at home;” they had both been out some time; the +man believed they were gone to Hartfield. + +“This is too bad,” cried Emma, as they turned away. “And now we shall +just miss them; too provoking!--I do not know when I have been so +disappointed.” And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her +murmurs, or to reason them away; probably a little of both--such being +the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind. Presently the carriage +stopt; she looked up; it was stopt by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who were +standing to speak to her. There was instant pleasure in the sight of +them, and still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound--for Mr. Weston +immediately accosted her with, + +“How d’ye do?--how d’ye do?--We have been sitting with your father--glad +to see him so well. Frank comes to-morrow--I had a letter this +morning--we see him to-morrow by dinner-time to a certainty--he is at +Oxford to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight; I knew it would be +so. If he had come at Christmas he could not have staid three days; I +was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going to have +just the right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather. We shall +enjoy him completely; every thing has turned out exactly as we could +wish.” + +There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the +influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston’s, confirmed as it all was +by the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not +less to the purpose. To know that _she_ thought his coming certain was +enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in +their joy. It was a most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits. +The worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming; and in +the rapidity of half a moment’s thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would now +be talked of no more. + +Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe, which +allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at his command, +as well as the route and the method of his journey; and she listened, +and smiled, and congratulated. + +“I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,” said he, at the conclusion. + +Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from his +wife. + +“We had better move on, Mr. Weston,” said she, “we are detaining the +girls.” + +“Well, well, I am ready;”--and turning again to Emma, “but you must +not be expecting such a _very_ fine young man; you have only +had _my_ account you know; I dare say he is really nothing +extraordinary:”--though his own sparkling eyes at the moment were +speaking a very different conviction. + +Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in a +manner that appropriated nothing. + +“Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four o’clock,” was Mrs. +Weston’s parting injunction; spoken with some anxiety, and meant only +for her. + +“Four o’clock!--depend upon it he will be here by three,” was Mr. +Weston’s quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting. +Emma’s spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; every thing wore +a different air; James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as +before. When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at least +must soon be coming out; and when she turned round to Harriet, she saw +something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there. + +“Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?”--was a +question, however, which did not augur much. + +But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once, and Emma +was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in time. + +The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs. Weston’s faithful +pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, or twelve o’clock, that +she was to think of her at four. + +“My dear, dear anxious friend,”--said she, in mental soliloquy, while +walking downstairs from her own room, “always overcareful for every +body’s comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, +going again and again into his room, to be sure that all is right.” + The clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall. “‘Tis twelve; +I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence; and by this +time to-morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the +possibility of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him +soon.” + +She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen sitting with her +father--Mr. Weston and his son. They had been arrived only a few +minutes, and Mr. Weston had scarcely finished his explanation of Frank’s +being a day before his time, and her father was yet in the midst of his +very civil welcome and congratulations, when she appeared, to have her +share of surprize, introduction, and pleasure. + +The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, was actually +before her--he was presented to her, and she did not think too much had +been said in his praise; he was a _very_ good looking young man; height, +air, address, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance had a great +deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father’s; he looked quick and +sensible. She felt immediately that she should like him; and there was +a well-bred ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, which convinced her +that he came intending to be acquainted with her, and that acquainted +they soon must be. + +He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was pleased with the +eagerness to arrive which had made him alter his plan, and travel +earlier, later, and quicker, that he might gain half a day. + +“I told you yesterday,” cried Mr. Weston with exultation, “I told you +all that he would be here before the time named. I remembered what I +used to do myself. One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help +getting on faster than one has planned; and the pleasure of coming in +upon one’s friends before the look-out begins, is worth a great deal +more than any little exertion it needs.” + +“It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it,” said the young +man, “though there are not many houses that I should presume on so far; +but in coming _home_ I felt I might do any thing.” + +The word _home_ made his father look on him with fresh complacency. +Emma was directly sure that he knew how to make himself agreeable; the +conviction was strengthened by what followed. He was very much pleased +with Randalls, thought it a most admirably arranged house, would hardly +allow it even to be very small, admired the situation, the walk to +Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed himself +to have always felt the sort of interest in the country which none but +one’s _own_ country gives, and the greatest curiosity to visit it. That +he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before, +passed suspiciously through Emma’s brain; but still, if it were a +falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled. His manner had +no air of study or exaggeration. He did really look and speak as if in a +state of no common enjoyment. + +Their subjects in general were such as belong to an opening +acquaintance. On his side were the inquiries,--“Was she a +horsewoman?--Pleasant rides?--Pleasant walks?--Had they a large +neighbourhood?--Highbury, perhaps, afforded society enough?--There were +several very pretty houses in and about it.--Balls--had they balls?--Was +it a musical society?” + +But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance +proportionably advanced, he contrived to find an opportunity, while +their two fathers were engaged with each other, of introducing his +mother-in-law, and speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much +warm admiration, so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to his +father, and her very kind reception of himself, as was an additional +proof of his knowing how to please--and of his certainly thinking it +worth while to try to please her. He did not advance a word of praise +beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs. Weston; but, +undoubtedly he could know very little of the matter. He understood +what would be welcome; he could be sure of little else. “His father’s +marriage,” he said, “had been the wisest measure, every friend must +rejoice in it; and the family from whom he had received such a blessing +must be ever considered as having conferred the highest obligation on +him.” + +He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor’s merits, +without seeming quite to forget that in the common course of things it +was to be rather supposed that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse’s +character, than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor’s. And at last, as if +resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling round to its +object, he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty of +her person. + +“Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for,” said he; “but I +confess that, considering every thing, I had not expected more than a +very tolerably well-looking woman of a certain age; I did not know that +I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston.” + +“You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for my feelings,” + said Emma; “were you to guess her to be _eighteen_, I should listen with +pleasure; but _she_ would be ready to quarrel with you for using such +words. Don’t let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a pretty +young woman.” + +“I hope I should know better,” he replied; “no, depend upon it, (with a +gallant bow,) that in addressing Mrs. Weston I should understand whom +I might praise without any danger of being thought extravagant in my +terms.” + +Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be expected from +their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of her mind, +had ever crossed his; and whether his compliments were to be considered +as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance. She must see more +of him to understand his ways; at present she only felt they were +agreeable. + +She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often thinking about. His quick +eye she detected again and again glancing towards them with a happy +expression; and even, when he might have determined not to look, she was +confident that he was often listening. + +Her own father’s perfect exemption from any thought of the kind, the +entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration or suspicion, +was a most comfortable circumstance. Happily he was not farther from +approving matrimony than from foreseeing it.--Though always objecting +to every marriage that was arranged, he never suffered beforehand from +the apprehension of any; it seemed as if he could not think so ill of +any two persons’ understanding as to suppose they meant to marry till it +were proved against them. She blessed the favouring blindness. He could +now, without the drawback of a single unpleasant surmise, without a +glance forward at any possible treachery in his guest, give way to all +his natural kind-hearted civility in solicitous inquiries after Mr. +Frank Churchill’s accommodation on his journey, through the sad evils +of sleeping two nights on the road, and express very genuine unmixed +anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped catching cold--which, +however, he could not allow him to feel quite assured of himself till +after another night. + +A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move.--“He must be going. +He had business at the Crown about his hay, and a great many errands for +Mrs. Weston at Ford’s, but he need not hurry any body else.” His son, +too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also, saying, + +“As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take the opportunity +of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or other, and therefore +may as well be paid now. I have the honour of being acquainted with +a neighbour of yours, (turning to Emma,) a lady residing in or near +Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty, +I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not +the proper name--I should rather say Barnes, or Bates. Do you know any +family of that name?” + +“To be sure we do,” cried his father; “Mrs. Bates--we passed her +house--I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, true, you are acquainted +with Miss Fairfax; I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl +she is. Call upon her, by all means.” + +“There is no necessity for my calling this morning,” said the young man; +“another day would do as well; but there was that degree of acquaintance +at Weymouth which--” + +“Oh! go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is right to be done +cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I must give you a hint, Frank; +any want of attention to her _here_ should be carefully avoided. You saw +her with the Campbells, when she was the equal of every body she mixed +with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother, who has barely enough +to live on. If you do not call early it will be a slight.” + +The son looked convinced. + +“I have heard her speak of the acquaintance,” said Emma; “she is a very +elegant young woman.” + +He agreed to it, but with so quiet a “Yes,” as inclined her almost to +doubt his real concurrence; and yet there must be a very distinct sort +of elegance for the fashionable world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought +only ordinarily gifted with it. + +“If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,” said she, +“I think you will to-day. You will see her to advantage; see her and +hear her--no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an +aunt who never holds her tongue.” + +“You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?” said Mr. +Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation; “then give +me leave to assure you that you will find her a very agreeable young +lady. She is staying here on a visit to her grandmama and aunt, very +worthy people; I have known them all my life. They will be extremely +glad to see you, I am sure; and one of my servants shall go with you to +shew you the way.” + +“My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my father can direct me.” + +“But your father is not going so far; he is only going to the Crown, +quite on the other side of the street, and there are a great many +houses; you might be very much at a loss, and it is a very dirty walk, +unless you keep on the footpath; but my coachman can tell you where you +had best cross the street.” + +Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious as he could, +and his father gave his hearty support by calling out, “My good friend, +this is quite unnecessary; Frank knows a puddle of water when he sees +it, and as to Mrs. Bates’s, he may get there from the Crown in a hop, +step, and jump.” + +They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial nod from one, and a +graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave. Emma remained +very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance, and could now +engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the day, with full +confidence in their comfort. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again. He came with Mrs. +Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially. He had +been sitting with her, it appeared, most companionably at home, till +her usual hour of exercise; and on being desired to chuse their walk, +immediately fixed on Highbury.--“He did not doubt there being very +pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him, he should always +chuse the same. Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Highbury, +would be his constant attraction.”--Highbury, with Mrs. Weston, stood +for Hartfield; and she trusted to its bearing the same construction with +him. They walked thither directly. + +Emma had hardly expected them: for Mr. Weston, who had called in for +half a minute, in order to hear that his son was very handsome, knew +nothing of their plans; and it was an agreeable surprize to her, +therefore, to perceive them walking up to the house together, arm in +arm. She was wanting to see him again, and especially to see him in +company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him +was to depend. If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends +for it. But on seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied. It +was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his +duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to +her--nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as +a friend and securing her affection. And there was time enough for Emma +to form a reasonable judgment, as their visit included all the rest of +the morning. They were all three walking about together for an hour +or two--first round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards +in Highbury. He was delighted with every thing; admired Hartfield +sufficiently for Mr. Woodhouse’s ear; and when their going farther was +resolved on, confessed his wish to be made acquainted with the whole +village, and found matter of commendation and interest much oftener than +Emma could have supposed. + +Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings. He +begged to be shewn the house which his father had lived in so long, and +which had been the home of his father’s father; and on recollecting that +an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of +her cottage from one end of the street to the other; and though in +some points of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit, they +shewed, altogether, a good-will towards Highbury in general, which must +be very like a merit to those he was with. + +Emma watched and decided, that with such feelings as were now shewn, it +could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily absenting +himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade of +insincere professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him +justice. + +Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable house, though +the principal one of the sort, where a couple of pair of post-horses +were kept, more for the convenience of the neighbourhood than from any +run on the road; and his companions had not expected to be detained by +any interest excited there; but in passing it they gave the history of +the large room visibly added; it had been built many years ago for +a ball-room, and while the neighbourhood had been in a particularly +populous, dancing state, had been occasionally used as such;--but such +brilliant days had long passed away, and now the highest purpose for +which it was ever wanted was to accommodate a whist club established +among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place. He was immediately +interested. Its character as a ball-room caught him; and instead of +passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior sashed +windows which were open, to look in and contemplate its capabilities, +and lament that its original purpose should have ceased. He saw no fault +in the room, he would acknowledge none which they suggested. No, it +was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough. It would hold the +very number for comfort. They ought to have balls there at least every +fortnight through the winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived +the former good old days of the room?--She who could do any thing in +Highbury! The want of proper families in the place, and the conviction +that none beyond the place and its immediate environs could be tempted +to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied. He could not be +persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw around him, could +not furnish numbers enough for such a meeting; and even when particulars +were given and families described, he was still unwilling to admit that +the inconvenience of such a mixture would be any thing, or that there +would be the smallest difficulty in every body’s returning into their +proper place the next morning. He argued like a young man very much bent +on dancing; and Emma was rather surprized to see the constitution of +the Weston prevail so decidedly against the habits of the Churchills. +He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social +inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or reserve of +Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his +indifference to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of +mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. +It was but an effusion of lively spirits. + +At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown; +and being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lodged, Emma +recollected his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had +paid it. + +“Yes, oh! yes”--he replied; “I was just going to mention it. A very +successful visit:--I saw all the three ladies; and felt very much +obliged to you for your preparatory hint. If the talking aunt had taken +me quite by surprize, it must have been the death of me. As it was, I +was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit. Ten minutes +would have been all that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper; and +I had told my father I should certainly be at home before him--but there +was no getting away, no pause; and, to my utter astonishment, I found, +when he (finding me nowhere else) joined me there at last, that I had +been actually sitting with them very nearly three-quarters of an hour. +The good lady had not given me the possibility of escape before.” + +“And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?” + +“Ill, very ill--that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look +ill. But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies +can never look ill. And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so +pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill health.--A most +deplorable want of complexion.” + +Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax’s +complexion. “It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not +allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was a softness and +delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of +her face.” He listened with all due deference; acknowledged that he had +heard many people say the same--but yet he must confess, that to him +nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health. Where +features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to them all; +and where they were good, the effect was--fortunately he need not +attempt to describe what the effect was. + +“Well,” said Emma, “there is no disputing about taste.--At least you +admire her except her complexion.” + +He shook his head and laughed.--“I cannot separate Miss Fairfax and her +complexion.” + +“Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same society?” + +At this moment they were approaching Ford’s, and he hastily exclaimed, +“Ha! this must be the very shop that every body attends every day of +their lives, as my father informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he +says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford’s. +If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove +myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must +buy something at Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom.--I dare say +they sell gloves.” + +“Oh! yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your patriotism. You will +be adored in Highbury. You were very popular before you came, because +you were Mr. Weston’s son--but lay out half a guinea at Ford’s, and your +popularity will stand upon your own virtues.” + +They went in; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of “Men’s Beavers” + and “York Tan” were bringing down and displaying on the counter, he +said--“But I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, +you were saying something at the very moment of this burst of my _amor_ +_patriae_. Do not let me lose it. I assure you the utmost stretch of +public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any happiness in +private life.” + +“I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and her +party at Weymouth.” + +“And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it to be a +very unfair one. It is always the lady’s right to decide on the degree +of acquaintance. Miss Fairfax must already have given her account.--I +shall not commit myself by claiming more than she may chuse to allow.” + +“Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as she could do herself. But +her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, she is so very +reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about any +body, that I really think you may say what you like of your acquaintance +with her.” + +“May I, indeed?--Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so +well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a +little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. +Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a friendly, +warm-hearted woman. I like them all.” + +“You know Miss Fairfax’s situation in life, I conclude; what she is +destined to be?” + +“Yes--(rather hesitatingly)--I believe I do.” + +“You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,” said Mrs. Weston smiling; +“remember that I am here.--Mr. Frank Churchill hardly knows what to say +when you speak of Miss Fairfax’s situation in life. I will move a little +farther off.” + +“I certainly do forget to think of _her_,” said Emma, “as having ever +been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend.” + +He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment. + +When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again, “Did +you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?” said Frank +Churchill. + +“Ever hear her!” repeated Emma. “You forget how much she belongs to +Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since we both began. +She plays charmingly.” + +“You think so, do you?--I wanted the opinion of some one who +could really judge. She appeared to me to play well, that is, with +considerable taste, but I know nothing of the matter myself.--I am +excessively fond of music, but without the smallest skill or right +of judging of any body’s performance.--I have been used to hear her’s +admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well:--a +man, a very musical man, and in love with another woman--engaged to +her--on the point of marriage--would yet never ask that other woman +to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down +instead--never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other. +That, I thought, in a man of known musical talent, was some proof.” + +“Proof indeed!” said Emma, highly amused.--“Mr. Dixon is very musical, +is he? We shall know more about them all, in half an hour, from you, +than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year.” + +“Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought it a +very strong proof.” + +“Certainly--very strong it was; to own the truth, a great deal stronger +than, if _I_ had been Miss Campbell, would have been at all agreeable +to me. I could not excuse a man’s having more music than love--more ear +than eye--a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings. +How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?” + +“It was her very particular friend, you know.” + +“Poor comfort!” said Emma, laughing. “One would rather have a stranger +preferred than one’s very particular friend--with a stranger it might +not recur again--but the misery of having a very particular friend +always at hand, to do every thing better than one does oneself!--Poor +Mrs. Dixon! Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland.” + +“You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell; but she +really did not seem to feel it.” + +“So much the better--or so much the worse:--I do not know which. But +be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her--quickness of friendship, or +dulness of feeling--there was one person, I think, who must have felt +it: Miss Fairfax herself. She must have felt the improper and dangerous +distinction.” + +“As to that--I do not--” + +“Oh! do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax’s +sensations from you, or from any body else. They are known to no human +being, I guess, but herself. But if she continued to play whenever she +was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chuses.” + +“There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them all--” + he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added, “however, it is +impossible for me to say on what terms they really were--how it might +all be behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness +outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be +a better judge of her character, and of how she is likely to conduct +herself in critical situations, than I can be.” + +“I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children +and women together; and it is natural to suppose that we should be +intimate,--that we should have taken to each other whenever she visited +her friends. But we never did. I hardly know how it has happened; a +little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which was prone to take +disgust towards a girl so idolized and so cried up as she always was, +by her aunt and grandmother, and all their set. And then, her reserve--I +never could attach myself to any one so completely reserved.” + +“It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,” said he. “Oftentimes very +convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, +but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.” + +“Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction +may be the greater. But I must be more in want of a friend, or an +agreeable companion, than I have yet been, to take the trouble of +conquering any body’s reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss +Fairfax and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason to think +ill of her--not the least--except that such extreme and perpetual +cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea +about any body, is apt to suggest suspicions of there being something to +conceal.” + +He perfectly agreed with her: and after walking together so long, and +thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him, +that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting. He was +not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world in some +of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better +than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate--his feelings +warmer. She was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr. +Elton’s house, which, as well as the church, he would go and look at, +and would not join them in finding much fault with. No, he could not +believe it a bad house; not such a house as a man was to be pitied for +having. If it were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not +think any man to be pitied for having that house. There must be ample +room in it for every real comfort. The man must be a blockhead who +wanted more. + +Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking about. +Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how many +advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could be no +judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one. But Emma, +in her own mind, determined that he _did_ know what he was talking +about, and that he shewed a very amiable inclination to settle early in +life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He might not be aware of the +inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no housekeeper’s room, or +a bad butler’s pantry, but no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe +could not make him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would +willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early establishment. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Emma’s very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the +following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to have +his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and +he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner, +but with no more important view that appeared than having his hair cut. +There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over +on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it +which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of +plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, +which she had believed herself to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, +extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be +doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his +father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct might appear +in general; he became liable to all these charges. His father only +called him a coxcomb, and thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. +Weston did not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as +quickly as possible, and making no other comment than that “all young +people would have their little whims.” + +With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit +hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs. Weston +was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made +himself--how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He +appeared to have a very open temper--certainly a very cheerful and +lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions, a great deal +decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard, was fond of +talking of him--said he would be the best man in the world if he were +left to himself; and though there was no being attached to the aunt, he +acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and seemed to mean always to +speak of her with respect. This was all very promising; and, but for +such an unfortunate fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to +denote him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her imagination +had given him; the honour, if not of being really in love with her, +of being at least very near it, and saved only by her own +indifference--(for still her resolution held of never marrying)--the +honour, in short, of being marked out for her by all their joint +acquaintance. + +Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must +have some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired her +extremely--thought her very beautiful and very charming; and with so +much to be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him +harshly. As Mrs. Weston observed, “all young people would have their +little whims.” + +There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so +leniently disposed. In general he was judged, throughout the parishes of +Donwell and Highbury, with great candour; liberal allowances were made +for the little excesses of such a handsome young man--one who smiled so +often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit among them not to be +softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles--Mr. Knightley. +The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was +silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to himself, +over a newspaper he held in his hand, “Hum! just the trifling, silly +fellow I took him for.” She had half a mind to resent; but an instant’s +observation convinced her that it was really said only to relieve his +own feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore she let it pass. + +Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr. and +Mrs. Weston’s visit this morning was in another respect particularly +opportune. Something occurred while they were at Hartfield, to make Emma +want their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly +the advice they gave. + +This was the occurrence:--The Coles had been settled some years in +Highbury, and were very good sort of people--friendly, liberal, and +unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, +and only moderately genteel. On their first coming into the country, +they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly, keeping little +company, and that little unexpensively; but the last year or two had +brought them a considerable increase of means--the house in town had +yielded greater profits, and fortune in general had smiled on them. With +their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger house, their +inclination for more company. They added to their house, to their number +of servants, to their expenses of every sort; and by this time were, +in fortune and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield. +Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared every body +for their keeping dinner-company; and a few parties, chiefly among the +single men, had already taken place. The regular and best families Emma +could hardly suppose they would presume to invite--neither Donwell, nor +Hartfield, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt _her_ to go, if they did; +and she regretted that her father’s known habits would be giving +her refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very +respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not +for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit +them. This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from +herself; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston. + +But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many weeks +before it appeared, that when the insult came at last, it found her +very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their +invitation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs. +Weston’s accounting for it with “I suppose they will not take the +liberty with you; they know you do not dine out,” was not quite +sufficient. She felt that she should like to have had the power of +refusal; and afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there, +consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, occurred +again and again, she did not know that she might not have been tempted +to accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They +had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before, +and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might +not the evening end in a dance? had been a question of his. The bare +possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits; and +her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission to be +intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort. + +It was the arrival of this very invitation while the Westons were at +Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though her first +remark, on reading it, was that “of course it must be declined,” she so +very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do, that their +advice for her going was most prompt and successful. + +She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely +without inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so +properly--there was so much real attention in the manner of it--so much +consideration for her father. “They would have solicited the honour +earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen from +London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of +air, and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the honour +of his company.” Upon the whole, she was very persuadable; and it being +briefly settled among themselves how it might be done without neglecting +his comfort--how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be +depended on for bearing him company--Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked +into an acquiescence of his daughter’s going out to dinner on a day now +near at hand, and spending the whole evening away from him. As for _his_ +going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible, the hours would be +too late, and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned. + +“I am not fond of dinner-visiting,” said he--“I never was. No more is +Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole +should have done it. I think it would be much better if they would come +in one afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us--take us +in their afternoon walk; which they might do, as our hours are so +reasonable, and yet get home without being out in the damp of the +evening. The dews of a summer evening are what I would not expose any +body to. However, as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine +with them, and as you will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take +care of her, I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what +it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor windy.” Then turning to Mrs. +Weston, with a look of gentle reproach--“Ah! Miss Taylor, if you had not +married, you would have staid at home with me.” + +“Well, sir,” cried Mr. Weston, “as I took Miss Taylor away, it is +incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will step to Mrs. +Goddard in a moment, if you wish it.” + +But the idea of any thing to be done in a _moment_, was increasing, +not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse’s agitation. The ladies knew better how +to allay it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, and every thing deliberately +arranged. + +With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough for talking +as usual. “He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard +for Mrs. Goddard; and Emma should write a line, and invite her. James +could take the note. But first of all, there must be an answer written +to Mrs. Cole.” + +“You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will say +that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore must decline +their obliging invitation; beginning with my _compliments_, of course. +But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you what is to be +done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage will be +wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him. We have never +been there above once since the new approach was made; but still I have +no doubt that James will take you very safely. And when you get there, +you must tell him at what time you would have him come for you again; +and you had better name an early hour. You will not like staying late. +You will get very tired when tea is over.” + +“But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?” + +“Oh! no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be a great many +people talking at once. You will not like the noise.” + +“But, my dear sir,” cried Mr. Weston, “if Emma comes away early, it will +be breaking up the party.” + +“And no great harm if it does,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “The sooner every +party breaks up, the better.” + +“But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma’s going +away directly after tea might be giving offence. They are good-natured +people, and think little of their own claims; but still they must +feel that any body’s hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss +Woodhouse’s doing it would be more thought of than any other person’s in +the room. You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am +sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have +been your neighbours these _ten_ years.” + +“No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston; I am much obliged to +you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any +pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole +never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but +he is bilious--Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the means +of giving them any pain. My dear Emma, we must consider this. I am sure, +rather than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would stay a +little longer than you might wish. You will not regard being tired. You +will be perfectly safe, you know, among your friends.” + +“Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have no +scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account. I am +only afraid of your sitting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being +exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves piquet, you +know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid you will be sitting up by +yourself, instead of going to bed at your usual time--and the idea of +that would entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit +up.” + +He did, on the condition of some promises on her side: such as that, +if she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly; if +hungry, that she would take something to eat; that her own maid should +sit up for her; and that Serle and the butler should see that every +thing were safe in the house, as usual. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Frank Churchill came back again; and if he kept his father’s dinner +waiting, it was not known at Hartfield; for Mrs. Weston was too anxious +for his being a favourite with Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection +which could be concealed. + +He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at himself with a very +good grace, but without seeming really at all ashamed of what he had +done. He had no reason to wish his hair longer, to conceal any confusion +of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve his spirits. +He was quite as undaunted and as lively as ever; and, after seeing him, +Emma thus moralised to herself:-- + +“I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things +do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent +way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.--It +depends upon the character of those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is +_not_ a trifling, silly young man. If he were, he would have done this +differently. He would either have gloried in the achievement, or +been ashamed of it. There would have been either the ostentation of +a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend its own +vanities.--No, I am perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly.” + +With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing him again, and for +a longer time than hitherto; of judging of his general manners, and by +inference, of the meaning of his manners towards herself; of guessing +how soon it might be necessary for her to throw coldness into her air; +and of fancying what the observations of all those might be, who were +now seeing them together for the first time. + +She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being laid at Mr. +Cole’s; and without being able to forget that among the failings of Mr. +Elton, even in the days of his favour, none had disturbed her more than +his propensity to dine with Mr. Cole. + +Her father’s comfort was amply secured, Mrs. Bates as well as Mrs. +Goddard being able to come; and her last pleasing duty, before she left +the house, was to pay her respects to them as they sat together after +dinner; and while her father was fondly noticing the beauty of her +dress, to make the two ladies all the amends in her power, by helping +them to large slices of cake and full glasses of wine, for whatever +unwilling self-denial his care of their constitution might have obliged +them to practise during the meal.--She had provided a plentiful dinner +for them; she wished she could know that they had been allowed to eat +it. + +She followed another carriage to Mr. Cole’s door; and was pleased to see +that it was Mr. Knightley’s; for Mr. Knightley keeping no horses, +having little spare money and a great deal of health, activity, and +independence, was too apt, in Emma’s opinion, to get about as he could, +and not use his carriage so often as became the owner of Donwell Abbey. +She had an opportunity now of speaking her approbation while warm from +her heart, for he stopped to hand her out. + +“This is coming as you should do,” said she; “like a gentleman.--I am +quite glad to see you.” + +He thanked her, observing, “How lucky that we should arrive at the same +moment! for, if we had met first in the drawing-room, I doubt whether +you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual.--You +might not have distinguished how I came, by my look or manner.” + +“Yes I should, I am sure I should. There is always a look of +consciousness or bustle when people come in a way which they know to be +beneath them. You think you carry it off very well, I dare say, but +with you it is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; I always +observe it whenever I meet you under those circumstances. _Now_ you have +nothing to try for. You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed. You +are not striving to look taller than any body else. _Now_ I shall really +be very happy to walk into the same room with you.” + +“Nonsensical girl!” was his reply, but not at all in anger. + +Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of the party as +with Mr. Knightley. She was received with a cordial respect which could +not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish for. +When the Westons arrived, the kindest looks of love, the strongest of +admiration were for her, from both husband and wife; the son approached +her with a cheerful eagerness which marked her as his peculiar object, +and at dinner she found him seated by her--and, as she firmly believed, +not without some dexterity on his side. + +The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper +unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of +naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox’s family, +the lawyer of Highbury. The less worthy females were to come in the +evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith; but already, +at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of conversation to be +general; and, while politics and Mr. Elton were talked over, Emma could +fairly surrender all her attention to the pleasantness of her neighbour. +The first remote sound to which she felt herself obliged to attend, was +the name of Jane Fairfax. Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something of +her that was expected to be very interesting. She listened, and found +it well worth listening to. That very dear part of Emma, her fancy, +received an amusing supply. Mrs. Cole was telling that she had been +calling on Miss Bates, and as soon as she entered the room had +been struck by the sight of a pianoforte--a very elegant looking +instrument--not a grand, but a large-sized square pianoforte; and the +substance of the story, the end of all the dialogue which ensued of +surprize, and inquiry, and congratulations on her side, and explanations +on Miss Bates’s, was, that this pianoforte had arrived from +Broadwood’s the day before, to the great astonishment of both aunt and +niece--entirely unexpected; that at first, by Miss Bates’s account, +Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who could +possibly have ordered it--but now, they were both perfectly satisfied +that it could be from only one quarter;--of course it must be from +Colonel Campbell. + +“One can suppose nothing else,” added Mrs. Cole, “and I was only +surprized that there could ever have been a doubt. But Jane, it seems, +had a letter from them very lately, and not a word was said about it. +She knows their ways best; but I should not consider their silence as +any reason for their not meaning to make the present. They might chuse +to surprize her.” + +Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; every body who spoke on the +subject was equally convinced that it must come from Colonel Campbell, +and equally rejoiced that such a present had been made; and there were +enough ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still +listen to Mrs. Cole. + +“I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing that has given me +more satisfaction!--It always has quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who +plays so delightfully, should not have an instrument. It seemed quite +a shame, especially considering how many houses there are where fine +instruments are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving ourselves +a slap, to be sure! and it was but yesterday I was telling Mr. Cole, +I really was ashamed to look at our new grand pianoforte in the +drawing-room, while I do not know one note from another, and our little +girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps may never make any thing of +it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax, who is mistress of music, has not +any thing of the nature of an instrument, not even the pitifullest old +spinet in the world, to amuse herself with.--I was saying this to +Mr. Cole but yesterday, and he quite agreed with me; only he is so +particularly fond of music that he could not help indulging himself +in the purchase, hoping that some of our good neighbours might be so +obliging occasionally to put it to a better use than we can; and that +really is the reason why the instrument was bought--or else I am sure +we ought to be ashamed of it.--We are in great hopes that Miss Woodhouse +may be prevailed with to try it this evening.” + +Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence; and finding that nothing +more was to be entrapped from any communication of Mrs. Cole’s, turned +to Frank Churchill. + +“Why do you smile?” said she. + +“Nay, why do you?” + +“Me!--I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Campbell’s being so rich +and so liberal.--It is a handsome present.” + +“Very.” + +“I rather wonder that it was never made before.” + +“Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long before.” + +“Or that he did not give her the use of their own instrument--which must +now be shut up in London, untouched by any body.” + +“That is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too large for Mrs. +Bates’s house.” + +“You may _say_ what you chuse--but your countenance testifies that your +_thoughts_ on this subject are very much like mine.” + +“I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me more credit for +acuteness than I deserve. I smile because you smile, and shall probably +suspect whatever I find you suspect; but at present I do not see what +there is to question. If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can +be?” + +“What do you say to Mrs. Dixon?” + +“Mrs. Dixon! very true indeed. I had not thought of Mrs. Dixon. She must +know as well as her father, how acceptable an instrument would be; and +perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young +woman’s scheme than an elderly man’s. It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say. I +told you that your suspicions would guide mine.” + +“If so, you must extend your suspicions and comprehend _Mr_. Dixon in +them.” + +“Mr. Dixon.--Very well. Yes, I immediately perceive that it must be the +joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. We were speaking the other day, you +know, of his being so warm an admirer of her performance.” + +“Yes, and what you told me on that head, confirmed an idea which I had +entertained before.--I do not mean to reflect upon the good intentions +of either Mr. Dixon or Miss Fairfax, but I cannot help suspecting either +that, after making his proposals to her friend, he had the misfortune +to fall in love with _her_, or that he became conscious of a little +attachment on her side. One might guess twenty things without guessing +exactly the right; but I am sure there must be a particular cause for +her chusing to come to Highbury instead of going with the Campbells +to Ireland. Here, she must be leading a life of privation and penance; +there it would have been all enjoyment. As to the pretence of trying her +native air, I look upon that as a mere excuse.--In the summer it might +have passed; but what can any body’s native air do for them in the +months of January, February, and March? Good fires and carriages would +be much more to the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and I dare +say in her’s. I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions, though +you make so noble a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what +they are.” + +“And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability. Mr. Dixon’s +preference of her music to her friend’s, I can answer for being very +decided.” + +“And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of that?--A water +party; and by some accident she was falling overboard. He caught her.” + +“He did. I was there--one of the party.” + +“Were you really?--Well!--But you observed nothing of course, for it +seems to be a new idea to you.--If I had been there, I think I should +have made some discoveries.” + +“I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that +Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught +her.--It was the work of a moment. And though the consequent shock and +alarm was very great and much more durable--indeed I believe it was +half an hour before any of us were comfortable again--yet that was too +general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be +observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have made +discoveries.” + +The conversation was here interrupted. They were called on to share +in the awkwardness of a rather long interval between the courses, and +obliged to be as formal and as orderly as the others; but when the table +was again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed exactly +right, and occupation and ease were generally restored, Emma said, + +“The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted to know +a little more, and this tells me quite enough. Depend upon it, we shall +soon hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.” + +“And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must +conclude it to come from the Campbells.” + +“No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows it is +not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first. She +would not have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have +convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr. +Dixon is a principal in the business.” + +“Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced. Your reasonings +carry my judgment along with them entirely. At first, while I supposed +you satisfied that Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as +paternal kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the world. +But when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it +should be the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I can see it in +no other light than as an offering of love.” + +There was no occasion to press the matter farther. The conviction seemed +real; he looked as if he felt it. She said no more, other subjects +took their turn; and the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert +succeeded, the children came in, and were talked to and admired amid the +usual rate of conversation; a few clever things said, a few downright +silly, but by much the larger proportion neither the one nor the +other--nothing worse than everyday remarks, dull repetitions, old news, +and heavy jokes. + +The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room, before the other +ladies, in their different divisions, arrived. Emma watched the entree +of her own particular little friend; and if she could not exult in her +dignity and grace, she could not only love the blooming sweetness and +the artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light, +cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her so many +alleviations of pleasure, in the midst of the pangs of disappointed +affection. There she sat--and who would have guessed how many tears she +had been lately shedding? To be in company, nicely dressed herself and +seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say +nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour. Jane Fairfax +did look and move superior; but Emma suspected she might have been +glad to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have purchased the +mortification of having loved--yes, of having loved even Mr. Elton in +vain--by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of knowing herself +beloved by the husband of her friend. + +In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should approach her. +She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, she felt too much in the +secret herself, to think the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, +and therefore purposely kept at a distance; but by the others, the +subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the blush of +consciousness with which congratulations were received, the blush +of guilt which accompanied the name of “my excellent friend Colonel +Campbell.” + +Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly interested +by the circumstance, and Emma could not help being amused at her +perseverance in dwelling on the subject; and having so much to ask and +to say as to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish +of saying as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the +fair heroine’s countenance. + +They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen; and the very first +of the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, the first and the +handsomest; and after paying his compliments en passant to Miss Bates +and her niece, made his way directly to the opposite side of the circle, +where sat Miss Woodhouse; and till he could find a seat by her, would +not sit at all. Emma divined what every body present must be thinking. +She was his object, and every body must perceive it. She introduced him +to her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards, heard +what each thought of the other. “He had never seen so lovely a face, and +was delighted with her naivete.” And she, “Only to be sure it was paying +him too great a compliment, but she did think there were some looks a +little like Mr. Elton.” Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned +from her in silence. + +Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first +glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech. +He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining-room--hated +sitting long--was always the first to move when he could--that his +father, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were left very busy over +parish business--that as long as he had staid, however, it had been +pleasant enough, as he had found them in general a set of gentlemanlike, +sensible men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether--thought it +so abundant in agreeable families--that Emma began to feel she had been +used to despise the place rather too much. She questioned him as to the +society in Yorkshire--the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, +and the sort; and could make out from his answers that, as far as +Enscombe was concerned, there was very little going on, that their +visitings were among a range of great families, none very near; and +that even when days were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even +chance that Mrs. Churchill were not in health and spirits for going; +that they made a point of visiting no fresh person; and that, though +he had his separate engagements, it was not without difficulty, without +considerable address _at_ _times_, that he could get away, or introduce +an acquaintance for a night. + +She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at +its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at +home than he liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did +not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his +aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing +it, he owned that he believed (excepting one or two points) he could +_with_ _time_ persuade her to any thing. One of those points on which +his influence failed, he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to +go abroad--had been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel--but she +would not hear of it. This had happened the year before. _Now_, he said, +he was beginning to have no longer the same wish. + +The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma guessed to be +good behaviour to his father. + +“I have made a most wretched discovery,” said he, after a short pause.-- +“I have been here a week to-morrow--half my time. I never knew days fly +so fast. A week to-morrow!--And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. +But just got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others!--I hate the +recollection.” + +“Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out +of so few, in having your hair cut.” + +“No,” said he, smiling, “that is no subject of regret at all. I have +no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be +seen.” + +The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself +obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole. When +Mr. Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, +she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss +Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite. + +“What is the matter?” said she. + +He started. “Thank you for rousing me,” he replied. “I believe I have +been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a +way--so very odd a way--that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw +any thing so outree!--Those curls!--This must be a fancy of her own. I +see nobody else looking like her!--I must go and ask her whether it +is an Irish fashion. Shall I?--Yes, I will--I declare I will--and you +shall see how she takes it;--whether she colours.” + +He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss +Fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on the young lady, +as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in +front of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing. + +Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs. Weston. + +“This is the luxury of a large party,” said she:--“one can get near +every body, and say every thing. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk +to you. I have been making discoveries and forming plans, just like +yourself, and I must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how +Miss Bates and her niece came here?” + +“How?--They were invited, were not they?” + +“Oh! yes--but how they were conveyed hither?--the manner of their +coming?” + +“They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?” + +“Very true.--Well, a little while ago it occurred to me how very sad +it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again, late at night, and +cold as the nights are now. And as I looked at her, though I never saw +her appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and +would therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor girl! I could +not bear the idea of it; so, as soon as Mr. Weston came into the room, +and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the carriage. You may guess +how readily he came into my wishes; and having his approbation, I made +my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be +at her service before it took us home; for I thought it would be making +her comfortable at once. Good soul! she was as grateful as possible, you +may be sure. ‘Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!’--but with many, +many thanks--‘there was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley’s +carriage had brought, and was to take them home again.’ I was quite +surprized;--very glad, I am sure; but really quite surprized. Such a +very kind attention--and so thoughtful an attention!--the sort of thing +that so few men would think of. And, in short, from knowing his +usual ways, I am very much inclined to think that it was for their +accommodation the carriage was used at all. I do suspect he would not +have had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as an excuse +for assisting them.” + +“Very likely,” said Emma--“nothing more likely. I know no man more +likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing--to do any thing +really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a +gallant man, but he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane +Fairfax’s ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him;--and for +an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on +more than on Mr. Knightley. I know he had horses to-day--for we arrived +together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that +could betray.” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Weston, smiling, “you give him credit for more simple, +disinterested benevolence in this instance than I do; for while Miss +Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never +been able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more probable +it appears. In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane +Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping you company!--What do you say to +it?” + +“Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax!” exclaimed Emma. “Dear Mrs. Weston, how +could you think of such a thing?--Mr. Knightley!--Mr. Knightley must not +marry!--You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell?--Oh! no, +no, Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley’s +marrying; and I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you +should think of such a thing.” + +“My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do not want +the match--I do not want to injure dear little Henry--but the idea has +been given me by circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to +marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry’s account, a boy of six +years old, who knows nothing of the matter?” + +“Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.--Mr. +Knightley marry!--No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt +it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!” + +“Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well +know.” + +“But the imprudence of such a match!” + +“I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its probability.” + +“I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than +what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would +be quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the +Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax--and is always glad to +shew them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. +You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!--Oh! no, +no;--every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so +mad a thing.” + +“Imprudent, if you please--but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, +and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable.” + +“But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the +least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry?--He +is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and +his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of +his brother’s children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up +his time or his heart.” + +“My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves +Jane Fairfax--” + +“Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, I am +sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family; but--” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Weston, laughing, “perhaps the greatest good he could +do them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home.” + +“If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a +very shameful and degrading connexion. How would he bear to have Miss +Bates belonging to him?--To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking +him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?--‘So very +kind and obliging!--But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!’ +And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old +petticoat. ‘Not that it was such a very old petticoat either--for still +it would last a great while--and, indeed, she must thankfully say that +their petticoats were all very strong.’” + +“For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. +And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed +by Miss Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on; and +if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder, and +drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be a bad +connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I have +heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax! The +interest he takes in her--his anxiety about her health--his concern that +she should have no happier prospect! I have heard him express himself +so warmly on those points!--Such an admirer of her performance on the +pianoforte, and of her voice! I have heard him say that he could listen +to her for ever. Oh! and I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred +to me--this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody--though +we have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the +Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley? I cannot help suspecting +him. I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in +love.” + +“Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I do not +think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr. Knightley does +nothing mysteriously.” + +“I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly; oftener +than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of +things, occur to him.” + +“Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told +her so.” + +“There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very strong +notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly silent when +Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner.” + +“You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have +many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment--I +believe nothing of the pianoforte--and proof only shall convince me that +Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.” + +They combated the point some time longer in the same way; Emma rather +gaining ground over the mind of her friend; for Mrs. Weston was the most +used of the two to yield; till a little bustle in the room shewed them +that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation;--and at the same +moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the +honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her +conversation with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that +he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr. Cole, to add his very +pressing entreaties; and as, in every respect, it suited Emma best to +lead, she gave a very proper compliance. + +She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than +she could perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in +the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany +her own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by +surprize--a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her +pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every thing usual +followed. He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect +knowledge of music; which was properly denied; and that he knew nothing +of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted. They sang +together once more; and Emma would then resign her place to Miss +Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could +attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own. + +With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the +numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again. +They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the +sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half +Emma’s mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of +Mrs. Weston’s suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices +gave only momentary interruptions. Her objections to Mr. Knightley’s +marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil +in it. It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; +consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children--a most +mortifying change, and material loss to them all;--a very great +deduction from her father’s daily comfort--and, as to herself, she could +not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. +Knightley for them all to give way to!--No--Mr. Knightley must never +marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell. + +Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her. They +talked at first only of the performance. His admiration was certainly +very warm; yet she thought, but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have +struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his +kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer was in +the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate only +his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own. + +“I often feel concern,” said she, “that I dare not make our carriage +more useful on such occasions. It is not that I am without the wish; but +you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put-to +for such a purpose.” + +“Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,” he +replied;--“but you must often wish it, I am sure.” And he smiled with +such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another +step. + +“This present from the Campbells,” said she--“this pianoforte is very +kindly given.” + +“Yes,” he replied, and without the smallest apparent +embarrassment.--“But they would have done better had they given +her notice of it. Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not +enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have +expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell.” + +From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had +had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were +entirely free from peculiar attachment--whether there were no actual +preference--remained a little longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane’s +second song, her voice grew thick. + +“That will do,” said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud--“you have +sung quite enough for one evening--now be quiet.” + +Another song, however, was soon begged for. “One more;--they would not +fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more.” + And Frank Churchill was heard to say, “I think you could manage this +without effort; the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the +song falls on the second.” + +Mr. Knightley grew angry. + +“That fellow,” said he, indignantly, “thinks of nothing but shewing off +his own voice. This must not be.” And touching Miss Bates, who at that +moment passed near--“Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing +herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on +her.” + +Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to +be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther +singing. Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse +and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within +five minutes) the proposal of dancing--originating nobody exactly knew +where--was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole, that every +thing was rapidly clearing away, to give proper space. Mrs. Weston, +capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible +waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to +Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the top. + +While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off, +Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she was receiving on +her voice and her taste, to look about, and see what became of Mr. +Knightley. This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he +were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur +something. There was no immediate appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs. +Cole--he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, +and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole. + +Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest was yet safe; and +she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment. Not more than +five couple could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness of +it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched in a +partner. They were a couple worth looking at. + +Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed. It was +growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother’s +account. After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again, +they were obliged to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done. + +“Perhaps it is as well,” said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to +her carriage. “I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing +would not have agreed with me, after yours.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. The visit +afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that she +might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion, must +be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity. She must have delighted +the Coles--worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!--And left a +name behind her that would not soon die away. + +Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were two +points on which she was not quite easy. She doubted whether she had not +transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of +Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right; but it +had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission +to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration, which made +it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her +tongue. + +The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax; and +there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the +inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily +grieve over the idleness of her childhood--and sat down and practised +vigorously an hour and a half. + +She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming in; and if Harriet’s praise +could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted. + +“Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!” + +“Don’t class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like her’s, +than a lamp is like sunshine.” + +“Oh! dear--I think you play the best of the two. I think you play quite +as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you. Every body +last night said how well you played.” + +“Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference. The +truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, +but Jane Fairfax’s is much beyond it.” + +“Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or +that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out. Mr. Cole +said how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal +about your taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution.” + +“Ah! but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.” + +“Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any +taste. Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing.--There is no +understanding a word of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you +know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have to +teach. The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get into +any great family. How did you think the Coxes looked?” + +“Just as they always do--very vulgar.” + +“They told me something,” said Harriet rather hesitatingly; “but it is +nothing of any consequence.” + +Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its +producing Mr. Elton. + +“They told me--that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday.” + +“Oh!” + +“He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay to +dinner.” + +“Oh!” + +“They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do not know +what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there +again next summer.” + +“She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should +be.” + +“She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat by her at +dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry +him.” + +“Very likely.--I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar +girls in Highbury.” + +Harriet had business at Ford’s.--Emma thought it most prudent to go with +her. Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible, and in +her present state, would be dangerous. + +Harriet, tempted by every thing and swayed by half a word, was always +very long at a purchase; and while she was still hanging over muslins +and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement.--Much could +not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury;--Mr. +Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the +office-door, Mr. Cole’s carriage-horses returning from exercise, or a +stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she +could presume to expect; and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with +his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop with her full +basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling +children round the baker’s little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she +knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused enough; quite enough +still to stand at the door. A mind lively and at ease, can do with +seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer. + +She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged; two persons +appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law; they were walking into +Highbury;--to Hartfield of course. They were stopping, however, in the +first place at Mrs. Bates’s; whose house was a little nearer +Randalls than Ford’s; and had all but knocked, when Emma caught their +eye.--Immediately they crossed the road and came forward to her; and the +agreeableness of yesterday’s engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to +the present meeting. Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call +on the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument. + +“For my companion tells me,” said she, “that I absolutely promised Miss +Bates last night, that I would come this morning. I was not aware of it +myself. I did not know that I had fixed a day, but as he says I did, I +am going now.” + +“And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope,” said +Frank Churchill, “to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield--if +you are going home.” + +Mrs. Weston was disappointed. + +“I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased.” + +“Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps--I may be equally in the +way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me. My aunt always +sends me off when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death; and +Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same. What am I to +do?” + +“I am here on no business of my own,” said Emma; “I am only waiting for +my friend. She will probably have soon done, and then we shall go home. +But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument.” + +“Well--if you advise it.--But (with a smile) if Colonel Campbell should +have employed a careless friend, and if it should prove to have an +indifferent tone--what shall I say? I shall be no support to Mrs. +Weston. She might do very well by herself. A disagreeable truth would be +palatable through her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the world +at a civil falsehood.” + +“I do not believe any such thing,” replied Emma.--“I am persuaded that +you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary; but +there is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent. Quite +otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax’s opinion last night.” + +“Do come with me,” said Mrs. Weston, “if it be not very disagreeable to +you. It need not detain us long. We will go to Hartfield afterwards. +We will follow them to Hartfield. I really wish you to call with me. It +will be felt so great an attention! and I always thought you meant it.” + +He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him, +returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates’s door. Emma watched them in, +and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter,--trying, with all +the force of her own mind, to convince her that if she wanted plain +muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and that a blue ribbon, be +it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow pattern. At +last it was all settled, even to the destination of the parcel. + +“Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard’s, ma’am?” asked Mrs. +Ford.--“Yes--no--yes, to Mrs. Goddard’s. Only my pattern gown is at +Hartfield. No, you shall send it to Hartfield, if you please. But then, +Mrs. Goddard will want to see it.--And I could take the pattern gown +home any day. But I shall want the ribbon directly--so it had better go +to Hartfield--at least the ribbon. You could make it into two parcels, +Mrs. Ford, could not you?” + +“It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble of two +parcels.” + +“No more it is.” + +“No trouble in the world, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Ford. + +“Oh! but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. Then, if you +please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard’s--I do not know--No, I +think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and +take it home with me at night. What do you advise?” + +“That you do not give another half-second to the subject. To Hartfield, +if you please, Mrs. Ford.” + +“Aye, that will be much best,” said Harriet, quite satisfied, “I should +not at all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard’s.” + +Voices approached the shop--or rather one voice and two ladies: Mrs. +Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door. + +“My dear Miss Woodhouse,” said the latter, “I am just run across to +entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a little while, +and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you and Miss Smith. How +do you do, Miss Smith?--Very well I thank you.--And I begged Mrs. Weston +to come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding.” + +“I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are--” + +“Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is delightfully well; +and Jane caught no cold last night. How is Mr. Woodhouse?--I am so glad +to hear such a good account. Mrs. Weston told me you were here.--Oh! +then, said I, I must run across, I am sure Miss Woodhouse will allow me +just to run across and entreat her to come in; my mother will be so +very happy to see her--and now we are such a nice party, she cannot +refuse.--‘Aye, pray do,’ said Mr. Frank Churchill, ‘Miss Woodhouse’s +opinion of the instrument will be worth having.’--But, said I, I shall +be more sure of succeeding if one of you will go with me.--‘Oh,’ said +he, ‘wait half a minute, till I have finished my job;’--For, would you +believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in the most obliging manner in +the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother’s spectacles.--The rivet +came out, you know, this morning.--So very obliging!--For my mother had +no use of her spectacles--could not put them on. And, by the bye, every +body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should indeed. Jane said +so. I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first thing I did, +but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one thing, +then another, there is no saying what, you know. At one time Patty came +to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping. Oh, said I, +Patty do not come with your bad news to me. Here is the rivet of your +mistress’s spectacles out. Then the baked apples came home, Mrs. Wallis +sent them by her boy; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, the +Wallises, always--I have heard some people say that Mrs. Wallis can be +uncivil and give a very rude answer, but we have never known any thing +but the greatest attention from them. And it cannot be for the value +of our custom now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know? +Only three of us.--besides dear Jane at present--and she really eats +nothing--makes such a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened +if you saw it. I dare not let my mother know how little she eats--so I +say one thing and then I say another, and it passes off. But about the +middle of the day she gets hungry, and there is nothing she likes so +well as these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome, for I took +the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry; I happened to meet +him in the street. Not that I had any doubt before--I have so often +heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked apple. I believe it is the only +way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome. We +have apple-dumplings, however, very often. Patty makes an excellent +apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I hope, and these +ladies will oblige us.” + +Emma would be “very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, &c.,” and they did at +last move out of the shop, with no farther delay from Miss Bates than, + +“How do you do, Mrs. Ford? I beg your pardon. I did not see you before. +I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons from town. Jane +came back delighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do very well--only a +little too large about the wrist; but Jane is taking them in.” + +“What was I talking of?” said she, beginning again when they were all in +the street. + +Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix. + +“I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.--Oh! my mother’s +spectacles. So very obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill! ‘Oh!’ said he, +‘I do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job of this kind +excessively.’--Which you know shewed him to be so very.... Indeed I must +say that, much as I had heard of him before and much as I had expected, +he very far exceeds any thing.... I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, +most warmly. He seems every thing the fondest parent could.... +‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I can fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort +excessively.’ I never shall forget his manner. And when I brought out +the baked apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would be so very +obliging as to take some, ‘Oh!’ said he directly, ‘there is nothing +in the way of fruit half so good, and these are the finest-looking +home-baked apples I ever saw in my life.’ That, you know, was so +very.... And I am sure, by his manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they +are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice--only +we do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us +promise to have them done three times--but Miss Woodhouse will be so +good as not to mention it. The apples themselves are the very finest +sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from Donwell--some of Mr. +Knightley’s most liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year; and +certainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as one of his +trees--I believe there is two of them. My mother says the orchard was +always famous in her younger days. But I was really quite shocked the +other day--for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating +these apples, and we talked about them and said how much she enjoyed +them, and he asked whether we were not got to the end of our stock. ‘I +am sure you must be,’ said he, ‘and I will send you another supply; for +I have a great many more than I can ever use. William Larkins let me +keep a larger quantity than usual this year. I will send you some more, +before they get good for nothing.’ So I begged he would not--for really +as to ours being gone, I could not absolutely say that we had a great +many left--it was but half a dozen indeed; but they should be all kept +for Jane; and I could not at all bear that he should be sending us more, +so liberal as he had been already; and Jane said the same. And when +he was gone, she almost quarrelled with me--No, I should not say +quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was quite +distressed that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone; she wished +I had made him believe we had a great many left. Oh, said I, my dear, +I did say as much as I could. However, the very same evening William +Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the same sort of +apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and went down +and spoke to William Larkins and said every thing, as you may suppose. +William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! I am always glad to see +him. But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it +was all the apples of _that_ sort his master had; he had brought them +all--and now his master had not one left to bake or boil. William did +not seem to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had +sold so many; for William, you know, thinks more of his master’s profit +than any thing; but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their +being all sent away. She could not bear that her master should not be +able to have another apple-tart this spring. He told Patty this, but bid +her not mind it, and be sure not to say any thing to us about it, for +Mrs. Hodges _would_ be cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks +were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder. And so Patty told +me, and I was excessively shocked indeed! I would not have Mr. Knightley +know any thing about it for the world! He would be so very.... I wanted +to keep it from Jane’s knowledge; but, unluckily, I had mentioned it +before I was aware.” + +Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors +walked upstairs without having any regular narration to attend to, +pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will. + +“Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning. Pray take +care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase--rather darker +and narrower than one could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss +Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss +Smith, the step at the turning.” + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was +tranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment, +slumbering on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near +her, most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, +standing with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte. + +Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy +countenance on seeing Emma again. + +“This is a pleasure,” said he, in rather a low voice, “coming at least +ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be +useful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.” + +“What!” said Mrs. Weston, “have not you finished it yet? you would not +earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate.” + +“I have not been working uninterruptedly,” he replied, “I have been +assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily, +it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see +we have been wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to be +persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home.” + +He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently +employed in looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to make +her help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready +to sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately ready, +Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had not yet +possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she +must reason herself into the power of performance; and Emma could not +but pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could not but resolve +never to expose them to her neighbour again. + +At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the +powers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs. +Weston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma +joined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper +discrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise. + +“Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,” said Frank Churchill, with a +smile at Emma, “the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good deal of +Colonel Campbell’s taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper +notes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would +particularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his +friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not you +think so?” + +Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had +been speaking to her at the same moment. + +“It is not fair,” said Emma, in a whisper; “mine was a random guess. Do +not distress her.” + +He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little +doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he began again, + +“How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on this +occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say they often think of you, and wonder +which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument’s coming to +hand. Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going +forward just at this time?--Do you imagine it to be the consequence +of an immediate commission from him, or that he may have sent only +a general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to depend upon +contingencies and conveniences?” + +He paused. She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering, + +“Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,” said she, in a voice of +forced calmness, “I can imagine nothing with any confidence. It must be +all conjecture.” + +“Conjecture--aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one +conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this +rivet quite firm. What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard +at work, if one talks at all;--your real workmen, I suppose, hold their +tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word--Miss +Fairfax said something about conjecturing. There, it is done. I have the +pleasure, madam, (to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles, healed +for the present.” + +He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape a +little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss +Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more. + +“If you are very kind,” said he, “it will be one of the waltzes we +danced last night;--let me live them over again. You did not enjoy them +as I did; you appeared tired the whole time. I believe you were glad we +danced no longer; but I would have given worlds--all the worlds one ever +has to give--for another half-hour.” + +She played. + +“What felicity it is to hear a tune again which _has_ made one +happy!--If I mistake not that was danced at Weymouth.” + +She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something +else. He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turning +to Emma, said, + +“Here is something quite new to me. Do you know it?--Cramer.--And here +are a new set of Irish melodies. That, from such a quarter, one might +expect. This was all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful of +Colonel Campbell, was not it?--He knew Miss Fairfax could have no music +here. I honour that part of the attention particularly; it shews it to +have been so thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily done; nothing +incomplete. True affection only could have prompted it.” + +Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused; +and when on glancing her eye towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains +of a smile, when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness, +there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in the +amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her.--This +amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very +reprehensible feelings. + +He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together.--Emma +took the opportunity of whispering, + +“You speak too plain. She must understand you.” + +“I hope she does. I would have her understand me. I am not in the least +ashamed of my meaning.” + +“But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never taken up the idea.” + +“I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to me. I have now +a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave shame to her. If she does +wrong, she ought to feel it.” + +“She is not entirely without it, I think.” + +“I do not see much sign of it. She is playing _Robin_ _Adair_ at this +moment--_his_ favourite.” + +Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried Mr. +Knightley on horse-back not far off. + +“Mr. Knightley I declare!--I must speak to him if possible, just to +thank him. I will not open the window here; it would give you all cold; +but I can go into my mother’s room you know. I dare say he will come +in when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have you all meet +so!--Our little room so honoured!” + +She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and opening the +casement there, immediately called Mr. Knightley’s attention, and every +syllable of their conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as +if it had passed within the same apartment. + +“How d’ ye do?--how d’ye do?--Very well, I thank you. So obliged to you +for the carriage last night. We were just in time; my mother just ready +for us. Pray come in; do come in. You will find some friends here.” + +So began Miss Bates; and Mr. Knightley seemed determined to be heard in +his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say, + +“How is your niece, Miss Bates?--I want to inquire after you all, but +particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax?--I hope she caught no cold +last night. How is she to-day? Tell me how Miss Fairfax is.” + +And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before he would hear +her in any thing else. The listeners were amused; and Mrs. Weston gave +Emma a look of particular meaning. But Emma still shook her head in +steady scepticism. + +“So obliged to you!--so very much obliged to you for the carriage,” + resumed Miss Bates. + +He cut her short with, + +“I am going to Kingston. Can I do any thing for you?” + +“Oh! dear, Kingston--are you?--Mrs. Cole was saying the other day she +wanted something from Kingston.” + +“Mrs. Cole has servants to send. Can I do any thing for _you_?” + +“No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you think is here?--Miss +Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so kind as to call to hear the new pianoforte. +Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come in.” + +“Well,” said he, in a deliberating manner, “for five minutes, perhaps.” + +“And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill too!--Quite delightful; +so many friends!” + +“No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes. I must get on +to Kingston as fast as I can.” + +“Oh! do come in. They will be so very happy to see you.” + +“No, no; your room is full enough. I will call another day, and hear the +pianoforte.” + +“Well, I am so sorry!--Oh! Mr. Knightley, what a delightful party last +night; how extremely pleasant.--Did you ever see such dancing?--Was not +it delightful?--Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill; I never saw any +thing equal to it.” + +“Oh! very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss +Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that passes. +And (raising his voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should +not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well; and Mrs. +Weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, +in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say +something pretty loud about you and me in return; but I cannot stay to +hear it.” + +“Oh! Mr. Knightley, one moment more; something of consequence--so +shocked!--Jane and I are both so shocked about the apples!” + +“What is the matter now?” + +“To think of your sending us all your store apples. You said you had +a great many, and now you have not one left. We really are so shocked! +Mrs. Hodges may well be angry. William Larkins mentioned it here. You +should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah! he is off. He never +can bear to be thanked. But I thought he would have staid now, and it +would have been a pity not to have mentioned.... Well, (returning to the +room,) I have not been able to succeed. Mr. Knightley cannot stop. He is +going to Kingston. He asked me if he could do any thing....” + +“Yes,” said Jane, “we heard his kind offers, we heard every thing.” + +“Oh! yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the door was +open, and the window was open, and Mr. Knightley spoke loud. You must +have heard every thing to be sure. ‘Can I do any thing for you at +Kingston?’ said he; so I just mentioned.... Oh! Miss Woodhouse, must you +be going?--You seem but just come--so very obliging of you.” + +Emma found it really time to be at home; the visit had already lasted +long; and on examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived +to be gone, that Mrs. Weston and her companion taking leave also, could +allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield +gates, before they set off for Randalls. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been +known of young people passing many, many months successively, without +being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrue +either to body or mind;--but when a beginning is made--when the +felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt--it +must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more. + +Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again; +and the last half-hour of an evening which Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded +to spend with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two young +people in schemes on the subject. Frank’s was the first idea; and his +the greatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady was the best judge of the +difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and appearance. +But still she had inclination enough for shewing people again how +delightfully Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse danced--for +doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself with Jane +Fairfax--and even for simple dancing itself, without any of the wicked +aids of vanity--to assist him first in pacing out the room they were in +to see what it could be made to hold--and then in taking the dimensions +of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, in spite of all that +Mr. Weston could say of their exactly equal size, that it was a little +the largest. + +His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at Mr. Cole’s +should be finished there--that the same party should be collected, +and the same musician engaged, met with the readiest acquiescence. Mr. +Weston entered into the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs. Weston +most willingly undertook to play as long as they could wish to dance; +and the interesting employment had followed, of reckoning up exactly who +there would be, and portioning out the indispensable division of space +to every couple. + +“You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss +Coxes five,” had been repeated many times over. “And there will be the +two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr. Knightley. +Yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith, and +Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five; and for five +couple there will be plenty of room.” + +But soon it came to be on one side, + +“But will there be good room for five couple?--I really do not think +there will.” + +On another, + +“And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth while to +stand up. Five couple are nothing, when one thinks seriously about it. +It will not do to _invite_ five couple. It can be allowable only as the +thought of the moment.” + +Somebody said that _Miss_ Gilbert was expected at her brother’s, and +must be invited with the rest. Somebody else believed _Mrs_. Gilbert +would have danced the other evening, if she had been asked. A word was +put in for a second young Cox; and at last, Mr. Weston naming one family +of cousins who must be included, and another of very old acquaintance +who could not be left out, it became a certainty that the five couple +would be at least ten, and a very interesting speculation in what +possible manner they could be disposed of. + +The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. “Might not +they use both rooms, and dance across the passage?” It seemed the +best scheme; and yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted a +better. Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs. Weston was in distress about +the supper; and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on the score of +health. It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be +persevered in. + +“Oh! no,” said he; “it would be the extreme of imprudence. I could not +bear it for Emma!--Emma is not strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. +So would poor little Harriet. So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you would +be quite laid up; do not let them talk of such a wild thing. Pray do +not let them talk of it. That young man (speaking lower) is very +thoughtless. Do not tell his father, but that young man is not quite +the thing. He has been opening the doors very often this evening, +and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the +draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not +quite the thing!” + +Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the importance of +it, and said every thing in her power to do it away. Every door was now +closed, the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing only +in the room they were in resorted to again; and with such good-will on +Frank Churchill’s part, that the space which a quarter of an hour before +had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple, was now endeavoured +to be made out quite enough for ten. + +“We were too magnificent,” said he. “We allowed unnecessary room. Ten +couple may stand here very well.” + +Emma demurred. “It would be a crowd--a sad crowd; and what could be +worse than dancing without space to turn in?” + +“Very true,” he gravely replied; “it was very bad.” But still he went on +measuring, and still he ended with, + +“I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple.” + +“No, no,” said she, “you are quite unreasonable. It would be dreadful +to be standing so close! Nothing can be farther from pleasure than to be +dancing in a crowd--and a crowd in a little room!” + +“There is no denying it,” he replied. “I agree with you exactly. A crowd +in a little room--Miss Woodhouse, you have the art of giving pictures +in a few words. Exquisite, quite exquisite!--Still, however, having +proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up. It would be +a disappointment to my father--and altogether--I do not know that--I am +rather of opinion that ten couple might stand here very well.” + +Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little +self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of +dancing with her; but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest. +Had she intended ever to _marry_ him, it might have been worth while to +pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference, +and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of their +acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough. + +Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield; and he entered +the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of +the scheme. It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement. + +“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” he almost immediately began, “your inclination +for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope, by the terrors +of my father’s little rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject:--a +thought of my father’s, which waits only your approbation to be acted +upon. May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances +of this little projected ball, to be given, not at Randalls, but at the +Crown Inn?” + +“The Crown!” + +“Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot, +my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there. +Better accommodations, he can promise them, and not a less grateful +welcome than at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs. Weston sees no +objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what we all feel. +Oh! you were perfectly right! Ten couple, in either of the Randalls +rooms, would have been insufferable!--Dreadful!--I felt how right you +were the whole time, but was too anxious for securing _any_ _thing_ +to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange?--You consent--I hope you +consent?” + +“It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr. and Mrs. +Weston do not. I think it admirable; and, as far as I can answer for +myself, shall be most happy--It seems the only improvement that could +be. Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?” + +She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully +comprehended; and then, being quite new, farther representations were +necessary to make it acceptable. + +“No; he thought it very far from an improvement--a very bad plan--much +worse than the other. A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous; +never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they +had better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the Crown +in his life--did not know the people who kept it by sight.--Oh! no--a +very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere.” + +“I was going to observe, sir,” said Frank Churchill, “that one of the +great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger +of any body’s catching cold--so much less danger at the Crown than at +Randalls! Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but +nobody else could.” + +“Sir,” said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, “you are very much mistaken +if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that sort of character. Mr. Perry is +extremely concerned when any of us are ill. But I do not understand how +the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father’s house.” + +“From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We shall have no +occasion to open the windows at all--not once the whole evening; and it +is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon +heated bodies, which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief.” + +“Open the windows!--but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody would think of +opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so imprudent! I never +heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows!--I am sure, neither +your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was) would suffer +it.” + +“Ah! sir--but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a +window-curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected. I have +often known it done myself.” + +“Have you indeed, sir?--Bless me! I never could have supposed it. But I +live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear. However, +this does make a difference; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it +over--but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration. One +cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so +obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what +can be done.” + +“But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited--” + +“Oh!” interrupted Emma, “there will be plenty of time for talking every +thing over. There is no hurry at all. If it can be contrived to be at +the Crown, papa, it will be very convenient for the horses. They will be +so near their own stable.” + +“So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that James ever +complains; but it is right to spare our horses when we can. If I could +be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired--but is Mrs. Stokes to be +trusted? I doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight.” + +“I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, because it will be +under Mrs. Weston’s care. Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the whole.” + +“There, papa!--Now you must be satisfied--Our own dear Mrs. Weston, who +is carefulness itself. Do not you remember what Mr. Perry said, so many +years ago, when I had the measles? ‘If _Miss_ _Taylor_ undertakes to +wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.’ How often have I +heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!” + +“Aye, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never forget it. Poor +little Emma! You were very bad with the measles; that is, you would have +been very bad, but for Perry’s great attention. He came four times a day +for a week. He said, from the first, it was a very good sort--which +was our great comfort; but the measles are a dreadful complaint. I hope +whenever poor Isabella’s little ones have the measles, she will send for +Perry.” + +“My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this moment,” said Frank +Churchill, “examining the capabilities of the house. I left them there +and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you +might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot. I was +desired to say so from both. It would be the greatest pleasure to +them, if you could allow me to attend you there. They can do nothing +satisfactorily without you.” + +Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father, +engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the two young people +set off together without delay for the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. +Weston; delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very busy and +very happy in their different way; she, in some little distress; and he, +finding every thing perfect. + +“Emma,” said she, “this paper is worse than I expected. Look! in places +you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot is more yellow and +forlorn than any thing I could have imagined.” + +“My dear, you are too particular,” said her husband. “What does all that +signify? You will see nothing of it by candlelight. It will be as +clean as Randalls by candlelight. We never see any thing of it on our +club-nights.” + +The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, “Men never know +when things are dirty or not;” and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to +himself, “Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares.” + +One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain. +It regarded a supper-room. At the time of the ballroom’s being built, +suppers had not been in question; and a small card-room adjoining, was +the only addition. What was to be done? This card-room would be wanted +as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary +by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable +supper? Another room of much better size might be secured for the +purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward +passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs. +Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage; +and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being +miserably crowded at supper. + +Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, +&c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched +suggestion. A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was +pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and +Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another line of +expediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed, + +“I do not think it _is_ so very small. We shall not be many, you know.” + +And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through +the passage, was calling out, + +“You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear. It is a +mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the stairs.” + +“I wish,” said Mrs. Weston, “one could know which arrangement our guests +in general would like best. To do what would be most generally pleasing +must be our object--if one could but tell what that would be.” + +“Yes, very true,” cried Frank, “very true. You want your neighbours’ +opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain what the chief +of them--the Coles, for instance. They are not far off. Shall I call +upon them? Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer.--And I do not know +whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of +the rest of the people as any body. I think we do want a larger council. +Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?” + +“Well--if you please,” said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, “if you think +she will be of any use.” + +“You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,” said Emma. “She +will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing. She +will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting +Miss Bates.” + +“But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of hearing +Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you know.” + +Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it +his decided approbation. + +“Aye, do, Frank.--Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at +once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and I do not know a properer +person for shewing us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. +We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be +happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.” + +“Both sir! Can the old lady?”... + +“The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great +blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece.” + +“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect. +Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both.” And +away he ran. + +Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, +and her elegant niece,--Mrs. Weston, like a sweet-tempered woman and +a good wife, had examined the passage again, and found the evils of it +much less than she had supposed before--indeed very trifling; and here +ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation at +least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements of table and +chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves; or were left +as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. +Stokes.--Every body invited, was certainly to come; Frank had already +written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, +which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to +be. + +Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must. +As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer +character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general +and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another +half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, +some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the +future. The party did not break up without Emma’s being positively +secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without +her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, “He has asked her, my +dear. That’s right. I knew he would!” + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely +satisfactory to Emma--its being fixed for a day within the granted +term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston’s +confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the +Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his +fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take +their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were +entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and +hoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of +its being all in vain. + +Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His +wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed. +All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude +generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her +ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley’s provoking +indifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or +because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he +seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its +exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement. +To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, +than, + +“Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this +trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say +against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.--Oh! yes, +I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as +I can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins’s +week’s account; much rather, I confess.--Pleasure in seeing +dancing!--not I, indeed--I never look at it--I do not know who +does.--Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. +Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very +different.” + +This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was not +in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so +indignant; he was not guided by _her_ feelings in reprobating the ball, +for _she_ enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made +her animated--open hearted--she voluntarily said;-- + +“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. +What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with +_very_ great pleasure.” + +It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred +the society of William Larkins. No!--she was more and more convinced +that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great +deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--but no +love. + +Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two +days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over-throw of +every thing. A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s +instant return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell--far too unwell to do without +him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) +when writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual +unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of +herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, +and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay. + +The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. +Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone +within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, +to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but +for her own convenience. + +Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow himself time to hurry to +Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there +whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might be +expected at Hartfield very soon.” + +This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had +been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim. The +loss of the ball--the loss of the young man--and all that the young man +might be feeling!--It was too wretched!--Such a delightful evening as +it would have been!--Every body so happy! and she and her partner the +happiest!--“I said it would be so,” was the only consolation. + +Her father’s feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally of +Mrs. Churchill’s illness, and wanted to know how she was treated; and as +for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they +would all be safer at home. + +Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared; but if this +reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want +of spirits when he did come might redeem him. He felt the going away +almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He +sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing +himself, it was only to say, + +“Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.” + +“But you will come again,” said Emma. “This will not be your only visit +to Randalls.” + +“Ah!--(shaking his head)--the uncertainty of when I may be able to +return!--I shall try for it with a zeal!--It will be the object of +all my thoughts and cares!--and if my uncle and aunt go to town this +spring--but I am afraid--they did not stir last spring--I am afraid it +is a custom gone for ever.” + +“Our poor ball must be quite given up.” + +“Ah! that ball!--why did we wait for any thing?--why not seize the +pleasure at once?--How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, +foolish preparation!--You told us it would be so.--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, +why are you always so right?” + +“Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much +rather have been merry than wise.” + +“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends +on it. Do not forget your engagement.” + +Emma looked graciously. + +“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued; “every day more +precious and more delightful than the day before!--every day making +me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can remain at +Highbury!” + +“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will +venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? +Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure +you did not much expect to like us. You would not have been so long in +coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.” + +He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma +was convinced that it had been so. + +“And you must be off this very morning?” + +“Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together, and I +must be off immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment will bring +him.” + +“Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss +Bates? How unlucky! Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind might have +strengthened yours.” + +“Yes--I _have_ called there; passing the door, I thought it better. It +was a right thing to do. I went in for three minutes, and was detained +by Miss Bates’s being absent. She was out; and I felt it impossible not +to wait till she came in. She is a woman that one may, that one _must_ +laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay my +visit, then”-- + +He hesitated, got up, walked to a window. + +“In short,” said he, “perhaps, Miss Woodhouse--I think you can hardly be +quite without suspicion”-- + +He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. She hardly knew +what to say. It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely +serious, which she did not wish. Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in +the hope of putting it by, she calmly said, + +“You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, +then”-- + +He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting +on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard +him sigh. It was natural for him to feel that he had _cause_ to sigh. +He could not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward moments +passed, and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner said, + +“It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be given to +Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is most warm”-- + +He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.--He was more +in love with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say how it might +have ended, if his father had not made his appearance? Mr. Woodhouse +soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him composed. + +A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial. Mr. +Weston, always alert when business was to be done, and as incapable of +procrastinating any evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that +was doubtful, said, “It was time to go;” and the young man, though he +might and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave. + +“I shall hear about you all,” said he; “that is my chief consolation. +I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you. I have engaged +Mrs. Weston to correspond with me. She has been so kind as to promise +it. Oh! the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really +interested in the absent!--she will tell me every thing. In her letters +I shall be at dear Highbury again.” + +A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest “Good-bye,” closed the +speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill. Short had been +the notice--short their meeting; he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry +to part, and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his +absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it too +much. + +It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost every day since his +arrival. Certainly his being at Randalls had given great spirit to +the last two weeks--indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation +of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance of his +attentions, his liveliness, his manners! It had been a very happy +fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common +course of Hartfield days. To complete every other recommendation, he had +_almost_ told her that he loved her. What strength, or what constancy of +affection he might be subject to, was another point; but at present +she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious +preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, +made her think that she _must_ be a little in love with him, in spite of +every previous determination against it. + +“I certainly must,” said she. “This sensation of listlessness, +weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and employ myself, +this feeling of every thing’s being dull and insipid about the house!-- +I must be in love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if I +were not--for a few weeks at least. Well! evil to some is always good to +others. I shall have many fellow-mourners for the ball, if not for Frank +Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend the evening +with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.” + +Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness. He could not say +that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would have +contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he +was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable +kindness added, + +“You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really out +of luck; you are very much out of luck!” + +It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest +regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure +was odious. She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from +headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the ball +taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it; and it was +charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of +ill-health. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas +only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good +deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing +Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever +in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him, and +quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he was, how were +his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to +Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit +herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed +for employment than usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, +pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; and +farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or +working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close +of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing +elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his +side was that she _refused_ _him_. Their affection was always to subside +into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to mark their +parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible of this, +it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of +her previous and fixed determination never to quit her father, never +to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle +than she could foresee in her own feelings. + +“I do not find myself making any use of the word _sacrifice_,” said +she.--“In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is +there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not +really necessary to my happiness. So much the better. I certainly will +not persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I +should be sorry to be more.” + +Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings. + +“_He_ is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes it--very +much in love indeed!--and when he comes again, if his affection +continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage it.--It would be most +inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I +imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he +had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been +so wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and +language at parting would have been different.--Still, however, I must +be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment continuing +what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will; I do not look +upon him to be quite the sort of man--I do not altogether build upon +his steadiness or constancy.--His feelings are warm, but I can imagine +them rather changeable.--Every consideration of the subject, in short, +makes me thankful that my happiness is not more deeply involved.--I +shall do very well again after a little while--and then, it will be a +good thing over; for they say every body is in love once in their lives, +and I shall have been let off easily.” + +When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of it; and +she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which made her +at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she had +undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving +the particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all the +affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable, +and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposed +attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes now of +apology or concern; it was the language of real feeling towards Mrs. +Weston; and the transition from Highbury to Enscombe, the contrast +between the places in some of the first blessings of social life was +just enough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how much more +might have been said but for the restraints of propriety.--The charm +of her own name was not wanting. _Miss_ _Woodhouse_ appeared more than +once, and never without a something of pleasing connexion, either a +compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had said; and in +the very last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by any +such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of +her influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all +conveyed. Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these +words--“I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss +Woodhouse’s beautiful little friend. Pray make my excuses and adieus +to her.” This, Emma could not doubt, was all for herself. Harriet was +remembered only from being _her_ friend. His information and prospects +as to Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated; +Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even in his own +imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again. + +Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material +part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned +to Mrs. Weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she could +still do without the writer, and that he must learn to do without her. +Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only grew more +interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consolation +and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the words which +clothed it, the “beautiful little friend,” suggested to her the +idea of Harriet’s succeeding her in his affections. Was it +impossible?--No.--Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in +understanding; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness +of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner; and all the +probabilities of circumstance and connexion were in her favour.--For +Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful indeed. + +“I must not dwell upon it,” said she.--“I must not think of it. I know +the danger of indulging such speculations. But stranger things have +happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do now, it +will be the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested +friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure.” + +It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet’s behalf, though it +might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that quarter +was at hand. As Frank Churchill’s arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton’s +engagement in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest +had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill’s +disappearance, Mr. Elton’s concerns were assuming the most irresistible +form.--His wedding-day was named. He would soon be among them again; Mr. +Elton and his bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter +from Enscombe before “Mr. Elton and his bride” was in every body’s +mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Emma grew sick at the sound. +She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet’s +mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength. +With Mr. Weston’s ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of +insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had +not attained such a state of composure as could stand against the actual +approach--new carriage, bell-ringing, and all. + +Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the +reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could +give. Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had +a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work +to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed +to, without being able to make their opinions the same. Harriet listened +submissively, and said “it was very true--it was just as Miss Woodhouse +described--it was not worth while to think about them--and she would not +think about them any longer” but no change of subject could avail, and +the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as +before. At last Emma attacked her on another ground. + +“Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr. +Elton’s marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can make _me_. +You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake I fell into. +It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure +you.--Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you--and it will +be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not imagine me in danger of +forgetting it.” + +Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager +exclamation. Emma continued, + +“I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake; think less, talk +less of Mr. Elton for my sake; because for your own sake rather, I +would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more important than my +comfort, a habit of self-command in you, a consideration of what is your +duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the suspicions of +others, to save your health and credit, and restore your tranquillity. +These are the motives which I have been pressing on you. They are very +important--and sorry I am that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act +upon them. My being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. +I want you to save yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes +have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due--or rather what +would be kind by me.” + +This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea of +wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really +loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when the violence +of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to +what was right and support her in it very tolerably. + +“You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life--Want +gratitude to you!--Nobody is equal to you!--I care for nobody as I do +for you!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!” + +Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and +manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so +well, nor valued her affection so highly before. + +“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she afterwards to +herself. “There is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and tenderness +of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all the +clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will. It +is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally +beloved--which gives Isabella all her popularity.--I have it not--but +I know how to prize and respect it.--Harriet is my superior in all the +charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet!--I would not change +you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female +breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!--Harriet is worth a +hundred such--And for a wife--a sensible man’s wife--it is invaluable. I +mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Mrs. Elton was first seen at church: but though devotion might be +interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride in a pew, and +it must be left for the visits in form which were then to be paid, to +settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or +not pretty at all. + +Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to make +her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects; and she made a +point of Harriet’s going with her, that the worst of the business might +be gone through as soon as possible. + +She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room to +which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago, to +lace up her boot, without _recollecting_. A thousand vexatious thoughts +would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders; and it was +not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too; but +she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent. The visit +was of course short; and there was so much embarrassment and occupation +of mind to shorten it, that Emma would not allow herself entirely to +form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give one, beyond the +nothing-meaning terms of being “elegantly dressed, and very pleasing.” + +She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry to find fault, +but she suspected that there was no elegance;--ease, but not elegance.-- +She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there +was too much ease. Her person was rather good; her face not unpretty; +but neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner, were elegant. Emma +thought at least it would turn out so. + +As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear--but no, she would not +permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners. It was an +awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits, and a man +had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman +was better off; she might have the assistance of fine clothes, and the +privilege of bashfulness, but the man had only his own good sense to +depend on; and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr. +Elton was in being in the same room at once with the woman he had just +married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom he had +been expected to marry, she must allow him to have the right to look as +little wise, and to be as much affectedly, and as little really easy as +could be. + +“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” said Harriet, when they had quitted the +house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin; “Well, Miss +Woodhouse, (with a gentle sigh,) what do you think of her?--Is not she +very charming?” + +There was a little hesitation in Emma’s answer. + +“Oh! yes--very--a very pleasing young woman.” + +“I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.” + +“Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant gown.” + +“I am not at all surprized that he should have fallen in love.” + +“Oh! no--there is nothing to surprize one at all.--A pretty fortune; and +she came in his way.” + +“I dare say,” returned Harriet, sighing again, “I dare say she was very +much attached to him.” + +“Perhaps she might; but it is not every man’s fate to marry the woman +who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and thought this +the best offer she was likely to have.” + +“Yes,” said Harriet earnestly, “and well she might, nobody could ever +have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all my heart. And now, Miss +Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as +superior as ever;--but being married, you know, it is quite a different +thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid; I can sit and +admire him now without any great misery. To know that he has not thrown +himself away, is such a comfort!--She does seem a charming young woman, +just what he deserves. Happy creature! He called her ‘Augusta.’ How +delightful!” + +When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind. She could then see +more and judge better. From Harriet’s happening not to be at Hartfield, +and her father’s being present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter +of an hour of the lady’s conversation to herself, and could composedly +attend to her; and the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that +Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself, and +thinking much of her own importance; that she meant to shine and be very +superior, but with manners which had been formed in a bad school, pert +and familiar; that all her notions were drawn from one set of people, +and one style of living; that if not foolish she was ignorant, and that +her society would certainly do Mr. Elton no good. + +Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or refined herself, +she would have connected him with those who were; but Miss Hawkins, it +might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of +her own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the pride of the +alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of him. + +The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove, “My brother +Mr. Suckling’s seat;”--a comparison of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The +grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty; and the house was +modern and well-built. Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed +by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or +imagine. “Very like Maple Grove indeed!--She was quite struck by the +likeness!--That room was the very shape and size of the morning-room +at Maple Grove; her sister’s favourite room.”--Mr. Elton was appealed +to.--“Was not it astonishingly like?--She could really almost fancy +herself at Maple Grove.” + +“And the staircase--You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the +staircase was; placed exactly in the same part of the house. I really +could not help exclaiming! I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very +delightful to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to +as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy months there! (with a little +sigh of sentiment). A charming place, undoubtedly. Every body who +sees it is struck by its beauty; but to me, it has been quite a home. +Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will +understand how very delightful it is to meet with any thing at all like +what one has left behind. I always say this is quite one of the evils of +matrimony.” + +Emma made as slight a reply as she could; but it was fully sufficient +for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself. + +“So extremely like Maple Grove! And it is not merely the house--the +grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like. +The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and stand +very much in the same way--just across the lawn; and I had a glimpse +of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in +mind! My brother and sister will be enchanted with this place. People +who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with any thing +in the same style.” + +Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a great idea that +people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the +extensive grounds of any body else; but it was not worth while to attack +an error so double-dyed, and therefore only said in reply, + +“When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid you will think you +have overrated Hartfield. Surry is full of beauties.” + +“Oh! yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of England, you +know. Surry is the garden of England.” + +“Yes; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. Many +counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as +Surry.” + +“No, I fancy not,” replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied smile. +“I never heard any county but Surry called so.” + +Emma was silenced. + +“My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring, or summer +at farthest,” continued Mrs. Elton; “and that will be our time for +exploring. While they are with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare +say. They will have their barouche-landau, of course, which holds four +perfectly; and therefore, without saying any thing of _our_ carriage, +we should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well. They +would hardly come in their chaise, I think, at that season of the +year. Indeed, when the time draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their +bringing the barouche-landau; it will be so very much preferable. +When people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss +Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much as possible; and Mr. +Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored to King’s-Weston +twice last summer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their +first having the barouche-landau. You have many parties of that kind +here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer?” + +“No; not immediately here. We are rather out of distance of the very +striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak of; and we +are a very quiet set of people, I believe; more disposed to stay at home +than engage in schemes of pleasure.” + +“Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can +be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple +Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, +‘I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must +go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche-landau +without a companion; but Augusta, I believe, with her own good-will, +would never stir beyond the park paling.’ Many a time has she said so; +and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, +when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very +bad thing; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in +a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I +perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--(looking +towards Mr. Woodhouse), Your father’s state of health must be a great +drawback. Why does not he try Bath?--Indeed he should. Let me recommend +Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse +good.” + +“My father tried it more than once, formerly; but without receiving any +benefit; and Mr. Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, +does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now.” + +“Ah! that’s a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the +waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give. In my Bath +life, I have seen such instances of it! And it is so cheerful a place, +that it could not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse’s spirits, +which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to its +recommendations to _you_, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell +on them. The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally +understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived +so secluded a life; and I could immediately secure you some of the best +society in the place. A line from me would bring you a little host of +acquaintance; and my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have +always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to shew you any +attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public +with.” + +It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea +of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for what was called an +_introduction_--of her going into public under the auspices of a friend +of Mrs. Elton’s--probably some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the +help of a boarder, just made a shift to live!--The dignity of Miss +Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed! + +She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could have +given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly; “but their going to Bath was +quite out of the question; and she was not perfectly convinced that +the place might suit her better than her father.” And then, to prevent +farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly. + +“I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Upon these occasions, +a lady’s character generally precedes her; and Highbury has long known +that you are a superior performer.” + +“Oh! no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea. A superior +performer!--very far from it, I assure you. Consider from how partial +a quarter your information came. I am doatingly fond of +music--passionately fond;--and my friends say I am not entirely devoid +of taste; but as to any thing else, upon my honour my performance is +_mediocre_ to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play +delightfully. I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction, +comfort, and delight to me, to hear what a musical society I am got +into. I absolutely cannot do without music. It is a necessary of life to +me; and having always been used to a very musical society, both at +Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice. I +honestly said as much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future +home, and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be +disagreeable; and the inferiority of the house too--knowing what I had +been accustomed to--of course he was not wholly without apprehension. +When he was speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that _the_ +_world_ I could give up--parties, balls, plays--for I had no fear of +retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was +not necessary to _me_. I could do very well without it. To those who had +no resources it was a different thing; but my resources made me quite +independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had been used to, I +really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was perfectly equal to any +sacrifice of that description. Certainly I had been accustomed to every +luxury at Maple Grove; but I did assure him that two carriages were not +necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. ‘But,’ said I, +‘to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a +musical society. I condition for nothing else; but without music, life +would be a blank to me.’” + +“We cannot suppose,” said Emma, smiling, “that Mr. Elton would hesitate +to assure you of there being a _very_ musical society in Highbury; and +I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be +pardoned, in consideration of the motive.” + +“No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted to +find myself in such a circle. I hope we shall have many sweet little +concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a +musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours. +Will not it be a good plan? If _we_ exert ourselves, I think we shall +not be long in want of allies. Something of that nature would be +particularly desirable for _me_, as an inducement to keep me in +practice; for married women, you know--there is a sad story against +them, in general. They are but too apt to give up music.” + +“But you, who are so extremely fond of it--there can be no danger, +surely?” + +“I should hope not; but really when I look around among my acquaintance, +I tremble. Selina has entirely given up music--never touches the +instrument--though she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs. +Jeffereys--Clara Partridge, that was--and of the two Milmans, now Mrs. +Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of more than I can enumerate. Upon my +word it is enough to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with +Selina; but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has +many things to call her attention. I believe I was half an hour this +morning shut up with my housekeeper.” + +“But every thing of that kind,” said Emma, “will soon be in so regular a +train--” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Elton, laughing, “we shall see.” + +Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing +more to say; and, after a moment’s pause, Mrs. Elton chose another +subject. + +“We have been calling at Randalls,” said she, “and found them both at +home; and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like them extremely. +Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature--quite a first-rate favourite +with me already, I assure you. And _she_ appears so truly good--there is +something so motherly and kind-hearted about her, that it wins upon one +directly. She was your governess, I think?” + +Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs. Elton hardly +waited for the affirmative before she went on. + +“Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her so very +lady-like! But she is really quite the gentlewoman.” + +“Mrs. Weston’s manners,” said Emma, “were always particularly good. +Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance, would make them the safest +model for any young woman.” + +“And who do you think came in while we were there?” + +Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance--and +how could she possibly guess? + +“Knightley!” continued Mrs. Elton; “Knightley himself!--Was not it +lucky?--for, not being within when he called the other day, I had never +seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.’s, +I had a great curiosity. ‘My friend Knightley’ had been so often +mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my +caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. +Knightley is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I +think, a very gentleman-like man.” + +Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off; and Emma could +breathe. + +“Insufferable woman!” was her immediate exclamation. “Worse than I had +supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!--I could not have +believed it. Knightley!--never seen him in her life before, and call +him Knightley!--and discover that he is a gentleman! A little upstart, +vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her _caro_ _sposo_, and her +resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery. +Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman! I doubt whether +he will return the compliment, and discover her to be a lady. I could +not have believed it! And to propose that she and I should unite to +form a musical club! One would fancy we were bosom friends! And Mrs. +Weston!--Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a +gentlewoman! Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond +my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison. Oh! what would Frank +Churchill say to her, if he were here? How angry and how diverted he +would be! Ah! there I am--thinking of him directly. Always the first +person to be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes +as regularly into my mind!”-- + +All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her father +had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons’ departure, and was +ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending. + +“Well, my dear,” he deliberately began, “considering we never saw her +before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I dare say she +was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little +quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe +I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody speaks like you and +poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved +young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think +he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I could for not +having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion; I +said that I hoped I _should_ in the course of the summer. But I ought to +have gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah! it shews +what a sad invalid I am! But I do not like the corner into Vicarage +Lane.” + +“I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton knows you.” + +“Yes: but a young lady--a bride--I ought to have paid my respects to her +if possible. It was being very deficient.” + +“But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore why +should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a _bride_? It ought to +be no recommendation to _you_. It is encouraging people to marry if you +make so much of them.” + +“No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would always +wish to pay every proper attention to a lady--and a bride, especially, +is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due to _her_. A bride, you +know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who +they may.” + +“Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know what +is. And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to +such vanity-baits for poor young ladies.” + +“My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere +common politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing to do with any +encouragement to people to marry.” + +Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand +_her_. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton’s offences, and long, very long, +did they occupy her. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill +opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct. Such as +Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared +whenever they met again,--self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, +and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, +but so little judgment that she thought herself coming with superior +knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a country neighbourhood; +and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society as Mrs. +Elton’s consequence only could surpass. + +There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently from +his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He had the air +of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to Highbury, +as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater part of her +new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit of judging, +following the lead of Miss Bates’s good-will, or taking it for granted +that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as she professed +herself, were very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton’s praise +passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded by Miss +Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution and talked with +a good grace of her being “very pleasant and very elegantly dressed.” + +In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at +first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.--Offended, probably, by the +little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew +back in her turn and gradually became much more cold and distant; and +though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced it was +necessarily increasing Emma’s dislike. Her manners, too--and Mr. +Elton’s, were unpleasant towards Harriet. They were sneering and +negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet’s cure; but the +sensations which could prompt such behaviour sunk them both very +much.--It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet’s attachment had been +an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story, under +a colouring the least favourable to her and the most soothing to him, +had in all likelihood been given also. She was, of course, the object +of their joint dislike.--When they had nothing else to say, it must be +always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which +they dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader vent in +contemptuous treatment of Harriet. + +Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first. Not +merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to +recommend the other, but from the very first; and she was not satisfied +with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration--but without +solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to assist and +befriend her.--Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about the +third time of their meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton’s knight-errantry +on the subject.-- + +“Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.--I quite rave +about Jane Fairfax.--A sweet, interesting creature. So mild and +ladylike--and with such talents!--I assure you I think she has very +extraordinary talents. I do not scruple to say that she plays extremely +well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh! she +is absolutely charming! You will laugh at my warmth--but, upon my word, +I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.--And her situation is so calculated +to affect one!--Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour +to do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such talent as hers +must not be suffered to remain unknown.--I dare say you have heard those +charming lines of the poet, + + ‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, + ‘And waste its fragrance on the desert air.’ + +We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.” + +“I cannot think there is any danger of it,” was Emma’s calm answer--“and +when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax’s situation and +understand what her home has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I +have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown.” + +“Oh! but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such +obscurity, so thrown away.--Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed +with the Campbells are so palpably at an end! And I think she feels it. +I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she +feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I +must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for +timidity--and I am sure one does not often meet with it.--But in those +who are at all inferior, it is extremely prepossessing. Oh! I assure +you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me more +than I can express.” + +“You appear to feel a great deal--but I am not aware how you or any of +Miss Fairfax’s acquaintance here, any of those who have known her longer +than yourself, can shew her any other attention than”-- + +“My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to +act. You and I need not be afraid. If _we_ set the example, many will +follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations. _We_ +have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and _we_ live in a style +which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax, at any time, the +least inconvenient.--I should be extremely displeased if Wright were to +send us up such a dinner, as could make me regret having asked _more_ +than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of +thing. It is not likely that I _should_, considering what I have been +used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the +other way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense. Maple +Grove will probably be my model more than it ought to be--for we do not +at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income.--However, my +resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.--I shall certainly have +her very often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall +have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly +on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very +extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit +her shortly.--I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my +brother and sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her +extremely; and when she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears +will completely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners +of either but what is highly conciliating.--I shall have her very often +indeed while they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a +seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our exploring parties.” + +“Poor Jane Fairfax!”--thought Emma.--“You have not deserved this. You +may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment +beyond what you can have merited!--The kindness and protection of Mrs. +Elton!--‘Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.’ Heavens! Let me not suppose +that she dares go about, Emma Woodhouse-ing me!--But upon my honour, +there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that woman’s tongue!” + +Emma had not to listen to such paradings again--to any so exclusively +addressed to herself--so disgustingly decorated with a “dear Miss +Woodhouse.” The change on Mrs. Elton’s side soon afterwards appeared, +and she was left in peace--neither forced to be the very particular +friend of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton’s guidance, the very active +patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general +way, in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done. + +She looked on with some amusement.--Miss Bates’s gratitude for +Mrs. Elton’s attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless +simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthies--the +most amiable, affable, delightful woman--just as accomplished and +condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma’s only surprize +was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs. +Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with the Eltons, +sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons! This was +astonishing!--She could not have believed it possible that the taste or +the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as +the Vicarage had to offer. + +“She is a riddle, quite a riddle!” said she.--“To chuse to remain here +month after month, under privations of every sort! And now to chuse the +mortification of Mrs. Elton’s notice and the penury of her conversation, +rather than return to the superior companions who have always loved her +with such real, generous affection.” + +Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells +were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had +promised their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh +invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss +Bates--it all came from her--Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly. +Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends +contrived--no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had +declined it! + +“She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing +this invitation,” was Emma’s conclusion. “She must be under some sort +of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is great +fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.--She is _not_ to be +with the _Dixons_. The decree is issued by somebody. But why must she +consent to be with the Eltons?--Here is quite a separate puzzle.” + +Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before +the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this +apology for Jane. + +“We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage, +my dear Emma--but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a +good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We +must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for +what she goes to.” + +“You are right, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “Miss Fairfax +is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. +Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen +her. But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions from +Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her.” + +Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and she +was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush, she presently +replied, + +“Such attentions as Mrs. Elton’s, I should have imagined, would rather +disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton’s invitations I should +have imagined any thing but inviting.” + +“I should not wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, “if Miss Fairfax were to have +been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt’s eagerness in +accepting Mrs. Elton’s civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may +very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater +appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in +spite of the very natural wish of a little change.” + +Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few +minutes silence, he said, + +“Another thing must be taken into consideration too--Mrs. Elton does +not talk _to_ Miss Fairfax as she speaks _of_ her. We all know the +difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken +amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common +civility in our personal intercourse with each other--a something more +early implanted. We cannot give any body the disagreeable hints that we +may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently. +And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be +sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind +and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the +respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably +never fell in Mrs. Elton’s way before--and no degree of vanity can +prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if +not in consciousness.” + +“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Little Henry +was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her +irresolute what else to say. + +“Yes,” he replied, “any body may know how highly I think of her.” + +“And yet,” said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon +stopping--it was better, however, to know the worst at once--she hurried +on--“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it +is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprize some day or +other.” + +Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick +leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or +some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered, + +“Oh! are you there?--But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me +a hint of it six weeks ago.” + +He stopped.--Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, and did not +herself know what to think. In a moment he went on-- + +“That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare +say, would not have me if I were to ask her--and I am very sure I shall +never ask her.” + +Emma returned her friend’s pressure with interest; and was pleased +enough to exclaim, + +“You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.” + +He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful--and in a manner which +shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said, + +“So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?” + +“No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for match-making, +for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now, +meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without any +idea of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not the smallest +wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body. You would not come +in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were married.” + +Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was, “No, +Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take +me by surprize.--I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure +you.” And soon afterwards, “Jane Fairfax is a very charming young +woman--but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has +not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.” + +Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. “Well,” said +she, “and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?” + +“Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken; +he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or +wittier than his neighbours.” + +“In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants to be wiser and +wittier than all the world! I wonder how she speaks of the Coles--what +she calls them! How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough +in familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley--what can she do for +Mr. Cole? And so I am not to be surprized that Jane Fairfax accepts +her civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument +weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation +of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the triumph of +Miss Fairfax’s mind over Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton’s +acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed; or in her +being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding. +I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting her visitor +with praise, encouragement, and offers of service; that she will not be +continually detailing her magnificent intentions, from the procuring her +a permanent situation to the including her in those delightful exploring +parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau.” + +“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Mr. Knightley--“I do not accuse her +of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong--and her +temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control; +but it wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than +she used to be--And I love an open temper. No--till Cole alluded to my +supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax +and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always--but with no +thought beyond.” + +“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly when he left them, “what do +you say now to Mr. Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?” + +“Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the +idea of _not_ being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it +were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.” + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was +disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. Dinner-parties and +evening-parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed +in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were +never to have a disengaged day. + +“I see how it is,” said she. “I see what a life I am to lead among you. +Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite +the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very +formidable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a +disengaged day!--A woman with fewer resources than I have, need not have +been at a loss.” + +No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made evening-parties +perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for +dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing rooms, at +the poor attempt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury +card-parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a +good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon shew +them how every thing ought to be arranged. In the course of the spring +she must return their civilities by one very superior party--in which +her card-tables should be set out with their separate candles and +unbroken packs in the true style--and more waiters engaged for the +evening than their own establishment could furnish, to carry round the +refreshments at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order. + +Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at +Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do less than others, or she +should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful +resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it for +ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the +usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, +with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him. + +The persons to be invited, required little thought. Besides the +Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley; so far it was all of +course--and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must +be asked to make the eighth:--but this invitation was not given with +equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased +by Harriet’s begging to be allowed to decline it. “She would rather not +be in his company more than she could help. She was not yet quite +able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without feeling +uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would +rather stay at home.” It was precisely what Emma would have wished, had +she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was delighted with the +fortitude of her little friend--for fortitude she knew it was in her to +give up being in company and stay at home; and she could now invite the +very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.-- +Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she +was more conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she had often +been.--Mr. Knightley’s words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane +Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her. + +“This is very true,” said she, “at least as far as relates to me, which +was all that was meant--and it is very shameful.--Of the same age--and +always knowing her--I ought to have been more her friend.--She will +never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her +greater attention than I have done.” + +Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all +happy.--The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet +over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little +Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some +weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and +staying one whole day at Hartfield--which one day would be the very day +of this party.--His professional engagements did not allow of his being +put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening +so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the +utmost that his nerves could bear--and here would be a ninth--and Emma +apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not +being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without +falling in with a dinner-party. + +She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself, by +representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet +he always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very +immaterial. She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to +have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her +instead of his brother. + +The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Emma. John +Knightley came; but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and +must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the +evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease; +and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys and the +philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the +chief of even Emma’s vexation. + +The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr. John +Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being +agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they +waited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, +as elegant as lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in +silence--wanting only to observe enough for Isabella’s information--but +Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk +to her. He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk +with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was +natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said, + +“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am +sure you must have been wet.--We scarcely got home in time. I hope you +turned directly.” + +“I went only to the post-office,” said she, “and reached home before the +rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when +I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out. A walk +before breakfast does me good.” + +“Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.” + +“No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.” + +Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied, + +“That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards +from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry +and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The +post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have +lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going +through the rain for.” + +There was a little blush, and then this answer, + +“I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every +dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing +older should make me indifferent about letters.” + +“Indifferent! Oh! no--I never conceived you could become indifferent. +Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very +positive curse.” + +“You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of +friendship.” + +“I have often thought them the worst of the two,” replied he coolly. +“Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does.” + +“Ah! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well--I am +very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body. I +can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than +to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself which +makes the difference, it is not age, but situation. You have every +body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never shall again; +and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post-office, +I think, must always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than +to-day.” + +“When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years,” + said John Knightley, “I meant to imply the change of situation which +time usually brings. I consider one as including the other. Time will +generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily +circle--but that is not the change I had in view for you. As an old +friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence +you may have as many concentrated objects as I have.” + +It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A pleasant “thank +you” seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear +in the eye, shewed that it was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was +now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such +occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his particular +compliments to the ladies, was ending with her--and with all his mildest +urbanity, said, + +“I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning +in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves.--Young ladies +are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their +complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?” + +“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind +solicitude about me.” + +“My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for.--I +hope your good grand-mama and aunt are well. They are some of my very +old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You +do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I +are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest +satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield.” + +The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that he +had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy. + +By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her +remonstrances now opened upon Jane. + +“My dear Jane, what is this I hear?--Going to the post-office in the +rain!--This must not be, I assure you.--You sad girl, how could you do +such a thing?--It is a sign I was not there to take care of you.” + +Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold. + +“Oh! do not tell _me_. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know +how to take care of yourself.--To the post-office indeed! Mrs. Weston, +did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively exert our +authority.” + +“My advice,” said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, “I certainly do +feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks.--Liable +as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly +careful, especially at this time of year. The spring I always think +requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even +half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your cough +again. Now do not you feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are much too +reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing again.” + +“Oh! she _shall_ _not_ do such a thing again,” eagerly rejoined Mrs. +Elton. “We will not allow her to do such a thing again:”--and nodding +significantly--“there must be some arrangement made, there must indeed. +I shall speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every morning +(one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and +bring them to you. That will obviate all difficulties you know; and from +_us_ I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept +such an accommodation.” + +“You are extremely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up my early +walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk +somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon my word, I have +scarcely ever had a bad morning before.” + +“My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined, that is +(laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing +without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston, +you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter +myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I +meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as +settled.” + +“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to such +an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant. If the errand +were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am +not here, by my grandmama’s.” + +“Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!--And it is a kindness to +employ our men.” + +Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of +answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley. + +“The post-office is a wonderful establishment!” said she.--“The +regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do, +and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!” + +“It is certainly very well regulated.” + +“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that +a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the +kingdom, is even carried wrong--and not one in a million, I suppose, +actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad +hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.” + +“The clerks grow expert from habit.--They must begin with some quickness +of sight and hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther +explanation,” continued he, smiling, “they are paid for it. That is +the key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and must be served +well.” + +The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual +observations made. + +“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort +of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master +teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I should imagine +the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very +little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can +get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not +always known their writing apart.” + +“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness. I know what +you mean--but Emma’s hand is the strongest.” + +“Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and +always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston”--with half a sigh and half a +smile at her. + +“I never saw any gentleman’s handwriting”--Emma began, looking also at +Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending +to some one else--and the pause gave her time to reflect, “Now, how am +I going to introduce him?--Am I unequal to speaking his name at once +before all these people? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout +phrase?--Your Yorkshire friend--your correspondent in Yorkshire;--that +would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.--No, I can pronounce +his name without the smallest distress. I certainly get better and +better.--Now for it.” + +Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again--“Mr. Frank Churchill +writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.” + +“I do not admire it,” said Mr. Knightley. “It is too small--wants +strength. It is like a woman’s writing.” + +This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against +the base aspersion. “No, it by no means wanted strength--it was not a +large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any +letter about her to produce?” No, she had heard from him very lately, +but having answered the letter, had put it away. + +“If we were in the other room,” said Emma, “if I had my writing-desk, I +am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note of his.--Do not you +remember, Mrs. Weston, employing him to write for you one day?” + +“He chose to say he was employed”-- + +“Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince +Mr. Knightley.” + +“Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr. +Knightley dryly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of +course, put forth his best.” + +Dinner was on table.--Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was +ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be +allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was saying-- + +“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way.” + +Jane’s solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma. +She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether +the wet walk of this morning had produced any. She suspected that it +_had_; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full +expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had not been +in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual--a +glow both of complexion and spirits. + +She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the +expense of the Irish mails;--it was at her tongue’s end--but she +abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should hurt +Jane Fairfax’s feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of the +room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly becoming to the +beauty and grace of each. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found it +hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;--with so +much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross +Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to +be almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton +left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she +soon began again; and though much that passed between them was in a +half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton’s side, there was no avoiding +a knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office--catching +cold--fetching letters--and friendship, were long under discussion; +and to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant +to Jane--inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to +suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton’s meditated activity. + +“Here is April come!” said she, “I get quite anxious about you. June +will soon be here.” + +“But I have never fixed on June or any other month--merely looked +forward to the summer in general.” + +“But have you really heard of nothing?” + +“I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.” + +“Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the +difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.” + +“I not aware!” said Jane, shaking her head; “dear Mrs. Elton, who can +have thought of it as I have done?” + +“But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know +how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations. I saw +a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of +Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every +body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first circle. +Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable! Of all +houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge’s is the one I would most wish to see +you in.” + +“Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,” + said Jane. “I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want +it;--afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would +not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present.” + +“Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me +trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be +more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in +a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out +for any thing eligible.” + +“Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to +her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body +trouble.” + +“But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June, +or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before +us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation such as you deserve, +and your friends would require for you, is no everyday occurrence, +is not obtained at a moment’s notice; indeed, indeed, we must begin +inquiring directly.” + +“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no +inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends. When +I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being +long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry +would soon produce something--Offices for the sale--not quite of human +flesh--but of human intellect.” + +“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at +the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to +the abolition.” + +“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane; +“governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely +different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to +the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But +I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by +applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with +something that would do.” + +“Something that would do!” repeated Mrs. Elton. “Aye, _that_ may suit +your humble ideas of yourself;--I know what a modest creature you are; +but it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any +thing that may offer, any inferior, commonplace situation, in a family +not moving in a certain circle, or able to command the elegancies of +life.” + +“You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent; +it would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications, I +think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison. +A gentleman’s family is all that I should condition for.” + +“I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but I shall +be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite +on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the +first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name +your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family +as much as you chose;--that is--I do not know--if you knew the harp, you +might do all that, I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;--yes, I +really believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what +you chose;--and you must and shall be delightfully, honourably and +comfortably settled before the Campbells or I have any rest.” + +“You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such +a situation together,” said Jane, “they are pretty sure to be equal; +however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted +at present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am +obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing +nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I +shall remain where I am, and as I am.” + +“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs. Elton gaily, +“in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to +watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us.” + +In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till Mr. +Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of object, +and Emma heard her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane, + +“Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!--Only think of his +gallantry in coming away before the other men!--what a dear creature +he is;--I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, +old-fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease; +modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish +you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I +began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I +am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like +it?--Selina’s choice--handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it +is not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being +over-trimmed--quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments +now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear like +a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style +of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the +minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress,--show +and finery are every thing. I have some notion of putting such a +trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will +look well?” + +The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room when Mr. +Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a late dinner, +and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much +expected by the best judges, for surprize--but there was great joy. Mr. +Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been sorry +to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute astonishment.--That +a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day +of business in London, should set off again, and walk half a mile +to another man’s house, for the sake of being in mixed company till +bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise +of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been +in motion since eight o’clock in the morning, and might now have been +still, who had been long talking, and might have been silent, who had +been in more than one crowd, and might have been alone!--Such a man, to +quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and on the +evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the world!--Could +he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken back his wife, there +would have been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather +than break up the party. John Knightley looked at him with amazement, +then shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I could not have believed it +even of _him_.” + +Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he was +exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being +principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was +making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the +inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all +her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread +abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family +communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he +had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in +the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he +had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it. + +“Read it, read it,” said he, “it will give you pleasure; only a few +lines--will not take you long; read it to Emma.” + +The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking +to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible to +every body. + +“Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think. Well, what do you say +to it?--I always told you he would be here again soon, did not I?--Anne, +my dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me?--In +town next week, you see--at the latest, I dare say; for _she_ is as +impatient as the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most +likely they will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all +nothing of course. But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us +again, so near as town. They will stay a good while when they do come, +and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what I wanted. +Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma read +it all? Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about it some +other time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention the +circumstance to the others in a common way.” + +Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks +and words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she was +happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm and +open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. _She_ was a little occupied +in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the degree of her +agitation, which she rather thought was considerable. + +Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative +to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say, +and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by a partial +communication of what the whole room must have overheard already. + +It was well that he took every body’s joy for granted, or he might +not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly +delighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to +be made happy;--from them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax, but +she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would have +been too positive an interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs. +Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject +with her. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +“I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you,” + said Mr. Weston. + +Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended her +by such a hope, smiled most graciously. + +“You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,” he +continued--“and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name.” + +“Oh! yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr. +Elton will lose no time in calling on him; and we shall both have great +pleasure in seeing him at the Vicarage.” + +“You are very obliging.--Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure.-- +He is to be in town next week, if not sooner. We have notice of it in a +letter to-day. I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my +son’s hand, presumed to open it--though it was not directed to me--it +was to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I +hardly ever get a letter.” + +“And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her! Oh! Mr. +Weston--(laughing affectedly) I must protest against that.--A most +dangerous precedent indeed!--I beg you will not let your neighbours +follow your example.--Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we +married women must begin to exert ourselves!--Oh! Mr. Weston, I could +not have believed it of you!” + +“Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs. +Elton.--This letter tells us--it is a short letter--written in a hurry, +merely to give us notice--it tells us that they are all coming up to +town directly, on Mrs. Churchill’s account--she has not been well the +whole winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her--so they are all to +move southward without loss of time.” + +“Indeed!--from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?” + +“Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London, a +considerable journey.” + +“Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles farther than +from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people +of large fortune?--You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. +Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me--but twice +in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four +horses.” + +“The evil of the distance from Enscombe,” said Mr. Weston, “is, that +Mrs. Churchill, _as_ _we_ _understand_, has not been able to leave the +sofa for a week together. In Frank’s last letter she complained, he +said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory without having +both his arm and his uncle’s! This, you know, speaks a great degree of +weakness--but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to +sleep only two nights on the road.--So Frank writes word. Certainly, +delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You +must grant me that.” + +“No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take the part of my +own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice--You will find me a formidable +antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women--and I assure you, +if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you +would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill’s making incredible exertions to +avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her--and I believe I have +caught a little of her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets; +an excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?” + +“Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does every thing that any other fine +lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be second to any lady in the land +for”-- + +Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with, + +“Oh! Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine lady, I assure +you. Do not run away with such an idea.” + +“Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough +a fine lady as any body ever beheld.” + +Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly. +It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was +_not_ a fine lady; perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of +it;--and she was considering in what way she had best retract, when Mr. +Weston went on. + +“Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect--but +this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and +therefore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health +now; but _that_ indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I would +not say so to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs. +Churchill’s illness.” + +“If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston?--To Bath, or to +Clifton?” “She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for +her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now +been a longer time stationary there, than she ever was before, and she +begins to want change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very +retired.” + +“Aye--like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can stand more retired from +the road than Maple Grove. Such an immense plantation all round it! You +seem shut out from every thing--in the most complete retirement.--And +Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy +that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not have resources enough in +herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say a woman cannot +have too many resources--and I feel very thankful that I have so many +myself as to be quite independent of society.” + +“Frank was here in February for a fortnight.” + +“So I remember to have heard. He will find an _addition_ to the society +of Highbury when he comes again; that is, if I may presume to call +myself an addition. But perhaps he may never have heard of there being +such a creature in the world.” + +This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr. +Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed, + +“My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing possible. +Not heard of you!--I believe Mrs. Weston’s letters lately have been full +of very little else than Mrs. Elton.” + +He had done his duty and could return to his son. + +“When Frank left us,” continued he, “it was quite uncertain when we +might see him again, which makes this day’s news doubly welcome. It has +been completely unexpected. That is, _I_ always had a strong persuasion +he would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable would turn +up--but nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully +desponding. ‘How could he contrive to come? And how could it be supposed +that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?’ and so forth--I always +felt that something would happen in our favour; and so it has, you see. +I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if things +are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next.” + +“Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used to say to +a certain gentleman in company in the days of courtship, when, because +things did not go quite right, did not proceed with all the rapidity +which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that +he was sure at this rate it would be _May_ before Hymen’s saffron robe +would be put on for us. Oh! the pains I have been at to dispel those +gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views! The carriage--we had +disappointments about the carriage;--one morning, I remember, he came to +me quite in despair.” + +She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly +seized the opportunity of going on. + +“You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill +is ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place than +Enscombe--in short, to spend in London; so that we have the agreeable +prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring--precisely the +season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost at +the longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and +never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the best +of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather; +there always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we +intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment; and I +do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the +sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day or +to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than +having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the +state of mind which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be +pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy. He is generally +thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston’s +partiality for him is very great, and, as you may suppose, most +gratifying to me. She thinks nobody equal to him.” + +“And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion +will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of Mr. +Frank Churchill.--At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one +of those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means implicitly +guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your son, so I shall +judge of him.--I am no flatterer.” + +Mr. Weston was musing. + +“I hope,” said he presently, “I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. +Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice; but +there are some traits in her character which make it difficult for me to +speak of her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant, +Mrs. Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of the treatment I have +met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid +to her. She was the instigator. Frank’s mother would never have been +slighted as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride; but his pride +is nothing to his wife’s: his is a quiet, indolent, gentlemanlike sort +of pride that would harm nobody, and only make himself a little helpless +and tiresome; but her pride is arrogance and insolence! And what +inclines one less to bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood. +She was nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of a gentleman; +but ever since her being turned into a Churchill she has out-Churchill’d +them all in high and mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is +an upstart.” + +“Only think! well, that must be infinitely provoking! I have quite +a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to +people of that sort; for there is a family in that neighbourhood who +are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give +themselves! Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them +directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and +encumbered with many low connexions, but giving themselves immense airs, +and expecting to be on a footing with the old established families. +A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West +Hall; and how they got their fortune nobody knows. They came from +Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. +One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is something +direful in the sound: but nothing more is positively known of the +Tupmans, though a good many things I assure you are suspected; and +yet by their manners they evidently think themselves equal even to +my brother, Mr. Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest +neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven +years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before him--I +believe, at least--I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed +the purchase before his death.” + +They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having +said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away. + +After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton sat down with Mr. +Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left to their own powers, +and Emma doubted their getting on very well; for Mr. Knightley seemed +little disposed for conversation; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which +nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of spirits +which would have made her prefer being silent. + +Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was to +leave them early the next day; and he soon began with-- + +“Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more to say about the +boys; but you have your sister’s letter, and every thing is down at full +length there we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise than +her’s, and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have to +recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physic +them.” + +“I rather hope to satisfy you both,” said Emma, “for I shall do all +in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella; and +happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic.” + +“And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again.” + +“That is very likely. You think so, do not you?” + +“I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father--or even +may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to +increase as much as they have done lately.” + +“Increase!” + +“Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half-year has made a +great difference in your way of life.” + +“Difference! No indeed I am not.” + +“There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company than +you used to be. Witness this very time. Here am I come down for only +one day, and you are engaged with a dinner-party!--When did it happen +before, or any thing like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you +mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought +an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole’s, or balls at the +Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in your +goings-on, is very great.” + +“Yes,” said his brother quickly, “it is Randalls that does it all.” + +“Very well--and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less +influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that +Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg +you to send them home.” + +“No,” cried Mr. Knightley, “that need not be the consequence. Let them +be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure.” + +“Upon my word,” exclaimed Emma, “you amuse me! I should like to know how +many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of +the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to +attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine--what have +they been? Dining once with the Coles--and having a ball talked of, +which never took place. I can understand you--(nodding at Mr. John +Knightley)--your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at +once here, delights you too much to pass unnoticed. But you, (turning to +Mr. Knightley,) who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from +Hartfield, why you should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I +cannot imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that if Aunt +Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much better +with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where she +is absent one--and who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself +or settling his accounts.” + +Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and succeeded without +difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton’s beginning to talk to him. + + + + +VOLUME III + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the +nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She +was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all +apprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him. Her own attachment had +really subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking of;--but +if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the +two, were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had +taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two +months should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before +her:--caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did +not mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be +incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his. + +She wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration. +That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present +acquaintance! and yet, she could not help rather anticipating something +decisive. She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a +crisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil +state. + +It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston had foreseen, +before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill’s +feelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been +imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down +for a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came from +Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick +observation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she +must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be no doubt +of his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had an almost instant doubt +of his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness +in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was +less in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably +of her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable +effect. + +He was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed +delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories: and he +was not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read +his comparative difference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently +fluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed +a liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief +on the subject, was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying +away to make other calls in Highbury. “He had seen a group of old +acquaintance in the street as he passed--he had not stopped, he would +not stop for more than a word--but he had the vanity to think they would +be disappointed if he did not call, and much as he wished to stay longer +at Hartfield, he must hurry off.” She had no doubt as to his being less +in love--but neither his agitated spirits, nor his hurrying away, seemed +like a perfect cure; and she was rather inclined to think it implied a +dread of her returning power, and a discreet resolution of not trusting +himself with her long. + +This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days. +He was often hoping, intending to come--but was always prevented. His +aunt could not bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at +Randall’s. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was +to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill’s removal to London had been of no +service to the wilful or nervous part of her disorder. That she was +really ill was very certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at +Randalls. Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked +back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a +year ago. He did not believe it to proceed from any thing that care +and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many +years of existence before her; but he could not be prevailed on, by all +his father’s doubts, to say that her complaints were merely imaginary, +or that she was as strong as ever. + +It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could +not endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and +suffering; and by the ten days’ end, her nephew’s letter to Randalls +communicated a change of plan. They were going to remove immediately to +Richmond. Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of +an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. A +ready-furnished house in a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit +expected from the change. + +Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement, +and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months +before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends--for the +house was taken for May and June. She was told that now he wrote with +the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as he +could even wish. + +Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects. He was +considering her as the source of all the happiness they offered. She +hoped it was not so. Two months must bring it to the proof. + +Mr. Weston’s own happiness was indisputable. He was quite delighted. +It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would be +really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to +a young man?--An hour’s ride. He would be always coming over. The +difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make +the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen +miles--nay, eighteen--it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street--was +a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be +spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in having him in +London; he might as well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very +distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer! + +One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this +removal,--the ball at the Crown. It had not been forgotten before, +but it had been soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, +however, it was absolutely to be; every preparation was resumed, and +very soon after the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from +Frank, to say that his aunt felt already much better for the change, and +that he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at +any given time, induced them to name as early a day as possible. + +Mr. Weston’s ball was to be a real thing. A very few to-morrows stood +between the young people of Highbury and happiness. + +Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened the evil to him. +May was better for every thing than February. Mrs. Bates was engaged to +spend the evening at Hartfield, James had due notice, and he sanguinely +hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have any +thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were gone. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball. The day approached, +the day arrived; and after a morning of some anxious watching, Frank +Churchill, in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls before +dinner, and every thing was safe. + +No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma. The room +at the Crown was to witness it;--but it would be better than a +common meeting in a crowd. Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his +entreaties for her arriving there as soon as possible after themselves, +for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety and comfort of +the rooms before any other persons came, that she could not refuse him, +and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the young man’s company. +She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the Crown in good time, the +Randalls party just sufficiently before them. + +Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch; and though he did not +say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful evening. +They all walked about together, to see that every thing was as it should +be; and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of another +carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of at first, without great +surprize. “So unreasonably early!” she was going to exclaim; but she +presently found that it was a family of old friends, who were coming, +like herself, by particular desire, to help Mr. Weston’s judgment; and +they were so very closely followed by another carriage of cousins, +who had been entreated to come early with the same distinguishing +earnestness, on the same errand, that it seemed as if half the company +might soon be collected together for the purpose of preparatory +inspection. + +Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr. Weston +depended, and felt, that to be the favourite and intimate of a man +who had so many intimates and confidantes, was not the very first +distinction in the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but +a little less of open-heartedness would have made him a higher +character.--General benevolence, but not general friendship, made a +man what he ought to be.--She could fancy such a man. The whole party +walked about, and looked, and praised again; and then, having nothing +else to do, formed a sort of half-circle round the fire, to observe +in their various modes, till other subjects were started, that, though +_May_, a fire in the evening was still very pleasant. + +Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston’s fault that the number of privy +councillors was not yet larger. They had stopped at Mrs. Bates’s door +to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be +brought by the Eltons. + +Frank was standing by her, but not steadily; there was a restlessness, +which shewed a mind not at ease. He was looking about, he was going to +the door, he was watching for the sound of other carriages,--impatient +to begin, or afraid of being always near her. + +Mrs. Elton was spoken of. “I think she must be here soon,” said he. “I +have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton, I have heard so much of her. +It cannot be long, I think, before she comes.” + +A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately; but coming back, +said, + +“I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I have never seen +either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no business to put myself forward.” + +Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and the proprieties +passed. + +“But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!” said Mr. Weston, looking about. “We +thought you were to bring them.” + +The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for them now. Emma +longed to know what Frank’s first opinion of Mrs. Elton might be; how +he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of +graciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion, +by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had passed. + +In a few minutes the carriage returned.--Somebody talked of rain.--“I +will see that there are umbrellas, sir,” said Frank to his father: +“Miss Bates must not be forgotten:” and away he went. Mr. Weston was +following; but Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her opinion +of his son; and so briskly did she begin, that the young man himself, +though by no means moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing. + +“A very fine young man indeed, Mr. Weston. You know I candidly told you +I should form my own opinion; and I am happy to say that I am extremely +pleased with him.--You may believe me. I never compliment. I think him +a very handsome young man, and his manners are precisely what I like and +approve--so truly the gentleman, without the least conceit or puppyism. +You must know I have a vast dislike to puppies--quite a horror of them. +They were never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr. Suckling nor +me had ever any patience with them; and we used sometimes to say very +cutting things! Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them +much better.” + +While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston’s attention was chained; but +when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies +just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away. + +Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. “I have no doubt of its being our +carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachman and horses are so +extremely expeditious!--I believe we drive faster than any body.--What +a pleasure it is to send one’s carriage for a friend!--I understand you +were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary. +You may be very sure I shall always take care of _them_.” + +Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked into +the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as Mrs. +Weston’s to receive them. Her gestures and movements might be understood +by any one who looked on like Emma; but her words, every body’s words, +were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who came in +talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes after her +being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened she was +heard, + +“So very obliging of you!--No rain at all. Nothing to signify. I do not +care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares--Well!--(as soon +as she was within the door) Well! This is brilliant indeed!--This is +admirable!--Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could +not have imagined it.--So well lighted up!--Jane, Jane, look!--did you +ever see any thing? Oh! Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin’s +lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as +I came in; she was standing in the entrance. ‘Oh! Mrs. Stokes,’ said +I--but I had not time for more.” She was now met by Mrs. Weston.--“Very +well, I thank you, ma’am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear +it. So afraid you might have a headache!--seeing you pass by so often, +and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed. +Ah! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage!--excellent +time. Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses a moment. Most +comfortable carriage.--Oh! and I am sure our thanks are due to you, +Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, +or we should have been.--But two such offers in one day!--Never were +such neighbours. I said to my mother, ‘Upon my word, ma’am--.’ Thank +you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse’s. I made her +take her shawl--for the evenings are not warm--her large new shawl-- +Mrs. Dixon’s wedding-present.--So kind of her to think of my mother! +Bought at Weymouth, you know--Mr. Dixon’s choice. There were three +others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel +Campbell rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane, are you sure you did +not wet your feet?--It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid:--but +Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely--and there was a mat to step +upon--I shall never forget his extreme politeness.--Oh! Mr. Frank +Churchill, I must tell you my mother’s spectacles have never been in +fault since; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of +your good-nature. Does not she, Jane?--Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank +Churchill?--Ah! here’s Miss Woodhouse.--Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do +you do?--Very well I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite +in fairy-land!--Such a transformation!--Must not compliment, I know +(eyeing Emma most complacently)--that would be rude--but upon my word, +Miss Woodhouse, you do look--how do you like Jane’s hair?--You are +a judge.--She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her +hair!--No hairdresser from London I think could.--Ah! Dr. Hughes I +declare--and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a +moment.--How do you do? How do you do?--Very well, I thank you. This +is delightful, is not it?--Where’s dear Mr. Richard?--Oh! there he is. +Don’t disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How +do you do, Mr. Richard?--I saw you the other day as you rode through +the town--Mrs. Otway, I protest!--and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway +and Miss Caroline.--Such a host of friends!--and Mr. George and Mr. +Arthur!--How do you do? How do you all do?--Quite well, I am much +obliged to you. Never better.--Don’t I hear another carriage?--Who can +this be?--very likely the worthy Coles.--Upon my word, this is charming +to be standing about among such friends! And such a noble fire!--I am +quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me--never take coffee.--A +little tea if you please, sir, by and bye,--no hurry--Oh! here it comes. +Every thing so good!” + +Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and as soon as Miss +Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse +of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind +her.--He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she could not +determine. After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress and look, +compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs. Elton was evidently +wanting to be complimented herself--and it was, “How do you like +my gown?--How do you like my trimming?--How has Wright done my +hair?”--with many other relative questions, all answered with patient +politeness. Mrs. Elton then said, “Nobody can think less of dress in +general than I do--but upon such an occasion as this, when every body’s +eyes are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons--who I have +no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me honour--I would not wish +to be inferior to others. And I see very few pearls in the room except +mine.--So Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand.--We shall +see if our styles suit.--A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill. +I like him very well.” + +At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that Emma could not +but imagine he had overheard his own praises, and did not want to hear +more;--and the voices of the ladies were drowned for a while, till +another suspension brought Mrs. Elton’s tones again distinctly +forward.--Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife was exclaiming, + +“Oh! you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion?--I was +this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient for +tidings of us.” + +“Jane!”--repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprize and +displeasure.--“That is easy--but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I +suppose.” + +“How do you like Mrs. Elton?” said Emma in a whisper. + +“Not at all.” + +“You are ungrateful.” + +“Ungrateful!--What do you mean?” Then changing from a frown to a +smile--“No, do not tell me--I do not want to know what you mean.--Where +is my father?--When are we to begin dancing?” + +Emma could hardly understand him; he seemed in an odd humour. He walked +off to find his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr. and +Mrs. Weston. He had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be +laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton +must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect it; which +interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.--Emma +heard the sad truth with fortitude. + +“And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?” said Mr. Weston. +“She will think Frank ought to ask her.” + +Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and +boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect +approbation of--and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting _him_ +to dance with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help to +persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.--Mr. Weston and Mrs. +Elton led the way, Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse followed. +Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always +considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost enough to make +her think of marrying. Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this +time, in vanity completely gratified; for though she had intended to +begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the change. Mr. Weston +might be his son’s superior.--In spite of this little rub, however, +Emma was smiling with enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length +of the set as it was forming, and to feel that she had so many hours +of unusual festivity before her.--She was more disturbed by Mr. +Knightley’s not dancing than by any thing else.--There he was, among +the standers-by, where he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing,--not +classing himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players, who +were pretending to feel an interest in the dance till their rubbers were +made up,--so young as he looked!--He could not have appeared to greater +advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he had placed himself. His tall, +firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of +the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body’s eyes; +and, excepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of +young men who could be compared with him.--He moved a few steps nearer, +and those few steps were enough to prove in how gentlemanlike a manner, +with what natural grace, he must have danced, would he but take the +trouble.--Whenever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but +in general he was looking grave. She wished he could love a ballroom +better, and could like Frank Churchill better.--He seemed often +observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought of her +dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel +afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner. +They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers. That Frank +Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was indubitable. + +The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the incessant +attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away. Every body seemed +happy; and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom +bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in +the very beginning of the existence of this. Of very important, very +recordable events, it was not more productive than such meetings usually +are. There was one, however, which Emma thought something of.--The two +last dances before supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner;--the +only young lady sitting down;--and so equal had been hitherto the +number of dancers, that how there could be any one disengaged was the +wonder!--But Emma’s wonder lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton +sauntering about. He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were possible +to be avoided: she was sure he would not--and she was expecting him +every moment to escape into the card-room. + +Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room where +the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in front +of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining +it. He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or +speaking to those who were close to her.--Emma saw it. She was not yet +dancing; she was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore +leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little she saw +it all. When she was half-way up the set, the whole group were exactly +behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to watch; but Mr. +Elton was so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue which +just then took place between him and Mrs. Weston; and she perceived that +his wife, who was standing immediately above her, was not only +listening also, but even encouraging him by significant glances.--The +kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left her seat to join him and say, +“Do not you dance, Mr. Elton?” to which his prompt reply was, “Most +readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me.” + +“Me!--oh! no--I would get you a better partner than myself. I am no +dancer.” + +“If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance,” said he, “I shall have great +pleasure, I am sure--for, though beginning to feel myself rather an old +married man, and that my dancing days are over, it would give me very +great pleasure at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. +Gilbert.” + +“Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady +disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith.” “Miss +Smith!--oh!--I had not observed.--You are extremely obliging--and if I +were not an old married man.--But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. +You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your +command--but my dancing days are over.” + +Mrs. Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine with what surprize and +mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr. Elton! the +amiable, obliging, gentle Mr. Elton.--She looked round for a moment; he +had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself +for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed between him +and his wife. + +She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and she feared her +face might be as hot. + +In another moment a happier sight caught her;--Mr. Knightley leading +Harriet to the set!--Never had she been more surprized, seldom more +delighted, than at that instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, +both for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him; and though +too distant for speech, her countenance said much, as soon as she could +catch his eye again. + +His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, extremely good; +and Harriet would have seemed almost too lucky, if it had not been for +the cruel state of things before, and for the very complete enjoyment +and very high sense of the distinction which her happy features +announced. It was not thrown away on her, she bounded higher than ever, +flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual course of smiles. + +Mr. Elton had retreated into the card-room, looking (Emma trusted) very +foolish. She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife, though +growing very like her;--_she_ spoke some of her feelings, by observing +audibly to her partner, + +“Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith!--Very good-natured, +I declare.” + +Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates might be heard from +that moment, without interruption, till her being seated at table and +taking up her spoon. + +“Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you?--Here is your tippet. Mrs. +Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she is afraid there will +be draughts in the passage, though every thing has been done--One door +nailed up--Quantities of matting--My dear Jane, indeed you must. +Mr. Churchill, oh! you are too obliging! How well you put it on!--so +gratified! Excellent dancing indeed!--Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I +said I should, to help grandmama to bed, and got back again, and +nobody missed me.--I set off without saying a word, just as I told you. +Grandmama was quite well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a +vast deal of chat, and backgammon.--Tea was made downstairs, biscuits +and baked apples and wine before she came away: amazing luck in some +of her throws: and she inquired a great deal about you, how you were +amused, and who were your partners. ‘Oh!’ said I, ‘I shall not forestall +Jane; I left her dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love to tell +you all about it herself to-morrow: her first partner was Mr. Elton, +I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr. William Cox.’ My dear +sir, you are too obliging.--Is there nobody you would not rather?--I am +not helpless. Sir, you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and +me on the other!--Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is +going; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks!--Beautiful lace!--Now we +all follow in her train. Quite the queen of the evening!--Well, here we +are at the passage. Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh! no, +there is but one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! +I was convinced there were two, and there is but one. I never saw any +thing equal to the comfort and style--Candles everywhere.--I was telling +you of your grandmama, Jane,--There was a little disappointment.--The +baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their way, you know; but there +was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at +first, and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite boiled +enough, sent it all out again. Now there is nothing grandmama loves +better than sweetbread and asparagus--so she was rather disappointed, +but we agreed we would not speak of it to any body, for fear of +its getting round to dear Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much +concerned!--Well, this is brilliant! I am all amazement! could not have +supposed any thing!--Such elegance and profusion!--I have seen nothing +like it since--Well, where shall we sit? where shall we sit? Anywhere, +so that Jane is not in a draught. Where _I_ sit is of no consequence. +Oh! do you recommend this side?--Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill--only +it seems too good--but just as you please. What you direct in this house +cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes +for grandmama? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but +it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning.” + +Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley till after supper; +but, when they were all in the ballroom again, her eyes invited +him irresistibly to come to her and be thanked. He was warm in his +reprobation of Mr. Elton’s conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness; +and Mrs. Elton’s looks also received the due share of censure. + +“They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,” said he. “Emma, why is it +that they are your enemies?” + +He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, added, +“_She_ ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may +be.--To that surmise, you say nothing, of course; but confess, Emma, +that you did want him to marry Harriet.” + +“I did,” replied Emma, “and they cannot forgive me.” + +He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and he +only said, + +“I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections.” + +“Can you trust me with such flatterers?--Does my vain spirit ever tell +me I am wrong?” + +“Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit.--If one leads you wrong, +I am sure the other tells you of it.” + +“I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. Elton. There is +a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I did not: and I +was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a +series of strange blunders!” + +“And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the +justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has +chosen for himself.--Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, which +Mrs. Elton is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless +girl--infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a +woman as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than I expected.” + +Emma was extremely gratified.--They were interrupted by the bustle of +Mr. Weston calling on every body to begin dancing again. + +“Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all +doing?--Come Emma, set your companions the example. Every body is lazy! +Every body is asleep!” + +“I am ready,” said Emma, “whenever I am wanted.” + +“Whom are you going to dance with?” asked Mr. Knightley. + +She hesitated a moment, and then replied, “With you, if you will ask +me.” + +“Will you?” said he, offering his hand. + +“Indeed I will. You have shewn that you can dance, and you know we are +not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper.” + +“Brother and sister! no, indeed.” + + + +CHAPTER III + + +This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable +pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which +she walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy.--She was extremely +glad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the +Eltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much +alike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was +peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few +minutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the +occasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward +to another happy result--the cure of Harriet’s infatuation.--From +Harriet’s manner of speaking of the circumstance before they quitted the +ballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly +opened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior +creature she had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could +harbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious +courtesy. She depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for +supplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther +requisite.--Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and +Mr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a summer +must be before her! + +She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that he +could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was +to be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it. + +Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them all +to rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened up +for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa, +when the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she +had never less expected to see together--Frank Churchill, with Harriet +leaning on his arm--actually Harriet!--A moment sufficed to convince +her that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white +and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.--The iron gates and the +front-door were not twenty yards asunder;--they were all three soon in +the hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away. + +A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered, +and surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but the +suspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted +with the whole. + +Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs. +Goddard’s, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and +taken a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough +for safety, had led them into alarm.--About half a mile beyond Highbury, +making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became +for a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young ladies +had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly perceived at a small +distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward by the side, a +party of gipsies. A child on the watch, came towards them to beg; and +Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great scream, and calling +on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at +the top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury. +But poor Harriet could not follow. She had suffered very much from cramp +after dancing, and her first attempt to mount the bank brought on such +a return of it as made her absolutely powerless--and in this state, and +exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain. + +How the trampers might have behaved, had the young ladies been more +courageous, must be doubtful; but such an invitation for attack could +not be resisted; and Harriet was soon assailed by half a dozen children, +headed by a stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent +in look, though not absolutely in word.--More and more frightened, she +immediately promised them money, and taking out her purse, gave them a +shilling, and begged them not to want more, or to use her ill.--She +was then able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving away--but her +terror and her purse were too tempting, and she was followed, or rather +surrounded, by the whole gang, demanding more. + +In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and +conditioning, they loud and insolent. By a most fortunate chance his +leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance +at this critical moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced +him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him by another road, +a mile or two beyond Highbury--and happening to have borrowed a pair +of scissors the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to +restore them, he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a +few minutes: he was therefore later than he had intended; and being +on foot, was unseen by the whole party till almost close to them. The +terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then +their own portion. He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet +eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength +enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome. +It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other +place. + +This was the amount of the whole story,--of his communication and of +Harriet’s as soon as she had recovered her senses and speech.--He dared +not stay longer than to see her well; these several delays left him +not another minute to lose; and Emma engaging to give assurance of her +safety to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being such a set of people +in the neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he set off, with all the grateful +blessings that she could utter for her friend and herself. + +Such an adventure as this,--a fine young man and a lovely young woman +thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain +ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at +least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician +have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and +heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been +at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other?--How much +more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and +foresight!--especially with such a groundwork of anticipation as her +mind had already made. + +It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort had ever +occurred before to any young ladies in the place, within her memory; no +rencontre, no alarm of the kind;--and now it had happened to the very +person, and at the very hour, when the other very person was chancing +to pass by to rescue her!--It certainly was very extraordinary!--And +knowing, as she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this +period, it struck her the more. He was wishing to get the better of his +attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. +It seemed as if every thing united to promise the most interesting +consequences. It was not possible that the occurrence should not be +strongly recommending each to the other. + +In the few minutes’ conversation which she had yet had with him, while +Harriet had been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror, +her naivete, her fervour as she seized and clung to his arm, with a +sensibility amused and delighted; and just at last, after Harriet’s +own account had been given, he had expressed his indignation at the +abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Every thing was +to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted. +She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of +interference. There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme. +It was no more than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account proceed. + +Emma’s first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge of +what had passed,--aware of the anxiety and alarm it would occasion: but +she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour +it was known all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those +who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in +the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. The last night’s +ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, +and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without their +promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again. It was some comfort +to him that many inquiries after himself and Miss Woodhouse (for his +neighbours knew that he loved to be inquired after), as well as Miss +Smith, were coming in during the rest of the day; and he had +the pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all very +indifferent--which, though not exactly true, for she was perfectly well, +and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma would not interfere with. She had +an unhappy state of health in general for the child of such a man, +for she hardly knew what indisposition was; and if he did not invent +illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message. + +The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took +themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury might have +walked again in safety before their panic began, and the whole history +dwindled soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma and her +nephews:--in her imagination it maintained its ground, and Henry and +John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the +gipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right if she varied in the +slightest particular from the original recital. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one +morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down +and hesitating, thus began: + +“Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should +like to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it +will be over.” + +Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a +seriousness in Harriet’s manner which prepared her, quite as much as her +words, for something more than ordinary. + +“It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,” she continued, “to have +no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered +creature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have +the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is +necessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and +I dare say you understand me.” + +“Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I do.” + +“How I could so long a time be fancying myself!...” cried Harriet, +warmly. “It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary +in him now.--I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the +two I had rather not see him--and indeed I would go any distance round +to avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire +her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and +all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall +never forget her look the other night!--However, I assure you, Miss +Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.--No, let them be ever so happy together, +it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I +have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to +have destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that +very well (blushing as she spoke).--However, now I will destroy it +all--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you +may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel +holds?” said she, with a conscious look. + +“Not the least in the world.--Did he ever give you any thing?” + +“No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued +very much.” + +She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_ +_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. +Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within +abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, +which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but, +excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister. + +“Now,” said Harriet, “you _must_ recollect.” + +“No, indeed I do not.” + +“Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what +passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very last +times we ever met in it!--It was but a very few days before I had my +sore throat--just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came--I think the +very evening.--Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new +penknife, and your recommending court-plaister?--But, as you had none +about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took +mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he +cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he +gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making +a treasure of it--so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now +and then as a great treat.” + +“My dearest Harriet!” cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, +and jumping up, “you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. +Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this +relic--I knew nothing of that till this moment--but the cutting the +finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none +about me!--Oh! my sins, my sins!--And I had plenty all the while in my +pocket!--One of my senseless tricks!--I deserve to be under a continual +blush all the rest of my life.--Well--(sitting down again)--go on--what +else?” + +“And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected +it, you did it so naturally.” + +“And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his sake!” + said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided +between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord +bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a +piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I +never was equal to this.” + +“Here,” resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, “here is something +still more valuable, I mean that _has_ _been_ more valuable, because +this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaister +never did.” + +Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an +old pencil,--the part without any lead. + +“This was really his,” said Harriet.--“Do not you remember one +morning?--no, I dare say you do not. But one morning--I forget exactly +the day--but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before _that_ +_evening_, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was +about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about +brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out +his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and +it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the +table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I +dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.” + +“I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it.--Talking +about spruce-beer.--Oh! yes--Mr. Knightley and I both saying we +liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I +perfectly remember it.--Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was +not he? I have an idea he was standing just here.” + +“Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.--It is very odd, but I cannot +recollect.--Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I +am now.”-- + +“Well, go on.” + +“Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say--except that +I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see +me do it.” + +“My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in +treasuring up these things?” + +“Yes, simpleton as I was!--but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I +could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you +know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was--but +had not resolution enough to part with them.” + +“But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister?--I have not +a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be +useful.” + +“I shall be happier to burn it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable +look to me. I must get rid of every thing.--There it goes, and there is +an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton.” + +“And when,” thought Emma, “will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?” + +She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already +made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had _told_ no +fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet’s.--About a fortnight +after the alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite +undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the +information she received more valuable. She merely said, in the course +of some trivial chat, “Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise +you to do so and so”--and thought no more of it, till after a minute’s +silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious tone, “I shall never +marry.” + +Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a +moment’s debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied, + +“Never marry!--This is a new resolution.” + +“It is one that I shall never change, however.” + +After another short hesitation, “I hope it does not proceed from--I hope +it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton?” + +“Mr. Elton indeed!” cried Harriet indignantly.--“Oh! no”--and Emma could +just catch the words, “so superior to Mr. Elton!” + +She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed no +farther?--should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing?--Perhaps +Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were +totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too +much; and against any thing like such an unreserve as had been, such +an open and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly +resolved.--She believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at +once, all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always +best. She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on any +application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to have the +judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed.--She was decided, +and thus spoke-- + +“Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your +resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from +an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your +superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?” + +“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to suppose-- +Indeed I am not so mad.--But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a +distance--and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of +the world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so +proper, in me especially.” + +“I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you +was enough to warm your heart.” + +“Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation!--The very +recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time--when I saw him +coming--his noble look--and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In +one moment such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness!” + +“It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.--Yes, +honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.--But that +it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can promise. I do not +advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage +for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be +wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not +let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be +observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I +give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on +the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I +know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very +wrong before; we will be cautious now.--He is your superior, no doubt, +and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but +yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been +matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not +have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your +raising your thoughts to _him_, is a mark of good taste which I shall +always know how to value.” + +Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was +very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend. +Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind--and it must be +saving her from the danger of degradation. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon +Hartfield. To Highbury in general it brought no material change. The +Eltons were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use +to be made of their barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was still at her +grandmother’s; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland was again +delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely +to remain there full two months longer, provided at least she were able +to defeat Mrs. Elton’s activity in her service, and save herself from +being hurried into a delightful situation against her will. + +Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had certainly +taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike +him more. He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit +of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing +declared it; his own attentions, his father’s hints, his mother-in-law’s +guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and +indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting him +to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr. Knightley +began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He +could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between +them--he thought so at least--symptoms of admiration on his side, which, +having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think entirely +void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma’s errors +of imagination. _She_ was not present when the suspicion first arose. +He was dining with the Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons’; and he +had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from +the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was +again in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen; +nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper and +his fire at twilight, + +“Myself creating what I saw,” + +brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private +liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane. + +He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend +his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet were going to walk; he joined +them; and, on returning, they fell in with a larger party, who, like +themselves, judged it wisest to take their exercise early, as the +weather threatened rain; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates +and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all united; and, on +reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of +visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in +and drink tea with him. The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and +after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few persons listened +to, she also found it possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse’s most +obliging invitation. + +As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horseback. +The gentlemen spoke of his horse. + +“By the bye,” said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, “what +became of Mr. Perry’s plan of setting up his carriage?” + +Mrs. Weston looked surprized, and said, “I did not know that he ever had +any such plan.” + +“Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago.” + +“Me! impossible!” + +“Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what +was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was +extremely happy about it. It was owing to _her_ persuasion, as she +thought his being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You +must remember it now?” + +“Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment.” + +“Never! really, never!--Bless me! how could it be?--Then I must have +dreamt it--but I was completely persuaded--Miss Smith, you walk as if +you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home.” + +“What is this?--What is this?” cried Mr. Weston, “about Perry and a +carriage? Is Perry going to set up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can +afford it. You had it from himself, had you?” + +“No, sir,” replied his son, laughing, “I seem to have had it from +nobody.--Very odd!--I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston’s having +mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all +these particulars--but as she declares she never heard a syllable of +it before, of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. +I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away--and when I have gone +through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. +Perry.” + +“It is odd though,” observed his father, “that you should have had such +a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you +should be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry’s setting up his carriage! and +his wife’s persuading him to it, out of care for his health--just +what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other; only a little +premature. What an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream! +And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is! Well, Frank, your dream +certainly shews that Highbury is in your thoughts when you are absent. +Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think?” + +Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her guests to +prepare her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr. +Weston’s hint. + +“Why, to own the truth,” cried Miss Bates, who had been trying in vain +to be heard the last two minutes, “if I must speak on this subject, +there is no denying that Mr. Frank Churchill might have--I do not mean +to say that he did not dream it--I am sure I have sometimes the oddest +dreams in the world--but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge +that there was such an idea last spring; for Mrs. Perry herself +mentioned it to my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as +ourselves--but it was quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only +thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he should +have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one morning +because she thought she had prevailed. Jane, don’t you remember +grandmama’s telling us of it when we got home? I forget where we +had been walking to--very likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to +Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother--indeed +I do not know who is not--and she had mentioned it to her in confidence; +she had no objection to her telling us, of course, but it was not to go +beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that +I know of. At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having +never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before +I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and +then I have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like +Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it _she_ never betrayed the least +thing in the world. Where is she?--Oh! just behind. Perfectly remember +Mrs. Perry’s coming.--Extraordinary dream, indeed!” + +They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley’s eyes had preceded Miss +Bates’s in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill’s face, where +he thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had +involuntarily turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy +with her shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited +at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank +Churchill the determination of catching her eye--he seemed watching her +intently--in vain, however, if it were so--Jane passed between them +into the hall, and looked at neither. + +There was no time for farther remark or explanation. The dream must be +borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his seat with the rest round the +large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and +which none but Emma could have had power to place there and persuade her +father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on which two of his +daily meals had, for forty years been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly, +and nobody seemed in a hurry to move. + +“Miss Woodhouse,” said Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind +him, which he could reach as he sat, “have your nephews taken away their +alphabets--their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? +This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather +as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one +morning. I want to puzzle you again.” + +Emma was pleased with the thought; and producing the box, the table +was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so much +disposed to employ as their two selves. They were rapidly forming words +for each other, or for any body else who would be puzzled. The quietness +of the game made it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had +often been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston had +occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting, +with tender melancholy, over the departure of the “poor little boys,” + or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray letter near him, how +beautifully Emma had written it. + +Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight +glance round the table, and applied herself to it. Frank was next to +Emma, Jane opposite to them--and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them +all; and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as little +apparent observation. The word was discovered, and with a faint smile +pushed away. If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and +buried from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of +looking just across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after +every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up, and fell to +work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and turned to him for help. The +word was _blunder_; and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a +blush on Jane’s cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible. +Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream; but how it could all be, +was beyond his comprehension. How the delicacy, the discretion of his +favourite could have been so lain asleep! He feared there must be some +decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed to meet +him at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and +trick. It was a child’s play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank +Churchill’s part. + +With great indignation did he continue to observe him; with great alarm +and distrust, to observe also his two blinded companions. He saw a short +word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He +saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly entertaining, +though it was something which she judged it proper to appear to censure; +for she said, “Nonsense! for shame!” He heard Frank Churchill next say, +with a glance towards Jane, “I will give it to her--shall I?”--and as +clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing warmth. “No, no, you +must not; you shall not, indeed.” + +It was done however. This gallant young man, who seemed to love without +feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance, directly handed +over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate +civility entreated her to study it. Mr. Knightley’s excessive curiosity +to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible moment +for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw it +to be _Dixon_. Jane Fairfax’s perception seemed to accompany his; +her comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, +the superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She was +evidently displeased; looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed +more deeply than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, “I did not +know that proper names were allowed,” pushed away the letters with even +an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no other word +that could be offered. Her face was averted from those who had made the +attack, and turned towards her aunt. + +“Aye, very true, my dear,” cried the latter, though Jane had not spoken +a word--“I was just going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be +going indeed. The evening is closing in, and grandmama will be looking +for us. My dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you good +night.” + +Jane’s alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her aunt had +preconceived. She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table; but +so many were also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr. Knightley +thought he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards +her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was afterwards +looking for her shawl--Frank Churchill was looking also--it was growing +dusk, and the room was in confusion; and how they parted, Mr. Knightley +could not tell. + +He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts full of +what he had seen; so full, that when the candles came to assist his +observations, he must--yes, he certainly must, as a friend--an anxious +friend--give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her +in a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was +his duty. + +“Pray, Emma,” said he, “may I ask in what lay the great amusement, the +poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the +word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the +one, and so very distressing to the other.” + +Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to give him the true +explanation; for though her suspicions were by no means removed, she was +really ashamed of having ever imparted them. + +“Oh!” she cried in evident embarrassment, “it all meant nothing; a mere +joke among ourselves.” + +“The joke,” he replied gravely, “seemed confined to you and Mr. +Churchill.” + +He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. She would rather +busy herself about any thing than speak. He sat a little while in +doubt. A variety of evils crossed his mind. Interference--fruitless +interference. Emma’s confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to +declare her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, +to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, +rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the +remembrance of neglect in such a cause. + +“My dear Emma,” said he at last, with earnest kindness, “do you +think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the +gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?” + +“Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh! yes, perfectly.--Why +do you make a doubt of it?” + +“Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or +that she admired him?” + +“Never, never!” she cried with a most open eagerness--“Never, for the +twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could +it possibly come into your head?” + +“I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between +them--certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be +public.” + +“Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can +vouchsafe to let your imagination wander--but it will not do--very sorry +to check you in your first essay--but indeed it will not do. There is no +admiration between them, I do assure you; and the appearances which +have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar circumstances--feelings +rather of a totally different nature--it is impossible exactly to +explain:--there is a good deal of nonsense in it--but the part which is +capable of being communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as far +from any attachment or admiration for one another, as any two beings in +the world can be. That is, I _presume_ it to be so on her side, and I +can _answer_ for its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman’s +indifference.” + +She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction +which silenced, Mr. Knightley. She was in gay spirits, and would have +prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his +suspicions, every look described, and all the wheres and hows of a +circumstance which highly entertained her: but his gaiety did not meet +hers. He found he could not be useful, and his feelings were too much +irritated for talking. That he might not be irritated into an absolute +fever, by the fire which Mr. Woodhouse’s tender habits required almost +every evening throughout the year, he soon afterwards took a hasty +leave, and walked home to the coolness and solitude of Donwell Abbey. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs. +Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification +of hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No such +importation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at +present. In the daily interchange of news, they must be again restricted +to the other topics with which for a while the Sucklings’ coming had +been united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health +seemed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs. +Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually be as much +increased by the arrival of a child, as that of all her neighbours was +by the approach of it. + +Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay of a great deal +of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations must all +wait, and every projected party be still only talked of. So she thought +at first;--but a little consideration convinced her that every thing +need not be put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill though +the Sucklings did not come? They could go there again with them in the +autumn. It was settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was +to be such a party had been long generally known: it had even given the +idea of another. Emma had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what +every body found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed +to chuse some fine morning and drive thither. Two or three more of the +chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a +quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and +preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the +Eltons and the Sucklings. + +This was so very well understood between them, that Emma could not but +feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston +that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had +failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together; and that +as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she +had no objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her very great +dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be perfectly +aware, it was not worth bringing forward again:--it could not be done +without a reproof to him, which would be giving pain to his wife; and +she found herself therefore obliged to consent to an arrangement which +she would have done a great deal to avoid; an arrangement which would +probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. +Elton’s party! Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her +outward submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her +reflections on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston’s temper. + +“I am glad you approve of what I have done,” said he very comfortably. +“But I thought you would. Such schemes as these are nothing without +numbers. One cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its +own amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all. One could not +leave her out.” + +Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private. + +It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton +was growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to +pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw every thing +into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, +before the horse were useable; but no preparations could be ventured +on, and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton’s resources were +inadequate to such an attack. + +“Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?” she cried.--“And such weather +for exploring!--These delays and disappointments are quite odious. What +are we to do?--The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing +done. Before this time last year I assure you we had had a delightful +exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston.” + +“You had better explore to Donwell,” replied Mr. Knightley. “That may +be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening +fast.” + +If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, +for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the “Oh! I should like +it of all things,” was not plainer in words than manner. Donwell was +famous for its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation: +but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds would have been enough to tempt +the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere. She promised him again +and again to come--much oftener than he doubted--and was extremely +gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment +as she chose to consider it. + +“You may depend upon me,” said she. “I certainly will come. Name your +day, and I will come. You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?” + +“I cannot name a day,” said he, “till I have spoken to some others whom +I would wish to meet you.” + +“Oh! leave all that to me. Only give me a carte-blanche.--I am Lady +Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends with me.” + +“I hope you will bring Elton,” said he: “but I will not trouble you to +give any other invitations.” + +“Oh! now you are looking very sly. But consider--you need not be afraid +of delegating power to _me_. I am no young lady on her preferment. +Married women, you know, may be safely authorised. It is my party. Leave +it all to me. I will invite your guests.” + +“No,”--he calmly replied,--“there is but one married woman in the world +whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and +that one is--” + +“--Mrs. Weston, I suppose,” interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified. + +“No--Mrs. Knightley;--and till she is in being, I will manage such +matters myself.” + +“Ah! you are an odd creature!” she cried, satisfied to have no one +preferred to herself.--“You are a humourist, and may say what you +like. Quite a humourist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me--Jane and her +aunt.--The rest I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting +the Hartfield family. Don’t scruple. I know you are attached to them.” + +“You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss +Bates in my way home.” + +“That’s quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:--but as you like. It +is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. I +shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging +on my arm. Here,--probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be +more simple, you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be +no form or parade--a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk about +your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under +trees;--and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out +of doors--a table spread in the shade, you know. Every thing as natural +and simple as possible. Is not that your idea?” + +“Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have +the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of +gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is +best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating +strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house.” + +“Well--as you please; only don’t have a great set out. And, by the bye, +can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with our opinion?--Pray be +sincere, Knightley. If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect +anything--” + +“I have not the least wish for it, I thank you.” + +“Well--but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper is extremely +clever.” + +“I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and +would spurn any body’s assistance.” + +“I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come on +donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me--and my caro sposo walking by. I +really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life +I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever +so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at +home;--and very long walks, you know--in summer there is dust, and in +winter there is dirt.” + +“You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is +never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if +you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole’s. I would wish every thing to +be as much to your taste as possible.” + +“That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my good friend. +Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you have the +warmest heart. As I tell Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist.--Yes, +believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in +the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please +me.” + +Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade. He +wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the party; +and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors to +eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the +specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at +Donwell, be tempted away to his misery. + +He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him for +his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two +years. “Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet, could go +very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear girls +walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could be damp now, +in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old house again +exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and +any other of his neighbours.--He could not see any objection at all to +his, and Emma’s, and Harriet’s going there some very fine morning. He +thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them--very kind +and sensible--much cleverer than dining out.--He was not fond of dining +out.” + +Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body’s most ready concurrence. The +invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as if, like +Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular compliment +to themselves.--Emma and Harriet professed very high expectations of +pleasure from it; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get Frank over to +join them, if possible; a proof of approbation and gratitude which could +have been dispensed with.--Mr. Knightley was then obliged to say that +he should be glad to see him; and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in +writing, and spare no arguments to induce him to come. + +In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that the party to +Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell was +settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next,--the weather appearing +exactly right. + +Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr. Woodhouse was +safely conveyed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake of +this al-fresco party; and in one of the most comfortable rooms in the +Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was +happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of what +had been achieved, and advise every body to come and sit down, and not +to heat themselves.--Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have walked there on +purpose to be tired, and sit all the time with him, remained, when +all the others were invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and +sympathiser. + +It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she was +satisfied of her father’s comfort, she was glad to leave him, and look +around her; eager to refresh and correct her memory with more particular +observation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds which must +ever be so interesting to her and all her family. + +She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with +the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed +the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming, +characteristic situation, low and sheltered--its ample gardens +stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with +all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight--and its abundance +of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance +had rooted up.--The house was larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike +it, covering a good deal of ground, rambling and irregular, with many +comfortable, and one or two handsome rooms.--It was just what it ought +to be, and it looked what it was--and Emma felt an increasing respect +for it, as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted +in blood and understanding.--Some faults of temper John Knightley had; +but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them +neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush. These were +pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them till it +was necessary to do as the others did, and collect round the +strawberry-beds.--The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank +Churchill, who was expected every moment from Richmond; and Mrs. Elton, +in all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket, +was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or +talking--strawberries, and only strawberries, could now be thought or +spoken of.--“The best fruit in England--every body’s favourite--always +wholesome.--These the finest beds and finest sorts.--Delightful to +gather for one’s self--the only way of really enjoying them.--Morning +decidedly the best time--never tired--every sort good--hautboy +infinitely superior--no comparison--the others hardly eatable--hautboys +very scarce--Chili preferred--white wood finest flavour of all--price +of strawberries in London--abundance about Bristol--Maple +Grove--cultivation--beds when to be renewed--gardeners thinking exactly +different--no general rule--gardeners never to be put out of their +way--delicious fruit--only too rich to be eaten much of--inferior +to cherries--currants more refreshing--only objection to gathering +strawberries the stooping--glaring sun--tired to death--could bear it no +longer--must go and sit in the shade.” + +Such, for half an hour, was the conversation--interrupted only once by +Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law, to +inquire if he were come--and she was a little uneasy.--She had some +fears of his horse. + +Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged +to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of.--A +situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had +received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not +with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and +splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a cousin of Mrs. +Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove. +Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, +every thing--and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with +immediately.--On her side, all was warmth, energy, and triumph--and she +positively refused to take her friend’s negative, though Miss Fairfax +continued to assure her that she would not at present engage in any +thing, repeating the same motives which she had been heard to urge +before.--Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to write an +acquiescence by the morrow’s post.--How Jane could bear it at all, was +astonishing to Emma.--She did look vexed, she did speak pointedly--and +at last, with a decision of action unusual to her, proposed a +removal.--“Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the +gardens--all the gardens?--She wished to see the whole extent.”--The +pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear. + +It was hot; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered, +dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one +another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which +stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed +the finish of the pleasure grounds.--It led to nothing; nothing but a +view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars, which seemed +intended, in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to +the house, which never had been there. Disputable, however, as might be +the taste of such a termination, it was in itself a charming walk, and +the view which closed it extremely pretty.--The considerable slope, at +nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper +form beyond its grounds; and at half a mile distant was a bank of +considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with wood;--and at +the bottom of this bank, favourably placed and sheltered, rose the +Abbey Mill Farm, with meadows in front, and the river making a close and +handsome curve around it. + +It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure, +English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being +oppressive. + +In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled; and +towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet +distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and +Harriet!--It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it.--There +had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and +turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant +conversation. There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry +to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm; but now +she feared it not. It might be safely viewed with all its appendages of +prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in +blossom, and light column of smoke ascending.--She joined them at the +wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around. He +was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc. and Emma +received a smile which seemed to say, “These are my own concerns. I have +a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of +introducing Robert Martin.”--She did not suspect him. It was too old +a story.--Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.--They +took a few turns together along the walk.--The shade was most +refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day. + +The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;--and they +were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs. +Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own himself +uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing +that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as to +coming, with more than common certainty. “His aunt was so much better, +that he had not a doubt of getting over to them.”--Mrs. Churchill’s +state, however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such +sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable +dependence--and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, +that it must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was +prevented coming.--Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under +consideration; she behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion. + +The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to see +what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far +as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at +any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again.--Mr. +Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in the highest part +of the gardens, where no damps from the river were imagined even by him, +stirred no more; and his daughter resolved to remain with him, that +Mrs. Weston might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and +variety which her spirits seemed to need. + +Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse’s +entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, +shells, and every other family collection within his cabinets, had been +prepared for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness +had perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused. +Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now he would shew them +all to Emma;--fortunate in having no other resemblance to a child, than +in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and +methodical.--Before this second looking over was begun, however, Emma +walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments’ free observation of +the entrance and ground-plot of the house--and was hardly there, when +Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a +look of escape.--Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there +was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in +quest of. + +“Will you be so kind,” said she, “when I am missed, as to say that I am +gone home?--I am going this moment.--My aunt is not aware how late it +is, nor how long we have been absent--but I am sure we shall be wanted, +and I am determined to go directly.--I have said nothing about it to any +body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the +ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be +missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am +gone?” + +“Certainly, if you wish it;--but you are not going to walk to Highbury +alone?” + +“Yes--what should hurt me?--I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty +minutes.” + +“But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my +father’s servant go with you.--Let me order the carriage. It can be +round in five minutes.” + +“Thank you, thank you--but on no account.--I would rather walk.--And +for _me_ to be afraid of walking alone!--I, who may so soon have to +guard others!” + +She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, “That +can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the +carriage. The heat even would be danger.--You are fatigued already.” + +“I am,”--she answered--“I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of +fatigue--quick walking will refresh me.--Miss Woodhouse, we all know +at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are +exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have +my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary.” + +Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into +her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and +watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was +grateful--and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of +being sometimes alone!”--seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and +to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, +even towards some of those who loved her best. + +“Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!” said Emma, as she turned back into +the hall again. “I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray of +their just horrors, the more I shall like you.” + +Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only +accomplished some views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank +Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had +forgotten to think of him--but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston +would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; _they_ were right +who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by +a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had +lasted some hours--and he had quite given up every thought of coming, +till very late;--and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and +how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed he should not have +come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing +like it--almost wished he had staid at home--nothing killed him +like heat--he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was +intolerable--and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the +slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable. + +“You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,” said Emma. + +“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be +spared--but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be +going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met _one_ as I +came--Madness in such weather!--absolute madness!” + +Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s +state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of +humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such might be +his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often +the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking +some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing in the +dining-room--and she humanely pointed out the door. + +“No--he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him +hotter.” In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and +muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma returned all her +attention to her father, saying in secret-- + +“I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man +who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet’s sweet easy temper +will not mind it.” + +He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came +back all the better--grown quite cool--and, with good manners, like +himself--able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their +employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. +He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, +at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking +over views in Swisserland. + +“As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he. “I shall +never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my +sketches, some time or other, to look at--or my tour to read--or my +poem. I shall do something to expose myself.” + +“That may be--but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will never go to +Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave England.” + +“They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed for +her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I +assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I +shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I +want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating +eyes may fancy--I am sick of England--and would leave it to-morrow, if +I could.” + +“You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent a few +hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?” + +“_I_ sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken. I do +not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted +in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate +person.” + +“You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came. Go and +eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another slice of +cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on +a par with the rest of us.” + +“No--I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best cure.” + +“We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;--you will join us. It is not +Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of +a change. You will stay, and go with us?” + +“No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening.” + +“But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning.” + +“No--It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross.” + +“Then pray stay at Richmond.” + +“But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of you +all there without me.” + +“These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Chuse your +own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more.” + +The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected. +With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others +took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and +disturbance on Miss Fairfax’s disappearance being explained. That it was +time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with a short final +arrangement for the next day’s scheme, they parted. Frank Churchill’s +little inclination to exclude himself increased so much, that his last +words to Emma were, + +“Well;--if _you_ wish me to stay and join the party, I will.” + +She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond +was to take him back before the following evening. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward +circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in +favour of a pleasant party. Mr. Weston directed the whole, officiating +safely between Hartfield and the Vicarage, and every body was in good +time. Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece, with +the Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs. Weston remained with Mr. +Woodhouse. Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there. +Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body +had a burst of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount +of the day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits, +a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much +into parties. The Eltons walked together; Mr. Knightley took charge of +Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. +And Mr. Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It seemed +at first an accidental division, but it never materially varied. Mr. and +Mrs. Elton, indeed, shewed no unwillingness to mix, and be as agreeable +as they could; but during the two whole hours that were spent on the +hill, there seemed a principle of separation, between the other parties, +too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold collation, or any +cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove. + +At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank +Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing--looked +without seeing--admired without intelligence--listened without knowing +what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet +should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable. + +When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, +for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. +Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her. +To amuse her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared +for--and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered, was gay +and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission +to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating +period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, +meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must +have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very +well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted together +excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase--and +to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to +Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any +real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she had +expected. She laughed because she was disappointed; and though she liked +him for his attentions, and thought them all, whether in friendship, +admiration, or playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning +back her heart. She still intended him for her friend. + +“How much I am obliged to you,” said he, “for telling me to come +to-day!--If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all +the happiness of this party. I had quite determined to go away again.” + +“Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except that you +were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend than you +deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to come.” + +“Don’t say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me.” + +“It is hotter to-day.” + +“Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day.” + +“You are comfortable because you are under command.” + +“Your command?--Yes.” + +“Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command. You had, +somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your own +management; but to-day you are got back again--and as I cannot be always +with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own command +rather than mine.” + +“It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without a +motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always +with me. You are always with me.” + +“Dating from three o’clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could not +begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before.” + +“Three o’clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen you +first in February.” + +“Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But (lowering her voice)--nobody +speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking +nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people.” + +“I say nothing of which I am ashamed,” replied he, with lively +impudence. “I saw you first in February. Let every body on the Hill +hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one side, +and Dorking on the other. I saw you first in February.” And then +whispering--“Our companions are excessively stupid. What shall we do +to rouse them? Any nonsense will serve. They _shall_ talk. Ladies +and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, +presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking +of?” + +Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great +deal; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse’s presiding; Mr. +Knightley’s answer was the most distinct. + +“Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all +thinking of?” + +“Oh! no, no”--cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could--“Upon no +account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt +of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking +of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps, (glancing +at Mr. Weston and Harriet,) whose thoughts I might not be afraid of +knowing.” + +“It is a sort of thing,” cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, “which _I_ +should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though, +perhaps, as the _Chaperon_ of the party--_I_ never was in any +circle--exploring parties--young ladies--married women--” + +Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply, + +“Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed--quite unheard +of--but some ladies say any thing. Better pass it off as a joke. Every +body knows what is due to _you_.” + +“It will not do,” whispered Frank to Emma; “they are most of them +affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and gentlemen--I +am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of +knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires +something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way. Here +are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is pleased to say, am very +entertaining already,) and she only demands from each of you either one +thing very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated--or two +things moderately clever--or three things very dull indeed, and she +engages to laugh heartily at them all.” + +“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. +‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I +shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, +shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every +body’s assent)--Do not you all think I shall?” + +Emma could not resist. + +“Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me--but you will be +limited as to number--only three at once.” + +Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not +immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not +anger, though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her. + +“Ah!--well--to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. +Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very +disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.” + +“I like your plan,” cried Mr. Weston. “Agreed, agreed. I will do my +best. I am making a conundrum. How will a conundrum reckon?” + +“Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,” answered his son;--“but we shall be +indulgent--especially to any one who leads the way.” + +“No, no,” said Emma, “it will not reckon low. A conundrum of Mr. +Weston’s shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me +hear it.” + +“I doubt its being very clever myself,” said Mr. Weston. “It is too much +a matter of fact, but here it is.--What two letters of the alphabet are +there, that express perfection?” + +“What two letters!--express perfection! I am sure I do not know.” + +“Ah! you will never guess. You, (to Emma), I am certain, will never +guess.--I will tell you.--M. and A.--Em-ma.--Do you understand?” + +Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very +indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and +enjoy in it--and so did Frank and Harriet.--It did not seem to touch +the rest of the party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. +Knightley gravely said, + +“This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston +has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every body +else. _Perfection_ should not have come quite so soon.” + +“Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,” said Mrs. Elton; “_I_ +really cannot attempt--I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had +an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name, which I was not at all +pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!--You know +who I mean (nodding to her husband). These kind of things are very +well at Christmas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of +place, in my opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer. +Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty +things at every body’s service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a +great deal of vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to +judge when to speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please, +Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing +clever to say--not one of us. + +“Yes, yes, pray pass _me_,” added her husband, with a sort of sneering +consciousness; “_I_ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss +Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married man--quite good for +nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta?” + +“With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot. +Come, Jane, take my other arm.” + +Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. +“Happy couple!” said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of +hearing:--“How well they suit one another!--Very lucky--marrying as they +did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!--They only knew +each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly lucky!--for as to +any real knowledge of a person’s disposition that Bath, or any public +place, can give--it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is +only by seeing women in their own homes, among their own set, just as +they always are, that you can form any just judgment. Short of that, it +is all guess and luck--and will generally be ill-luck. How many a man +has committed himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest +of his life!” + +Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own +confederates, spoke now. + +“Such things do occur, undoubtedly.”--She was stopped by a cough. Frank +Churchill turned towards her to listen. + +“You were speaking,” said he, gravely. She recovered her voice. + +“I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances +do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to be +very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise--but there is +generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be understood to +mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters, (whose happiness +must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate +acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever.” + +He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon +afterwards said, in a lively tone, + +“Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever I +marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me. Will you? (turning to +Emma.) Will you chuse a wife for me?--I am sure I should like any body +fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know, (with a smile at +his father). Find some body for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her, educate +her.” + +“And make her like myself.” + +“By all means, if you can.” + +“Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming wife.” + +“She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care for nothing else. +I shall go abroad for a couple of years--and when I return, I shall come +to you for my wife. Remember.” + +Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch every +favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described? +Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished. +He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could say? +Referring the education to her seemed to imply it. + +“Now, ma’am,” said Jane to her aunt, “shall we join Mrs. Elton?” + +“If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite ready. I was +ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well. We shall +soon overtake her. There she is--no, that’s somebody else. That’s one +of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her.--Well, I +declare--” + +They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley. Mr. Weston, +his son, Emma, and Harriet, only remained; and the young man’s spirits +now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last of +flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly about +with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended +to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her. The +appearance of the servants looking out for them to give notice of the +carriages was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting and +preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to have _her_ +carriage first, were gladly endured, in the prospect of the quiet drive +home which was to close the very questionable enjoyments of this day of +pleasure. Such another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, +she hoped never to be betrayed into again. + +While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by her side. He +looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said, + +“Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do: a +privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. +I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be +so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to +a woman of her character, age, and situation?--Emma, I had not thought +it possible.” + +Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off. + +“Nay, how could I help saying what I did?--Nobody could have helped it. +It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand me.” + +“I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of +it since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it--with what +candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring your +forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for +ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be +so irksome.” + +“Oh!” cried Emma, “I know there is not a better creature in the world: +but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most +unfortunately blended in her.” + +“They are blended,” said he, “I acknowledge; and, were she prosperous, +I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over +the good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless +absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any +liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation--but, Emma, +consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk +from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must +probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was +badly done, indeed! You, whom she had known from an infant, whom she had +seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour, to have you +now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, +humble her--and before her niece, too--and before others, many of whom +(certainly _some_,) would be entirely guided by _your_ treatment +of her.--This is not pleasant to you, Emma--and it is very far from +pleasant to me; but I must, I will,--I will tell you truths while I can; +satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and +trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you +can do now.” + +While they talked, they were advancing towards the carriage; it was +ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in. He had +misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and her +tongue motionless. They were combined only of anger against herself, +mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak; and, on +entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment overcome--then reproaching +herself for having taken no leave, making no acknowledgment, parting in +apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand eager to shew a +difference; but it was just too late. He had turned away, and the horses +were in motion. She continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with +what appeared unusual speed, they were half way down the hill, and +every thing left far behind. She was vexed beyond what could have been +expressed--almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so +agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was +most forcibly struck. The truth of this representation there was no +denying. She felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, +so cruel to Miss Bates! How could she have exposed herself to such ill +opinion in any one she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without +saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness! + +Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel +it more. She never had been so depressed. Happily it was not necessary +to speak. There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, +fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears running +down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to +check them, extraordinary as they were. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma’s thoughts all the +evening. How it might be considered by the rest of the party, she could +not tell. They, in their different homes, and their different ways, +might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view it was +a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational +satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection, than +any she had ever passed. A whole evening of back-gammon with her father, +was felicity to it. _There_, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she +was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort; and +feeling that, unmerited as might be the degree of his fond affection and +confiding esteem, she could not, in her general conduct, be open to any +severe reproach. As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart. +She hoped no one could have said to her, “How could you be so unfeeling +to your father?--I must, I will tell you truths while I can.” Miss +Bates should never again--no, never! If attention, in future, could do +away the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss, +her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; +scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the warmth of true +contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should +be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse. + +She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that +nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought, that she +might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in +while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not be +ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers. +Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not. + +“The ladies were all at home.” She had never rejoiced at the sound +before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the stairs, +with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of +deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule. + +There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking. +She heard Miss Bates’s voice, something was to be done in a hurry; the +maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased to wait a +moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and niece seemed both +escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she had a distinct glimpse of, +looking extremely ill; and, before the door had shut them out, she heard +Miss Bates saying, “Well, my dear, I shall _say_ you are laid down upon +the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough.” + +Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she did not +quite understand what was going on. + +“I am afraid Jane is not very well,” said she, “but I do not know; they +_tell_ me she is well. I dare say my daughter will be here presently, +Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am +very little able--Have you a chair, ma’am? Do you sit where you like? I +am sure she will be here presently.” + +Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment’s fear of Miss Bates +keeping away from her. But Miss Bates soon came--“Very happy and +obliged”--but Emma’s conscience told her that there was not the same +cheerful volubility as before--less ease of look and manner. A very +friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead the way to a +return of old feelings. The touch seemed immediate. + +“Ah! Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!--I suppose you have heard--and +are come to give us joy. This does not seem much like joy, indeed, in +me--(twinkling away a tear or two)--but it will be very trying for us +to part with her, after having had her so long, and she has a dreadful +headache just now, writing all the morning:--such long letters, you +know, to be written to Colonel Campbell, and Mrs. Dixon. ‘My dear,’ said +I, ‘you will blind yourself’--for tears were in her eyes perpetually. +One cannot wonder, one cannot wonder. It is a great change; and though +she is amazingly fortunate--such a situation, I suppose, as no +young woman before ever met with on first going out--do not think us +ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune--(again +dispersing her tears)--but, poor dear soul! if you were to see what a +headache she has. When one is in great pain, you know one cannot feel +any blessing quite as it may deserve. She is as low as possible. To +look at her, nobody would think how delighted and happy she is to have +secured such a situation. You will excuse her not coming to you--she is +not able--she is gone into her own room--I want her to lie down upon the +bed. ‘My dear,’ said I, ‘I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:’ +but, however, she is not; she is walking about the room. But, now that +she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well. She will +be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your +kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door--I was quite +ashamed--but somehow there was a little bustle--for it so happened that +we had not heard the knock, and till you were on the stairs, we did not +know any body was coming. ‘It is only Mrs. Cole,’ said I, ‘depend upon +it. Nobody else would come so early.’ ‘Well,’ said she, ‘it must be +borne some time or other, and it may as well be now.’ But then Patty +came in, and said it was you. ‘Oh!’ said I, ‘it is Miss Woodhouse: I am +sure you will like to see her.’--‘I can see nobody,’ said she; and +up she got, and would go away; and that was what made us keep you +waiting--and extremely sorry and ashamed we were. ‘If you must go, my +dear,’ said I, ‘you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the +bed.’” + +Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing +kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her present sufferings acted +as a cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing but +pity; and the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations of +the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve on +seeing Mrs. Cole or any other steady friend, when she might not bear +to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and +solicitude--sincerely wishing that the circumstances which she collected +from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as much for +Miss Fairfax’s advantage and comfort as possible. “It must be a severe +trial to them all. She had understood it was to be delayed till Colonel +Campbell’s return.” + +“So very kind!” replied Miss Bates. “But you are always kind.” + +There was no bearing such an “always;” and to break through her dreadful +gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of-- + +“Where--may I ask?--is Miss Fairfax going?” + +“To a Mrs. Smallridge--charming woman--most superior--to have the charge +of her three little girls--delightful children. Impossible that any +situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps, +Mrs. Suckling’s own family, and Mrs. Bragge’s; but Mrs. Smallridge is +intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:--lives only four +miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove.” + +“Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax owes--” + +“Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend. She +would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say, ‘No;’ for when Jane +first heard of it, (it was the day before yesterday, the very morning +we were at Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she was quite decided +against accepting the offer, and for the reasons you mention; exactly +as you say, she had made up her mind to close with nothing till Colonel +Campbell’s return, and nothing should induce her to enter into any +engagement at present--and so she told Mrs. Elton over and over +again--and I am sure I had no more idea that she would change her +mind!--but that good Mrs. Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw +farther than I did. It is not every body that would have stood out in +such a kind way as she did, and refuse to take Jane’s answer; but she +positively declared she would _not_ write any such denial yesterday, as +Jane wished her; she would wait--and, sure enough, yesterday evening it +was all settled that Jane should go. Quite a surprize to me! I had not +the least idea!--Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that +upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Smallridge’s situation, she +had come to the resolution of accepting it.--I did not know a word of it +till it was all settled.” + +“You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?” + +“Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was settled so, upon +the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley. ‘You _must_ +_all_ spend your evening with us,’ said she--‘I positively must have you +_all_ come.’” + +“Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?” + +“No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though I +thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she would not let him +off, he did not;--but my mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and +a very agreeable evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss +Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable, though every body seemed +rather fagged after the morning’s party. Even pleasure, you know, is +fatiguing--and I cannot say that any of them seemed very much to have +enjoyed it. However, _I_ shall always think it a very pleasant party, +and feel extremely obliged to the kind friends who included me in it.” + +“Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had been +making up her mind the whole day?” + +“I dare say she had.” + +“Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and all her +friends--but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation that is +possible--I mean, as to the character and manners of the family.” + +“Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is every thing +in the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings and +Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal +and elegant, in all Mrs. Elton’s acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most +delightful woman!--A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove--and as +to the children, except the little Sucklings and little Bragges, there +are not such elegant sweet children anywhere. Jane will be treated with +such regard and kindness!--It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of +pleasure.--And her salary!--I really cannot venture to name her salary +to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would +hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like Jane.” + +“Ah! madam,” cried Emma, “if other children are at all like what I +remember to have been myself, I should think five times the amount of +what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such occasions, dearly +earned.” + +“You are so noble in your ideas!” + +“And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?” + +“Very soon, very soon, indeed; that’s the worst of it. Within a +fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother does not +know how to bear it. So then, I try to put it out of her thoughts, and +say, Come ma’am, do not let us think about it any more.” + +“Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel and +Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself before their +return?” + +“Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such a situation +as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I was so astonished +when she first told me what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when +Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon it! It was +before tea--stay--no, it could not be before tea, because we were +just going to cards--and yet it was before tea, because I remember +thinking--Oh! no, now I recollect, now I have it; something happened +before tea, but not that. Mr. Elton was called out of the room before +tea, old John Abdy’s son wanted to speak with him. Poor old John, I +have a great regard for him; he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven +years; and now, poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the +rheumatic gout in his joints--I must go and see him to-day; and so will +Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor John’s son came to +talk to Mr. Elton about relief from the parish; he is very well to do +himself, you know, being head man at the Crown, ostler, and every thing +of that sort, but still he cannot keep his father without some help; +and so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what John ostler had been +telling him, and then it came out about the chaise having been sent to +Randalls to take Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. That was what happened +before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke to Mrs. Elton.” + +Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this +circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible that she +could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill’s +going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence. + +What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being the +accumulation of the ostler’s own knowledge, and the knowledge of the +servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over from Richmond +soon after the return of the party from Box Hill--which messenger, +however, had been no more than was expected; and that Mr. Churchill had +sent his nephew a few lines, containing, upon the whole, a tolerable +account of Mrs. Churchill, and only wishing him not to delay coming +back beyond the next morning early; but that Mr. Frank Churchill having +resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and his horse +seeming to have got a cold, Tom had been sent off immediately for the +Crown chaise, and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy +going a good pace, and driving very steady. + +There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and it +caught Emma’s attention only as it united with the subject which already +engaged her mind. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill’s importance in +the world, and Jane Fairfax’s, struck her; one was every thing, the +other nothing--and she sat musing on the difference of woman’s destiny, +and quite unconscious on what her eyes were fixed, till roused by Miss +Bates’s saying, + +“Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What is to become +of that?--Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of it just now.--‘You +must go,’ said she. ‘You and I must part. You will have no business +here.--Let it stay, however,’ said she; ‘give it houseroom till Colonel +Campbell comes back. I shall talk about it to him; he will settle for +me; he will help me out of all my difficulties.’--And to this day, I do +believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter’s.” + +Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remembrance of +all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little pleasing, +that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long enough; +and, with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to say of +the good wishes which she really felt, took leave. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Emma’s pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted; +but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her. Mr. +Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting +with her father.--Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and in a manner +decidedly graver than usual, said, + +“I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, +and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend +a few days with John and Isabella. Have you any thing to send or say, +besides the ‘love,’ which nobody carries?” + +“Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?” + +“Yes--rather--I have been thinking of it some little time.” + +Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself. Time, +however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends +again. While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going--her father +began his inquiries. + +“Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?--And how did you find my +worthy old friend and her daughter?--I dare say they must have been very +much obliged to you for coming. Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. +and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She is always so +attentive to them!” + +Emma’s colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a +smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr. +Knightley.--It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in +her favour, as if his eyes received the truth from hers, and all that +had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.-- +He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly gratified--and in +another moment still more so, by a little movement of more than common +friendliness on his part.--He took her hand;--whether she had not +herself made the first motion, she could not say--she might, perhaps, +have rather offered it--but he took her hand, pressed it, and certainly +was on the point of carrying it to his lips--when, from some fancy or +other, he suddenly let it go.--Why he should feel such a scruple, why +he should change his mind when it was all but done, she could not +perceive.--He would have judged better, she thought, if he had not +stopped.--The intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was +that his manners had in general so little gallantry, or however else it +happened, but she thought nothing became him more.--It was with him, +of so simple, yet so dignified a nature.--She could not but recall the +attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity.--He left +them immediately afterwards--gone in a moment. He always moved with the +alertness of a mind which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but +now he seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance. + +Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished she +had left her ten minutes earlier;--it would have been a great pleasure +to talk over Jane Fairfax’s situation with Mr. Knightley.--Neither +would she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for she +knew how much his visit would be enjoyed--but it might have happened +at a better time--and to have had longer notice of it, would have been +pleasanter.--They parted thorough friends, however; she could not +be deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his unfinished +gallantry;--it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered +his good opinion.--He had been sitting with them half an hour, she +found. It was a pity that she had not come back earlier! + +In the hope of diverting her father’s thoughts from the disagreeableness +of Mr. Knightley’s going to London; and going so suddenly; and going on +horseback, which she knew would be all very bad; Emma communicated her +news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was justified; +it supplied a very useful check,--interested, without disturbing him. He +had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax’s going out as governess, and +could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley’s going to London had +been an unexpected blow. + +“I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably +settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare say +her acquaintance are just what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry +situation, and that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to +be a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor’s always was with me. +You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor +was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be +induced to go away after it has been her home so long.” + +The following day brought news from Richmond to throw every thing else +into the background. An express arrived at Randalls to announce the +death of Mrs. Churchill! Though her nephew had had no particular reason +to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty +hours after his return. A sudden seizure of a different nature from any +thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short +struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no more. + +It was felt as such things must be felt. Every body had a degree of +gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for the +surviving friends; and, in a reasonable time, curiosity to know where +she would be buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops +to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops to be +disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill-fame. +Mrs. Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty-five years, was +now spoken of with compassionate allowances. In one point she was fully +justified. She had never been admitted before to be seriously ill. The +event acquitted her of all the fancifulness, and all the selfishness of +imaginary complaints. + +“Poor Mrs. Churchill! no doubt she had been suffering a great deal: +more than any body had ever supposed--and continual pain would try the +temper. It was a sad event--a great shock--with all her faults, what +would Mr. Churchill do without her? Mr. Churchill’s loss would be +dreadful indeed. Mr. Churchill would never get over it.”--Even Mr. +Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and said, “Ah! poor woman, +who would have thought it!” and resolved, that his mourning should be as +handsome as possible; and his wife sat sighing and moralising over her +broad hems with a commiseration and good sense, true and steady. How it +would affect Frank was among the earliest thoughts of both. It was also +a very early speculation with Emma. The character of Mrs. Churchill, +the grief of her husband--her mind glanced over them both with awe and +compassion--and then rested with lightened feelings on how Frank might +be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed. She saw in a moment +all the possible good. Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have +nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared +by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any thing by his +nephew. All that remained to be wished was, that the nephew should form +the attachment, as, with all her goodwill in the cause, Emma could feel +no certainty of its being already formed. + +Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great self-command. +What ever she might feel of brighter hope, she betrayed nothing. Emma +was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, +and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance. +They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill’s death with mutual +forbearance. + +Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, communicating all +that was immediately important of their state and plans. Mr. Churchill +was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the +departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very +old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a +visit the last ten years. At present, there was nothing to be done for +Harriet; good wishes for the future were all that could yet be possible +on Emma’s side. + +It was a more pressing concern to shew attention to Jane Fairfax, whose +prospects were closing, while Harriet’s opened, and whose engagements +now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury, who wished to shew her +kindness--and with Emma it was grown into a first wish. She had scarcely +a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and the person, whom she +had been so many months neglecting, was now the very one on whom she +would have lavished every distinction of regard or sympathy. She wanted +to be of use to her; wanted to shew a value for her society, and testify +respect and consideration. She resolved to prevail on her to spend a day +at Hartfield. A note was written to urge it. The invitation was refused, +and by a verbal message. “Miss Fairfax was not well enough to write;” + and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, the same morning, it appeared +that she was so much indisposed as to have been visited, though against +her own consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under severe +headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the +possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge’s at the time proposed. +Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged--appetite quite +gone--and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing +touching the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension +of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had +undertaken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, +though she would not own it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her +present home, he could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous +disorder:--confined always to one room;--he could have wished it +otherwise--and her good aunt, though his very old friend, he must +acknowledge to be not the best companion for an invalid of that +description. Her care and attention could not be questioned; they were, +in fact, only too great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived +more evil than good from them. Emma listened with the warmest concern; +grieved for her more and more, and looked around eager to discover some +way of being useful. To take her--be it only an hour or two--from +her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational +conversation, even for an hour or two, might do her good; and the +following morning she wrote again to say, in the most feeling language +she could command, that she would call for her in the carriage at any +hour that Jane would name--mentioning that she had Mr. Perry’s decided +opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The answer was only +in this short note: + +“Miss Fairfax’s compliments and thanks, but is quite unequal to any +exercise.” + +Emma felt that her own note had deserved something better; but it was +impossible to quarrel with words, whose tremulous inequality shewed +indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she might best +counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the +answer, therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs. Bates’s, +in the hope that Jane would be induced to join her--but it would not +do;--Miss Bates came to the carriage door, all gratitude, and agreeing +with her most earnestly in thinking an airing might be of the greatest +service--and every thing that message could do was tried--but all in +vain. Miss Bates was obliged to return without success; Jane was +quite unpersuadable; the mere proposal of going out seemed to make her +worse.--Emma wished she could have seen her, and tried her own powers; +but, almost before she could hint the wish, Miss Bates made it appear +that she had promised her niece on no account to let Miss Woodhouse in. +“Indeed, the truth was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see any +body--any body at all--Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not be denied--and +Mrs. Cole had made such a point--and Mrs. Perry had said so much--but, +except them, Jane would really see nobody.” + +Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons, the Mrs. Perrys, +and the Mrs. Coles, who would force themselves anywhere; neither could +she feel any right of preference herself--she submitted, therefore, and +only questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece’s appetite and diet, +which she longed to be able to assist. On that subject poor Miss Bates +was very unhappy, and very communicative; Jane would hardly eat any +thing:--Mr. Perry recommended nourishing food; but every thing +they could command (and never had any body such good neighbours) was +distasteful. + +Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly, to an +examination of her stores; and some arrowroot of very superior quality +was speedily despatched to Miss Bates with a most friendly note. In half +an hour the arrowroot was returned, with a thousand thanks from Miss +Bates, but “dear Jane would not be satisfied without its being sent +back; it was a thing she could not take--and, moreover, she insisted on +her saying, that she was not at all in want of any thing.” + +When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had been seen wandering +about the meadows, at some distance from Highbury, on the afternoon of +the very day on which she had, under the plea of being unequal to any +exercise, so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the carriage, +she could have no doubt--putting every thing together--that Jane was +resolved to receive no kindness from _her_. She was sorry, very sorry. +Her heart was grieved for a state which seemed but the more pitiable +from this sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency of action, and +inequality of powers; and it mortified her that she was given so little +credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so little worthy as a friend: but +she had the consolation of knowing that her intentions were good, and of +being able to say to herself, that could Mr. Knightley have been privy +to all her attempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even have seen +into her heart, he would not, on this occasion, have found any thing to +reprove. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +One morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill’s decease, Emma was +called downstairs to Mr. Weston, who “could not stay five minutes, +and wanted particularly to speak with her.”--He met her at the +parlour-door, and hardly asking her how she did, in the natural key of +his voice, sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father, + +“Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning?--Do, if it be +possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you. She must see you.” + +“Is she unwell?” + +“No, no, not at all--only a little agitated. She would have ordered the +carriage, and come to you, but she must see you _alone_, and that you +know--(nodding towards her father)--Humph!--Can you come?” + +“Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible to refuse what +you ask in such a way. But what can be the matter?--Is she really not +ill?” + +“Depend upon me--but ask no more questions. You will know it all in +time. The most unaccountable business! But hush, hush!” + +To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for Emma. Something +really important seemed announced by his looks; but, as her friend was +well, she endeavoured not to be uneasy, and settling it with her father, +that she would take her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were soon out of +the house together and on their way at a quick pace for Randalls. + +“Now,”--said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the sweep gates,--“now +Mr. Weston, do let me know what has happened.” + +“No, no,”--he gravely replied.--“Don’t ask me. I promised my wife to +leave it all to her. She will break it to you better than I can. Do not +be impatient, Emma; it will all come out too soon.” + +“Break it to me,” cried Emma, standing still with terror.--“Good +God!--Mr. Weston, tell me at once.--Something has happened in Brunswick +Square. I know it has. Tell me, I charge you tell me this moment what it +is.” + +“No, indeed you are mistaken.”-- + +“Mr. Weston do not trifle with me.--Consider how many of my dearest +friends are now in Brunswick Square. Which of them is it?--I charge you +by all that is sacred, not to attempt concealment.” + +“Upon my word, Emma.”-- + +“Your word!--why not your honour!--why not say upon your honour, that +it has nothing to do with any of them? Good Heavens!--What can be to be +_broke_ to me, that does not relate to one of that family?” + +“Upon my honour,” said he very seriously, “it does not. It is not in +the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of +Knightley.” + +Emma’s courage returned, and she walked on. + +“I was wrong,” he continued, “in talking of its being _broke_ to you. +I should not have used the expression. In fact, it does not concern +you--it concerns only myself,--that is, we hope.--Humph!--In short, my +dear Emma, there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don’t +say that it is not a disagreeable business--but things might be much +worse.--If we walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls.” + +Emma found that she must wait; and now it required little effort. She +asked no more questions therefore, merely employed her own fancy, and +that soon pointed out to her the probability of its being some money +concern--something just come to light, of a disagreeable nature in the +circumstances of the family,--something which the late event at Richmond +had brought forward. Her fancy was very active. Half a dozen natural +children, perhaps--and poor Frank cut off!--This, though very +undesirable, would be no matter of agony to her. It inspired little more +than an animating curiosity. + +“Who is that gentleman on horseback?” said she, as they +proceeded--speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in keeping his secret, +than with any other view. + +“I do not know.--One of the Otways.--Not Frank;--it is not Frank, I +assure you. You will not see him. He is half way to Windsor by this +time.” + +“Has your son been with you, then?” + +“Oh! yes--did not you know?--Well, well, never mind.” + +For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone much more guarded +and demure, + +“Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how we did.” + +They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls.--“Well, my dear,” said +he, as they entered the room--“I have brought her, and now I hope you +will soon be better. I shall leave you together. There is no use in +delay. I shall not be far off, if you want me.”--And Emma distinctly +heard him add, in a lower tone, before he quitted the room,--“I have +been as good as my word. She has not the least idea.” + +Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much perturbation, +that Emma’s uneasiness increased; and the moment they were alone, she +eagerly said, + +“What is it my dear friend? Something of a very unpleasant nature, I +find, has occurred;--do let me know directly what it is. I have been +walking all this way in complete suspense. We both abhor suspense. +Do not let mine continue longer. It will do you good to speak of your +distress, whatever it may be.” + +“Have you indeed no idea?” said Mrs. Weston in a trembling voice. +“Cannot you, my dear Emma--cannot you form a guess as to what you are to +hear?” + +“So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do guess.” + +“You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell you directly;” + (resuming her work, and seeming resolved against looking up.) “He has +been here this very morning, on a most extraordinary errand. It is +impossible to express our surprize. He came to speak to his father on a +subject,--to announce an attachment--” + +She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself, and then of +Harriet. + +“More than an attachment, indeed,” resumed Mrs. Weston; “an +engagement--a positive engagement.--What will you say, Emma--what will +any body say, when it is known that Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are +engaged;--nay, that they have been long engaged!” + +Emma even jumped with surprize;--and, horror-struck, exclaimed, + +“Jane Fairfax!--Good God! You are not serious? You do not mean it?” + +“You may well be amazed,” returned Mrs. Weston, still averting her eyes, +and talking on with eagerness, that Emma might have time to recover-- +“You may well be amazed. But it is even so. There has been a solemn +engagement between them ever since October--formed at Weymouth, and +kept a secret from every body. Not a creature knowing it but +themselves--neither the Campbells, nor her family, nor his.--It is so +wonderful, that though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost +incredible to myself. I can hardly believe it.--I thought I knew him.” + +Emma scarcely heard what was said.--Her mind was divided between two +ideas--her own former conversations with him about Miss Fairfax; and +poor Harriet;--and for some time she could only exclaim, and require +confirmation, repeated confirmation. + +“Well,” said she at last, trying to recover herself; “this is a +circumstance which I must think of at least half a day, before I can at +all comprehend it. What!--engaged to her all the winter--before either +of them came to Highbury?” + +“Engaged since October,--secretly engaged.--It has hurt me, Emma, very +much. It has hurt his father equally. _Some_ _part_ of his conduct we +cannot excuse.” + +Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, “I will not pretend _not_ to +understand you; and to give you all the relief in my power, be assured +that no such effect has followed his attentions to me, as you are +apprehensive of.” + +Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma’s countenance was as +steady as her words. + +“That you may have less difficulty in believing this boast, of my +present perfect indifference,” she continued, “I will farther tell you, +that there was a period in the early part of our acquaintance, when I +did like him, when I was very much disposed to be attached to him--nay, +was attached--and how it came to cease, is perhaps the wonder. +Fortunately, however, it did cease. I have really for some time past, +for at least these three months, cared nothing about him. You may +believe me, Mrs. Weston. This is the simple truth.” + +Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when she could find +utterance, assured her, that this protestation had done her more good +than any thing else in the world could do. + +“Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself,” said she. “On +this point we have been wretched. It was our darling wish that you +might be attached to each other--and we were persuaded that it was so.-- +Imagine what we have been feeling on your account.” + +“I have escaped; and that I should escape, may be a matter of grateful +wonder to you and myself. But this does not acquit _him_, Mrs. Weston; +and I must say, that I think him greatly to blame. What right had he +to come among us with affection and faith engaged, and with manners +so _very_ disengaged? What right had he to endeavour to please, as +he certainly did--to distinguish any one young woman with persevering +attention, as he certainly did--while he really belonged to +another?--How could he tell what mischief he might be doing?--How could +he tell that he might not be making me in love with him?--very wrong, +very wrong indeed.” + +“From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather imagine--” + +“And how could _she_ bear such behaviour! Composure with a witness! +to look on, while repeated attentions were offering to another woman, +before her face, and not resent it.--That is a degree of placidity, +which I can neither comprehend nor respect.” + +“There were misunderstandings between them, Emma; he said so expressly. +He had not time to enter into much explanation. He was here only a +quarter of an hour, and in a state of agitation which did not allow +the full use even of the time he could stay--but that there had been +misunderstandings he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed, +seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings might very +possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct.” + +“Impropriety! Oh! Mrs. Weston--it is too calm a censure. Much, much +beyond impropriety!--It has sunk him, I cannot say how it has sunk him +in my opinion. So unlike what a man should be!--None of that upright +integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of +trick and littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of +his life.” + +“Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part; for though he has been wrong +in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for his having +many, very many, good qualities; and--” + +“Good God!” cried Emma, not attending to her.--“Mrs. Smallridge, too! +Jane actually on the point of going as governess! What could he mean by +such horrible indelicacy? To suffer her to engage herself--to suffer her +even to think of such a measure!” + +“He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I can fully acquit +him. It was a private resolution of hers, not communicated to him--or at +least not communicated in a way to carry conviction.--Till yesterday, I +know he said he was in the dark as to her plans. They burst on him, I do +not know how, but by some letter or message--and it was the discovery of +what she was doing, of this very project of hers, which determined him +to come forward at once, own it all to his uncle, throw himself on +his kindness, and, in short, put an end to the miserable state of +concealment that had been carrying on so long.” + +Emma began to listen better. + +“I am to hear from him soon,” continued Mrs. Weston. “He told me at +parting, that he should soon write; and he spoke in a manner which +seemed to promise me many particulars that could not be given now. Let +us wait, therefore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations. It +may make many things intelligible and excusable which now are not to +be understood. Don’t let us be severe, don’t let us be in a hurry to +condemn him. Let us have patience. I must love him; and now that I am +satisfied on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely anxious +for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that it may. They must +both have suffered a great deal under such a system of secresy and +concealment.” + +“_His_ sufferings,” replied Emma dryly, “do not appear to have done him +much harm. Well, and how did Mr. Churchill take it?” + +“Most favourably for his nephew--gave his consent with scarcely a +difficulty. Conceive what the events of a week have done in that family! +While poor Mrs. Churchill lived, I suppose there could not have been a +hope, a chance, a possibility;--but scarcely are her remains at rest in +the family vault, than her husband is persuaded to act exactly opposite +to what she would have required. What a blessing it is, when undue +influence does not survive the grave!--He gave his consent with very +little persuasion.” + +“Ah!” thought Emma, “he would have done as much for Harriet.” + +“This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the light this +morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the Bates’s, I fancy, some time--and +then came on hither; but was in such a hurry to get back to his uncle, +to whom he is just now more necessary than ever, that, as I tell you, +he could stay with us but a quarter of an hour.--He was very much +agitated--very much, indeed--to a degree that made him appear quite +a different creature from any thing I had ever seen him before.--In +addition to all the rest, there had been the shock of finding her so +very unwell, which he had had no previous suspicion of--and there was +every appearance of his having been feeling a great deal.” + +“And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying on with such +perfect secresy?--The Campbells, the Dixons, did none of them know of +the engagement?” + +Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush. + +“None; not one. He positively said that it had been known to no being in +the world but their two selves.” + +“Well,” said Emma, “I suppose we shall gradually grow reconciled to the +idea, and I wish them very happy. But I shall always think it a +very abominable sort of proceeding. What has it been but a system of +hypocrisy and deceit,--espionage, and treachery?--To come among us with +professions of openness and simplicity; and such a league in secret +to judge us all!--Here have we been, the whole winter and spring, +completely duped, fancying ourselves all on an equal footing of truth +and honour, with two people in the midst of us who may have been +carrying round, comparing and sitting in judgment on sentiments and +words that were never meant for both to hear.--They must take the +consequence, if they have heard each other spoken of in a way not +perfectly agreeable!” + +“I am quite easy on that head,” replied Mrs. Weston. “I am very sure +that I never said any thing of either to the other, which both might not +have heard.” + +“You are in luck.--Your only blunder was confined to my ear, when you +imagined a certain friend of ours in love with the lady.” + +“True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss +Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her; and +as to speaking ill of him, there I must have been safe.” + +At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance from the window, +evidently on the watch. His wife gave him a look which invited him +in; and, while he was coming round, added, “Now, dearest Emma, let me +intreat you to say and look every thing that may set his heart at ease, +and incline him to be satisfied with the match. Let us make the best of +it--and, indeed, almost every thing may be fairly said in her favour. It +is not a connexion to gratify; but if Mr. Churchill does not feel that, +why should we? and it may be a very fortunate circumstance for him, for +Frank, I mean, that he should have attached himself to a girl of such +steadiness of character and good judgment as I have always given her +credit for--and still am disposed to give her credit for, in spite of +this one great deviation from the strict rule of right. And how much may +be said in her situation for even that error!” + +“Much, indeed!” cried Emma feelingly. “If a woman can ever be +excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation like Jane +Fairfax’s.--Of such, one may almost say, that ‘the world is not their’s, +nor the world’s law.’” + +She met Mr. Weston on his entrance, with a smiling countenance, +exclaiming, + +“A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word! This was a +device, I suppose, to sport with my curiosity, and exercise my talent of +guessing. But you really frightened me. I thought you had lost half +your property, at least. And here, instead of its being a matter of +condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation.--I congratulate +you, Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect of having one of the +most lovely and accomplished young women in England for your daughter.” + +A glance or two between him and his wife, convinced him that all was as +right as this speech proclaimed; and its happy effect on his spirits was +immediate. His air and voice recovered their usual briskness: he shook +her heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the subject in +a manner to prove, that he now only wanted time and persuasion to think +the engagement no very bad thing. His companions suggested only what +could palliate imprudence, or smooth objections; and by the time they +had talked it all over together, and he had talked it all over again +with Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he was become perfectly +reconciled, and not far from thinking it the very best thing that Frank +could possibly have done. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +“Harriet, poor Harriet!”--Those were the words; in them lay the +tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted +the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had behaved very +ill by herself--very ill in many ways,--but it was not so much _his_ +behaviour as her _own_, which made her so angry with him. It was the +scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet’s account, that gave the +deepest hue to his offence.--Poor Harriet! to be a second time the +dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken +prophetically, when he once said, “Emma, you have been no friend +to Harriet Smith.”--She was afraid she had done her nothing but +disservice.--It was true that she had not to charge herself, in this +instance as in the former, with being the sole and original author of +the mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might otherwise +never have entered Harriet’s imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged +her admiration and preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever +given her a hint on the subject; but she felt completely guilty +of having encouraged what she might have repressed. She might have +prevented the indulgence and increase of such sentiments. Her influence +would have been enough. And now she was very conscious that she ought +to have prevented them.--She felt that she had been risking her friend’s +happiness on most insufficient grounds. Common sense would have directed +her to tell Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him, +and that there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring +for her.--“But, with common sense,” she added, “I am afraid I have had +little to do.” + +She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been angry +with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.--As for Jane +Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present +solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need +no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill-health +having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under cure.--Her +days of insignificance and evil were over.--She would soon be well, and +happy, and prosperous.--Emma could now imagine why her own attentions +had been slighted. This discovery laid many smaller matters open. No +doubt it had been from jealousy.--In Jane’s eyes she had been a rival; +and well might any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be +repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the rack, +and arrowroot from the Hartfield storeroom must have been poison. She +understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage itself from +the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that +Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her +desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! There was little +sympathy to be spared for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful +that this second disappointment would be more severe than the first. +Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; and +judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet’s mind, producing +reserve and self-command, it would.--She must communicate the painful +truth, however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy had +been among Mr. Weston’s parting words. “For the present, the whole +affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of +it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost; +and every body admitted it to be no more than due decorum.”--Emma had +promised; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty. + +In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost +ridiculous, that she should have the very same distressing and delicate +office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by +herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her, +she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick +on hearing Harriet’s footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. +Weston felt when _she_ was approaching Randalls. Could the event of +the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!--But of that, unfortunately, +there could be no chance. + +“Well, Miss Woodhouse!” cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room--“is +not this the oddest news that ever was?” + +“What news do you mean?” replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or +voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint. + +“About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!--you +need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me +himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; +and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you, +but he said you knew it.” + +“What did Mr. Weston tell you?”--said Emma, still perplexed. + +“Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill +are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one +another this long while. How very odd!” + +It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet’s behaviour was so extremely odd, +that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared +absolutely changed. She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or +disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at +her, quite unable to speak. + +“Had you any idea,” cried Harriet, “of his being in love with her?--You, +perhaps, might.--You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every +body’s heart; but nobody else--” + +“Upon my word,” said Emma, “I begin to doubt my having any such talent. +Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached +to another woman at the very time that I was--tacitly, if not +openly--encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?--I never +had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank +Churchill’s having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very +sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.” + +“Me!” cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. “Why should you caution +me?--You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill.” + +“I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,” replied +Emma, smiling; “but you do not mean to deny that there was a time--and +not very distant either--when you gave me reason to understand that you +did care about him?” + +“Him!--never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?” + turning away distressed. + +“Harriet!” cried Emma, after a moment’s pause--“What do you mean?--Good +Heaven! what do you mean?--Mistake you!--Am I to suppose then?--” + +She could not speak another word.--Her voice was lost; and she sat down, +waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer. + +Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from +her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was +in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma’s. + +“I should not have thought it possible,” she began, “that you could have +misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him--but considering +how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have +thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person. +Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in +the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of +Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And that you should +have been so mistaken, is amazing!--I am sure, but for believing that +you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I +should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost, +to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that more +wonderful things had happened; that there had been matches of greater +disparity (those were your very words);--I should not have dared to +give way to--I should not have thought it possible--But if _you_, who +had been always acquainted with him--” + +“Harriet!” cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely--“Let us understand +each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you +speaking of--Mr. Knightley?” + +“To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else--and so +I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as +possible.” + +“Not quite,” returned Emma, with forced calmness, “for all that you then +said, appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost +assert that you had _named_ Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service +Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the +gipsies, was spoken of.” + +“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!” + +“My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said on +the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment; +that considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely +natural:--and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to +your sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sensations had +been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.--The impression of it is +strong on my memory.” + +“Oh, dear,” cried Harriet, “now I recollect what you mean; but I +was thinking of something very different at the time. It was not the +gipsies--it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No! (with some +elevation) I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance--of Mr. +Knightley’s coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not +stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room. That +was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that +was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every +other being upon earth.” + +“Good God!” cried Emma, “this has been a most unfortunate--most +deplorable mistake!--What is to be done?” + +“You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood me? At +least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, if the +other had been the person; and now--it _is_ possible--” + +She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak. + +“I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse,” she resumed, “that you should feel a +great difference between the two, as to me or as to any body. You must +think one five hundred million times more above me than the other. But +I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing--that if--strange as it may +appear--. But you know they were your own words, that _more_ wonderful +things had happened, matches of _greater_ disparity had taken place than +between Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as if such +a thing even as this, may have occurred before--and if I should be so +fortunate, beyond expression, as to--if Mr. Knightley should really--if +_he_ does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss Woodhouse, you will +not set yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way. But +you are too good for that, I am sure.” + +Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look at +her in consternation, and hastily said, + +“Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley’s returning your affection?” + +“Yes,” replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully--“I must say that I +have.” + +Emma’s eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating, +in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient +for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, +once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched--she +admitted--she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse +that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley, than with Frank +Churchill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet’s having +some hope of a return? It darted through her, with the speed of an +arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself! + +Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same +few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed +her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How +inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been +her conduct! What blindness, what madness, had led her on! It struck her +with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the +world. Some portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all +these demerits--some concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense +of justice by Harriet--(there would be no need of _compassion_ to the +girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley--but justice required +that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the +resolution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent +kindness.--For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost +extent of Harriet’s hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done +nothing to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily +formed and maintained--or to deserve to be slighted by the person, whose +counsels had never led her right.--Rousing from reflection, therefore, +and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again, and, in a more +inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to the subject which +had first introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was +quite sunk and lost.--Neither of them thought but of Mr. Knightley and +themselves. + +Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very glad +to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, and +such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give +the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.--Emma’s +tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than +Harriet’s, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady; but her +mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such +a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing +emotions, must create.--She listened with much inward suffering, but +with great outward patience, to Harriet’s detail.--Methodical, or well +arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it +contained, when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of +the narration, a substance to sink her spirit--especially with the +corroborating circumstances, which her own memory brought in favour of +Mr. Knightley’s most improved opinion of Harriet. + +Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since +those two decisive dances.--Emma knew that he had, on that occasion, +found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at +least from the time of Miss Woodhouse’s encouraging her to think of him, +Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he +had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a different manner +towards her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!--Latterly she had been +more and more aware of it. When they had been all walking together, +he had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very +delightfully!--He seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma knew it +to have been very much the case. She had often observed the change, to +almost the same extent.--Harriet repeated expressions of approbation +and praise from him--and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement +with what she had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for +being without art or affectation, for having simple, honest, generous, +feelings.--She knew that he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he +had dwelt on them to her more than once.--Much that lived in Harriet’s +memory, many little particulars of the notice she had received from +him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compliment +implied, a preference inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected, +by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to half an hour’s relation, +and contained multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed +undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two latest occurrences to +be mentioned, the two of strongest promise to Harriet, were not without +some degree of witness from Emma herself.--The first, was his walking +with her apart from the others, in the lime-walk at Donwell, where they +had been walking some time before Emma came, and he had taken pains (as +she was convinced) to draw her from the rest to himself--and at first, +he had talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever done +before, in a very particular way indeed!--(Harriet could not recall +it without a blush.) He seemed to be almost asking her, whether her +affections were engaged.--But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared +likely to join them, he changed the subject, and began talking about +farming:--The second, was his having sat talking with her nearly half +an hour before Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of +his being at Hartfield--though, when he first came in, he had said that +he could not stay five minutes--and his having told her, during their +conversation, that though he must go to London, it was very much against +his inclination that he left home at all, which was much more (as +Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to _her_. The superior degree of +confidence towards Harriet, which this one article marked, gave her +severe pain. + +On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a +little reflection, venture the following question. “Might he not?--Is +not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought, into the state of +your affections, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin--he might have +Mr. Martin’s interest in view? But Harriet rejected the suspicion with +spirit. + +“Mr. Martin! No indeed!--There was not a hint of Mr. Martin. I hope I +know better now, than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it.” + +When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss +Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope. + +“I never should have presumed to think of it at first,” said she, “but +for you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour +be the rule of mine--and so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may +deserve him; and that if he does chuse me, it will not be any thing so +very wonderful.” + +The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings, +made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma’s side, to enable her to say +on reply, + +“Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last +man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his +feeling for her more than he really does.” + +Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so +satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which +at that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her +father’s footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too +much agitated to encounter him. “She could not compose herself-- +Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed--she had better go;”--with most ready +encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another +door--and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of +Emma’s feelings: “Oh God! that I had never seen her!” + +The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her +thoughts.--She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had +rushed on her within the last few hours. Every moment had brought a +fresh surprize; and every surprize must be matter of humiliation to +her.--How to understand it all! How to understand the deceptions she had +been thus practising on herself, and living under!--The blunders, the +blindness of her own head and heart!--she sat still, she walked about, +she tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery--in every place, every +posture, she perceived that she had acted most weakly; that she had +been imposed on by others in a most mortifying degree; that she had +been imposing on herself in a degree yet more mortifying; that she +was wretched, and should probably find this day but the beginning of +wretchedness. + +To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first +endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father’s +claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind. + +How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling +declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun?-- +When had he succeeded to that place in her affection, which Frank +Churchill had once, for a short period, occupied?--She looked back; +she compared the two--compared them, as they had always stood in her +estimation, from the time of the latter’s becoming known to her--and as +they must at any time have been compared by her, had it--oh! had it, by +any blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.--She +saw that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr. +Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not +been infinitely the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, +in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a +delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart--and, in short, that she had +never really cared for Frank Churchill at all! + +This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. This was +the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which +she reached; and without being long in reaching it.--She was most +sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed +to her--her affection for Mr. Knightley.--Every other part of her mind +was disgusting. + +With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every +body’s feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every +body’s destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken; and +she had not quite done nothing--for she had done mischief. She had +brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared, on Mr. +Knightley.--Were this most unequal of all connexions to take place, on +her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for his +attachment, she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of +Harriet’s;--and even were this not the case, he would never have known +Harriet at all but for her folly. + +Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every +wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax +became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no +surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or +thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her +side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it +must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers, +the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and +disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--Could +it be?--No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from +impossible.--Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities +to be captivated by very inferior powers? Was it new for one, perhaps +too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who would seek him?--Was +it new for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent, +incongruous--or for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct +the human fate? + +Oh! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where she +ought, and where he had told her she ought!--Had she not, with a +folly which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying the +unexceptionable young man who would have made her happy and respectable +in the line of life to which she ought to belong--all would have been +safe; none of this dreadful sequel would have been. + +How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to +Mr. Knightley!--How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such +a man till actually assured of it!--But Harriet was less humble, had +fewer scruples than formerly.--Her inferiority, whether of mind or +situation, seemed little felt.--She had seemed more sensible of Mr. +Elton’s being to stoop in marrying her, than she now seemed of Mr. +Knightley’s.--Alas! was not that her own doing too? Who had been at +pains to give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself?--Who but +herself had taught her, that she was to elevate herself if possible, +and that her claims were great to a high worldly establishment?--If +Harriet, from being humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Till now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma had never known +how much of her happiness depended on being _first_ with Mr. Knightley, +first in interest and affection.--Satisfied that it was so, and feeling +it her due, she had enjoyed it without reflection; and only in the +dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly important it had +been.--Long, very long, she felt she had been first; for, having no +female connexions of his own, there had been only Isabella whose claims +could be compared with hers, and she had always known exactly how far +he loved and esteemed Isabella. She had herself been first with him for +many years past. She had not deserved it; she had often been negligent +or perverse, slighting his advice, or even wilfully opposing him, +insensible of half his merits, and quarrelling with him because he would +not acknowledge her false and insolent estimate of her own--but still, +from family attachment and habit, and thorough excellence of mind, he +had loved her, and watched over her from a girl, with an endeavour to +improve her, and an anxiety for her doing right, which no other creature +had at all shared. In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear +to him; might she not say, very dear?--When the suggestions of hope, +however, which must follow here, presented themselves, she could not +presume to indulge them. Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy +of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionately loved by Mr. Knightley. +_She_ could not. She could not flatter herself with any idea of +blindness in his attachment to _her_. She had received a very recent +proof of its impartiality.--How shocked had he been by her behaviour to +Miss Bates! How directly, how strongly had he expressed himself to her +on the subject!--Not too strongly for the offence--but far, far too +strongly to issue from any feeling softer than upright justice and +clear-sighted goodwill.--She had no hope, nothing to deserve the name +of hope, that he could have that sort of affection for herself which was +now in question; but there was a hope (at times a slight one, at +times much stronger,) that Harriet might have deceived herself, and be +overrating his regard for _her_.--Wish it she must, for his sake--be the +consequence nothing to herself, but his remaining single all his life. +Could she be secure of that, indeed, of his never marrying at all, she +believed she should be perfectly satisfied.--Let him but continue the +same Mr. Knightley to her and her father, the same Mr. Knightley to +all the world; let Donwell and Hartfield lose none of their precious +intercourse of friendship and confidence, and her peace would be +fully secured.--Marriage, in fact, would not do for her. It would be +incompatible with what she owed to her father, and with what she felt +for him. Nothing should separate her from her father. She would not +marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley. + +It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be disappointed; and she +hoped, that when able to see them together again, she might at least +be able to ascertain what the chances for it were.--She should see them +henceforward with the closest observance; and wretchedly as she had +hitherto misunderstood even those she was watching, she did not know how +to admit that she could be blinded here.--He was expected back every +day. The power of observation would be soon given--frightfully soon it +appeared when her thoughts were in one course. In the meanwhile, she +resolved against seeing Harriet.--It would do neither of them good, +it would do the subject no good, to be talking of it farther.--She was +resolved not to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet had +no authority for opposing Harriet’s confidence. To talk would be only to +irritate.--She wrote to her, therefore, kindly, but decisively, to beg +that she would not, at present, come to Hartfield; acknowledging it to +be her conviction, that all farther confidential discussion of _one_ +topic had better be avoided; and hoping, that if a few days were allowed +to pass before they met again, except in the company of others--she +objected only to a tete-a-tete--they might be able to act as if they +had forgotten the conversation of yesterday.--Harriet submitted, and +approved, and was grateful. + +This point was just arranged, when a visitor arrived to tear Emma’s +thoughts a little from the one subject which had engrossed them, +sleeping or waking, the last twenty-four hours--Mrs. Weston, who had +been calling on her daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her +way home, almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to herself, to +relate all the particulars of so interesting an interview. + +Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates’s, and gone through his +share of this essential attention most handsomely; but she having then +induced Miss Fairfax to join her in an airing, was now returned with +much more to say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than a quarter +of an hour spent in Mrs. Bates’s parlour, with all the encumbrance of +awkward feelings, could have afforded. + +A little curiosity Emma had; and she made the most of it while her +friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to pay the visit in a good deal +of agitation herself; and in the first place had wished not to go at all +at present, to be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and +to defer this ceremonious call till a little time had passed, and Mr. +Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement’s becoming known; as, +considering every thing, she thought such a visit could not be paid +without leading to reports:--but Mr. Weston had thought differently; he +was extremely anxious to shew his approbation to Miss Fairfax and her +family, and did not conceive that any suspicion could be excited by it; +or if it were, that it would be of any consequence; for “such things,” + he observed, “always got about.” Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston +had very good reason for saying so. They had gone, in short--and very +great had been the evident distress and confusion of the lady. She had +hardly been able to speak a word, and every look and action had shewn +how deeply she was suffering from consciousness. The quiet, heart-felt +satisfaction of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of her +daughter--who proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had been a +gratifying, yet almost an affecting, scene. They were both so truly +respectable in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation; +thought so much of Jane; so much of every body, and so little of +themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss +Fairfax’s recent illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. Weston to +invite her to an airing; she had drawn back and declined at first, but, +on being pressed had yielded; and, in the course of their drive, +Mrs. Weston had, by gentle encouragement, overcome so much of her +embarrassment, as to bring her to converse on the important subject. +Apologies for her seemingly ungracious silence in their first reception, +and the warmest expressions of the gratitude she was always feeling +towards herself and Mr. Weston, must necessarily open the cause; but +when these effusions were put by, they had talked a good deal of the +present and of the future state of the engagement. Mrs. Weston was +convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her +companion, pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long been, +and was very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject. + +“On the misery of what she had suffered, during the concealment of so +many months,” continued Mrs. Weston, “she was energetic. This was one +of her expressions. ‘I will not say, that since I entered into the +engagement I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that I have +never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:’--and the quivering lip, +Emma, which uttered it, was an attestation that I felt at my heart.” + +“Poor girl!” said Emma. “She thinks herself wrong, then, for having +consented to a private engagement?” + +“Wrong! No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed +to blame herself. ‘The consequence,’ said she, ‘has been a state of +perpetual suffering to me; and so it ought. But after all the punishment +that misconduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is no +expiation. I never can be blameless. I have been acting contrary to all +my sense of right; and the fortunate turn that every thing has taken, +and the kindness I am now receiving, is what my conscience tells me +ought not to be.’ ‘Do not imagine, madam,’ she continued, ‘that I was +taught wrong. Do not let any reflection fall on the principles or the +care of the friends who brought me up. The error has been all my own; +and I do assure you that, with all the excuse that present circumstances +may appear to give, I shall yet dread making the story known to Colonel +Campbell.’” + +“Poor girl!” said Emma again. “She loves him then excessively, I +suppose. It must have been from attachment only, that she could be +led to form the engagement. Her affection must have overpowered her +judgment.” + +“Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to him.” + +“I am afraid,” returned Emma, sighing, “that I must often have +contributed to make her unhappy.” + +“On your side, my love, it was very innocently done. But she +probably had something of that in her thoughts, when alluding to the +misunderstandings which he had given us hints of before. One natural +consequence of the evil she had involved herself in,” she said, “was +that of making her _unreasonable_. The consciousness of having done +amiss, had exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious +and irritable to a degree that must have been--that had been--hard for +him to bear. ‘I did not make the allowances,’ said she, ‘which I ought +to have done, for his temper and spirits--his delightful spirits, and +that gaiety, that playfulness of disposition, which, under any other +circumstances, would, I am sure, have been as constantly bewitching to +me, as they were at first.’ She then began to speak of you, and of the +great kindness you had shewn her during her illness; and with a blush +which shewed me how it was all connected, desired me, whenever I had +an opportunity, to thank you--I could not thank you too much--for every +wish and every endeavour to do her good. She was sensible that you had +never received any proper acknowledgment from herself.” + +“If I did not know her to be happy now,” said Emma, seriously, “which, +in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous conscience, she +must be, I could not bear these thanks;--for, oh! Mrs. Weston, if there +were an account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss +Fairfax!--Well (checking herself, and trying to be more lively), this +is all to be forgotten. You are very kind to bring me these interesting +particulars. They shew her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is +very good--I hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune +should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on hers.” + +Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs. Weston. She thought +well of Frank in almost every respect; and, what was more, she loved him +very much, and her defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked with a +great deal of reason, and at least equal affection--but she had too much +to urge for Emma’s attention; it was soon gone to Brunswick Square or +to Donwell; she forgot to attempt to listen; and when Mrs. Weston ended +with, “We have not yet had the letter we are so anxious for, you know, +but I hope it will soon come,” she was obliged to pause before she +answered, and at last obliged to answer at random, before she could at +all recollect what letter it was which they were so anxious for. + +“Are you well, my Emma?” was Mrs. Weston’s parting question. + +“Oh! perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to give me +intelligence of the letter as soon as possible.” + +Mrs. Weston’s communications furnished Emma with more food for +unpleasant reflection, by increasing her esteem and compassion, and her +sense of past injustice towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted +not having sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the +envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause. +Had she followed Mr. Knightley’s known wishes, in paying that attention +to Miss Fairfax, which was every way her due; had she tried to know her +better; had she done her part towards intimacy; had she endeavoured +to find a friend there instead of in Harriet Smith; she must, in all +probability, have been spared from every pain which pressed on her +now.--Birth, abilities, and education, had been equally marking one as +an associate for her, to be received with gratitude; and the other--what +was she?--Supposing even that they had never become intimate friends; +that she had never been admitted into Miss Fairfax’s confidence on this +important matter--which was most probable--still, in knowing her as +she ought, and as she might, she must have been preserved from the +abominable suspicions of an improper attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she +had not only so foolishly fashioned and harboured herself, but had so +unpardonably imparted; an idea which she greatly feared had been made a +subject of material distress to the delicacy of Jane’s feelings, by the +levity or carelessness of Frank Churchill’s. Of all the sources of evil +surrounding the former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded +that she must herself have been the worst. She must have been a +perpetual enemy. They never could have been all three together, without +her having stabbed Jane Fairfax’s peace in a thousand instances; and on +Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony of a mind that would bear no +more. + +The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield. +The weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in, and +nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was +despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights +the longer visible. + +The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably +comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter’s side, and by +exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It reminded +her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening of Mrs. Weston’s +wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after tea, +and dissipated every melancholy fancy. Alas! such delightful proofs of +Hartfield’s attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly +be over. The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the +approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, +no pleasures had been lost.--But her present forebodings she feared +would experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now, +was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled--that +might not be even partially brightened. If all took place that +might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be +comparatively deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the +spirits only of ruined happiness. + +The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than +herself; and Mrs. Weston’s heart and time would be occupied by it. +They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband +also.--Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss +Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to +Highbury. They would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe. +All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the +loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful or +of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer +coming there for his evening comfort!--No longer walking in at all +hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their’s!--How was +it to be endured? And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet’s sake; +if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in Harriet’s society +all that he wanted; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, +the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the best +blessings of existence; what could be increasing Emma’s wretchedness but +the reflection never far distant from her mind, that it had been all her +own work? + +When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to refrain from +a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking about the room for a +few seconds--and the only source whence any thing like consolation +or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better +conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety might +be the following and every future winter of her life to the past, it +would yet find her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and +leave her less to regret when it were gone. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and +the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at +Hartfield--but in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a +softer quarter; the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was +summer again. With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma +resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite +sight, smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after +a storm, been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they +might gradually introduce; and on Mr. Perry’s coming in soon after +dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time +in hurrying into the shrubbery.--There, with spirits freshened, and +thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. +Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her.--It +was the first intimation of his being returned from London. She had +been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles +distant.--There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She +must be collected and calm. In half a minute they were together. The +“How d’ye do’s” were quiet and constrained on each side. She asked after +their mutual friends; they were all well.--When had he left them?--Only +that morning. He must have had a wet ride.--Yes.--He meant to walk with +her, she found. “He had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was +not wanted there, preferred being out of doors.”--She thought he neither +looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible cause for it, +suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps been communicating his +plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had +been received. + +They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking +at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to +give. And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to +speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for +encouragement to begin.--She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the +way to any such subject. He must do it all himself. Yet she could +not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural. She +considered--resolved--and, trying to smile, began-- + +“You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather +surprize you.” + +“Have I?” said he quietly, and looking at her; “of what nature?” + +“Oh! the best nature in the world--a wedding.” + +After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, he +replied, + +“If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that +already.” + +“How is it possible?” cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards +him; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might have called +at Mrs. Goddard’s in his way. + +“I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this morning, and +at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened.” + +Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more +composure, + +“_You_ probably have been less surprized than any of us, for you have +had your suspicions.--I have not forgotten that you once tried to give +me a caution.--I wish I had attended to it--but--(with a sinking voice +and a heavy sigh) I seem to have been doomed to blindness.” + +For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of having +excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn within +his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone +of great sensibility, speaking low, + +“Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.--Your own excellent +sense--your exertions for your father’s sake--I know you will not allow +yourself--.” Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more +broken and subdued accent, “The feelings of the warmest +friendship--Indignation--Abominable scoundrel!”--And in a louder, +steadier tone, he concluded with, “He will soon be gone. They will soon +be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for _her_. She deserves a better fate.” + +Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter +of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied, + +“You are very kind--but you are mistaken--and I must set you right.-- +I am not in want of that sort of compassion. My blindness to what was +going on, led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed +of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may +well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other reason +to regret that I was not in the secret earlier.” + +“Emma!” cried he, looking eagerly at her, “are you, indeed?”--but +checking himself--“No, no, I understand you--forgive me--I am pleased +that you can say even so much.--He is no object of regret, indeed! and +it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment +of more than your reason.--Fortunate that your affections were not +farther entangled!--I could never, I confess, from your manners, assure +myself as to the degree of what you felt--I could only be certain that +there was a preference--and a preference which I never believed him to +deserve.--He is a disgrace to the name of man.--And is he to be rewarded +with that sweet young woman?--Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable +creature.” + +“Mr. Knightley,” said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confused--“I +am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot let you continue in your +error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave such an impression, I +have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been +at all attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural +for a woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse.--But I never +have.” + +He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would +not. She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his +clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in +his opinion. She went on, however. + +“I have very little to say for my own conduct.--I was tempted by his +attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased.--An old story, +probably--a common case--and no more than has happened to hundreds of my +sex before; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up +as I do for Understanding. Many circumstances assisted the temptation. +He was the son of Mr. Weston--he was continually here--I always found +him very pleasant--and, in short, for (with a sigh) let me swell out the +causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last--my vanity +was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, however--for some +time, indeed--I have had no idea of their meaning any thing.--I thought +them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side. +He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me. I have never been +attached to him. And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He +never wished to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real +situation with another.--It was his object to blind all about him; and +no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded than myself--except +that I was _not_ blinded--that it was my good fortune--that, in short, I +was somehow or other safe from him.” + +She had hoped for an answer here--for a few words to say that her +conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she +could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, +he said, + +“I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.--I can suppose, +however, that I may have underrated him. My acquaintance with him has +been but trifling.--And even if I have not underrated him hitherto, he +may yet turn out well.--With such a woman he has a chance.--I have no +motive for wishing him ill--and for her sake, whose happiness will be +involved in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him +well.” + +“I have no doubt of their being happy together,” said Emma; “I believe +them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached.” + +“He is a most fortunate man!” returned Mr. Knightley, with energy. “So +early in life--at three-and-twenty--a period when, if a man chuses a +wife, he generally chuses ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such +a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, +has before him!--Assured of the love of such a woman--the disinterested +love, for Jane Fairfax’s character vouches for her disinterestedness; +every thing in his favour,--equality of situation--I mean, as far as +regards society, and all the habits and manners that are important; +equality in every point but one--and that one, since the purity of her +heart is not to be doubted, such as must increase his felicity, for it +will be his to bestow the only advantages she wants.--A man would always +wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her from; +and he who can do it, where there is no doubt of _her_ regard, must, +I think, be the happiest of mortals.--Frank Churchill is, indeed, the +favourite of fortune. Every thing turns out for his good.--He meets +with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot even +weary her by negligent treatment--and had he and all his family sought +round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found +her superior.--His aunt is in the way.--His aunt dies.--He has only to +speak.--His friends are eager to promote his happiness.--He had used +every body ill--and they are all delighted to forgive him.--He is a +fortunate man indeed!” + +“You speak as if you envied him.” + +“And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy.” + +Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence +of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if +possible. She made her plan; she would speak of something totally +different--the children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for +breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying, + +“You will not ask me what is the point of envy.--You are determined, I +see, to have no curiosity.--You are wise--but _I_ cannot be wise. Emma, +I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the +next moment.” + +“Oh! then, don’t speak it, don’t speak it,” she eagerly cried. “Take a +little time, consider, do not commit yourself.” + +“Thank you,” said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not +another syllable followed. + +Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in +her--perhaps to consult her;--cost her what it would, she would listen. +She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it; she might give +just praise to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, +relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be more +intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.--They had +reached the house. + +“You are going in, I suppose?” said he. + +“No,”--replied Emma--quite confirmed by the depressed manner in which +he still spoke--“I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not +gone.” And, after proceeding a few steps, she added--“I stopped you +ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you +pain.--But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or +to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation--as +a friend, indeed, you may command me.--I will hear whatever you like. I +will tell you exactly what I think.” + +“As a friend!”--repeated Mr. Knightley.--“Emma, that I fear is a +word--No, I have no wish--Stay, yes, why should I hesitate?--I +have gone too far already for concealment.--Emma, I accept your +offer--Extraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to +you as a friend.--Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?” + +He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression +of his eyes overpowered her. + +“My dearest Emma,” said he, “for dearest you will always be, whatever +the event of this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most beloved +Emma--tell me at once. Say ‘No,’ if it is to be said.”--She could +really say nothing.--“You are silent,” he cried, with great animation; +“absolutely silent! at present I ask no more.” + +Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The +dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most +prominent feeling. + +“I cannot make speeches, Emma:” he soon resumed; and in a tone of +such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably +convincing.--“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it +more. But you know what I am.--You hear nothing but truth from me.--I +have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other +woman in England would have borne it.--Bear with the truths I would +tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The +manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have +been a very indifferent lover.--But you understand me.--Yes, you see, +you understand my feelings--and will return them if you can. At present, +I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” + +While he spoke, Emma’s mind was most busy, and, with all the wonderful +velocity of thought, had been able--and yet without losing a word--to +catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole; to see that Harriet’s +hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a +delusion as any of her own--that Harriet was nothing; that she was every +thing herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet +had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her +agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all +received as discouragement from herself.--And not only was there time +for these convictions, with all their glow of attendant happiness; there +was time also to rejoice that Harriet’s secret had not escaped her, and +to resolve that it need not, and should not.--It was all the service +she could now render her poor friend; for as to any of that heroism of +sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat him to transfer his +affection from herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the +two--or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at +once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not +marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet, with pain and +with contrition; but no flight of generosity run mad, opposing all that +could be probable or reasonable, entered her brain. She had led her +friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever; but her +judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever +been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as most unequal +and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.--She spoke +then, on being so entreated.--What did she say?--Just what she ought, +of course. A lady always does.--She said enough to shew there need not +be despair--and to invite him to say more himself. He _had_ despaired at +one period; he had received such an injunction to caution and silence, +as for the time crushed every hope;--she had begun by refusing to hear +him.--The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;--her proposal of +taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had +just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!--She felt its +inconsistency; but Mr. Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, +and seek no farther explanation. + +Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; +seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a +little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is +mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.--Mr. +Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she +possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his. + +He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He had +followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He had come, +in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill’s engagement, with no +selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an +opening, to soothe or to counsel her.--The rest had been the work of +the moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The +delightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, +of her having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth +to the hope, that, in time, he might gain her affection himself;--but +it had been no present hope--he had only, in the momentary conquest of +eagerness over judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his +attempt to attach her.--The superior hopes which gradually opened were +so much the more enchanting.--The affection, which he had been asking +to be allowed to create, if he could, was already his!--Within half +an hour, he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to +something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name. + +_Her_ change was equal.--This one half-hour had given to each the same +precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same +degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.--On his side, there had been +a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, +of Frank Churchill.--He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank +Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably +enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill +that had taken him from the country.--The Box Hill party had decided +him on going away. He would save himself from witnessing again +such permitted, encouraged attentions.--He had gone to learn to be +indifferent.--But he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much +domestic happiness in his brother’s house; woman wore too amiable a form +in it; Isabella was too much like Emma--differing only in those striking +inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before +him, for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.--He had +stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day--till this very morning’s +post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.--Then, with the gladness +which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never +believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was there so much +fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no +longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly +after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, +faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery. + +He had found her agitated and low.--Frank Churchill was a villain.-- +He heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill’s +character was not desperate.--She was his own Emma, by hand and word, +when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank +Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house from +what she had brought out!--she had then been only daring to hope for +a little respite of suffering;--she was now in an exquisite flutter of +happiness, and such happiness moreover as she believed must still be +greater when the flutter should have passed away. + +They sat down to tea--the same party round the same table--how often +it had been collected!--and how often had her eyes fallen on the same +shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the +western sun!--But never in such a state of spirits, never in any thing +like it; and it was with difficulty that she could summon enough of her +usual self to be the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive +daughter. + +Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting against him in the +breast of that man whom he was so cordially welcoming, and so anxiously +hoping might not have taken cold from his ride.--Could he have seen the +heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs; but without the +most distant imagination of the impending evil, without the slightest +perception of any thing extraordinary in the looks or ways of either, +he repeated to them very comfortably all the articles of news he had +received from Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment, +totally unsuspicious of what they could have told him in return. + +As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma’s fever continued; +but when he was gone, she began to be a little tranquillised and +subdued--and in the course of the sleepless night, which was the tax +for such an evening, she found one or two such very serious points +to consider, as made her feel, that even her happiness must have some +alloy. Her father--and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling +the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort +of both to the utmost, was the question. With respect to her father, +it was a question soon answered. She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley +would ask; but a very short parley with her own heart produced the most +solemn resolution of never quitting her father.--She even wept over +the idea of it, as a sin of thought. While he lived, it must be only an +engagement; but she flattered herself, that if divested of the danger of +drawing her away, it might become an increase of comfort to him.--How +to do her best by Harriet, was of more difficult decision;--how to spare +her from any unnecessary pain; how to make her any possible atonement; +how to appear least her enemy?--On these subjects, her perplexity +and distress were very great--and her mind had to pass again and +again through every bitter reproach and sorrowful regret that had ever +surrounded it.--She could only resolve at last, that she would still +avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that need be told by +letter; that it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her removed +just now for a time from Highbury, and--indulging in one scheme +more--nearly resolve, that it might be practicable to get an invitation +for her to Brunswick Square.--Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; +and a few weeks spent in London must give her some amusement.--She did +not think it in Harriet’s nature to escape being benefited by novelty +and variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children.--At any rate, +it would be a proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom +every thing was due; a separation for the present; an averting of the +evil day, when they must all be together again. + +She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet; an employment which +left her so very serious, so nearly sad, that Mr. Knightley, in walking +up to Hartfield to breakfast, did not arrive at all too soon; and half +an hour stolen afterwards to go over the same ground again with him, +literally and figuratively, was quite necessary to reinstate her in a +proper share of the happiness of the evening before. + +He had not left her long, by no means long enough for her to have the +slightest inclination for thinking of any body else, when a letter was +brought her from Randalls--a very thick letter;--she guessed what it +must contain, and deprecated the necessity of reading it.--She was now +in perfect charity with Frank Churchill; she wanted no explanations, she +wanted only to have her thoughts to herself--and as for understanding +any thing he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it.--It must be +waded through, however. She opened the packet; it was too surely so;--a +note from Mrs. Weston to herself, ushered in the letter from Frank to +Mrs. Weston. + +“I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forwarding to you the +enclosed. I know what thorough justice you will do it, and have scarcely +a doubt of its happy effect.--I think we shall never materially disagree +about the writer again; but I will not delay you by a long preface.--We +are quite well.--This letter has been the cure of all the little +nervousness I have been feeling lately.--I did not quite like your looks +on Tuesday, but it was an ungenial morning; and though you will never +own being affected by weather, I think every body feels a north-east +wind.--I felt for your dear father very much in the storm of Tuesday +afternoon and yesterday morning, but had the comfort of hearing last +night, by Mr. Perry, that it had not made him ill. + + “Yours ever, + “A. W.” + + [To Mrs. Weston.] + + + WINDSOR-JULY. +MY DEAR MADAM, + +“If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this letter will be +expected; but expected or not, I know it will be read with candour and +indulgence.--You are all goodness, and I believe there will be need of +even all your goodness to allow for some parts of my past conduct.--But +I have been forgiven by one who had still more to resent. My courage +rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosperous to be +humble. I have already met with such success in two applications for +pardon, that I may be in danger of thinking myself too sure of yours, +and of those among your friends who have had any ground of offence.--You +must all endeavour to comprehend the exact nature of my situation when I +first arrived at Randalls; you must consider me as having a secret which +was to be kept at all hazards. This was the fact. My right to place +myself in a situation requiring such concealment, is another question. +I shall not discuss it here. For my temptation to _think_ it a right, +I refer every caviller to a brick house, sashed windows below, and +casements above, in Highbury. I dared not address her openly; my +difficulties in the then state of Enscombe must be too well known to +require definition; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before we +parted at Weymouth, and to induce the most upright female mind in the +creation to stoop in charity to a secret engagement.--Had she refused, I +should have gone mad.--But you will be ready to say, what was your +hope in doing this?--What did you look forward to?--To any thing, every +thing--to time, chance, circumstance, slow effects, sudden bursts, +perseverance and weariness, health and sickness. Every possibility of +good was before me, and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her +promises of faith and correspondence. If you need farther explanation, +I have the honour, my dear madam, of being your husband’s son, and +the advantage of inheriting a disposition to hope for good, which no +inheritance of houses or lands can ever equal the value of.--See +me, then, under these circumstances, arriving on my first visit to +Randalls;--and here I am conscious of wrong, for that visit might have +been sooner paid. You will look back and see that I did not come till +Miss Fairfax was in Highbury; and as _you_ were the person slighted, you +will forgive me instantly; but I must work on my father’s compassion, by +reminding him, that so long as I absented myself from his house, so long +I lost the blessing of knowing you. My behaviour, during the very +happy fortnight which I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to +reprehension, excepting on one point. And now I come to the principal, +the only important part of my conduct while belonging to you, which +excites my own anxiety, or requires very solicitous explanation. With +the greatest respect, and the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss +Woodhouse; my father perhaps will think I ought to add, with the deepest +humiliation.--A few words which dropped from him yesterday spoke his +opinion, and some censure I acknowledge myself liable to.--My behaviour +to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe, more than it ought.--In order to +assist a concealment so essential to me, I was led on to make more than +an allowable use of the sort of intimacy into which we were immediately +thrown.--I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse was my ostensible object--but +I am sure you will believe the declaration, that had I not been +convinced of her indifference, I would not have been induced by any +selfish views to go on.--Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse is, +she never gave me the idea of a young woman likely to be attached; and +that she was perfectly free from any tendency to being attached to me, +was as much my conviction as my wish.--She received my attentions with +an easy, friendly, goodhumoured playfulness, which exactly suited me. +We seemed to understand each other. From our relative situation, those +attentions were her due, and were felt to be so.--Whether Miss Woodhouse +began really to understand me before the expiration of that fortnight, +I cannot say;--when I called to take leave of her, I remember that I was +within a moment of confessing the truth, and I then fancied she was not +without suspicion; but I have no doubt of her having since detected me, +at least in some degree.--She may not have surmised the whole, but her +quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt it. You will find, +whenever the subject becomes freed from its present restraints, that it +did not take her wholly by surprize. She frequently gave me hints of it. +I remember her telling me at the ball, that I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude +for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.--I hope this history of my conduct +towards her will be admitted by you and my father as great extenuation +of what you saw amiss. While you considered me as having sinned against +Emma Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either. Acquit me here, and +procure for me, when it is allowable, the acquittal and good wishes +of that said Emma Woodhouse, whom I regard with so much brotherly +affection, as to long to have her as deeply and as happily in love as +myself.--Whatever strange things I said or did during that fortnight, +you have now a key to. My heart was in Highbury, and my business was to +get my body thither as often as might be, and with the least suspicion. +If you remember any queernesses, set them all to the right account.--Of +the pianoforte so much talked of, I feel it only necessary to say, that +its being ordered was absolutely unknown to Miss F--, who would never +have allowed me to send it, had any choice been given her.--The +delicacy of her mind throughout the whole engagement, my dear madam, +is much beyond my power of doing justice to. You will soon, I earnestly +hope, know her thoroughly yourself.--No description can describe her. +She must tell you herself what she is--yet not by word, for never +was there a human creature who would so designedly suppress her own +merit.--Since I began this letter, which will be longer than I foresaw, +I have heard from her.--She gives a good account of her own health; but +as she never complains, I dare not depend. I want to have your opinion +of her looks. I know you will soon call on her; she is living in dread +of the visit. Perhaps it is paid already. Let me hear from you without +delay; I am impatient for a thousand particulars. Remember how few +minutes I was at Randalls, and in how bewildered, how mad a state: and +I am not much better yet; still insane either from happiness or +misery. When I think of the kindness and favour I have met with, of her +excellence and patience, and my uncle’s generosity, I am mad with joy: +but when I recollect all the uneasiness I occasioned her, and how little +I deserve to be forgiven, I am mad with anger. If I could but see her +again!--But I must not propose it yet. My uncle has been too good for me +to encroach.--I must still add to this long letter. You have not heard +all that you ought to hear. I could not give any connected detail +yesterday; but the suddenness, and, in one light, the unseasonableness +with which the affair burst out, needs explanation; for though the event +of the 26th ult., as you will conclude, immediately opened to me the +happiest prospects, I should not have presumed on such early measures, +but from the very particular circumstances, which left me not an hour to +lose. I should myself have shrunk from any thing so hasty, and she +would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and +refinement.--But I had no choice. The hasty engagement she had entered +into with that woman--Here, my dear madam, I was obliged to leave off +abruptly, to recollect and compose myself.--I have been walking over +the country, and am now, I hope, rational enough to make the rest of +my letter what it ought to be.--It is, in fact, a most mortifying +retrospect for me. I behaved shamefully. And here I can admit, that +my manners to Miss W., in being unpleasant to Miss F., were highly +blameable. _She_ disapproved them, which ought to have been enough.--My +plea of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient.--She was +displeased; I thought unreasonably so: I thought her, on a thousand +occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cautious: I thought her even +cold. But she was always right. If I had followed her judgment, and +subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed proper, I should have +escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known.--We quarrelled.-- +Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell?--_There_ every little +dissatisfaction that had occurred before came to a crisis. I was late; +I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, but she +would not suffer it. She absolutely refused to allow me, which I then +thought most unreasonable. Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very +natural and consistent degree of discretion. While I, to blind the +world to our engagement, was behaving one hour with objectionable +particularity to another woman, was she to be consenting the next to a +proposal which might have made every previous caution useless?--Had we +been met walking together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth must +have been suspected.--I was mad enough, however, to resent.--I doubted +her affection. I doubted it more the next day on Box Hill; when, +provoked by such conduct on my side, such shameful, insolent neglect +of her, and such apparent devotion to Miss W., as it would have been +impossible for any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in +a form of words perfectly intelligible to me.--In short, my dear +madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abominable on mine; and +I returned the same evening to Richmond, though I might have staid with +you till the next morning, merely because I would be as angry with +her as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to +be reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured by her +coldness, and I went away determined that she should make the first +advances.--I shall always congratulate myself that you were not of +the Box Hill party. Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly +suppose you would ever have thought well of me again. Its effect upon +her appears in the immediate resolution it produced: as soon as she +found I was really gone from Randalls, she closed with the offer of that +officious Mrs. Elton; the whole system of whose treatment of her, by the +bye, has ever filled me with indignation and hatred. I must not quarrel +with a spirit of forbearance which has been so richly extended towards +myself; but, otherwise, I should loudly protest against the share of it +which that woman has known.--‘Jane,’ indeed!--You will observe that I +have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that name, even to you. +Think, then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between +the Eltons with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the +insolence of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall soon +have done.--She closed with this offer, resolving to break with me +entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me that we never were to meet +again.--_She_ _felt_ _the_ _engagement_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _source_ _of_ +_repentance_ _and_ _misery_ _to_ _each_: _she_ _dissolved_ _it_.--This +letter reached me on the very morning of my poor aunt’s death. I +answered it within an hour; but from the confusion of my mind, and the +multiplicity of business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of +being sent with all the many other letters of that day, was locked up in +my writing-desk; and I, trusting that I had written enough, though but +a few lines, to satisfy her, remained without any uneasiness.--I was +rather disappointed that I did not hear from her again speedily; but I +made excuses for her, and was too busy, and--may I add?--too cheerful +in my views to be captious.--We removed to Windsor; and two +days afterwards I received a parcel from her, my own letters all +returned!--and a few lines at the same time by the post, stating her +extreme surprize at not having had the smallest reply to her last; and +adding, that as silence on such a point could not be misconstrued, +and as it must be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate +arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe +conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly +command hers, so as to send them to Highbury within a week, I would +forward them after that period to her at--: in short, the full direction +to Mr. Smallridge’s, near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew the +name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had +been doing. It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character +which I knew her to possess; and the secrecy she had maintained, as to +any such design in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its +anxious delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to threaten +me.--Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my +own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post.--What was to be +done?--One thing only.--I must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction I +could not hope to be listened to again.--I spoke; circumstances were +in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and he was, +earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; +and could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that he wished I +might find as much happiness in the marriage state as he had done.--I +felt that it would be of a different sort.--Are you disposed to pity +me for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, for my +suspense while all was at stake?--No; do not pity me till I reached +Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. Do not pity me till I saw her +wan, sick looks.--I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my +knowledge of their late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance +of finding her alone.--I was not disappointed; and at last I was not +disappointed either in the object of my journey. A great deal of very +reasonable, very just displeasure I had to persuade away. But it is +done; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment’s +uneasiness can ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will +release you; but I could not conclude before. A thousand and a thousand +thanks for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for +the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.--If you think me in +a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.--Miss +W. calls me the child of good fortune. I hope she is right.--In one +respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe +myself, + + Your obliged and affectionate Son, + + F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +This letter must make its way to Emma’s feelings. She was obliged, in +spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all the +justice that Mrs. Weston foretold. As soon as she came to her own name, +it was irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting, +and almost every line agreeable; and when this charm ceased, the subject +could still maintain itself, by the natural return of her former regard +for the writer, and the very strong attraction which any picture of +love must have for her at that moment. She never stopt till she had gone +through the whole; and though it was impossible not to feel that he had +been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed--and he had +suffered, and was very sorry--and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and +so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that +there was no being severe; and could he have entered the room, she must +have shaken hands with him as heartily as ever. + +She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley came again, +she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs. Weston’s wishing it to +be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so +much to blame in his conduct. + +“I shall be very glad to look it over,” said he; “but it seems long. I +will take it home with me at night.” + +But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she +must return it by him. + +“I would rather be talking to you,” he replied; “but as it seems a +matter of justice, it shall be done.” + +He began--stopping, however, almost directly to say, “Had I been offered +the sight of one of this gentleman’s letters to his mother-in-law a few +months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken with such indifference.” + +He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and then, with a +smile, observed, “Humph! a fine complimentary opening: But it is his +way. One man’s style must not be the rule of another’s. We will not be +severe.” + +“It will be natural for me,” he added shortly afterwards, “to speak my +opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I am near you. +It will not be so great a loss of time: but if you dislike it--” + +“Not at all. I should wish it.” + +Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity. + +“He trifles here,” said he, “as to the temptation. He knows he is wrong, +and has nothing rational to urge.--Bad.--He ought not to have formed the +engagement.--‘His father’s disposition:’--he is unjust, however, to his +father. Mr. Weston’s sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright +and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston earned every present comfort +before he endeavoured to gain it.--Very true; he did not come till Miss +Fairfax was here.” + +“And I have not forgotten,” said Emma, “how sure you were that he might +have come sooner if he would. You pass it over very handsomely--but you +were perfectly right.” + +“I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:--but yet, I think--had +_you_ not been in the case--I should still have distrusted him.” + +When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole of it +aloud--all that related to her, with a smile; a look; a shake of the +head; a word or two of assent, or disapprobation; or merely of love, as +the subject required; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady +reflection, thus-- + +“Very bad--though it might have been worse.--Playing a most dangerous +game. Too much indebted to the event for his acquittal.--No judge of +his own manners by you.--Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and +regardless of little besides his own convenience.--Fancying you to have +fathomed his secret. Natural enough!--his own mind full of intrigue, +that he should suspect it in others.--Mystery; Finesse--how they pervert +the understanding! My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove more +and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each +other?” + +Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet’s account, +which she could not give any sincere explanation of. + +“You had better go on,” said she. + +He did so, but very soon stopt again to say, “the pianoforte! Ah! That +was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider whether +the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure. A +boyish scheme, indeed!--I cannot comprehend a man’s wishing to give a +woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense +with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument’s +coming if she could.” + +After this, he made some progress without any pause. Frank Churchill’s +confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call for +more than a word in passing. + +“I perfectly agree with you, sir,”--was then his remark. “You did behave +very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line.” And having gone through +what immediately followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his +persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax’s sense of right, +he made a fuller pause to say, “This is very bad.--He had induced her +to place herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty and +uneasiness, and it should have been his first object to prevent her from +suffering unnecessarily.--She must have had much more to contend +with, in carrying on the correspondence, than he could. He should have +respected even unreasonable scruples, had there been such; but hers were +all reasonable. We must look to her one fault, and remember that she +had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she +should have been in such a state of punishment.” + +Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew +uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so very improper! She was +deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look. It was all read, +however, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark; and, +excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear +of giving pain--no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist. + +“There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the +Eltons,” was his next observation.--“His feelings are natural.--What! +actually resolve to break with him entirely!--She felt the engagement to +be a source of repentance and misery to each--she dissolved it.--What a +view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!--Well, he must be a most +extraordinary--” + +“Nay, nay, read on.--You will find how very much he suffers.” + +“I hope he does,” replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resuming the letter. +“‘Smallridge!’--What does this mean? What is all this?” + +“She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge’s children--a +dear friend of Mrs. Elton’s--a neighbour of Maple Grove; and, by the +bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?” + +“Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read--not even of +Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done. What a letter +the man writes!” + +“I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him.” + +“Well, there _is_ feeling here.--He does seem to have suffered in +finding her ill.--Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of +her. ‘Dearer, much dearer than ever.’ I hope he may long continue to +feel all the value of such a reconciliation.--He is a very liberal +thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.--‘Happier than I +deserve.’ Come, he knows himself there. ‘Miss Woodhouse calls me the +child of good fortune.’--Those were Miss Woodhouse’s words, were they?-- +And a fine ending--and there is the letter. The child of good fortune! +That was your name for him, was it?” + +“You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still +you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I +hope it does him some service with you.” + +“Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of +inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion +in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he +is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it +may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very +ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers the +steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk +to you of something else. I have another person’s interest at present +so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. +Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work +on one subject.” + +The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike +English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to the woman he was in love +with, how to be able to ask her to marry him, without attacking the +happiness of her father. Emma’s answer was ready at the first word. +“While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible +for her. She could never quit him.” Part only of this answer, however, +was admitted. The impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr. +Knightley felt as strongly as herself; but the inadmissibility of any +other change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking it over most +deeply, most intently; he had at first hoped to induce Mr. Woodhouse to +remove with her to Donwell; he had wanted to believe it feasible, but +his knowledge of Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive himself +long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a transplantation +would be a risk of her father’s comfort, perhaps even of his life, which +must not be hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!--No, he felt +that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which had arisen on the +sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would not find in any +respect objectionable; it was, that he should be received at Hartfield; +that so long as her father’s happiness--in other words, his life--required +Hartfield to continue her home, it should be his likewise. + +Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had her own passing +thoughts. Like him, she had tried the scheme and rejected it; but such +an alternative as this had not occurred to her. She was sensible of all +the affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he must +be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits; that +in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there +would be much, very much, to be borne with. She promised to think of it, +and advised him to think of it more; but he was fully convinced, that no +reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject. He had +given it, he could assure her, very long and calm consideration; he had +been walking away from William Larkins the whole morning, to have his +thoughts to himself. + +“Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,” cried Emma. “I am sure +William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you +ask mine.” + +She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly promised, +moreover, to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very good +scheme. + +It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view in +which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never +struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as +heir-expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must +of the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet she only +gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and found amusement in +detecting the real cause of that violent dislike of Mr. Knightley’s +marrying Jane Fairfax, or any body else, which at the time she had +wholly imputed to the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt. + +This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at +Hartfield--the more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became. +His evils seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual +good to outweigh every drawback. Such a companion for herself in the +periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!--Such a partner in +all those duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of +melancholy! + +She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet; but every blessing +of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, +who must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family +party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere +charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser in +every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction +from her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a +dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a +peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of +unmerited punishment. + +In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, +supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. +Knightley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;--not +like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly +considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped +than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she +could be in love with more than _three_ men in one year. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desirous as +herself to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse was painful enough by +letter. How much worse, had they been obliged to meet! + +Harriet expressed herself very much as might be supposed, without +reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage; and yet Emma fancied there +was a something of resentment, a something bordering on it in her style, +which increased the desirableness of their being separate.--It might be +only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have +been quite without resentment under such a stroke. + +She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella’s invitation; and she was +fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting +to invention.--There was a tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and +had wished some time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was +delighted to be of use; any thing of ill health was a recommendation to +her--and though not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was +quite eager to have Harriet under her care.--When it was thus settled +on her sister’s side, Emma proposed it to her friend, and found her +very persuadable.--Harriet was to go; she was invited for at least a +fortnight; she was to be conveyed in Mr. Woodhouse’s carriage.--It was +all arranged, it was all completed, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick +Square. + +Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley’s visits; now she could +talk, and she could listen with true happiness, unchecked by that sense +of injustice, of guilt, of something most painful, which had haunted her +when remembering how disappointed a heart was near her, how much might +at that moment, and at a little distance, be enduring by the feelings +which she had led astray herself. + +The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard’s, or in London, made perhaps +an unreasonable difference in Emma’s sensations; but she could not think +of her in London without objects of curiosity and employment, which must +be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself. + +She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place +in her mind which Harriet had occupied. There was a communication before +her, one which _she_ only could be competent to make--the confession of +her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing to do with it +at present.--She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston +were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this +period among those she loved--and the evil should not act on herself +by anticipation before the appointed time.--A fortnight, at least, of +leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but more agitating, +delight, should be hers. + +She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half an +hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax.--She ought +to go--and she was longing to see her; the resemblance of their present +situations increasing every other motive of goodwill. It would be a +_secret_ satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect +would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to any +thing Jane might communicate. + +She went--she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door, but had not +been into the house since the morning after Box Hill, when poor Jane had +been in such distress as had filled her with compassion, though all the +worst of her sufferings had been unsuspected.--The fear of being still +unwelcome, determined her, though assured of their being at home, to +wait in the passage, and send up her name.--She heard Patty announcing +it; but no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before made so +happily intelligible.--No; she heard nothing but the instant reply of, +“Beg her to walk up;”--and a moment afterwards she was met on the stairs +by Jane herself, coming eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her +were felt sufficient.--Emma had never seen her look so well, so lovely, +so engaging. There was consciousness, animation, and warmth; there was +every thing which her countenance or manner could ever have wanted.-- +She came forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very +feeling tone, + +“This is most kind, indeed!--Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible for me +to express--I hope you will believe--Excuse me for being so entirely +without words.” + +Emma was gratified, and would soon have shewn no want of words, if the +sound of Mrs. Elton’s voice from the sitting-room had not checked +her, and made it expedient to compress all her friendly and all her +congratulatory sensations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand. + +Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates was out, which +accounted for the previous tranquillity. Emma could have wished Mrs. +Elton elsewhere; but she was in a humour to have patience with every +body; and as Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the +rencontre would do them no harm. + +She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton’s thoughts, and +understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in +Miss Fairfax’s confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was +still a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately in +the expression of her face; and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. +Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady’s replies, she saw +her with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which she +had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it into +the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with significant nods, + +“We can finish this some other time, you know. You and I shall not want +opportunities. And, in fact, you have heard all the essential already. I +only wanted to prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is +not offended. You see how delightfully she writes. Oh! she is a sweet +creature! You would have doated on her, had you gone.--But not a word +more. Let us be discreet--quite on our good behaviour.--Hush!--You +remember those lines--I forget the poem at this moment: + + “For when a lady’s in the case, + “You know all other things give place.” + +Now I say, my dear, in _our_ case, for _lady_, read----mum! a word to +the wise.--I am in a fine flow of spirits, an’t I? But I want to set +your heart at ease as to Mrs. S.--_My_ representation, you see, has +quite appeased her.” + +And again, on Emma’s merely turning her head to look at Mrs. Bates’s +knitting, she added, in a half whisper, + +“I mentioned no _names_, you will observe.--Oh! no; cautious as a +minister of state. I managed it extremely well.” + +Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, repeated on every +possible occasion. When they had all talked a little while in harmony of +the weather and Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with, + +“Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is +charmingly recovered?--Do not you think her cure does Perry the highest +credit?--(here was a side-glance of great meaning at Jane.) Upon my +word, Perry has restored her in a wonderful short time!--Oh! if you had +seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst!”--And when Mrs. Bates +was saying something to Emma, whispered farther, “We do not say a word +of any _assistance_ that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young +physician from Windsor.--Oh! no; Perry shall have all the credit.” + +“I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,” she +shortly afterwards began, “since the party to Box Hill. Very pleasant +party. But yet I think there was something wanting. Things did not +seem--that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some.--So +it appeared to me at least, but I might be mistaken. However, I think +it answered so far as to tempt one to go again. What say you both to our +collecting the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again, while the +fine weather lasts?--It must be the same party, you know, quite the +same party, not _one_ exception.” + +Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could not help being +diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting, +she supposed, from doubt of what might be said, and impatience to say +every thing. + +“Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness.--It is impossible +to say--Yes, indeed, I quite understand--dearest Jane’s prospects--that +is, I do not mean.--But she is charmingly recovered.--How is Mr. +Woodhouse?--I am so glad.--Quite out of my power.--Such a happy little +circle as you find us here.--Yes, indeed.--Charming young man!--that +is--so very friendly; I mean good Mr. Perry!--such attention to +Jane!”--And from her great, her more than commonly thankful delight +towards Mrs. Elton for being there, Emma guessed that there had been a +little show of resentment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, +which was now graciously overcome.--After a few whispers, indeed, which +placed it beyond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said, + +“Yes, here I am, my good friend; and here I have been so long, that +anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but, the truth +is, that I am waiting for my lord and master. He promised to join me +here, and pay his respects to you.” + +“What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr. Elton?--That will +be a favour indeed! for I know gentlemen do not like morning visits, and +Mr. Elton’s time is so engaged.” + +“Upon my word it is, Miss Bates.--He really is engaged from morning to +night.--There is no end of people’s coming to him, on some pretence or +other.--The magistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always +wanting his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing without +him.--‘Upon my word, Mr. E.,’ I often say, ‘rather you than I.--I do +not know what would become of my crayons and my instrument, if I had +half so many applicants.’--Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect +them both to an unpardonable degree.--I believe I have not played a bar +this fortnight.--However, he is coming, I assure you: yes, indeed, on +purpose to wait on you all.” And putting up her hand to screen her +words from Emma--“A congratulatory visit, you know.--Oh! yes, quite +indispensable.” + +Miss Bates looked about her, so happily--! + +“He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage himself +from Knightley; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep +consultation.--Mr. E. is Knightley’s right hand.” + +Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, “Is Mr. Elton +gone on foot to Donwell?--He will have a hot walk.” + +“Oh! no, it is a meeting at the Crown, a regular meeting. Weston and +Cole will be there too; but one is apt to speak only of those who +lead.--I fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have every thing their own way.” + +“Have not you mistaken the day?” said Emma. “I am almost certain that +the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow.--Mr. Knightley was at +Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday.” + +“Oh! no, the meeting is certainly to-day,” was the abrupt answer, which +denoted the impossibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton’s side.--“I do +believe,” she continued, “this is the most troublesome parish that ever +was. We never heard of such things at Maple Grove.” + +“Your parish there was small,” said Jane. + +“Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subject +talked of.” + +“But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I have heard +you speak of, as under the patronage of your sister and Mrs. Bragge; the +only school, and not more than five-and-twenty children.” + +“Ah! you clever creature, that’s very true. What a thinking brain you +have! I say, Jane, what a perfect character you and I should make, if we +could be shaken together. My liveliness and your solidity would produce +perfection.--Not that I presume to insinuate, however, that _some_ +people may not think _you_ perfection already.--But hush!--not a word, +if you please.” + +It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting to give her words, +not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw. +The wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility permitted, was very +evident, though it could not often proceed beyond a look. + +Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him with some of her +sparkling vivacity. + +“Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an +encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come!--But +you knew what a dutiful creature you had to deal with. You knew I should +not stir till my lord and master appeared.--Here have I been sitting +this hour, giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal +obedience--for who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?” + +Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown away. +His civilities to the other ladies must be paid; but his subsequent +object was to lament over himself for the heat he was suffering, and the +walk he had had for nothing. + +“When I got to Donwell,” said he, “Knightley could not be found. Very +odd! very unaccountable! after the note I sent him this morning, and the +message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till one.” + +“Donwell!” cried his wife.--“My dear Mr. E., you have not been to +Donwell!--You mean the Crown; you come from the meeting at the Crown.” + +“No, no, that’s to-morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley +to-day on that very account.--Such a dreadful broiling morning!--I went +over the fields too--(speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,) which made +it so much the worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you +I am not at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The +housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected.--Very +extraordinary!--And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps +to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods.--Miss +Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley!--Can you explain it?” + +Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary, +indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him. + +“I cannot imagine,” said Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife +ought to do,) “I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of +all people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to +be forgotten!--My dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for you, I am +sure he must.--Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric;--and his +servants forgot it. Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely +to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, +extremely awkward and remiss.--I am sure I would not have such a +creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And +as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.--She promised +Wright a receipt, and never sent it.” + +“I met William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house, +and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not +believe him.--William seemed rather out of humour. He did not know what +was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the +speech of him. I have nothing to do with William’s wants, but it really +is of very great importance that _I_ should see Knightley to-day; and it +becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should +have had this hot walk to no purpose.” + +Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In +all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr. +Knightley might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards +Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins. + +She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to +attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it gave her +an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say, + +“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you +not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to +introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might +have been strictly correct.--I feel that I should certainly have been +impertinent.” + +“Oh!” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought +infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual +composure--“there would have been no danger. The danger would have +been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than +by expressing an interest--. Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking more +collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of misconduct, very +great misconduct, it is particularly consoling to me to know that those +of my friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not +disgusted to such a degree as to--I have not time for half that I could +wish to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for +myself. I feel it so very due. But, unfortunately--in short, if your +compassion does not stand my friend--” + +“Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,” cried Emma warmly, and +taking her hand. “You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you +might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted +even--” + +“You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you.--So +cold and artificial!--I had always a part to act.--It was a life of +deceit!--I know that I must have disgusted you.” + +“Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. +Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done +quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you +have pleasant accounts from Windsor?” + +“Very.” + +“And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you--just as +I begin to know you.” + +“Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet. I am here +till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.” + +“Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,” replied Emma, +smiling--“but, excuse me, it must be thought of.” + +The smile was returned as Jane answered, + +“You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to you, (I +am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill +at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least, of +deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing +more to wait for.” + +“Thank you, thank you.--This is just what I wanted to be assured +of.--Oh! if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and +open!--Good-bye, good-bye.” + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Mrs. Weston’s friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the +satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by +knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in +wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with +any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s +sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father +and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew +older--and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence--to +have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks +and the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston--no +one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be +quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have +their powers in exercise again. + +“She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,” she +continued--“like La Baronne d’Almane on La Comtesse d’Ostalis, in Madame +de Genlis’ Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little +Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan.” + +“That is,” replied Mr. Knightley, “she will indulge her even more than +she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will +be the only difference.” + +“Poor child!” cried Emma; “at that rate, what will become of her?” + +“Nothing very bad.--The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable +in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my +bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all +my happiness to _you_, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be +severe on them?” + +Emma laughed, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all your +endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether +my own sense would have corrected me without it.” + +“Do you?--I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--Miss Taylor +gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference was quite +as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say, what +right has he to lecture me?--and I am afraid very natural for you to +feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did +you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the +tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without +doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, +have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.” + +“I am sure you were of use to me,” cried Emma. “I was very often +influenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own at the time. I +am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be +spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her +as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is +thirteen.” + +“How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your +saucy looks--‘Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says I +may, or I have Miss Taylor’s leave’--something which, you knew, I +did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving you two bad +feelings instead of one.” + +“What an amiable creature I was!--No wonder you should hold my speeches +in such affectionate remembrance.” + +“‘Mr. Knightley.’--You always called me, ‘Mr. Knightley;’ and, from +habit, it has not so very formal a sound.--And yet it is formal. I want +you to call me something else, but I do not know what.” + +“I remember once calling you ‘George,’ in one of my amiable fits, about +ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as +you made no objection, I never did it again.” + +“And cannot you call me ‘George’ now?” + +“Impossible!--I never can call you any thing but ‘Mr. Knightley.’ I +will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by +calling you Mr. K.--But I will promise,” she added presently, laughing +and blushing--“I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. +I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where;--in the building in +which N. takes M. for better, for worse.” + +Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important +service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the +advice which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly +follies--her wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a +subject.--She could not enter on it.--Harriet was very seldom mentioned +between them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being +thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, +and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship were +declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other +circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and that +her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did, on +Isabella’s letters. He might observe that it was so. The pain of being +obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very little inferior to +the pain of having made Harriet unhappy. + +Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be +expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits, which +appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted; but, +since that business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet +different from what she had known her before.--Isabella, to be sure, +was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been equal to playing +with the children, it would not have escaped her. Emma’s comforts and +hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet’s being to stay longer; +her fortnight was likely to be a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John +Knightley were to come down in August, and she was invited to remain +till they could bring her back. + +“John does not even mention your friend,” said Mr. Knightley. “Here is +his answer, if you like to see it.” + +It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage. Emma +accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all alive to know +what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her +friend was unmentioned. + +“John enters like a brother into my happiness,” continued Mr. Knightley, +“but he is no complimenter; and though I well know him to have, +likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far from making +flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rather cool in +her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes.” + +“He writes like a sensible man,” replied Emma, when she had read the +letter. “I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the +good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not +without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as +you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear a different +construction, I should not have believed him.” + +“My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means--” + +“He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,” + interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile--“much less, perhaps, than +he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the +subject.” + +“Emma, my dear Emma--” + +“Oh!” she cried with more thorough gaiety, “if you fancy your brother +does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, +and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing +_you_ justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on +your side of the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not +sink into ‘poor Emma’ with him at once.--His tender compassion towards +oppressed worth can go no farther.” + +“Ah!” he cried, “I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as +John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be +happy together. I am amused by one part of John’s letter--did you notice +it?--where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by +surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the +kind.” + +“If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having +some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly +unprepared for that.” + +“Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my +feelings. What has he been judging by?--I am not conscious of any +difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at +this time for my marrying any more than at another.--But it was so, I +suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them +the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so much +as usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, ‘Uncle seems +always tired now.’” + +The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other +persons’ reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently +recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Emma having it in view that +her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to +announce it at home, and then at Randalls.--But how to break it to her +father at last!--She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. +Knightley’s absence, or when it came to the point her heart would have +failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come +at such a time, and follow up the beginning she was to make.--She was +forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a +more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. +She must not appear to think it a misfortune.--With all the spirits she +could command, she prepared him first for something strange, and then, +in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be +obtained--which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, +since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all--she and Mr. +Knightley meant to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the +constant addition of that person’s company whom she knew he loved, next +to his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world. + +Poor man!--it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried +earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once, of +having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be +a great deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor Isabella, +and poor Miss Taylor.--But it would not do. Emma hung about him +affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so; and that he must +not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them +from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change: but she was not +going from Hartfield; she should be always there; she was introducing +no change in their numbers or their comforts but for the better; and she +was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr. +Knightley always at hand, when he were once got used to the idea.--Did +he not love Mr. Knightley very much?--He would not deny that he did, +she was sure.--Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. +Knightley?--Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, +who so glad to assist him?--Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached +to him?--Would not he like to have him always on the spot?--Yes. That +was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should +be glad to see him every day;--but they did see him every day as it +was.--Why could not they go on as they had done? + +Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome, +the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest.--To +Emma’s entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley’s, whose fond +praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and he was soon +used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion.--They had all +the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the strongest +approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to +consider the subject in the most serviceable light--first, as a settled, +and, secondly, as a good one--well aware of the nearly equal importance +of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse’s mind.--It was agreed +upon, as what was to be; and every body by whom he was used to be +guided assuring him that it would be for his happiness; and having some +feelings himself which almost admitted it, he began to think that some +time or other--in another year or two, perhaps--it might not be so very +bad if the marriage did take place. + +Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that she +said to him in favour of the event.--She had been extremely surprized, +never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her; but she +saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in +urging him to the utmost.--She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as +to think he deserved even her dearest Emma; and it was in every respect +so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one +respect, one point of the highest importance, so peculiarly eligible, +so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed as if Emma could not safely +have attached herself to any other creature, and that she had herself +been the stupidest of beings in not having thought of it, and wished it +long ago.--How very few of those men in a rank of life to address Emma +would have renounced their own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. +Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such +an arrangement desirable!--The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. +Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband’s plans and her own, for +a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe +and Hartfield had been a continual impediment--less acknowledged by Mr. +Weston than by herself--but even he had never been able to finish +the subject better than by saying--“Those matters will take care of +themselves; the young people will find a way.” But here there was +nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was +all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name. +It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without +one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it. + +Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections +as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing could +increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have +outgrown its first set of caps. + +The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr. Weston +had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough to +familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.--He saw the advantages +of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; +but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he +was not far from believing that he had always foreseen it. + +“It is to be a secret, I conclude,” said he. “These matters are always a +secret, till it is found out that every body knows them. Only let me be +told when I may speak out.--I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.” + +He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that +point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest +daughter?--he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, +of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately +afterwards. It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they +had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it +would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening +wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity. + +In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him, and +others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend their +all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys; +and another might predict disagreements among their servants; but yet, +upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in one +habitation, the Vicarage.--There, the surprize was not softened by any +satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife; +he only hoped “the young lady’s pride would now be contented;” and +supposed “she had always meant to catch Knightley if she could;” and, +on the point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, “Rather +he than I!”--But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--“Poor +Knightley! poor fellow!--sad business for him.”--She was extremely +concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good +qualities.--How could he be so taken in?--Did not think him at all in +love--not in the least.--Poor Knightley!--There would be an end of all +pleasant intercourse with him.--How happy he had been to come and dine +with them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now.--Poor +fellow!--No more exploring parties to Donwell made for _her_. Oh! +no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on every +thing.--Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all sorry that +she had abused the housekeeper the other day.--Shocking plan, living +together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who +had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first +quarter. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party from London would +be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it one +morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when +Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. After the +first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began +with, + +“I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.” + +“Good or bad?” said she, quickly, looking up in his face. + +“I do not know which it ought to be called.” + +“Oh! good I am sure.--I see it in your countenance. You are trying not +to smile.” + +“I am afraid,” said he, composing his features, “I am very much afraid, +my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.” + +“Indeed! but why so?--I can hardly imagine that any thing which pleases +or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too.” + +“There is one subject,” he replied, “I hope but one, on which we do not +think alike.” He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on +her face. “Does nothing occur to you?--Do not you recollect?--Harriet +Smith.” + +Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though +she knew not what. + +“Have you heard from her yourself this morning?” cried he. “You have, I +believe, and know the whole.” + +“No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me.” + +“You are prepared for the worst, I see--and very bad it is. Harriet +Smith marries Robert Martin.” + +Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared--and her eyes, +in eager gaze, said, “No, this is impossible!” but her lips were closed. + +“It is so, indeed,” continued Mr. Knightley; “I have it from Robert +Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago.” + +She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement. + +“You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.--I wish our opinions were +the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one +or the other of us think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not +talk much on the subject.” + +“You mistake me, you quite mistake me,” she replied, exerting herself. +“It is not that such a circumstance would now make me unhappy, but I +cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility!--You cannot mean to say, +that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot mean that he +has even proposed to her again--yet. You only mean, that he intends it.” + +“I mean that he has done it,” answered Mr. Knightley, with smiling but +determined decision, “and been accepted.” + +“Good God!” she cried.--“Well!”--Then having recourse to her workbasket, +in excuse for leaning down her face, and concealing all the exquisite +feelings of delight and entertainment which she knew she must be +expressing, she added, “Well, now tell me every thing; make this +intelligible to me. How, where, when?--Let me know it all. I never was +more surprized--but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you.--How--how +has it been possible?” + +“It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago, +and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send +to John.--He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was +asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley’s. They were +going to take the two eldest boys to Astley’s. The party was to be our +brother and sister, Henry, John--and Miss Smith. My friend Robert could +not resist. They called for him in their way; were all extremely amused; +and my brother asked him to dine with them the next day--which he +did--and in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an +opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak +in vain.--She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is +deserving. He came down by yesterday’s coach, and was with me this +morning immediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first +on my affairs, and then on his own. This is all that I can relate of +the how, where, and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much +longer history when you see her.--She will give you all the minute +particulars, which only woman’s language can make interesting.--In our +communications we deal only in the great.--However, I must say, that +Robert Martin’s heart seemed for _him_, and to _me_, very overflowing; +and that he did mention, without its being much to the purpose, that +on quitting their box at Astley’s, my brother took charge of Mrs. John +Knightley and little John, and he followed with Miss Smith and Henry; +and that at one time they were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith +rather uneasy.” + +He stopped.--Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply. To speak, she +was sure would be to betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness. +She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed +him; and after observing her a little while, he added, + +“Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you +unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His +situation is an evil--but you must consider it as what satisfies your +friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him +as you know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight +you.--As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend +in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is +saying a great deal I assure you, Emma.--You laugh at me about William +Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin.” + +He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now brought herself not +to smile too broadly--she did--cheerfully answering, + +“You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I think +Harriet is doing extremely well. _Her_ connexions may be worse than +_his_. In respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they +are. I have been silent from surprize merely, excessive surprize. You +cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me! how peculiarly unprepared +I was!--for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined +against him, much more, than she was before.” + +“You ought to know your friend best,” replied Mr. Knightley; “but I +should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be +very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her.” + +Emma could not help laughing as she answered, “Upon my word, I believe +you know her quite as well as I do.--But, Mr. Knightley, are you +perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright _accepted_ him. +I could suppose she might in time--but can she already?--Did not you +misunderstand him?--You were both talking of other things; of business, +shows of cattle, or new drills--and might not you, in the confusion of +so many subjects, mistake him?--It was not Harriet’s hand that he was +certain of--it was the dimensions of some famous ox.” + +The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. Knightley and Robert +Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma’s feelings, and so strong +was the recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet’s +side, so fresh the sound of those words, spoken with such emphasis, +“No, I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin,” that she was +really expecting the intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature. +It could not be otherwise. + +“Do you dare say this?” cried Mr. Knightley. “Do you dare to suppose me +so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of?--What do +you deserve?” + +“Oh! I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with +any other; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are +you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and +Harriet now are?” + +“I am quite sure,” he replied, speaking very distinctly, “that he +told me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing +doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that +it must be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew +of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of +her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, +than to go to Mrs. Goddard? I assured him that I could not. Then, he +said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day.” + +“I am perfectly satisfied,” replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, +“and most sincerely wish them happy.” + +“You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before.” + +“I hope so--for at that time I was a fool.” + +“And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all +Harriet’s good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for +Robert Martin’s sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much +in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often +talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, +indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor +Martin’s cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, +I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good +notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in +the affections and utility of domestic life.--Much of this, I have no +doubt, she may thank you for.” + +“Me!” cried Emma, shaking her head.--“Ah! poor Harriet!” + +She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more +praise than she deserved. + +Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her +father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be alone. Her mind was in a +state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to be +collected. She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she +had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she +could be fit for nothing rational. + +Her father’s business was to announce James’s being gone out to put the +horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls; and she +had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing. + +The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be +imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect of +Harriet’s welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy for +security.--What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of +him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own. +Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility +and circumspection in future. + +Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and in her +resolutions; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the +very midst of them. She must laugh at such a close! Such an end of the +doleful disappointment of five weeks back! Such a heart--such a Harriet! + +Now there would be pleasure in her returning--Every thing would be a +pleasure. It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin. + +High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities, was the +reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr. Knightley would +soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to +practise, might soon be over. She could now look forward to giving him +that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to +welcome as a duty. + +In the gayest and happiest spirits she set forward with her father; not +always listening, but always agreeing to what he said; and, whether in +speech or silence, conniving at the comfortable persuasion of his +being obliged to go to Randalls every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be +disappointed. + +They arrived.--Mrs. Weston was alone in the drawing-room:--but hardly +had they been told of the baby, and Mr. Woodhouse received the thanks +for coming, which he asked for, when a glimpse was caught through the +blind, of two figures passing near the window. + +“It is Frank and Miss Fairfax,” said Mrs. Weston. “I was just going to +tell you of our agreeable surprize in seeing him arrive this morning. He +stays till to-morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the +day with us.--They are coming in, I hope.” + +In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was extremely glad to +see him--but there was a degree of confusion--a number of embarrassing +recollections on each side. They met readily and smiling, but with a +consciousness which at first allowed little to be said; and having all +sat down again, there was for some time such a blank in the circle, that +Emma began to doubt whether the wish now indulged, which she had long +felt, of seeing Frank Churchill once more, and of seeing him with Jane, +would yield its proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined the +party, however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no longer a +want of subject or animation--or of courage and opportunity for Frank +Churchill to draw near her and say, + +“I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message +in one of Mrs. Weston’s letters. I hope time has not made you less +willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said.” + +“No, indeed,” cried Emma, most happy to begin, “not in the least. I am +particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy +in person.” + +He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with +serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. + +“Is not she looking well?” said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. +“Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston +doat upon her.” + +But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after +mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of +Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. + +“I can never think of it,” she cried, “without extreme shame.” + +“The shame,” he answered, “is all mine, or ought to be. But is it +possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you +had none.” + +“I never had the smallest, I assure you.” + +“That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I +had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong +things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no +service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken +the bond of secrecy and told you every thing.” + +“It is not now worth a regret,” said Emma. + +“I have some hope,” resumed he, “of my uncle’s being persuaded to pay a +visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells +are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, +till we may carry her northward.--But now, I am at such a distance from +her--is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--Till this morning, we have not +once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?” + +Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of gay +thought, he cried, + +“Ah! by the bye,” then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the +moment--“I hope Mr. Knightley is well?” He paused.--She coloured and +laughed.--“I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish +in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--I assure you that +I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.--He is +a man whom I cannot presume to praise.” + +Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style; but +his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own Jane, +and his next words were, + +“Did you ever see such a skin?--such smoothness! such delicacy!--and +yet without being actually fair.--One cannot call her fair. It is a +most uncommon complexion, with her dark eye-lashes and hair--a most +distinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it.--Just colour +enough for beauty.” + +“I have always admired her complexion,” replied Emma, archly; “but +do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so +pale?--When we first began to talk of her.--Have you quite forgotten?” + +“Oh! no--what an impudent dog I was!--How could I dare--” + +But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not help +saying, + +“I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you +had very great amusement in tricking us all.--I am sure you had.--I am +sure it was a consolation to you.” + +“Oh! no, no, no--how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the most +miserable wretch!” + +“Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a +source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us +all in.--Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the +truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same +situation. I think there is a little likeness between us.” + +He bowed. + +“If not in our dispositions,” she presently added, with a look of true +sensibility, “there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids +fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own.” + +“True, true,” he answered, warmly. “No, not true on your side. You can +have no superior, but most true on mine.--She is a complete angel. Look +at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her +throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father.--You will +be glad to hear (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) that my +uncle means to give her all my aunt’s jewels. They are to be new set. +I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be +beautiful in her dark hair?” + +“Very beautiful, indeed,” replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly, that he +gratefully burst out, + +“How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent +looks!--I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should +certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed to come.” + +The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account +of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the +infant’s appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, +but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending +for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been +almost as uneasy as herself.--In ten minutes, however, the child had +been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly +interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for +thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done +it. “She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the +slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be +too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, +that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, +very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had +seen it.” + +Frank Churchill caught the name. + +“Perry!” said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss +Fairfax’s eye. “My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. +Perry?--Has he been here this morning?--And how does he travel now?--Has +he set up his carriage?” + +Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the +laugh, it was evident from Jane’s countenance that she too was really +hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. + +“Such an extraordinary dream of mine!” he cried. “I can never think of +it without laughing.--She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see +it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do +not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, +which sent me the report, is passing under her eye--that the whole +blunder is spread before her--that she can attend to nothing else, +though pretending to listen to the others?” + +Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly +remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet +steady voice, + +“How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!--They +_will_ sometimes obtrude--but how you can court them!” + +He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but +Emma’s feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving +Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she +felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really +regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more +sensible of Mr. Knightley’s high superiority of character. The happiness +of this most happy day, received its completion, in the animated +contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a +momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her +attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from +unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the +recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party +from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour +alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied--unaccountable +as it was!--that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, +and was now forming all her views of happiness. + +Harriet was a little distressed--did look a little foolish at first: +but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and +self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with +the words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the +fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend’s +approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by +meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.--Harriet was +most happy to give every particular of the evening at Astley’s, and the +dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. +But what did such particulars explain?--The fact was, as Emma could now +acknowledge, that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his +continuing to love her had been irresistible.--Beyond this, it must ever +be unintelligible to Emma. + +The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her fresh +reason for thinking so.--Harriet’s parentage became known. She proved +to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the +comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to +have always wished for concealment.--Such was the blood of gentility +which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!--It was likely to +be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what +a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley--or for the +Churchills--or even for Mr. Elton!--The stain of illegitimacy, +unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. + +No objection was raised on the father’s side; the young man was treated +liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted +with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully +acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could +bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet’s +happiness with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he +offered, there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and +improvement. She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, +and who had better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, +and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into +temptation, nor left for it to find her out. She would be respectable +and happy; and Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the +world, to have created so steady and persevering an affection in such a +man;--or, if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself. + +Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, +was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.--The +intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change +into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought to be, +and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural +manner. + +Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw +her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as +no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, +could impair.--Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, +but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on +herself.--Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of +the three, were the first to be married. + +Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the +comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.--The Mr. Churchills +were also in town; and they were only waiting for November. + +The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by +Emma and Mr. Knightley.--They had determined that their marriage ought +to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to +allow them the fortnight’s absence in a tour to the seaside, which was +the plan.--John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in +approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse--how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced +to consent?--he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a +distant event. + +When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were +almost hopeless.--A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain.--He +began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it--a very +promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he +was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter’s +courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know +him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost +acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when +once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she +hesitated--she could not proceed. + +In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden +illumination of Mr. Woodhouse’s mind, or any wonderful change of his +nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another +way.--Mrs. Weston’s poultry-house was robbed one night of all her +turkeys--evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in +the neighbourhood also suffered.--Pilfering was _housebreaking_ to Mr. +Woodhouse’s fears.--He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his +son-in-law’s protection, would have been under wretched alarm every +night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the +Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them +protected him and his, Hartfield was safe.--But Mr. John Knightley must +be in London again by the end of the first week in November. + +The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, +cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the +moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day--and Mr. Elton was called +on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to +join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. + +The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have +no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars +detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very +inferior to her own.--“Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a +most pitiful business!--Selina would stare when she heard of it.”--But, +in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, +the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the +ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union. + + + +FINIS diff --git a/161.txt b/161.txt index a3345d3..4d55a8a 100644 --- a/161.txt +++ b/161.txt @@ -1,4 +1,3 @@ - SENSE AND SENSIBILITY by Jane Austen diff --git a/6688-0.txt b/6688-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4d6674 --- /dev/null +++ b/6688-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21632 @@ +The Mill on the Floss + +George Eliot + + + + + +Table of Contents + + + +Book I: Boy and Girl + +1. Outside Dorlcote Mill +2. Mr. Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom +3. Mr. Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom +4. Tom Is Expected +5. Tom Comes Home +6. The Aunts and Uncles Are Coming +7. Enter the Aunts and Uncles +8. Mr. Tulliver Shows His Weaker Side +9. To Garum Firs +10. Maggie Behaves Worse Than She Expected +11. Maggie Tries to Run away from Her Shadow +12. Mr. and Mrs. Glegg at Home +13. Mr. Tulliver Further Entangles the Skein of Life + + +Book II: School-Time + +1. Tom's "First Half" +2. The Christmas Holidays +3. The New Schoolfellow +4. "The Young Idea" +5. Maggie's Second Visit +6. A Love-Scene +7. The Golden Gates Are Passed + + +Book III: The Downfall + +1. What Had Happened at Home +2. Mrs. Tulliver's Teraphim, or Household Gods +3. The Family Council +4. A Vanishing Gleam +5. Tom Applies His Knife to the Oyster +6. Tending to Refute the Popular Prejudice against the Present of a + Pocket-Knife +7. How a Hen Takes to Stratagem +8. Daylight on the Wreck +9. An Item Added to the Family Register + + +Book IV: The Valley of Humiliation + +1. A Variation of Protestantism Unknown to Bossuet +2. The Torn Nest Is Pierced by the Thorns +3. A Voice from the Past + + +Book V: Wheat and Tares + +1. In the Red Deeps +2. Aunt Glegg Learns the Breadth of Bob's Thumb +3. The Wavering Balance +4. Another Love-Scene +5. The Cloven Tree +6. The Hard-Won Triumph +7. A Day of Reckoning + + +Book VI: The Great Temptation + +1. A Duet in Paradise +2. First Impressions +3. Confidential Moments +4. Brother and Sister +5. Showing That Tom Had Opened the Oyster +6. Illustrating the Laws of Attraction +7. Philip Re-enters +8. Wakem in a New Light +9. Charity in Full-Dress +10. The Spell Seems Broken +11. In the Lane +12. A Family Party +13. Borne Along by the Tide +14. Waking + + +Book VII: The Final Rescue + +1. The Return to the Mill +2. St. Ogg's Passes Judgment +3. Showing That Old Acquaintances Are Capable of Surprising Us +4. Maggie and Lucy +5. The Last Conflict + + + + + +Book I + +_Boy and Girl_ + + + + +Chapter I + +Outside Dorlcote Mill + + +A wide plain, where the broadening Floss hurries on between its green +banks to the sea, and the loving tide, rushing to meet it, checks its +passage with an impetuous embrace. On this mighty tide the black +ships--laden with the fresh-scented fir-planks, with rounded sacks of +oil-bearing seed, or with the dark glitter of coal--are borne along to +the town of St. Ogg's, which shows its aged, fluted red roofs and the +broad gables of its wharves between the low wooded hill and the +river-brink, tingeing the water with a soft purple hue under the +transient glance of this February sun. Far away on each hand stretch +the rich pastures, and the patches of dark earth made ready for the +seed of broad-leaved green crops, or touched already with the tint of +the tender-bladed autumn-sown corn. There is a remnant still of last +year's golden clusters of beehive-ricks rising at intervals beyond the +hedgerows; and everywhere the hedgerows are studded with trees; the +distant ships seem to be lifting their masts and stretching their +red-brown sails close among the branches of the spreading ash. Just by +the red-roofed town the tributary Ripple flows with a lively current +into the Floss. How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing +wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along +the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice, as to the voice of one +who is deaf and loving. I remember those large dipping willows. I +remember the stone bridge. + +And this is Dorlcote Mill. I must stand a minute or two here on the +bridge and look at it, though the clouds are threatening, and it is +far on in the afternoon. Even in this leafless time of departing +February it is pleasant to look at,--perhaps the chill, damp season +adds a charm to the trimly kept, comfortable dwelling-house, as old as +the elms and chestnuts that shelter it from the northern blast. The +stream is brimful now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, +and half drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house. +As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate +bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and +branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love +with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads +far into the water here among the withes, unmindful of the awkward +appearance they make in the drier world above. + +The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy +deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They +are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world +beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming +home with sacks of grain. That honest wagoner is thinking of his +dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour; but he will +not touch it till he has fed his horses,--the strong, submissive, +meek-eyed beasts, who, I fancy, are looking mild reproach at him from +between their blinkers, that he should crack his whip at them in that +awful manner as if they needed that hint! See how they stretch their +shoulders up the slope toward the bridge, with all the more energy +because they are so near home. Look at their grand shaggy feet that +seem to grasp the firm earth, at the patient strength of their necks, +bowed under the heavy collar, at the mighty muscles of their +struggling haunches! I should like well to hear them neigh over their +hardly earned feed of corn, and see them, with their moist necks freed +from the harness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond. +Now they are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace, +and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the +trees. + +Now I can turn my eyes toward the mill again, and watch the unresting +wheel sending out its diamond jets of water. That little girl is +watching it too; she has been standing on just the same spot at the +edge of the water ever since I paused on the bridge. And that queer +white cur with the brown ear seems to be leaping and barking in +ineffectual remonstrance with the wheel; perhaps he is jealous because +his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so rapt in its movement. It is +time the little playfellow went in, I think; and there is a very +bright fire to tempt her: the red light shines out under the deepening +gray of the sky. It is time, too, for me to leave off resting my arms +on the cold stone of this bridge.... + +Ah, my arms are really benumbed. I have been pressing my elbows on the +arms of my chair, and dreaming that I was standing on the bridge in +front of Dorlcote Mill, as it looked one February afternoon many years +ago. Before I dozed off, I was going to tell you what Mr. and Mrs. +Tulliver were talking about, as they sat by the bright fire in the +left-hand parlor, on that very afternoon I have been dreaming of. + + + +Chapter II + +Mr. Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom + + +"What I want, you know," said Mr. Tulliver,--"what I want is to give +Tom a good eddication; an eddication as'll be a bread to him. That was +what I was thinking of when I gave notice for him to leave the academy +at Lady-day. I mean to put him to a downright good school at +Midsummer. The two years at th' academy 'ud ha' done well enough, if +I'd meant to make a miller and farmer of him, for he's had a fine +sight more schoolin' nor _I_ ever got. All the learnin' _my_ father +ever paid for was a bit o' birch at one end and the alphabet at th' +other. But I should like Tom to be a bit of a scholard, so as he might +be up to the tricks o' these fellows as talk fine and write with a +flourish. It 'ud be a help to me wi' these lawsuits, and arbitrations, +and things. I wouldn't make a downright lawyer o' the lad,--I should +be sorry for him to be a raskill,--but a sort o' engineer, or a +surveyor, or an auctioneer and vallyer, like Riley, or one o' them +smartish businesses as are all profits and no outlay, only for a big +watch-chain and a high stool. They're pretty nigh all one, and they're +not far off being even wi' the law, _I_ believe; for Riley looks +Lawyer Wakem i' the face as hard as one cat looks another. _He's_ none +frightened at him." + +Mr. Tulliver was speaking to his wife, a blond comely woman in a +fan-shaped cap (I am afraid to think how long it is since fan-shaped +caps were worn, they must be so near coming in again. At that time, +when Mrs. Tulliver was nearly forty, they were new at St. Ogg's, and +considered sweet things). + +"Well, Mr. Tulliver, you know best: _I've_ no objections. But hadn't I +better kill a couple o' fowl, and have th' aunts and uncles to dinner +next week, so as you may hear what sister Glegg and sister Pullet have +got to say about it? There's a couple o' fowl _wants_ killing!" + +"You may kill every fowl i' the yard if you like, Bessy; but I shall +ask neither aunt nor uncle what I'm to do wi' my own lad," said Mr. +Tulliver, defiantly. + +"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Tulliver, shocked at this sanguinary rhetoric, +"how can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? But it's your way to speak +disrespectful o' my family; and sister Glegg throws all the blame +upo' me, though I'm sure I'm as innocent as the babe unborn. For +nobody's ever heard me say as it wasn't lucky for my children to have +aunts and uncles as can live independent. Howiver, if Tom's to go to a +new school, I should like him to go where I can wash him and mend him; +else he might as well have calico as linen, for they'd be one as +yallow as th' other before they'd been washed half-a-dozen times. And +then, when the box is goin' back'ard and forrard, I could send the lad +a cake, or a pork-pie, or an apple; for he can do with an extry bit, +bless him! whether they stint him at the meals or no. My children can +eat as much victuals as most, thank God!" + +"Well, well, we won't send him out o' reach o' the carrier's cart, if +other things fit in," said Mr. Tulliver. "But you mustn't put a spoke +i' the wheel about the washin,' if we can't get a school near enough. +That's the fault I have to find wi' you, Bessy; if you see a stick i' +the road, you're allays thinkin' you can't step over it. You'd want me +not to hire a good wagoner, 'cause he'd got a mole on his face." + +"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Tulliver, in mild surprise, "when did I iver +make objections to a man because he'd got a mole on his face? I'm sure +I'm rether fond o' the moles; for my brother, as is dead an' gone, had +a mole on his brow. But I can't remember your iver offering to hire a +wagoner with a mole, Mr. Tulliver. There was John Gibbs hadn't a mole +on his face no more nor you have, an' I was all for having you hire +_him_; an' so you did hire him, an' if he hadn't died o' th' +inflammation, as we paid Dr. Turnbull for attending him, he'd very +like ha' been drivin' the wagon now. He might have a mole somewhere +out o' sight, but how was I to know that, Mr. Tulliver?" + +"No, no, Bessy; I didn't mean justly the mole; I meant it to stand for +summat else; but niver mind--it's puzzling work, talking is. What I'm +thinking on, is how to find the right sort o' school to send Tom to, +for I might be ta'en in again, as I've been wi' th' academy. I'll have +nothing to do wi' a 'cademy again: whativer school I send Tom to, it +sha'n't be a 'cademy; it shall be a place where the lads spend their +time i' summat else besides blacking the family's shoes, and getting +up the potatoes. It's an uncommon puzzling thing to know what school +to pick." + +Mr. Tulliver paused a minute or two, and dived with both hands into +his breeches pockets as if he hoped to find some suggestion there. +Apparently he was not disappointed, for he presently said, "I know +what I'll do: I'll talk it over wi' Riley; he's coming to-morrow, t' +arbitrate about the dam." + +"Well, Mr. Tulliver, I've put the sheets out for the best bed, and +Kezia's got 'em hanging at the fire. They aren't the best sheets, but +they're good enough for anybody to sleep in, be he who he will; for as +for them best Holland sheets, I should repent buying 'em, only they'll +do to lay us out in. An' if you was to die to-morrow, Mr. Tulliver, +they're mangled beautiful, an' all ready, an' smell o' lavender as it +'ud be a pleasure to lay 'em out; an' they lie at the left-hand corner +o' the big oak linen-chest at the back: not as I should trust anybody +to look 'em out but myself." + +As Mrs. Tulliver uttered the last sentence, she drew a bright bunch of +keys from her pocket, and singled out one, rubbing her thumb and +finger up and down it with a placid smile while she looked at the +clear fire. If Mr. Tulliver had been a susceptible man in his conjugal +relation, he might have supposed that she drew out the key to aid her +imagination in anticipating the moment when he would be in a state to +justify the production of the best Holland sheets. Happily he was not +so; he was only susceptible in respect of his right to water-power; +moreover, he had the marital habit of not listening very closely, and +since his mention of Mr. Riley, had been apparently occupied in a +tactile examination of his woollen stockings. + +"I think I've hit it, Bessy," was his first remark after a short +silence. "Riley's as likely a man as any to know o' some school; he's +had schooling himself, an' goes about to all sorts o' places, +arbitratin' and vallyin' and that. And we shall have time to talk it +over to-morrow night when the business is done. I want Tom to be such +a sort o' man as Riley, you know,--as can talk pretty nigh as well as +if it was all wrote out for him, and knows a good lot o' words as +don't mean much, so as you can't lay hold of 'em i' law; and a good +solid knowledge o' business too." + +"Well," said Mrs. Tulliver, "so far as talking proper, and knowing +everything, and walking with a bend in his back, and setting his hair +up, I shouldn't mind the lad being brought up to that. But them +fine-talking men from the big towns mostly wear the false +shirt-fronts; they wear a frill till it's all a mess, and then hide it +with a bib; I know Riley does. And then, if Tom's to go and live at +Mudport, like Riley, he'll have a house with a kitchen hardly big +enough to turn in, an' niver get a fresh egg for his breakfast, an' +sleep up three pair o' stairs,--or four, for what I know,--and be +burnt to death before he can get down." + +"No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, "I've no thoughts of his going to +Mudport: I mean him to set up his office at St. Ogg's, close by us, +an' live at home. But," continued Mr. Tulliver after a pause, "what +I'm a bit afraid on is, as Tom hasn't got the right sort o' brains for +a smart fellow. I doubt he's a bit slowish. He takes after your +family, Bessy." + +"Yes, that he does," said Mrs. Tulliver, accepting the last +proposition entirely on its own merits; "he's wonderful for liking a +deal o' salt in his broth. That was my brother's way, and my father's +before him." + +"It seems a bit a pity, though," said Mr. Tulliver, "as the lad should +take after the mother's side instead o' the little wench. That's the +worst on't wi' crossing o' breeds: you can never justly calkilate +what'll come on't. The little un takes after my side, now: she's twice +as 'cute as Tom. Too 'cute for a woman, I'm afraid," continued Mr. +Tulliver, turning his head dubiously first on one side and then on the +other. "It's no mischief much while she's a little un; but an +over-'cute woman's no better nor a long-tailed sheep,--she'll fetch +none the bigger price for that." + +"Yes, it _is_ a mischief while she's a little un, Mr. Tulliver, for it +runs to naughtiness. How to keep her in a clean pinafore two hours +together passes my cunning. An' now you put me i' mind," continued +Mrs. Tulliver, rising and going to the window, "I don't know where she +is now, an' it's pretty nigh tea-time. Ah, I thought so,--wanderin' up +an' down by the water, like a wild thing: She'll tumble in some day." + +Mrs. Tulliver rapped the window sharply, beckoned, and shook her +head,--a process which she repeated more than once before she returned +to her chair. + +"You talk o' 'cuteness, Mr. Tulliver," she observed as she sat down, +"but I'm sure the child's half an idiot i' some things; for if I send +her upstairs to fetch anything, she forgets what she's gone for, an' +perhaps 'ull sit down on the floor i' the sunshine an' plait her hair +an' sing to herself like a Bedlam creatur', all the while I'm waiting +for her downstairs. That niver run i' my family, thank God! no more +nor a brown skin as makes her look like a mulatter. I don't like to +fly i' the face o' Providence, but it seems hard as I should have but +one gell, an' her so comical." + +"Pooh, nonsense!" said Mr. Tulliver; "she's a straight, black-eyed +wench as anybody need wish to see. I don't know i' what she's behind +other folks's children; and she can read almost as well as the +parson." + +"But her hair won't curl all I can do with it, and she's so franzy +about having it put i' paper, and I've such work as never was to make +her stand and have it pinched with th' irons." + +"Cut it off--cut it off short," said the father, rashly. + +"How can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? She's too big a gell--gone nine, +and tall of her age--to have her hair cut short; an' there's her +cousin Lucy's got a row o' curls round her head, an' not a hair out o' +place. It seems hard as my sister Deane should have that pretty child; +I'm sure Lucy takes more after me nor my own child does. Maggie, +Maggie," continued the mother, in a tone of half-coaxing fretfulness, +as this small mistake of nature entered the room, "where's the use o' +my telling you to keep away from the water? You'll tumble in and be +drownded some day, an' then you'll be sorry you didn't do as mother +told you." + +Maggie's hair, as she threw off her bonnet, painfully confirmed her +mother's accusation. Mrs. Tulliver, desiring her daughter to have a +curled crop, "like other folks's children," had had it cut too short +in front to be pushed behind the ears; and as it was usually straight +an hour after it had been taken out of paper, Maggie was incessantly +tossing her head to keep the dark, heavy locks out of her gleaming +black eyes,--an action which gave her very much the air of a small +Shetland pony. + +"Oh, dear, oh, dear, Maggie, what are you thinkin' of, to throw your +bonnet down there? Take it upstairs, there's a good gell, an' let your +hair be brushed, an' put your other pinafore on, an' change your +shoes, do, for shame; an' come an' go on with your patchwork, like a +little lady." + +"Oh, mother," said Maggie, in a vehemently cross tone, "I don't _want_ +to do my patchwork." + +"What! not your pretty patchwork, to make a counterpane for your aunt +Glegg?" + +"It's foolish work," said Maggie, with a toss of her mane,--"tearing +things to pieces to sew 'em together again. And I don't want to do +anything for my aunt Glegg. I don't like her." + +Exit Maggie, dragging her bonnet by the string, while Mr. Tulliver +laughs audibly. + +"I wonder at you, as you'll laugh at her, Mr. Tulliver," said the +mother, with feeble fretfulness in her tone. "You encourage her i' +naughtiness. An' her aunts will have it as it's me spoils her." + +Mrs. Tulliver was what is called a good-tempered person,--never cried, +when she was a baby, on any slighter ground than hunger and pins; and +from the cradle upward had been healthy, fair, plump, and dull-witted; +in short, the flower of her family for beauty and amiability. But milk +and mildness are not the best things for keeping, and when they turn +only a little sour, they may disagree with young stomachs seriously. I +have often wondered whether those early Madonnas of Raphael, with the +blond faces and somewhat stupid expression, kept their placidity +undisturbed when their strong-limbed, strong-willed boys got a little +too old to do without clothing. I think they must have been given to +feeble remonstrance, getting more and more peevish as it became more +and more ineffectual. + + + +Chapter III + +Mr. Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom + + +The gentleman in the ample white cravat and shirt-frill, taking his +brandy-and-water so pleasantly with his good friend Tulliver, is Mr. +Riley, a gentleman with a waxen complexion and fat hands, rather +highly educated for an auctioneer and appraiser, but large-hearted +enough to show a great deal of _bonhomie_ toward simple country +acquaintances of hospitable habits. Mr. Riley spoke of such +acquaintances kindly as "people of the old school." + +The conversation had come to a pause. Mr. Tulliver, not without a +particular reason, had abstained from a seventh recital of the cool +retort by which Riley had shown himself too many for Dix, and how +Wakem had had his comb cut for once in his life, now the business of +the dam had been settled by arbitration, and how there never would +have been any dispute at all about the height of water if everybody +was what they should be, and Old Harry hadn't made the lawyers. + +Mr. Tulliver was, on the whole, a man of safe traditional opinions; +but on one or two points he had trusted to his unassisted intellect, +and had arrived at several questionable conclusions; amongst the rest, +that rats, weevils, and lawyers were created by Old Harry. Unhappily +he had no one to tell him that this was rampant Manichæism, else he +might have seen his error. But to-day it was clear that the good +principle was triumphant: this affair of the water-power had been a +tangled business somehow, for all it seemed--look at it one way--as +plain as water's water; but, big a puzzle as it was, it hadn't got the +better of Riley. Mr. Tulliver took his brandy-and-water a little +stronger than usual, and, for a man who might be supposed to have a +few hundreds lying idle at his banker's, was rather incautiously open +in expressing his high estimate of his friend's business talents. + +But the dam was a subject of conversation that would keep; it could +always be taken up again at the same point, and exactly in the same +condition; and there was another subject, as you know, on which Mr. +Tulliver was in pressing want of Mr. Riley's advice. This was his +particular reason for remaining silent for a short space after his +last draught, and rubbing his knees in a meditative manner. He was not +a man to make an abrupt transition. This was a puzzling world, as he +often said, and if you drive your wagon in a hurry, you may light on +an awkward corner. Mr. Riley, meanwhile, was not impatient. Why should +he be? Even Hotspur, one would think, must have been patient in his +slippers on a warm hearth, taking copious snuff, and sipping +gratuitous brandy-and-water. + +"There's a thing I've got i' my head," said Mr. Tulliver at last, in +rather a lower tone than usual, as he turned his head and looked +steadfastly at his companion. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Riley, in a tone of mild interest. He was a man with +heavy waxen eyelids and high-arched eyebrows, looking exactly the same +under all circumstances. This immovability of face, and the habit of +taking a pinch of snuff before he gave an answer, made him trebly +oracular to Mr. Tulliver. + +"It's a very particular thing," he went on; "it's about my boy Tom." + +At the sound of this name, Maggie, who was seated on a low stool close +by the fire, with a large book open on her lap, shook her heavy hair +back and looked up eagerly. There were few sounds that roused Maggie +when she was dreaming over her book, but Tom's name served as well as +the shrillest whistle; in an instant she was on the watch, with +gleaming eyes, like a Skye terrier suspecting mischief, or at all +events determined to fly at any one who threatened it toward Tom. + +"You see, I want to put him to a new school at Midsummer," said Mr. +Tulliver; "he's comin' away from the 'cademy at Lady-day, an' I shall +let him run loose for a quarter; but after that I want to send him to +a downright good school, where they'll make a scholard of him." + +"Well," said Mr. Riley, "there's no greater advantage you can give him +than a good education. Not," he added, with polite significance,--"not +that a man can't be an excellent miller and farmer, and a shrewd, +sensible fellow into the bargain, without much help from the +schoolmaster." + +"I believe you," said Mr. Tulliver, winking, and turning his head on +one side; "but that's where it is. I don't _mean_ Tom to be a miller +and farmer. I see no fun i' that. Why, if I made him a miller an' +farmer, he'd be expectin' to take to the mill an' the land, an' +a-hinting at me as it was time for me to lay by an' think o' my latter +end. Nay, nay, I've seen enough o' that wi' sons. I'll never pull my +coat off before I go to bed. I shall give Tom an eddication an' put +him to a business, as he may make a nest for himself, an' not want to +push me out o' mine. Pretty well if he gets it when I'm dead an' gone. +I sha'n't be put off wi' spoon-meat afore I've lost my teeth." + +This was evidently a point on which Mr. Tulliver felt strongly; and +the impetus which had given unusual rapidity and emphasis to his +speech showed itself still unexhausted for some minutes afterward in a +defiant motion of the head from side to side, and an occasional "Nay, +nay," like a subsiding growl. + +These angry symptoms were keenly observed by Maggie, and cut her to +the quick. Tom, it appeared, was supposed capable of turning his +father out of doors, and of making the future in some way tragic by +his wickedness. This was not to be borne; and Maggie jumped up from +her stool, forgetting all about her heavy book, which fell with a bang +within the fender, and going up between her father's knees, said, in a +half-crying, half-indignant voice,-- + +"Father, Tom wouldn't be naughty to you ever; I know he wouldn't." + +Mrs. Tulliver was out of the room superintending a choice supper-dish, +and Mr. Tulliver's heart was touched; so Maggie was not scolded about +the book. Mr. Riley quietly picked it up and looked at it, while the +father laughed, with a certain tenderness in his hard-lined face, and +patted his little girl on the back, and then held her hands and kept +her between his knees. + +"What! they mustn't say any harm o' Tom, eh?" said Mr. Tulliver, +looking at Maggie with a twinkling eye. Then, in a lower voice, +turning to Mr. Riley, as though Maggie couldn't hear, "She understands +what one's talking about so as never was. And you should hear her +read,--straight off, as if she knowed it all beforehand. And allays at +her book! But it's bad--it's bad," Mr. Tulliver added sadly, checking +this blamable exultation. "A woman's no business wi' being so clever; +it'll turn to trouble, I doubt. But bless you!"--here the exultation +was clearly recovering the mastery,--"she'll read the books and +understand 'em better nor half the folks as are growed up." + +Maggie's cheeks began to flush with triumphant excitement. She thought +Mr. Riley would have a respect for her now; it had been evident that +he thought nothing of her before. + +Mr. Riley was turning over the leaves of the book, and she could make +nothing of his face, with its high-arched eyebrows; but he presently +looked at her, and said,-- + +"Come, come and tell me something about this book; here are some +pictures,--I want to know what they mean." + +Maggie, with deepening color, went without hesitation to Mr. Riley's +elbow and looked over the book, eagerly seizing one corner, and +tossing back her mane, while she said,-- + +"Oh, I'll tell you what that means. It's a dreadful picture, isn't it? +But I can't help looking at it. That old woman in the water's a +witch,--they've put her in to find out whether she's a witch or no; +and if she swims she's a witch, and if she's drowned--and killed, you +know--she's innocent, and not a witch, but only a poor silly old +woman. But what good would it do her then, you know, when she was +drowned? Only, I suppose, she'd go to heaven, and God would make it up +to her. And this dreadful blacksmith with his arms akimbo, +laughing,--oh, isn't he ugly?--I'll tell you what he is. He's the +Devil _really_" (here Maggie's voice became louder and more emphatic), +"and not a right blacksmith; for the Devil takes the shape of wicked +men, and walks about and sets people doing wicked things, and he's +oftener in the shape of a bad man than any other, because, you know, +if people saw he was the Devil, and he roared at 'em, they'd run away, +and he couldn't make 'em do what he pleased." + +Mr. Tulliver had listened to this exposition of Maggie's with +petrifying wonder. + +"Why, what book is it the wench has got hold on?" he burst out at +last. + +"The 'History of the Devil,' by Daniel Defoe,--not quite the right +book for a little girl," said Mr. Riley. "How came it among your +books, Mr. Tulliver?" + +Maggie looked hurt and discouraged, while her father said,-- + +"Why, it's one o' the books I bought at Partridge's sale. They was all +bound alike,--it's a good binding, you see,--and I thought they'd be +all good books. There's Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying' among +'em. I read in it often of a Sunday" (Mr. Tulliver felt somehow a +familiarity with that great writer, because his name was Jeremy); "and +there's a lot more of 'em,--sermons mostly, I think,--but they've all +got the same covers, and I thought they were all o' one sample, as you +may say. But it seems one mustn't judge by th' outside. This is a +puzzlin' world." + +"Well," said Mr. Riley, in an admonitory, patronizing tone as he +patted Maggie on the head, "I advise you to put by the 'History of the +Devil,' and read some prettier book. Have you no prettier books?" + +"Oh, yes," said Maggie, reviving a little in the desire to vindicate +the variety of her reading. "I know the reading in this book isn't +pretty; but I like the pictures, and I make stories to the pictures +out of my own head, you know. But I've got 'Æsop's Fables,' and a book +about Kangaroos and things, and the 'Pilgrim's Progress.'" + +"Ah, a beautiful book," said Mr. Riley; "you can't read a better." + +"Well, but there's a great deal about the Devil in that," said Maggie, +triumphantly, "and I'll show you the picture of him in his true shape, +as he fought with Christian." + +Maggie ran in an instant to the corner of the room, jumped on a chair, +and reached down from the small bookcase a shabby old copy of Bunyan, +which opened at once, without the least trouble of search, at the +picture she wanted. + +"Here he is," she said, running back to Mr. Riley, "and Tom colored +him for me with his paints when he was at home last holidays,--the +body all black, you know, and the eyes red, like fire, because he's +all fire inside, and it shines out at his eyes." + +"Go, go!" said Mr. Tulliver, peremptorily, beginning to feel rather +uncomfortable at these free remarks on the personal appearance of a +being powerful enough to create lawyers; "shut up the book, and let's +hear no more o' such talk. It is as I thought--the child 'ull learn +more mischief nor good wi' the books. Go, go and see after your +mother." + +Maggie shut up the book at once, with a sense of disgrace, but not +being inclined to see after her mother, she compromised the matter by +going into a dark corner behind her father's chair, and nursing her +doll, toward which she had an occasional fit of fondness in Tom's +absence, neglecting its toilet, but lavishing so many warm kisses on +it that the waxen cheeks had a wasted, unhealthy appearance. + +"Did you ever hear the like on't?" said Mr. Tulliver, as Maggie +retired. "It's a pity but what she'd been the lad,--she'd ha' been a +match for the lawyers, _she_ would. It's the wonderful'st thing"--here +he lowered his voice--"as I picked the mother because she wasn't o'er +'cute--bein' a good-looking woman too, an' come of a rare family for +managing; but I picked her from her sisters o' purpose, 'cause she was +a bit weak like; for I wasn't agoin' to be told the rights o' things +by my own fireside. But you see when a man's got brains himself, +there's no knowing where they'll run to; an' a pleasant sort o' soft +woman may go on breeding you stupid lads and 'cute wenches, till it's +like as if the world was turned topsy-turvy. It's an uncommon puzzlin' +thing." + +Mr. Riley's gravity gave way, and he shook a little under the +application of his pinch of snuff before he said,-- + +"But your lad's not stupid, is he? I saw him, when I was here last, +busy making fishing-tackle; he seemed quite up to it." + +"Well, he isn't not to say stupid,--he's got a notion o' things out o' +door, an' a sort o' common sense, as he'd lay hold o' things by the +right handle. But he's slow with his tongue, you see, and he reads but +poorly, and can't abide the books, and spells all wrong, they tell me, +an' as shy as can be wi' strangers, an' you never hear him say 'cute +things like the little wench. Now, what I want is to send him to a +school where they'll make him a bit nimble with his tongue and his +pen, and make a smart chap of him. I want my son to be even wi' these +fellows as have got the start o' me with having better schooling. Not +but what, if the world had been left as God made it, I could ha' seen +my way, and held my own wi' the best of 'em; but things have got so +twisted round and wrapped up i' unreasonable words, as aren't a bit +like 'em, as I'm clean at fault, often an' often. Everything winds +about so--the more straightforrad you are, the more you're puzzled." + +Mr. Tulliver took a draught, swallowed it slowly, and shook his head +in a melancholy manner, conscious of exemplifying the truth that a +perfectly sane intellect is hardly at home in this insane world. + +"You're quite in the right of it, Tulliver," observed Mr. Riley. +"Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than +leave it him in your will. I know I should have tried to do so by a +son of mine, if I'd had one, though, God knows, I haven't your ready +money to play with, Tulliver; and I have a houseful of daughters into +the bargain." + +"I dare say, now, you know of a school as 'ud be just the thing for +Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, not diverted from his purpose by any sympathy +with Mr. Riley's deficiency of ready cash. + +Mr. Riley took a pinch of snuff, and kept Mr. Tulliver in suspense by +a silence that seemed deliberative, before he said,-- + +"I know of a very fine chance for any one that's got the necessary +money and that's what you have, Tulliver. The fact is, I wouldn't +recommend any friend of mine to send a boy to a regular school, if he +could afford to do better. But if any one wanted his boy to get +superior instruction and training, where he would be the companion of +his master, and that master a first rate fellow, I know his man. I +wouldn't mention the chance to everybody, because I don't think +everybody would succeed in getting it, if he were to try; but I +mention it to you, Tulliver, between ourselves." + +The fixed inquiring glance with which Mr. Tulliver had been watching +his friend's oracular face became quite eager. + +"Ay, now, let's hear," he said, adjusting himself in his chair with +the complacency of a person who is thought worthy of important +communications. + +"He's an Oxford man," said Mr. Riley, sententiously, shutting his +mouth close, and looking at Mr. Tulliver to observe the effect of this +stimulating information. + +"What! a parson?" said Mr. Tulliver, rather doubtfully. + +"Yes, and an M.A. The bishop, I understand, thinks very highly of him: +why, it was the bishop who got him his present curacy." + +"Ah?" said Mr. Tulliver, to whom one thing was as wonderful as another +concerning these unfamiliar phenomena. "But what can he want wi' Tom, +then?" + +"Why, the fact is, he's fond of teaching, and wishes to keep up his +studies, and a clergyman has but little opportunity for that in his +parochial duties. He's willing to take one or two boys as pupils to +fill up his time profitably. The boys would be quite of the +family,--the finest thing in the world for them; under Stelling's eye +continually." + +"But do you think they'd give the poor lad twice o' pudding?" said +Mrs. Tulliver, who was now in her place again. "He's such a boy for +pudding as never was; an' a growing boy like that,--it's dreadful to +think o' their stintin' him." + +"And what money 'ud he want?" said Mr. Tulliver, whose instinct told +him that the services of this admirable M.A. would bear a high price. + +"Why, I know of a clergyman who asks a hundred and fifty with his +youngest pupils, and he's not to be mentioned with Stelling, the man I +speak of. I know, on good authority, that one of the chief people at +Oxford said, Stelling might get the highest honors if he chose. But he +didn't care about university honors; he's a quiet man--not noisy." + +"Ah, a deal better--a deal better," said Mr. Tulliver; "but a hundred +and fifty's an uncommon price. I never thought o' paying so much as +that." + +"A good education, let me tell you, Tulliver,--a good education is +cheap at the money. But Stelling is moderate in his terms; he's not a +grasping man. I've no doubt he'd take your boy at a hundred, and +that's what you wouldn't get many other clergymen to do. I'll write to +him about it, if you like." + +Mr. Tulliver rubbed his knees, and looked at the carpet in a +meditative manner. + +"But belike he's a bachelor," observed Mrs. Tulliver, in the interval; +"an' I've no opinion o' housekeepers. There was my brother, as is dead +an' gone, had a housekeeper once, an' she took half the feathers out +o' the best bed, an' packed 'em up an' sent 'em away. An' it's unknown +the linen she made away with--Stott her name was. It 'ud break my +heart to send Tom where there's a housekeeper, an' I hope you won't +think of it, Mr. Tulliver." + +"You may set your mind at rest on that score, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. +Riley, "for Stelling is married to as nice a little woman as any man +need wish for a wife. There isn't a kinder little soul in the world; I +know her family well. She has very much your complexion,--light curly +hair. She comes of a good Mudport family, and it's not every offer +that would have been acceptable in that quarter. But Stelling's not an +every-day man; rather a particular fellow as to the people he chooses +to be connected with. But I _think_ he would have no objection to take +your son; I _think_ he would not, on my representation." + +"I don't know what he could have _against_ the lad," said Mrs. +Tulliver, with a slight touch of motherly indignation; "a nice +fresh-skinned lad as anybody need wish to see." + +"But there's one thing I'm thinking on," said Mr. Tulliver, turning +his head on one side and looking at Mr. Riley, after a long perusal of +the carpet. "Wouldn't a parson be almost too high-learnt to bring up a +lad to be a man o' business? My notion o' the parsons was as they'd +got a sort o' learning as lay mostly out o' sight. And that isn't what +I want for Tom. I want him to know figures, and write like print, and +see into things quick, and know what folks mean, and how to wrap +things up in words as aren't actionable. It's an uncommon fine thing, +that is," concluded Mr. Tulliver, shaking his head, "when you can let +a man know what you think of him without paying for it." + +"Oh, my dear Tulliver," said Mr. Riley, "you're quite under a mistake +about the clergy; all the best schoolmasters are of the clergy. The +schoolmasters who are not clergymen are a very low set of men +generally." + +"Ay, that Jacobs is, at the 'cademy," interposed Mr. Tulliver. + +"To be sure,--men who have failed in other trades, most likely. Now, a +clergyman is a gentleman by profession and education; and besides +that, he has the knowledge that will ground a boy, and prepare him for +entering on any career with credit. There may be some clergymen who +are mere bookmen; but you may depend upon it, Stelling is not one of +them,--a man that's wide awake, let me tell you. Drop him a hint, and +that's enough. You talk of figures, now; you have only to say to +Stelling, 'I want my son to be a thorough arithmetician,' and you may +leave the rest to him." + +Mr. Riley paused a moment, while Mr. Tulliver, some-what reassured as +to clerical tutorship, was inwardly rehearsing to an imaginary Mr. +Stelling the statement, "I want my son to know 'rethmetic." + +"You see, my dear Tulliver," Mr. Riley continued, "when you get a +thoroughly educated man, like Stelling, he's at no loss to take up any +branch of instruction. When a workman knows the use of his tools, he +can make a door as well as a window." + +"Ay, that's true," said Mr. Tulliver, almost convinced now that the +clergy must be the best of schoolmasters. + +"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do for you," said Mr. Riley, "and I +wouldn't do it for everybody. I'll see Stelling's father-in-law, or +drop him a line when I get back to Mudport, to say that you wish to +place your boy with his son-in-law, and I dare say Stelling will write +to you, and send you his terms." + +"But there's no hurry, is there?" said Mrs. Tulliver; "for I hope, Mr. +Tulliver, you won't let Tom begin at his new school before Midsummer. +He began at the 'cademy at the Lady-day quarter, and you see what +good's come of it." + +"Ay, ay, Bessy, never brew wi' bad malt upo' Michael-masday, else +you'll have a poor tap," said Mr. Tulliver, winking and smiling at Mr. +Riley, with the natural pride of a man who has a buxom wife +conspicuously his inferior in intellect. "But it's true there's no +hurry; you've hit it there, Bessy." + +"It might be as well not to defer the arrangement too long," said Mr. +Riley, quietly, "for Stelling may have propositions from other +parties, and I know he would not take more than two or three boarders, +if so many. If I were you, I think I would enter on the subject with +Stelling at once: there's no necessity for sending the boy before +Midsummer, but I would be on the safe side, and make sure that nobody +forestalls you." + +"Ay, there's summat in that," said Mr. Tulliver. + +"Father," broke in Maggie, who had stolen unperceived to her father's +elbow again, listening with parted lips, while she held her doll +topsy-turvy, and crushed its nose against the wood of the +chair,--"father, is it a long way off where Tom is to go? Sha'n't we +ever go to see him?" + +"I don't know, my wench," said the father, tenderly. "Ask Mr. Riley; +he knows." + +Maggie came round promptly in front of Mr. Riley, and said, "How far +is it, please, sir?" + +"Oh, a long, long way off," that gentleman answered, being of opinion +that children, when they are not naughty, should always be spoken to +jocosely. "You must borrow the seven-leagued boots to get to him." + +"That's nonsense!" said Maggie, tossing her head haughtily, and +turning away, with the tears springing in her eyes. She began to +dislike Mr. Riley; it was evident he thought her silly and of no +consequence. + +"Hush, Maggie! for shame of you, asking questions and chattering," +said her mother. "Come and sit down on your little stool, and hold +your tongue, do. But," added Mrs. Tulliver, who had her own alarm +awakened, "is it so far off as I couldn't wash him and mend him?" + +"About fifteen miles; that's all," said Mr. Riley. "You can drive +there and back in a day quite comfortably. Or--Stelling is a +hospitable, pleasant man--he'd be glad to have you stay." + +"But it's too far off for the linen, I doubt," said Mrs. Tulliver, +sadly. + +The entrance of supper opportunely adjourned this difficulty, and +relieved Mr. Riley from the labor of suggesting some solution or +compromise,--a labor which he would otherwise doubtless have +undertaken; for, as you perceive, he was a man of very obliging +manners. And he had really given himself the trouble of recommending +Mr. Stelling to his friend Tulliver without any positive expectation +of a solid, definite advantage resulting to himself, notwithstanding +the subtle indications to the contrary which might have misled a +too-sagacious observer. For there is nothing more widely misleading +than sagacity if it happens to get on a wrong scent; and sagacity, +persuaded that men usually act and speak from distinct motives, with a +consciously proposed end in view, is certain to waste its energies on +imaginary game. + +Plotting covetousness and deliberate contrivance, in order to compass +a selfish end, are nowhere abundant but in the world of the dramatist: +they demand too intense a mental action for many of our +fellow-parishioners to be guilty of them. It is easy enough to spoil +the lives of our neighbors without taking so much trouble; we can do +it by lazy acquiescence and lazy omission, by trivial falsities for +which we hardly know a reason, by small frauds neutralized by small +extravagances, by maladroit flatteries, and clumsily improvised +insinuations. We live from hand to mouth, most of us, with a small +family of immediate desires; we do little else than snatch a morsel to +satisfy the hungry brood, rarely thinking of seed-corn or the next +year's crop. + +Mr. Riley was a man of business, and not cold toward his own interest, +yet even he was more under the influence of small promptings than of +far-sighted designs. He had no private understanding with the Rev. +Walter Stelling; on the contrary, he knew very little of that M.A. and +his acquirements,--not quite enough, perhaps, to warrant so strong a +recommendation of him as he had given to his friend Tulliver. But he +believed Mr. Stelling to be an excellent classic, for Gadsby had said +so, and Gadsby's first cousin was an Oxford tutor; which was better +ground for the belief even than his own immediate observation would +have been, for though Mr. Riley had received a tincture of the +classics at the great Mudport Free School, and had a sense of +understanding Latin generally, his comprehension of any particular +Latin was not ready. Doubtless there remained a subtle aroma from his +juvenile contact with the "De Senectute" and the fourth book of the +"Æneid," but it had ceased to be distinctly recognizable as classical, +and was only perceived in the higher finish and force of his +auctioneering style. Then, Stelling was an Oxford man, and the Oxford +men were always--no, no, it was the Cambridge men who were always good +mathematicians. But a man who had had a university education could +teach anything he liked; especially a man like Stelling, who had made +a speech at a Mudport dinner on a political occasion, and had +acquitted himself so well that it was generally remarked, this +son-in-law of Timpson's was a sharp fellow. It was to be expected of a +Mudport man, from the parish of St. Ursula, that he would not omit to +do a good turn to a son-in-law of Timpson's, for Timpson was one of +the most useful and influential men in the parish, and had a good deal +of business, which he knew how to put into the right hands. Mr. Riley +liked such men, quite apart from any money which might be diverted, +through their good judgment, from less worthy pockets into his own; +and it would be a satisfaction to him to say to Timpson on his return +home, "I've secured a good pupil for your son-in-law." Timpson had a +large family of daughters; Mr. Riley felt for him; besides, Louisa +Timpson's face, with its light curls, had been a familiar object to +him over the pew wainscot on a Sunday for nearly fifteen years; it was +natural her husband should be a commendable tutor. Moreover, Mr. Riley +knew of no other schoolmaster whom he had any ground for recommending +in preference; why, then, should he not recommend Stelling? His friend +Tulliver had asked him for an opinion; it is always chilling, in +friendly intercourse, to say you have no opinion to give. And if you +deliver an opinion at all, it is mere stupidity not to do it with an +air of conviction and well-founded knowledge. You make it your own in +uttering it, and naturally get fond of it. Thus Mr. Riley, knowing no +harm of Stelling to begin with, and wishing him well, so far as he had +any wishes at all concerning him, had no sooner recommended him than +he began to think with admiration of a man recommended on such high +authority, and would soon have gathered so warm an interest on the +subject, that if Mr. Tulliver had in the end declined to send Tom to +Stelling, Mr. Riley would have thought his "friend of the old school" +a thoroughly pig-headed fellow. + +If you blame Mr. Riley very severely for giving a recommendation on +such slight grounds, I must say you are rather hard upon him. Why +should an auctioneer and appraiser thirty years ago, who had as good +as forgotten his free-school Latin, be expected to manifest a delicate +scrupulosity which is not always exhibited by gentlemen of the learned +professions, even in our present advanced stage of morality? + +Besides, a man with the milk of human kindness in him can scarcely +abstain from doing a good-natured action, and one cannot be +good-natured all round. Nature herself occasionally quarters an +inconvenient parasite on an animal toward whom she has otherwise no +ill will. What then? We admire her care for the parasite. If Mr. Riley +had shrunk from giving a recommendation that was not based on valid +evidence, he would not have helped Mr. Stelling to a paying pupil, and +that would not have been so well for the reverend gentleman. Consider, +too, that all the pleasant little dim ideas and complacencies--of +standing well with Timpson, of dispensing advice when he was asked for +it, of impressing his friend Tulliver with additional respect, of +saying something, and saying it emphatically, with other inappreciably +minute ingredients that went along with the warm hearth and the +brandy-and-water to make up Mr. Riley's consciousness on this +occasion--would have been a mere blank. + + + +Chapter IV + +Tom Is Expected + + +It was a heavy disappointment to Maggie that she was not allowed to go +with her father in the gig when he went to fetch Tom home from the +academy; but the morning was too wet, Mrs. Tulliver said, for a little +girl to go out in her best bonnet. Maggie took the opposite view very +strongly, and it was a direct consequence of this difference of +opinion that when her mother was in the act of brushing out the +reluctant black crop Maggie suddenly rushed from under her hands and +dipped her head in a basin of water standing near, in the vindictive +determination that there should be no more chance of curls that day. + +"Maggie, Maggie!" exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, sitting stout and helpless +with the brushes on her lap, "what is to become of you if you're so +naughty? I'll tell your aunt Glegg and your aunt Pullet when they come +next week, and they'll never love you any more. Oh dear, oh dear! look +at your clean pinafore, wet from top to bottom. Folks 'ull think it's +a judgment on me as I've got such a child,--they'll think I've done +summat wicked." + +Before this remonstrance was finished, Maggie was already out of +hearing, making her way toward the great attic that run under the old +high-pitched roof, shaking the water from her black locks as she ran, +like a Skye terrier escaped from his bath. This attic was Maggie's +favorite retreat on a wet day, when the weather was not too cold; here +she fretted out all her ill humors, and talked aloud to the worm-eaten +floors and the worm-eaten shelves, and the dark rafters festooned with +cobwebs; and here she kept a Fetish which she punished for all her +misfortunes. This was the trunk of a large wooden doll, which once +stared with the roundest of eyes above the reddest of cheeks; but was +now entirely defaced by a long career of vicarious suffering. Three +nails driven into the head commemorated as many crises in Maggie's +nine years of earthly struggle; that luxury of vengeance having been +suggested to her by the picture of Jael destroying Sisera in the old +Bible. The last nail had been driven in with a fiercer stroke than +usual, for the Fetish on that occasion represented aunt Glegg. But +immediately afterward Maggie had reflected that if she drove many +nails in she would not be so well able to fancy that the head was hurt +when she knocked it against the wall, nor to comfort it, and make +believe to poultice it, when her fury was abated; for even aunt Glegg +would be pitiable when she had been hurt very much, and thoroughly +humiliated, so as to beg her niece's pardon. Since then she had driven +no more nails in, but had soothed herself by alternately grinding and +beating the wooden head against the rough brick of the great chimneys +that made two square pillars supporting the roof. That was what she +did this morning on reaching the attic, sobbing all the while with a +passion that expelled every other form of consciousness,--even the +memory of the grievance that had caused it. As at last the sobs were +getting quieter, and the grinding less fierce, a sudden beam of +sunshine, falling through the wire lattice across the worm-eaten +shelves, made her throw away the Fetish and run to the window. The sun +was really breaking out; the sound of the mill seemed cheerful again; +the granary doors were open; and there was Yap, the queer +white-and-brown terrier, with one ear turned back, trotting about and +sniffing vaguely, as if he were in search of a companion. It was +irresistible. Maggie tossed her hair back and ran downstairs, seized +her bonnet without putting it on, peeped, and then dashed along the +passage lest she should encounter her mother, and was quickly out in +the yard, whirling round like a Pythoness, and singing as she whirled, +"Yap, Yap, Tom's coming home!" while Yap danced and barked round her, +as much as to say, if there was any noise wanted he was the dog for +it. + +"Hegh, hegh, Miss! you'll make yourself giddy, an' tumble down i' the +dirt," said Luke, the head miller, a tall, broad-shouldered man of +forty, black-eyed and black-haired, subdued by a general mealiness, +like an auricula. + +Maggie paused in her whirling and said, staggering a little, "Oh no, +it doesn't make me giddy, Luke; may I go into the mill with you?" + +Maggie loved to linger in the great spaces of the mill, and often came +out with her black hair powdered to a soft whiteness that made her +dark eyes flash out with new fire. The resolute din, the unresting +motion of the great stones, giving her a dim, delicious awe as at the +presence of an uncontrollable force; the meal forever pouring, +pouring; the fine white powder softening all surfaces, and making the +very spidernets look like a faery lace-work; the sweet, pure scent of +the meal,--all helped to make Maggie feel that the mill was a little +world apart from her outside every-day life. The spiders were +especially a subject of speculation with her. She wondered if they had +any relatives outside the mill, for in that case there must be a +painful difficulty in their family intercourse,--a fat and floury +spider, accustomed to take his fly well dusted with meal, must suffer +a little at a cousin's table where the fly was _au naturel_, and the +lady spiders must be mutually shocked at each other's appearance. But +the part of the mill she liked best was the topmost story,--the +corn-hutch, where there were the great heaps of grain, which she could +sit on and slide down continually. She was in the habit of taking this +recreation as she conversed with Luke, to whom she was very +communicative, wishing him to think well of her understanding, as her +father did. + +Perhaps she felt it necessary to recover her position with him on the +present occasion for, as she sat sliding on the heap of grain near +which he was busying himself, she said, at that shrill pitch which was +requisite in mill-society,-- + +"I think you never read any book but the Bible, did you, Luke?" + +"Nay, Miss, an' not much o' that," said Luke, with great frankness. +"I'm no reader, I aren't." + +"But if I lent you one of my books, Luke? I've not got any _very_ +pretty books that would be easy for you to read; but there's 'Pug's +Tour of Europe,'--that would tell you all about the different sorts of +people in the world, and if you didn't understand the reading, the +pictures would help you; they show the looks and ways of the people, +and what they do. There are the Dutchmen, very fat, and smoking, you +know, and one sitting on a barrel." + +"Nay, Miss, I'n no opinion o' Dutchmen. There ben't much good i' +knowin' about _them_." + +"But they're our fellow-creatures, Luke; we ought to know about our +fellow-creatures." + +"Not much o' fellow-creaturs, I think, Miss; all I know--my old +master, as war a knowin' man, used to say, says he, 'If e'er I sow my +wheat wi'out brinin', I'm a Dutchman,' says he; an' that war as much +as to say as a Dutchman war a fool, or next door. Nay, nay, I aren't +goin' to bother mysen about Dutchmen. There's fools enoo, an' rogues +enoo, wi'out lookin' i' books for 'em." + +"Oh, well," said Maggie, rather foiled by Luke's unexpectedly decided +views about Dutchmen, "perhaps you would like 'Animated Nature' +better; that's not Dutchmen, you know, but elephants and kangaroos, +and the civet-cat, and the sunfish, and a bird sitting on its tail,--I +forget its name. There are countries full of those creatures, instead +of horses and cows, you know. Shouldn't you like to know about them, +Luke?" + +"Nay, Miss, I'n got to keep count o' the flour an' corn; I can't do +wi' knowin' so many things besides my work. That's what brings folks +to the gallows,--knowin' everything but what they'n got to get their +bread by. An' they're mostly lies, I think, what's printed i' the +books: them printed sheets are, anyhow, as the men cry i' the +streets." + +"Why, you're like my brother Tom, Luke," said Maggie, wishing to turn +the conversation agreeably; "Tom's not fond of reading. I love Tom so +dearly, Luke,--better than anybody else in the world. When he grows up +I shall keep his house, and we shall always live together. I can tell +him everything he doesn't know. But I think Tom's clever, for all he +doesn't like books; he makes beautiful whipcord and rabbit-pens." + +"Ah," said Luke, "but he'll be fine an' vexed, as the rabbits are all +dead." + +"Dead!" screamed Maggie, jumping up from her sliding seat on the corn. +"Oh dear, Luke! What! the lop-eared one, and the spotted doe that Tom +spent all his money to buy?" + +"As dead as moles," said Luke, fetching his comparison from the +unmistakable corpses nailed to the stable wall. + +"Oh dear, Luke," said Maggie, in a piteous tone, while the big tears +rolled down her cheek; "Tom told me to take care of 'em, and I forgot. +What _shall_ I do?" + +"Well, you see, Miss, they were in that far tool-house, an' it was +nobody's business to see to 'em. I reckon Master Tom told Harry to +feed 'em, but there's no countin' on Harry; _he's_ an offal creatur as +iver come about the primises, he is. He remembers nothing but his own +inside--an' I wish it 'ud gripe him." + +"Oh, Luke, Tom told me to be sure and remember the rabbits every day; +but how could I, when they didn't come into my head, you know? Oh, he +will be so angry with me, I know he will, and so sorry about his +rabbits, and so am I sorry. Oh, what _shall_ I do?" + +"Don't you fret, Miss," said Luke, soothingly; "they're nash things, +them lop-eared rabbits; they'd happen ha' died, if they'd been fed. +Things out o' natur niver thrive: God A'mighty doesn't like 'em. He +made the rabbits' ears to lie back, an' it's nothin' but contrairiness +to make 'em hing down like a mastiff dog's. Master Tom 'ull know +better nor buy such things another time. Don't you fret, Miss. Will +you come along home wi' me, and see my wife? I'm a-goin' this minute." + +The invitation offered an agreeable distraction to Maggie's grief, and +her tears gradually subsided as she trotted along by Luke's side to +his pleasant cottage, which stood with its apple and pear trees, and +with the added dignity of a lean-to pigsty, at the other end of the +Mill fields. Mrs. Moggs, Luke's wife, was a decidedly agreeable +acquaintance. She exhibited her hospitality in bread and treacle, and +possessed various works of art. Maggie actually forgot that she had +any special cause of sadness this morning, as she stood on a chair to +look at a remarkable series of pictures representing the Prodigal Son +in the costume of Sir Charles Grandison, except that, as might have +been expected from his defective moral character, he had not, like +that accomplished hero, the taste and strength of mind to dispense +with a wig. But the indefinable weight the dead rabbits had left on +her mind caused her to feel more than usual pity for the career of +this weak young man, particularly when she looked at the picture where +he leaned against a tree with a flaccid appearance, his knee-breeches +unbuttoned and his wig awry, while the swine apparently of some +foreign breed, seemed to insult him by their good spirits over their +feast of husks. + +"I'm very glad his father took him back again, aren't you, Luke?" she +said. "For he was very sorry, you know, and wouldn't do wrong again." + +"Eh, Miss," said Luke, "he'd be no great shakes, I doubt, let's +feyther do what he would for him." + +That was a painful thought to Maggie, and she wished much that the +subsequent history of the young man had not been left a blank. + + + +Chapter V + +Tom Comes Home + + +Tom was to arrive early in the afternoon, and there was another +fluttering heart besides Maggie's when it was late enough for the +sound of the gig-wheels to be expected; for if Mrs. Tulliver had a +strong feeling, it was fondness for her boy. At last the sound +came,--that quick light bowling of the gig-wheels,--and in spite of +the wind, which was blowing the clouds about, and was not likely to +respect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings, she came outside the +door, and even held her hand on Maggie's offending head, forgetting +all the griefs of the morning. + +"There he is, my sweet lad! But, Lord ha' mercy! he's got never a +collar on; it's been lost on the road, I'll be bound, and spoilt the +set." + +Mrs. Tulliver stood with her arms open; Maggie jumped first on one leg +and then on the other; while Tom descended from the gig, and said, +with masculine reticence as to the tender emotions, "Hallo! Yap--what! +are you there?" + +Nevertheless he submitted to be kissed willingly enough, though Maggie +hung on his neck in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue-gray +eyes wandered toward the croft and the lambs and the river, where he +promised himself that he would begin to fish the first thing to-morrow +morning. He was one of those lads that grow everywhere in England, and +at twelve or thirteen years of age look as much alike as goslings,--a +lad with light-brown hair, cheeks of cream and roses, full lips, +indeterminate nose and eyebrows,--a physiognomy in which it seems +impossible to discern anything but the generic character to boyhood; +as different as possible from poor Maggie's phiz, which Nature seemed +to have moulded and colored with the most decided intention. But that +same Nature has the deep cunning which hides itself under the +appearance of openness, so that simple people think they can see +through her quite well, and all the while she is secretly preparing a +refutation of their confident prophecies. Under these average boyish +physiognomies that she seems to turn off by the gross, she conceals +some of her most rigid, inflexible purposes, some of her most +unmodifiable characters; and the dark-eyed, demonstrative, rebellious +girl may after all turn out to be a passive being compared with this +pink-and-white bit of masculinity with the indeterminate features. + +"Maggie," said Tom, confidentially, taking her into a corner, as soon +as his mother was gone out to examine his box and the warm parlor had +taken off the chill he had felt from the long drive, "you don't know +what I've got in _my_ pockets," nodding his head up and down as a +means of rousing her sense of mystery. + +"No," said Maggie. "How stodgy they look, Tom! Is it marls (marbles) +or cobnuts?" Maggie's heart sank a little, because Tom always said it +was "no good" playing with _her_ at those games, she played so badly. + +"Marls! no; I've swopped all my marls with the little fellows, and +cobnuts are no fun, you silly, only when the nuts are green. But see +here!" He drew something half out of his right-hand pocket. + +"What is it?" said Maggie, in a whisper. "I can see nothing but a bit +of yellow." + +"Why, it's--a--new--guess, Maggie!" + +"Oh, I _can't_ guess, Tom," said Maggie, impatiently. + +"Don't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you," said Tom, thrusting his +hand back into his pocket and looking determined. + +"No, Tom," said Maggie, imploringly, laying hold of the arm that was +held stiffly in the pocket. "I'm not cross, Tom; it was only because I +can't bear guessing. _Please_ be good to me." + +Tom's arm slowly relaxed, and he said, "Well, then, it's a new +fish-line--two new uns,--one for you, Maggie, all to yourself. I +wouldn't go halves in the toffee and gingerbread on purpose to save +the money; and Gibson and Spouncer fought with me because I wouldn't. +And here's hooks; see here--I say, _won't_ we go and fish to-morrow +down by the Round Pool? And you shall catch your own fish, Maggie and +put the worms on, and everything; won't it be fun?" + +Maggie's answer was to throw her arms round Tom's neck and hug him, +and hold her cheek against his without speaking, while he slowly +unwound some of the line, saying, after a pause,-- + +"Wasn't I a good brother, now, to buy you a line all to yourself? You +know, I needn't have bought it, if I hadn't liked." + +"Yes, very, very good--I _do_ love you, Tom." + +Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and was looking at the hooks +one by one, before he spoke again. + +"And the fellows fought me, because I wouldn't give in about the +toffee." + +"Oh, dear! I wish they wouldn't fight at your school, Tom. Didn't it +hurt you?" + +"Hurt me? no," said Tom, putting up the hooks again, taking out a +large pocket-knife, and slowly opening the largest blade, which he +looked at meditatively as he rubbed his finger along it. Then he +added,-- + +"I gave Spouncer a black eye, I know; that's what he got by wanting to +leather _me;_ I wasn't going to go halves because anybody leathered +me." + +"Oh, how brave you are, Tom! I think you're like Samson. If there came +a lion roaring at me, I think you'd fight him, wouldn't you, Tom?" + +"How can a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing? There's no +lions, only in the shows." + +"No; but if we were in the lion countries--I mean in Africa, where +it's very hot; the lions eat people there. I can show it you in the +book where I read it." + +"Well, I should get a gun and shoot him." + +"But if you hadn't got a gun,--we might have gone out, you know, not +thinking, just as we go fishing; and then a great lion might run +toward us roaring, and we couldn't get away from him. What should you +do, Tom?" + +Tom paused, and at last turned away contemptuously, saying, "But the +lion _isn't_ coming. What's the use of talking?" + +"But I like to fancy how it would be," said Maggie, following him. +"Just think what you would do, Tom." + +"Oh, don't bother, Maggie! you're such a silly. I shall go and see my +rabbits." + +Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear. She dared not tell the sad +truth at once, but she walked after Tom in trembling silence as he +went out, thinking how she could tell him the news so as to soften at +once his sorrow and his anger; for Maggie dreaded Tom's anger of all +things; it was quite a different anger from her own. + +"Tom," she said, timidly, when they were out of doors, "how much money +did you give for your rabbits?" + +"Two half-crowns and a sixpence," said Tom, promptly. + +"I think I've got a great deal more than that in my steel purse +upstairs. I'll ask mother to give it you." + +"What for?" said Tom. "I don't want _your_ money, you silly thing. +I've got a great deal more money than you, because I'm a boy. I always +have half-sovereigns and sovereigns for my Christmas boxes because I +shall be a man, and you only have five-shilling pieces, because you're +only a girl." + +"Well, but, Tom--if mother would let me give you two half-crowns and a +sixpence out of my purse to put into your pocket and spend, you know, +and buy some more rabbits with it?" + +"More rabbits? I don't want any more." + +"Oh, but, Tom, they're all dead." + +Tom stopped immediately in his walk and turned round toward Maggie. +"You forgot to feed 'em, then, and Harry forgot?" he said, his color +heightening for a moment, but soon subsiding. "I'll pitch into Harry. +I'll have him turned away. And I don't love you, Maggie. You sha'n't +go fishing with me to-morrow. I told you to go and see the rabbits +every day." He walked on again. + +"Yes, but I forgot--and I couldn't help it, indeed, Tom. I'm so very +sorry," said Maggie, while the tears rushed fast. + +"You're a naughty girl," said Tom, severely, "and I'm sorry I bought +you the fish-line. I don't love you." + +"Oh, Tom, it's very cruel," sobbed Maggie. "I'd forgive you, if _you_ +forgot anything--I wouldn't mind what you did--I'd forgive you and +love you." + +"Yes, you're silly; but I never _do_ forget things, _I_ don't." + +"Oh, please forgive me, Tom; my heart will break," said Maggie, +shaking with sobs, clinging to Tom's arm, and laying her wet cheek on +his shoulder. + +Tom shook her off, and stopped again, saying in a peremptory tone, +"Now, Maggie, you just listen. Aren't I a good brother to you?" + +"Ye-ye-es," sobbed Maggie, her chin rising and falling convulsedly. + +"Didn't I think about your fish-line all this quarter, and mean to buy +it, and saved my money o' purpose, and wouldn't go halves in the +toffee, and Spouncer fought me because I wouldn't?" + +"Ye-ye-es--and I--lo-lo-love you so, Tom." + +"But you're a naughty girl. Last holidays you licked the paint off my +lozenge-box, and the holidays before that you let the boat drag my +fish-line down when I'd set you to watch it, and you pushed your head +through my kite, all for nothing." + +"But I didn't mean," said Maggie; "I couldn't help it." + +"Yes, you could," said Tom, "if you'd minded what you were doing. And +you're a naughty girl, and you sha'n't go fishing with me to-morrow." + +With this terrible conclusion, Tom ran away from Maggie toward the +mill, meaning to greet Luke there, and complain to him of Harry. + +Maggie stood motionless, except from her sobs, for a minute or two; +then she turned round and ran into the house, and up to her attic, +where she sat on the floor and laid her head against the worm-eaten +shelf, with a crushing sense of misery. Tom was come home, and she had +thought how happy she should be; and now he was cruel to her. What use +was anything if Tom didn't love her? Oh, he was very cruel! Hadn't she +wanted to give him the money, and said how very sorry she was? She +knew she was naughty to her mother, but she had never been naughty to +Tom--had never _meant_ to be naughty to him. + +"Oh, he is cruel!" Maggie sobbed aloud, finding a wretched pleasure in +the hollow resonance that came through the long empty space of the +attic. She never thought of beating or grinding her Fetish; she was +too miserable to be angry. + +These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, +when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and +the space from summer to summer seems measureless. + +Maggie soon thought she had been hours in the attic, and it must be +tea-time, and they were all having their tea, and not thinking of her. +Well, then, she would stay up there and starve herself,--hide herself +behind the tub, and stay there all night,--and then they would all be +frightened, and Tom would be sorry. Thus Maggie thought in the pride +of her heart, as she crept behind the tub; but presently she began to +cry again at the idea that they didn't mind her being there. If she +went down again to Tom now--would he forgive her? Perhaps her father +would be there, and he would take her part. But then she wanted Tom to +forgive her because he loved her, not because his father told him. No, +she would never go down if Tom didn't come to fetch her. This +resolution lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes behind the +tub; but then the need of being loved--the strongest need in poor +Maggie's nature--began to wrestle with her pride, and soon threw it. +She crept from behind her tub into the twilight of the long attic, but +just then she heard a quick foot-step on the stairs. + +Tom had been too much interested in his talk with Luke, in going the +round of the premises, walking in and out where he pleased, and +whittling sticks without any particular reason,--except that he didn't +whittle sticks at school,--to think of Maggie and the effect his anger +had produced on her. He meant to punish her, and that business having +been performed, he occupied himself with other matters, like a +practical person. But when he had been called in to tea, his father +said, "Why, where's the little wench?" and Mrs. Tulliver, almost at +the same moment, said, "Where's your little sister?"--both of them +having supposed that Maggie and Tom had been together all the +afternoon. + +"I don't know," said Tom. He didn't want to "tell" of Maggie, though +he was angry with her; for Tom Tulliver was a lad of honor. + +"What! hasn't she been playing with you all this while?" said the +father. "She'd been thinking o' nothing but your coming home." + +"I haven't seen her this two hours," says Tom, commencing on the +plumcake. + +"Goodness heart; she's got drownded!" exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, rising +from her seat and running to the window. + +"How could you let her do so?" she added, as became a fearful woman, +accusing she didn't know whom of she didn't know what. + +"Nay, nay, she's none drownded," said Mr. Tulliver. "You've been +naughty to her, I doubt, Tom?" + +"I'm sure I haven't, father," said Tom, indignantly. "I think she's in +the house." + +"Perhaps up in that attic," said Mrs. Tulliver, "a-singing and talking +to herself, and forgetting all about meal-times." + +"You go and fetch her down, Tom," said Mr. Tulliver, rather +sharply,--his perspicacity or his fatherly fondness for Maggie making +him suspect that the lad had been hard upon "the little un," else she +would never have left his side. "And be good to her, do you hear? Else +I'll let you know better." + +Tom never disobeyed his father, for Mr. Tulliver was a peremptory man, +and, as he said, would never let anybody get hold of his whip-hand; +but he went out rather sullenly, carrying his piece of plumcake, and +not intending to reprieve Maggie's punishment, which was no more than +she deserved. Tom was only thirteen, and had no decided views in +grammar and arithmetic, regarding them for the most part as open +questions, but he was particularly clear and positive on one +point,--namely, that he would punish everybody who deserved it. Why, +he wouldn't have minded being punished himself if he deserved it; but, +then, he never _did_ deserve it. + +It was Tom's step, then, that Maggie heard on the stairs, when her +need of love had triumphed over her pride, and she was going down with +her swollen eyes and dishevelled hair to beg for pity. At least her +father would stroke her head and say, "Never mind, my wench." It is a +wonderful subduer, this need of love,--this hunger of the heart,--as +peremptory as that other hunger by which Nature forces us to submit to +the yoke, and change the face of the world. + +But she knew Tom's step, and her heart began to beat violently with +the sudden shock of hope. He only stood still at the top of the stairs +and said, "Maggie, you're to come down." But she rushed to him and +clung round his neck, sobbing, "Oh, Tom, please forgive me--I can't +bear it--I will always be good--always remember things--do love +me--please, dear Tom!" + +We learn to restrain ourselves as we get older. We keep apart when we +have quarrelled, express ourselves in well-bred phrases, and in this +way preserve a dignified alienation, showing much firmness on one +side, and swallowing much grief on the other. We no longer approximate +in our behavior to the mere impulsiveness of the lower animals, but +conduct ourselves in every respect like members of a highly civilized +society. Maggie and Tom were still very much like young animals, and +so she could rub her cheek against his, and kiss his ear in a random +sobbing way; and there were tender fibres in the lad that had been +used to answer to Maggie's fondling, so that he behaved with a +weakness quite inconsistent with his resolution to punish her as much +as she deserved. He actually began to kiss her in return, and say,-- + +"Don't cry, then, Magsie; here, eat a bit o' cake." + +Maggie's sobs began to subside, and she put out her mouth for the cake +and bit a piece; and then Tom bit a piece, just for company, and they +ate together and rubbed each other's cheeks and brows and noses +together, while they ate, with a humiliating resemblance to two +friendly ponies. + +"Come along, Magsie, and have tea," said Tom at last, when there was +no more cake except what was down-stairs. + +So ended the sorrows of this day, and the next morning Maggie was +trotting with her own fishing-rod in one hand and a handle of the +basket in the other, stepping always, by a peculiar gift, in the +muddiest places, and looking darkly radiant from under her +beaver-bonnet because Tom was good to her. She had told Tom, however, +that she should like him to put the worms on the hook for her, +although she accepted his word when he assured her that worms couldn't +feel (it was Tom's private opinion that it didn't much matter if they +did). He knew all about worms, and fish, and those things; and what +birds were mischievous, and how padlocks opened, and which way the +handles of the gates were to be lifted. Maggie thought this sort of +knowledge was very wonderful,--much more difficult than remembering +what was in the books; and she was rather in awe of Tom's superiority, +for he was the only person who called her knowledge "stuff," and did +not feel surprised at her cleverness. Tom, indeed, was of opinion that +Maggie was a silly little thing; all girls were silly,--they couldn't +throw a stone so as to hit anything, couldn't do anything with a +pocket-knife, and were frightened at frogs. Still, he was very fond of +his sister, and meant always to take care of her, make her his +housekeeper, and punish her when she did wrong. + +They were on their way to the Round Pool,--that wonderful pool, which +the floods had made a long while ago. No one knew how deep it was; and +it was mysterious, too, that it should be almost a perfect round, +framed in with willows and tall reeds, so that the water was only to +be seen when you got close to the brink. The sight of the old favorite +spot always heightened Tom's good humor, and he spoke to Maggie in the +most amicable whispers, as he opened the precious basket and prepared +their tackle. He threw her line for her, and put the rod into her +hand. Maggie thought it probable that the small fish would come to her +hook, and the large ones to Tom's. But she had forgotten all about the +fish, and was looking dreamily at the glassy water, when Tom said, in +a loud whisper, "Look, look, Maggie!" and came running to prevent her +from snatching her line away. + +Maggie was frightened lest she had been doing something wrong, as +usual, but presently Tom drew out her line and brought a large tench +bouncing on the grass. + +Tom was excited. + +"O Magsie, you little duck! Empty the basket." + +Maggie was not conscious of unusual merit, but it was enough that Tom +called her Magsie, and was pleased with her. There was nothing to mar +her delight in the whispers and the dreamy silences, when she listened +to the light dripping sounds of the rising fish, and the gentle +rustling, as if the willows and the reeds and the water had their +happy whisperings also. Maggie thought it would make a very nice +heaven to sit by the pool in that way, and never be scolded. She never +knew she had a bite till Tom told her; but she liked fishing very +much. + +It was one of their happy mornings. They trotted along and sat down +together, with no thought that life would ever change much for them; +they would only get bigger and not go to school, and it would always +be like the holidays; they would always live together and be fond of +each other. And the mill with its booming; the great chestnut-tree +under which they played at houses; their own little river, the Ripple, +where the banks seemed like home, and Tom was always seeing the +water-rats, while Maggie gathered the purple plumy tops of the reeds, +which she forgot and dropped afterward; above all, the great Floss, +along which they wandered with a sense of travel, to see the rushing +spring-tide, the awful Eagle, come up like a hungry monster, or to see +the Great Ash which had once wailed and groaned like a man, these +things would always be just the same to them. Tom thought people were +at a disadvantage who lived on any other spot of the globe; and +Maggie, when she read about Christiana passing "the river over which +there is no bridge," always saw the Floss between the green pastures +by the Great Ash. + +Life did change for Tom and Maggie; and yet they were not wrong in +believing that the thoughts and loves of these first years would +always make part of their lives. We could never have loved the earth +so well if we had had no childhood in it,--if it were not the earth +where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to +gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on the +grass; the same hips and haws on the autumn's hedgerows; the same +redbreasts that we used to call "God's birds," because they did no +harm to the precious crops. What novelty is worth that sweet monotony +where everything is known, and _loved_ because it is known? + +The wood I walk in on this mild May day, with the young yellow-brown +foliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the white +star-flowers and the blue-eyed speedwell and the ground ivy at my +feet, what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid +broad-petalled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicate +fibres within me as this home scene? These familiar flowers, these +well-remembered bird-notes, this sky, with its fitful brightness, +these furrowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personality +given to it by the capricious hedgerows,--such things as these are the +mother-tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with all +the subtle, inextricable associations the fleeting hours of our +childhood left behind them. Our delight in the sunshine on the +deep-bladed grass to-day might be no more than the faint perception of +wearied souls, if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in the +far-off years which still live in us, and transform our perception +into love. + + + +Chapter VI + +The Aunts and Uncles Are Coming + + +It was Easter week, and Mrs. Tulliver's cheesecakes were more +exquisitely light than usual. "A puff o' wind 'ud make 'em blow about +like feathers," Kezia the housemaid said, feeling proud to live under +a mistress who could make such pastry; so that no season or +circumstances could have been more propitious for a family party, even +if it had not been advisable to consult sister Glegg and sister Pullet +about Tom's going to school. + +"I'd as lief not invite sister Deane this time," said Mrs. Tulliver, +"for she's as jealous and having as can be, and's allays trying to +make the worst o' my poor children to their aunts and uncles." + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Tulliver, "ask her to come. I never hardly get a +bit o' talk with Deane now; we haven't had him this six months. What's +it matter what she says? My children need be beholding to nobody." + +"That's what you allays say, Mr. Tulliver; but I'm sure there's nobody +o' your side, neither aunt nor uncle, to leave 'em so much as a +five-pound note for a leggicy. And there's sister Glegg, and sister +Pullet too, saving money unknown, for they put by all their own +interest and butter-money too; their husbands buy 'em everything." +Mrs. Tulliver was a mild woman, but even a sheep will face about a +little when she has lambs. + +"Tchuh!" said Mr. Tulliver. "It takes a big loaf when there's many to +breakfast. What signifies your sisters' bits o' money when they've got +half-a-dozen nevvies and nieces to divide it among? And your sister +Deane won't get 'em to leave all to one, I reckon, and make the +country cry shame on 'em when they are dead?" + +"I don't know what she won't get 'em to do," said Mrs. Tulliver, "for +my children are so awk'ard wi' their aunts and uncles. Maggie's ten +times naughtier when they come than she is other days, and Tom doesn't +like 'em, bless him!--though it's more nat'ral in a boy than a gell. +And there's Lucy Dean's such a good child,--you may set her on a +stool, and there she'll sit for an hour together, and never offer to +get off. I can't help loving the child as if she was my own; and I'm +sure she's more like _my_ child than sister Deane's, for she'd allays +a very poor color for one of our family, sister Deane had." + +"Well, well, if you're fond o' the child, ask her father and mother to +bring her with 'em. And won't you ask their aunt and uncle Moss too, +and some o' _their_ children?" + +"Oh, dear, Mr. Tulliver, why, there'd be eight people besides the +children, and I must put two more leaves i' the table, besides +reaching down more o' the dinner-service; and you know as well as I do +as _my_ sisters and _your_ sister don't suit well together." + +"Well, well, do as you like, Bessy," said Mr. Tulliver, taking up his +hat and walking out to the mill. Few wives were more submissive than +Mrs. Tulliver on all points unconnected with her family relations; but +she had been a Miss Dodson, and the Dodsons were a very respectable +family indeed,--as much looked up to as any in their own parish, or +the next to it. The Miss Dodsons had always been thought to hold up +their heads very high, and no one was surprised the two eldest had +married so well,--not at an early age, for that was not the practice +of the Dodson family. There were particular ways of doing everything +in that family: particular ways of bleaching the linen, of making the +cowslip wine, curing the hams, and keeping the bottled gooseberries; +so that no daughter of that house could be indifferent to the +privilege of having been born a Dodson, rather than a Gibson or a +Watson. Funerals were always conducted with peculiar propriety in the +Dodson family: the hat-bands were never of a blue shade, the gloves +never split at the thumb, everybody was a mourner who ought to be, and +there were always scarfs for the bearers. When one of the family was +in trouble or sickness, all the rest went to visit the unfortunate +member, usually at the same time, and did not shrink from uttering the +most disagreeable truths that correct family feeling dictated; if the +illness or trouble was the sufferer's own fault, it was not in the +practice of the Dodson family to shrink from saying so. In short, +there was in this family a peculiar tradition as to what was the right +thing in household management and social demeanor, and the only bitter +circumstance attending this superiority was a painful inability to +approve the condiments or the conduct of families ungoverned by the +Dodson tradition. A female Dodson, when in "strange houses," always +ate dry bread with her tea, and declined any sort of preserves, having +no confidence in the butter, and thinking that the preserves had +probably begun to ferment from want of due sugar and boiling. There +were some Dodsons less like the family than others, that was admitted; +but in so far as they were "kin," they were of necessity better than +those who were "no kin." And it is remarkable that while no individual +Dodson was satisfied with any other individual Dodson, each was +satisfied, not only with him or her self, but with the Dodsons +collectively. The feeblest member of a family--the one who has the +least character--is often the merest epitome of the family habits and +traditions; and Mrs. Tulliver was a thorough Dodson, though a mild +one, as small-beer, so long as it is anything, is only describable as +very weak ale: and though she had groaned a little in her youth under +the yoke of her elder sisters, and still shed occasional tears at +their sisterly reproaches, it was not in Mrs. Tulliver to be an +innovator on the family ideas. She was thankful to have been a Dodson, +and to have one child who took after her own family, at least in his +features and complexion, in liking salt and in eating beans, which a +Tulliver never did. + +In other respects the true Dodson was partly latent in Tom, and he was +as far from appreciating his "kin" on the mother's side as Maggie +herself, generally absconding for the day with a large supply of the +most portable food, when he received timely warning that his aunts and +uncles were coming,--a moral symptom from which his aunt Glegg deduced +the gloomiest views of his future. It was rather hard on Maggie that +Tom always absconded without letting her into the secret, but the +weaker sex are acknowledged to be serious _impedimenta_ in cases of +flight. + +On Wednesday, the day before the aunts and uncles were coming, there +were such various and suggestive scents, as of plumcakes in the oven +and jellies in the hot state, mingled with the aroma of gravy, that it +was impossible to feel altogether gloomy: there was hope in the air. +Tom and Maggie made several inroads into the kitchen, and, like other +marauders, were induced to keep aloof for a time only by being allowed +to carry away a sufficient load of booty. + +"Tom," said Maggie, as they sat on the boughs of the elder-tree, +eating their jam-puffs, "shall you run away to-morrow?" + +"No," said Tom, slowly, when he had finished his puff, and was eying +the third, which was to be divided between them,--"no, I sha'n't." + +"Why, Tom? Because Lucy's coming?" + +"No," said Tom, opening his pocket-knife and holding it over the puff, +with his head on one side in a dubitative manner. (It was a difficult +problem to divide that very irregular polygon into two equal parts.) +"What do _I_ care about Lucy? She's only a girl,--_she_ can't play at +bandy." + +"Is it the tipsy-cake, then?" said Maggie, exerting her hypothetic +powers, while she leaned forward toward Tom with her eyes fixed on the +hovering knife. + +"No, you silly, that'll be good the day after. It's the pudden. I know +what the pudden's to be,--apricot roll-up--O my buttons!" + +With this interjection, the knife descended on the puff, and it was in +two, but the result was not satisfactory to Tom, for he still eyed the +halves doubtfully. At last he said,-- + +"Shut your eyes, Maggie." + +"What for?" + +"You never mind what for. Shut 'em when I tell you." + +Maggie obeyed. + +"Now, which'll you have, Maggie,--right hand or left?" + +"I'll have that with the jam run out," said Maggie, keeping her eyes +shut to please Tom. + +"Why, you don't like that, you silly. You may have it if it comes to +you fair, but I sha'n't give it you without. Right or left,--you +choose, now. Ha-a-a!" said Tom, in a tone of exasperation, as Maggie +peeped. "You keep your eyes shut, now, else you sha'n't have any." + +Maggie's power of sacrifice did not extend so far; indeed, I fear she +cared less that Tom should enjoy the utmost possible amount of puff, +than that he should be pleased with her for giving him the best bit. +So she shut her eyes quite close, till Tom told her to "say which," +and then she said, "Left hand." + +"You've got it," said Tom, in rather a bitter tone. + +"What! the bit with the jam run out?" + +"No; here, take it," said Tom, firmly, handing, decidedly the best +piece to Maggie. + +"Oh, please, Tom, have it; I don't mind--I like the other; please take +this." + +"No, I sha'n't," said Tom, almost crossly, beginning on his own +inferior piece. + +Maggie, thinking it was no use to contend further, began too, and ate +up her half puff with considerable relish as well as rapidity. But Tom +had finished first, and had to look on while Maggie ate her last +morsel or two, feeling in himself a capacity for more. Maggie didn't +know Tom was looking at her; she was seesawing on the elder-bough, +lost to almost everything but a vague sense of jam and idleness. + +"Oh, you greedy thing!" said Tom, when she had swallowed the last +morsel. He was conscious of having acted very fairly, and thought she +ought to have considered this, and made up to him for it. He would +have refused a bit of hers beforehand, but one is naturally at a +different point of view before and after one's own share of puff is +swallowed. + +Maggie turned quite pale. "Oh, Tom, why didn't you ask me?" + +"I wasn't going to ask you for a bit, you greedy. You might have +thought of it without, when you knew I gave you the best bit." + +"But I wanted you to have it; you know I did," said Maggie, in an +injured tone. + +"Yes, but I wasn't going to do what wasn't fair, like Spouncer. He +always takes the best bit, if you don't punch him for it; and if you +choose the best with your eyes shut, he changes his hands. But if I go +halves, I'll go 'em fair; only I wouldn't be a greedy." + +With this cutting innuendo, Tom jumped down from his bough, and threw +a stone with a "hoigh!" as a friendly attention to Yap, who had also +been looking on while the eatables vanished, with an agitation of his +ears and feelings which could hardly have been without bitterness. Yet +the excellent dog accepted Tom's attention with as much alacrity as if +he had been treated quite generously. + +But Maggie, gifted with that superior power of misery which +distinguishes the human being, and places him at a proud distance from +the most melancholy chimpanzee, sat still on her bough, and gave +herself up to the keen sense of unmerited reproach. She would have +given the world not to have eaten all her puff, and to have saved some +of it for Tom. Not but that the puff was very nice, for Maggie's +palate was not at all obtuse, but she would have gone without it many +times over, sooner than Tom should call her greedy and be cross with +her. And he had said he wouldn't have it, and she ate it without +thinking; how could she help it? The tears flowed so plentifully that +Maggie saw nothing around her for the next ten minutes; but by that +time resentment began to give way to the desire of reconciliation, and +she jumped from her bough to look for Tom. He was no longer in the +paddock behind the rickyard; where was he likely to be gone, and Yap +with him? Maggie ran to the high bank against the great holly-tree, +where she could see far away toward the Floss. There was Tom; but her +heart sank again as she saw how far off he was on his way to the great +river, and that he had another companion besides Yap,--naughty Bob +Jakin, whose official, if not natural, function of frightening the +birds was just now at a standstill. Maggie felt sure that Bob was +wicked, without very distinctly knowing why; unless it was because +Bob's mother was a dreadfully large fat woman, who lived at a queer +round house down the river; and once, when Maggie and Tom had wandered +thither, there rushed out a brindled dog that wouldn't stop barking; +and when Bob's mother came out after it, and screamed above the +barking to tell them not to be frightened, Maggie thought she was +scolding them fiercely, and her heart beat with terror. Maggie thought +it very likely that the round house had snakes on the floor, and bats +in the bedroom; for she had seen Bob take off his cap to show Tom a +little snake that was inside it, and another time he had a handful of +young bats: altogether, he was an irregular character, perhaps even +slightly diabolical, judging from his intimacy with snakes and bats; +and to crown all, when Tom had Bob for a companion, he didn't mind +about Maggie, and would never let her go with him. + +It must be owned that Tom was fond of Bob's company. How could it be +otherwise? Bob knew, directly he saw a bird's egg, whether it was a +swallow's, or a tomtit's, or a yellow-hammer's; he found out all the +wasps' nests, and could set all sort of traps; he could climb the +trees like a squirrel, and had quite a magical power of detecting +hedgehogs and stoats; and he had courage to do things that were rather +naughty, such as making gaps in the hedgerows, throwing stones after +the sheep, and killing a cat that was wandering _incognito_. + +Such qualities in an inferior, who could always be treated with +authority in spite of his superior knowingness, had necessarily a +fatal fascination for Tom; and every holiday-time Maggie was sure to +have days of grief because he had gone off with Bob. + +Well! there was no hope for it; he was gone now, and Maggie could +think of no comfort but to sit down by the hollow, or wander by the +hedgerow, and fancy it was all different, refashioning her little +world into just what she should like it to be. + +Maggie's was a troublous life, and this was the form in which she took +her opium. + +Meanwhile Tom, forgetting all about Maggie and the sting of reproach +which he had left in her heart, was hurrying along with Bob, whom he +had met accidentally, to the scene of a great rat-catching in a +neighboring barn. Bob knew all about this particular affair, and spoke +of the sport with an enthusiasm which no one who is not either +divested of all manly feeling, or pitiably ignorant of rat-catching, +can fail to imagine. For a person suspected of preternatural +wickedness, Bob was really not so very villanous-looking; there was +even something agreeable in his snub-nosed face, with its close-curled +border of red hair. But then his trousers were always rolled up at the +knee, for the convenience of wading on the slightest notice; and his +virtue, supposing it to exist, was undeniably "virtue in rags," which, +on the authority even of bilious philosophers, who think all +well-dressed merit overpaid, is notoriously likely to remain +unrecognized (perhaps because it is seen so seldom). + +"I know the chap as owns the ferrets," said Bob, in a hoarse treble +voice, as he shuffled along, keeping his blue eyes fixed on the river, +like an amphibious animal who foresaw occasion for darting in. "He +lives up the Kennel Yard at Sut Ogg's, he does. He's the biggest +rot-catcher anywhere, he is. I'd sooner, be a rot-catcher nor +anything, I would. The moles is nothing to the rots. But Lors! you mun +ha' ferrets. Dogs is no good. Why, there's that dog, now!" Bob +continued, pointing with an air of disgust toward Yap, "he's no more +good wi' a rot nor nothin'. I see it myself, I did, at the +rot-catchin' i' your feyther's barn." + +Yap, feeling the withering influence of this scorn, tucked his tail in +and shrank close to Tom's leg, who felt a little hurt for him, but had +not the superhuman courage to seem behindhand with Bob in contempt for +a dog who made so poor a figure. + +"No, no," he said, "Yap's no good at sport. I'll have regular good +dogs for rats and everything, when I've done school." + +"Hev ferrets, Measter Tom," said Bob, eagerly,--"them white ferrets +wi' pink eyes; Lors, you might catch your own rots, an' you might put +a rot in a cage wi' a ferret, an' see 'em fight, you might. That's +what I'd do, I know, an' it 'ud be better fun a'most nor seein' two +chaps fight,--if it wasn't them chaps as sold cakes an' oranges at the +Fair, as the things flew out o' their baskets, an' some o' the cakes +was smashed--But they tasted just as good," added Bob, by way of note +or addendum, after a moment's pause. + +"But, I say, Bob," said Tom, in a tone of deliberation, "ferrets are +nasty biting things,--they'll bite a fellow without being set on." + +"Lors! why that's the beauty on 'em. If a chap lays hold o' your +ferret, he won't be long before he hollows out a good un, _he_ won't." + +At this moment a striking incident made the boys pause suddenly in +their walk. It was the plunging of some small body in the water from +among the neighboring bulrushes; if it was not a water-rat, Bob +intimated that he was ready to undergo the most unpleasant +consequences. + +"Hoigh! Yap,--hoigh! there he is," said Tom, clapping his hands, as +the little black snout made its arrowy course to the opposite bank. +"Seize him, lad! seize him!" + +Yap agitated his ears and wrinkled his brows, but declined to plunge, +trying whether barking would not answer the purpose just as well. + +"Ugh! you coward!" said Tom, and kicked him over, feeling humiliated +as a sportsman to possess so poor-spirited an animal. Bob abstained +from remark and passed on, choosing, however, to walk in the shallow +edge of the overflowing river by way of change. + +"He's none so full now, the Floss isn't," said Bob, as he kicked the +water up before him, with an agreeable sense of being insolent to it. +"Why, last 'ear, the meadows was all one sheet o' water, they was." + +"Ay, but," said Tom, whose mind was prone to see an opposition between +statements that were really accordant,--"but there was a big flood +once, when the Round Pool was made. _I_ know there was, 'cause father +says so. And the sheep and cows all drowned, and the boats went all +over the fields ever such a way." + +"_I_ don't care about a flood comin'," said Bob; "I don't mind the +water, no more nor the land. I'd swim, _I_ would." + +"Ah, but if you got nothing to eat for ever so long?" said Tom, his +imagination becoming quite active under the stimulus of that dread. +"When I'm a man, I shall make a boat with a wooden house on the top of +it, like Noah's ark, and keep plenty to eat in it,--rabbits and +things,--all ready. And then if the flood came, you know, Bob, I +shouldn't mind. And I'd take you in, if I saw you swimming," he added, +in the tone of a benevolent patron. + +"I aren't frighted," said Bob, to whom hunger did not appear so +appalling. "But I'd get in an' knock the rabbits on th' head when you +wanted to eat 'em." + +"Ah, and I should have halfpence, and we'd play at heads-and-tails," +said Tom, not contemplating the possibility that this recreation might +have fewer charms for his mature age. "I'd divide fair to begin with, +and then we'd see who'd win." + +"I've got a halfpenny o' my own," said Bob, proudly, coming out of the +water and tossing his halfpenny in the air. "Yeads or tails?" + +"Tails," said Tom, instantly fired with the desire to win. + +"It's yeads," said Bob, hastily, snatching up the halfpenny as it +fell. + +"It wasn't," said Tom, loudly and peremptorily. "You give me the +halfpenny; I've won it fair." + +"I sha'n't," said Bob, holding it tight in his pocket. + +"Then I'll make you; see if I don't," said Tom. + +"Yes, I can." + +"You can't make me do nothing, you can't," said Bob. + +"No, you can't." + +"I'm master." + +"I don't care for you." + +"But I'll make you care, you cheat," said Tom, collaring Bob and +shaking him. + +"You get out wi' you," said Bob, giving Tom a kick. + +Tom's blood was thoroughly up: he went at Bob with a lunge and threw +him down, but Bob seized hold and kept it like a cat, and pulled Tom +down after him. They struggled fiercely on the ground for a moment or +two, till Tom, pinning Bob down by the shoulders, thought he had the +mastery. + +"_You_, say you'll give me the halfpenny now," he said, with +difficulty, while he exerted himself to keep the command of Bob's +arms. + +But at this moment Yap, who had been running on before, returned +barking to the scene of action, and saw a favorable opportunity for +biting Bob's bare leg not only with inpunity but with honor. The pain +from Yap's teeth, instead of surprising Bob into a relaxation of his +hold, gave it a fiercer tenacity, and with a new exertion of his force +he pushed Tom backward and got uppermost. But now Yap, who could get +no sufficient purchase before, set his teeth in a new place, so that +Bob, harassed in this way, let go his hold of Tom, and, almost +throttling Yap, flung him into the river. By this time Tom was up +again, and before Bob had quite recovered his balance after the act of +swinging Yap, Tom fell upon him, threw him down, and got his knees +firmly on Bob's chest. + +"You give me the halfpenny now," said Tom. + +"Take it," said Bob, sulkily. + +"No, I sha'n't take it; you give it me." + +Bob took the halfpenny out of his pocket, and threw it away from him +on the ground. + +Tom loosed his hold, and left Bob to rise. + +"There the halfpenny lies," he said. "I don't want your halfpenny; I +wouldn't have kept it. But you wanted to cheat; I hate a cheat. I +sha'n't go along with you any more," he added, turning round homeward, +not without casting a regret toward the rat-catching and other +pleasures which he must relinquish along with Bob's society. + +"You may let it alone, then," Bob called out after him. "I shall cheat +if I like; there's no fun i' playing else; and I know where there's a +goldfinch's nest, but I'll take care _you_ don't. An' you're a nasty +fightin' turkey-cock, you are----" + +Tom walked on without looking around, and Yap followed his example, +the cold bath having moderated his passions. + +"Go along wi' you, then, wi' your drowned dog; I wouldn't own such a +dog--_I_ wouldn't," said Bob, getting louder, in a last effort to +sustain his defiance. But Tom was not to be provoked into turning +round, and Bob's voice began to falter a little as he said,-- + +"An' I'n gi'en you everything, an' showed you everything, an' niver +wanted nothin' from you. An' there's your horn-handed knife, then as +you gi'en me." Here Bob flung the knife as far as he could after Tom's +retreating footsteps. But it produced no effect, except the sense in +Bob's mind that there was a terrible void in his lot, now that knife +was gone. + +He stood still till Tom had passed through the gate and disappeared +behind the hedge. The knife would do not good on the ground there; it +wouldn't vex Tom; and pride or resentment was a feeble passion in +Bob's mind compared with the love of a pocket-knife. His very fingers +sent entreating thrills that he would go and clutch that familiar +rough buck's-horn handle, which they had so often grasped for mere +affection, as it lay idle in his pocket. And there were two blades, +and they had just been sharpened! What is life without a pocket-knife +to him who has once tasted a higher existence? No; to throw the handle +after the hatchet is a comprehensible act of desperation, but to throw +one's pocket-knife after an implacable friend is clearly in every +sense a hyperbole, or throwing beyond the mark. So Bob shuffled back +to the spot where the beloved knife lay in the dirt, and felt quite a +new pleasure in clutching it again after the temporary separation, in +opening one blade after the other, and feeling their edge with his +well-hardened thumb. Poor Bob! he was not sensitive on the point of +honor, not a chivalrous character. That fine moral aroma would not +have been thought much of by the public opinion of Kennel Yard, which +was the very focus or heart of Bob's world, even if it could have made +itself perceptible there; yet, for all that, he was not utterly a +sneak and a thief as our friend Tom had hastily decided. + +But Tom, you perceive, was rather a Rhadamanthine personage, having +more than the usual share of boy's justice in him,--the justice that +desires to hurt culprits as much as they deserve to be hurt, and is +troubled with no doubts concerning the exact amount of their deserts. +Maggie saw a cloud on his brow when he came home, which checked her +joy at his coming so much sooner than she had expected, and she dared +hardly speak to him as he stood silently throwing the small +gravel-stones into the mill-dam. It is not pleasant to give up a +rat-catching when you have set your mind on it. But if Tom had told +his strongest feeling at that moment, he would have said, "I'd do just +the same again." That was his usual mode of viewing his past actions; +whereas Maggie was always wishing she had done something different. + + + +Chapter VII + +Enter the Aunts and Uncles + + +The Dodsons were certainly a handsome family, and Mrs. Glegg was not +the least handsome of the sisters. As she sat in Mrs. Tulliver's +arm-chair, no impartial observer could have denied that for a woman of +fifty she had a very comely face and figure, though Tom and Maggie +considered their aunt Glegg as the type of ugliness. It is true she +despised the advantages of costume, for though, as she often observed, +no woman had better clothes, it was not her way to wear her new things +out before her old ones. Other women, if they liked, might have their +best thread-lace in every wash; but when Mrs. Glegg died, it would be +found that she had better lace laid by in the right-hand drawer of her +wardrobe in the Spotted Chamber than ever Mrs. Wooll of St. Ogg's had +bought in her life, although Mrs. Wooll wore her lace before it was +paid for. So of her curled fronts: Mrs. Glegg had doubtless the +glossiest and crispest brown curls in her drawers, as well as curls in +various degrees of fuzzy laxness; but to look out on the week-day +world from under a crisp and glossy front would be to introduce a most +dreamlike and unpleasant confusion between the sacred and the secular. +Occasionally, indeed, Mrs. Glegg wore one of her third-best fronts on +a week-day visit, but not at a sister's house; especially not at Mrs. +Tulliver's, who, since her marriage, had hurt her sister's feelings +greatly by wearing her own hair, though, as Mrs. Glegg observed to +Mrs. Deane, a mother of a family, like Bessy, with a husband always +going to law, might have been expected to know better. But Bessy was +always weak! + +So if Mrs. Glegg's front to-day was more fuzzy and lax than usual, she +had a design under it: she intended the most pointed and cutting +allusion to Mrs. Tulliver's bunches of blond curls, separated from +each other by a due wave of smoothness on each side of the parting. +Mrs. Tulliver had shed tears several times at sister Glegg's +unkindness on the subject of these unmatronly curls, but the +consciousness of looking the handsomer for them naturally administered +support. Mrs. Glegg chose to wear her bonnet in the house +to-day,--untied and tilted slightly, of course--a frequent practice of +hers when she was on a visit, and happened to be in a severe humor: +she didn't know what draughts there might be in strange houses. For +the same reason she wore a small sable tippet, which reached just to +her shoulders, and was very far from meeting across her well-formed +chest, while her long neck was protected by a _chevaux-de-frise_ of +miscellaneous frilling. One would need to be learned in the fashions +of those times to know how far in the rear of them Mrs. Glegg's +slate-colored silk gown must have been; but from certain +constellations of small yellow spots upon it, and a mouldy odor about +it suggestive of a damp clothes-chest, it was probable that it +belonged to a stratum of garments just old enough to have come +recently into wear. + +Mrs. Glegg held her large gold watch in her hand with the many-doubled +chain round her fingers, and observed to Mrs. Tulliver, who had just +returned from a visit to the kitchen, that whatever it might be by +other people's clocks and watches, it was gone half-past twelve by +hers. + +"I don't know what ails sister Pullet," she continued. "It used to be +the way in our family for one to be as early as another,--I'm sure it +was so in my poor father's time,--and not for one sister to sit half +an hour before the others came. But if the ways o' the family are +altered, it sha'n't be _my_ fault; _I'll_ never be the one to come +into a house when all the rest are going away. I wonder _at_ sister +Deane,--she used to be more like me. But if you'll take my advice, +Bessy, you'll put the dinner forrard a bit, sooner than put it back, +because folks are late as ought to ha' known better." + +"Oh dear, there's no fear but what they'll be all here in time, +sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, in her mild-peevish tone. "The dinner +won't be ready till half-past one. But if it's long for you to wait, +let me fetch you a cheesecake and a glass o' wine." + +"Well, Bessy!" said Mrs. Glegg, with a bitter smile and a scarcely +perceptible toss of her head, "I should ha' thought you'd known your +own sister better. I never _did_ eat between meals, and I'm not going +to begin. Not but what I hate that nonsense of having your dinner at +half-past one, when you might have it at one. You was never brought up +in that way, Bessy." + +"Why, Jane, what can I do? Mr. Tulliver doesn't like his dinner before +two o'clock, but I put it half an hour earlier because o' you." + +"Yes, yes, I know how it is with husbands,--they're for putting +everything off; they'll put the dinner off till after tea, if they've +got wives as are weak enough to give in to such work; but it's a pity +for you, Bessy, as you haven't got more strength o' mind. It'll be +well if your children don't suffer for it. And I hope you've not gone +and got a great dinner for us,--going to expense for your sisters, as +'ud sooner eat a crust o' dry bread nor help to ruin you with +extravagance. I wonder you don't take pattern by your sister Deane; +she's far more sensible. And here you've got two children to provide +for, and your husband's spent your fortin i' going to law, and's +likely to spend his own too. A boiled joint, as you could make broth +of for the kitchen," Mrs. Glegg added, in a tone of emphatic protest, +"and a plain pudding, with a spoonful o' sugar, and no spice, 'ud be +far more becoming." + +With sister Glegg in this humor, there was a cheerful prospect for the +day. Mrs. Tulliver never went the length of quarrelling with her, any +more than a water-fowl that puts out its leg in a deprecating manner +can be said to quarrel with a boy who throws stones. But this point of +the dinner was a tender one, and not at all new, so that Mrs. Tulliver +could make the same answer she had often made before. + +"Mr. Tulliver says he always _will_ have a good dinner for his friends +while he can pay for it," she said; "and he's a right to do as he +likes in his own house, sister." + +"Well, Bessy, _I_ can't leave your children enough out o' my savings +to keep 'em from ruin. And you mustn't look to having any o' Mr. +Glegg's money, for it's well if I don't go first,--he comes of a +long-lived family; and if he was to die and leave me well for my life, +he'd tie all the money up to go back to his own kin." + +The sound of wheels while Mrs. Glegg was speaking was an interruption +highly welcome to Mrs. Tulliver, who hastened out to receive sister +Pullet; it must be sister Pullet, because the sound was that of a +four-wheel. + +Mrs. Glegg tossed her head and looked rather sour about the mouth at +the thought of the "four-wheel." She had a strong opinion on that +subject. + +Sister Pullet was in tears when the one-horse chaise stopped before +Mrs. Tulliver's door, and it was apparently requisite that she should +shed a few more before getting out; for though her husband and Mrs. +Tulliver stood ready to support her, she sat still and shook her head +sadly, as she looked through her tears at the vague distance. + +"Why, whativer is the matter, sister?" said Mrs. Tulliver. She was not +an imaginative woman, but it occurred to her that the large +toilet-glass in sister Pullet's best bedroom was possibly broken for +the second time. + +There was no reply but a further shake of the head, as Mrs. Pullet +slowly rose and got down from the chaise, not without casting a glance +at Mr. Pullet to see that he was guarding her handsome silk dress from +injury. Mr. Pullet was a small man, with a high nose, small twinkling +eyes, and thin lips, in a fresh-looking suit of black and a white +cravat, that seemed to have been tied very tight on some higher +principle than that of mere personal ease. He bore about the same +relation to his tall, good-looking wife, with her balloon sleeves, +abundant mantle, and a large befeathered and beribboned bonnet, as a +small fishing-smack bears to a brig with all its sails spread. + +It is a pathetic sight and a striking example of the complexity +introduced into the emotions by a high state of civilization, the +sight of a fashionably dressed female in grief. From the sorrow of a +Hottentot to that of a woman in large buckram sleeves, with several +bracelets on each arm, an architectural bonnet, and delicate ribbon +strings, what a long series of gradations! In the enlightened child of +civilization the abandonment characteristic of grief is checked and +varied in the subtlest manner, so as to present an interesting problem +to the analytic mind. If, with a crushed heart and eyes half blinded +by the mist of tears, she were to walk with a too-devious step through +a door-place, she might crush her buckram sleeves too, and the deep +consciousness of this possibility produces a composition of forces by +which she takes a line that just clears the door-post. Perceiving that +the tears are hurrying fast, she unpins her strings and throws them +languidly backward, a touching gesture, indicative, even in the +deepest gloom, of the hope in future dry moments when cap-strings will +once more have a charm. As the tears subside a little, and with her +head leaning backward at the angle that will not injure her bonnet, +she endures that terrible moment when grief, which has made all things +else a weariness, has itself become weary; she looks down pensively at +her bracelets, and adjusts their clasps with that pretty studied +fortuity which would be gratifying to her mind if it were once more in +a calm and healthy state. + +Mrs. Pullet brushed each door-post with great nicety, about the +latitude of her shoulders (at that period a woman was truly ridiculous +to an instructed eye if she did not measure a yard and a half across +the shoulders), and having done that sent the muscles of her face in +quest of fresh tears as she advanced into the parlor where Mrs. Glegg +was seated. + +"Well, sister, you're late; what's the matter?" said Mrs. Glegg, +rather sharply, as they shook hands. + +Mrs. Pullet sat down, lifting up her mantle carefully behind, before +she answered,-- + +"She's gone," unconsciously using an impressive figure of rhetoric. + +"It isn't the glass this time, then," thought Mrs. Tulliver. + +"Died the day before yesterday," continued Mrs. Pullet; "an' her legs +was as thick as my body,"' she added, with deep sadness, after a +pause. "They'd tapped her no end o' times, and the water--they say you +might ha' swum in it, if you'd liked." + +"Well, Sophy, it's a mercy she's gone, then, whoever she may be," said +Mrs. Glegg, with the promptitude and emphasis of a mind naturally +clear and decided; "but I can't think who you're talking of, for my +part." + +"But _I_ know," said Mrs. Pullet, sighing and shaking her head; "and +there isn't another such a dropsy in the parish. _I_ know as it's old +Mrs. Sutton o' the Twentylands." + +"Well, she's no kin o' yours, nor much acquaintance as I've ever +heared of," said Mrs. Glegg, who always cried just as much as was +proper when anything happened to her own "kin," but not on other +occasions. + +"She's so much acquaintance as I've seen her legs when they was like +bladders. And an old lady as had doubled her money over and over +again, and kept it all in her own management to the last, and had her +pocket with her keys in under her pillow constant. There isn't many +old _par_ish'ners like her, I doubt." + +"And they say she'd took as much physic as 'ud fill a wagon," observed +Mr. Pullet. + +"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Pullet, "she'd another complaint ever so many years +before she had the dropsy, and the doctors couldn't make out what it +was. And she said to me, when I went to see her last Christmas, she +said, 'Mrs. Pullet, if ever you have the dropsy, you'll think o' me.' +She _did_ say so," added Mrs. Pullet, beginning to cry bitterly again; +"those were her very words. And she's to be buried o' Saturday, and +Pullet's bid to the funeral." + +"Sophy," said Mrs. Glegg, unable any longer to contain her spirit of +rational remonstrance,--"Sophy, I wonder _at_ you, fretting and +injuring your health about people as don't belong to you. Your poor +father never did so, nor your aunt Frances neither, nor any o' the +family as I ever heard of. You couldn't fret no more than this, if +we'd heared as our cousin Abbott had died sudden without making his +will." + +Mrs. Pullet was silent, having to finish her crying, and rather +flattered than indignant at being upbraided for crying too much. It +was not everybody who could afford to cry so much about their +neighbors who had left them nothing; but Mrs. Pullet had married a +gentleman farmer, and had leisure and money to carry her crying and +everything else to the highest pitch of respectability. + +"Mrs. Sutton didn't die without making her will, though," said Mr. +Pullet, with a confused sense that he was saying something to sanction +his wife's tears; "ours is a rich parish, but they say there's nobody +else to leave as many thousands behind 'em as Mrs. Sutton. And she's +left no leggicies to speak on,--left it all in a lump to her husband's +nevvy." + +"There wasn't much good i' being so rich, then," said Mrs. Glegg, "if +she'd got none but husband's kin to leave it to. It's poor work when +that's all you've got to pinch yourself for. Not as I'm one o' those +as 'ud like to die without leaving more money out at interest than +other folks had reckoned; but it's a poor tale when it must go out o' +your own family." + +"I'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Pullet, who had recovered sufficiently +to take off her veil and fold it carefully, "it's a nice sort o' man +as Mrs. Sutton has left her money to, for he's troubled with the +asthmy, and goes to bed every night at eight o'clock. He told me about +it himself--as free as could be--one Sunday when he came to our +church. He wears a hareskin on his chest, and has a trembling in his +talk,--quite a gentleman sort o' man. I told him there wasn't many +months in the year as I wasn't under the doctor's hands. And he said, +'Mrs. Pullet, I can feel for you.' That was what he said,--the very +words. Ah!" sighed Mrs. Pullet, shaking her head at the idea that +there were but few who could enter fully into her experiences in pink +mixture and white mixture, strong stuff in small bottles, and weak +stuff in large bottles, damp boluses at a shilling, and draughts at +eighteenpence. "Sister, I may as well go and take my bonnet off now. +Did you see as the cap-box was put out?" she added, turning to her +husband. + +Mr. Pullet, by an unaccountable lapse of memory, had forgotten it, and +hastened out, with a stricken conscience, to remedy the omission. + +"They'll bring it upstairs, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, wishing to go +at once, lest Mrs. Glegg should begin to explain her feelings about +Sophy's being the first Dodson who ever ruined her constitution with +doctor's stuff. + +Mrs. Tulliver was fond of going upstairs with her sister Pullet, and +looking thoroughly at her cap before she put it on her head, and +discussing millinery in general. This was part of Bessy's weakness +that stirred Mrs. Glegg's sisterly compassion: Bessy went far too well +dressed, considering; and she was too proud to dress her child in the +good clothing her sister Glegg gave her from the primeval strata of +her wardrobe; it was a sin and a shame to buy anything to dress that +child, if it wasn't a pair of shoes. In this particular, however, Mrs. +Glegg did her sister Bessy some injustice, for Mrs. Tulliver had +really made great efforts to induce Maggie to wear a leghorn bonnet +and a dyed silk frock made out of her aunt Glegg's, but the results +had been such that Mrs. Tulliver was obliged to bury them in her +maternal bosom; for Maggie, declaring that the frock smelt of nasty +dye, had taken an opportunity of basting it together with the roast +beef the first Sunday she wore it, and finding this scheme answer, she +had subsequently pumped on the bonnet with its green ribbons, so as to +give it a general resemblance to a sage cheese garnished with withered +lettuces. I must urge in excuse for Maggie, that Tom had laughed at +her in the bonnet, and said she looked like an old Judy. Aunt Pullet, +too, made presents of clothes, but these were always pretty enough to +please Maggie as well as her mother. Of all her sisters, Mrs. Tulliver +certainly preferred her sister Pullet, not without a return of +preference; but Mrs. Pullet was sorry Bessy had those naughty, awkward +children; she would do the best she could by them, but it was a pity +they weren't as good and as pretty as sister Deane's child. Maggie and +Tom, on their part, thought their aunt Pullet tolerable, chiefly +because she was not their aunt Glegg. Tom always declined to go more +than once during his holidays to see either of them. Both his uncles +tipped him that once, of course; but at his aunt Pullet's there were a +great many toads to pelt in the cellar-area, so that he preferred the +visit to her. Maggie shuddered at the toads, and dreamed of them +horribly, but she liked her uncle Pullet's musical snuff-box. Still, +it was agreed by the sisters, in Mrs. Tulliver's absence, that the +Tulliver blood did not mix well with the Dodson blood; that, in fact, +poor Bessy's children were Tullivers, and that Tom, notwithstanding he +had the Dodson complexion, was likely to be as "contrairy" as his +father. As for Maggie, she was the picture of her aunt Moss, Mr. +Tulliver's sister,--a large-boned woman, who had married as poorly as +could be; had no china, and had a husband who had much ado to pay his +rent. But when Mrs. Pullet was alone with Mrs. Tulliver upstairs, the +remarks were naturally to the disadvantage of Mrs. Glegg, and they +agreed, in confidence, that there was no knowing what sort of fright +sister Jane would come out next. But their _tête-à-tête_ was curtailed +by the appearance of Mrs. Deane with little Lucy; and Mrs. Tulliver +had to look on with a silent pang while Lucy's blond curls were +adjusted. It was quite unaccountable that Mrs. Deane, the thinnest and +sallowest of all the Miss Dodsons, should have had this child, who +might have been taken for Mrs. Tulliver's any day. And Maggie always +looked twice as dark as usual when she was by the side of Lucy. + +She did to-day, when she and Tom came in from the garden with their +father and their uncle Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very +carelessly, and coming in with her hair rough as well as out of curl, +rushed at once to Lucy, who was standing by her mother's knee. +Certainly the contrast between the cousins was conspicuous, and to +superficial eyes was very much to the disadvantage of Maggie though a +connoisseur might have seen "points" in her which had a higher promise +for maturity than Lucy's natty completeness. It was like the contrast +between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up +the neatest little rosebud mouth to be kissed; everything about her +was neat,--her little round neck, with the row of coral beads; her +little straight nose, not at all snubby; her little clear eyebrows, +rather darker than her curls, to match hazel eyes, which looked up +with shy pleasure at Maggie, taller by the head, though scarcely a +year older. Maggie always looked at Lucy with delight. + +She was fond of fancying a world where the people never got any larger +than children of their own age, and she made the queen of it just like +Lucy, with a little crown on her head, and a little sceptre in her +hand--only the queen was Maggie herself in Lucy's form. + +"Oh, Lucy," she burst out, after kissing her, "you'll stay with Tom +and me, won't you? Oh, kiss her, Tom." + +Tom, too, had come up to Lucy, but he was not going to kiss her--no; +he came up to her with Maggie, because it seemed easier, on the whole, +than saying, "How do you do?" to all those aunts and uncles. He stood +looking at nothing in particular, with the blushing, awkward air and +semi-smile which are common to shy boys when in company,--very much as +if they had come into the world by mistake, and found it in a degree +of undress that was quite embarrassing. + +"Heyday!" said aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. "Do little boys and +gells come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and +aunts? That wasn't the way when _I_ was a little gell." + +"Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs. Tulliver, +looking anxious and melancholy. She wanted to whisper to Maggie a +command to go and have her hair brushed. + +"Well, and how do you do? And I hope you're good children, are you?" +said Aunt Glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way, as she took their +hands, hurting them with her large rings, and kissing their cheeks +much against their desire. "Look up, Tom, look up. Boys as go to +boarding-schools should hold their heads up. Look at me now." Tom +declined that pleasure apparently, for he tried to draw his hand away. +"Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep your frock on your +shoulder." + +Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if she +considered them deaf, or perhaps rather idiotic; it was a means, she +thought, of making them feel that they were accountable creatures, and +might be a salutary check on naughty tendencies. Bessy's children were +so spoiled--they'd need have somebody to make them feel their duty. + +"Well, my dears," said aunt Pullet, in a compassionate voice, "you +grow wonderful fast. I doubt they'll outgrow their strength," she +added, looking over their heads, with a melancholy expression, at +their mother. "I think the gell has too much hair. I'd have it thinned +and cut shorter, sister, if I was you; it isn't good for her health. +It's that as makes her skin so brown, I shouldn't wonder. Don't you +think so, sister Deane?" + +"I can't say, I'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lips +close again, and looking at Maggie with a critical eye. + +"No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, "the child's healthy enough; there's +nothing ails her. There's red wheat as well as white, for that matter, +and some like the dark grain best. But it 'ud be as well if Bessy 'ud +have the child's hair cut, so as it 'ud lie smooth." + +A dreadful resolve was gathering in Maggie's breast, but it was +arrested by the desire to know from her aunt Deane whether she would +leave Lucy behind. Aunt Deane would hardly ever let Lucy come to see +them. After various reasons for refusal, Mrs. Deane appealed to Lucy +herself. + +"You wouldn't like to stay behind without mother, should you, Lucy?" + +"Yes, please, mother," said Lucy, timidly, blushing very pink all over +her little neck. + +"Well done, Lucy! Let her stay, Mrs. Deane, let her stay," said Mr. +Deane, a large but alert-looking man, with a type of _physique_ to be +seen in all ranks of English society,--bald crown, red whiskers, full +forehead, and general solidity without heaviness. You may see noblemen +like Mr. Deane, and you may see grocers or day-laborers like him; but +the keenness of his brown eyes was less common than his contour. + +He held a silver snuff-box very tightly in his hand, and now and then +exchanged a pinch with Mr. Tulliver, whose box was only +silver-mounted, so that it was naturally a joke between them that Mr. +Tulliver wanted to exchange snuff-boxes also. Mr. Deane's box had been +given him by the superior partners in the firm to which he belonged, +at the same time that they gave him a share in the business, in +acknowledgment of his valuable services as manager. No man was thought +more highly of in St. Ogg's than Mr. Deane; and some persons were even +of opinion that Miss Susan Dodson, who was once held to have made the +worst match of all the Dodson sisters, might one day ride in a better +carriage, and live in a better house, even than her sister Pullet. +There was no knowing where a man would stop, who had got his foot into +a great mill-owning, shipowning business like that of Guest & Co., +with a banking concern attached. And Mrs. Deane, as her intimate +female friends observed, was proud and "having" enough; _she_ wouldn't +let her husband stand still in the world for want of spurring. + +"Maggie," said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Maggie to her, and whispering +in her ear, as soon as this point of Lucy's staying was settled, "go +and get your hair brushed, do, for shame. I told you not to come in +without going to Martha first, you know I did." + +"Tom come out with me," whispered Maggie, pulling his sleeve as she +passed him; and Tom followed willingly enough. + +"Come upstairs with me, Tom," she whispered, when they were outside +the door. "There's something I want to do before dinner." + +"There's no time to play at anything before dinner," said Tom, whose +imagination was impatient of any intermediate prospect. + +"Oh yes, there is time for this; _do_ come, Tom." + +Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go at +once to a drawer, from which she took out a large pair of scissors. + +"What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom, feeling his curiosity awakened. + +Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight +across the middle of her forehead. + +"Oh, my buttons! Maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed Tom; "you'd +better not cut any more off." + +Snip! went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking, and he +couldn't help feeling it was rather good fun; Maggie would look so +queer. + +"Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said Maggie, excited by her own +daring, and anxious to finish the deed. + +"You'll catch it, you know," said Tom, nodding his head in an +admonitory manner, and hesitating a little as he took the scissors. + +"Never mind, make haste!" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her +foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed. + +The black locks were so thick, nothing could be more tempting to a lad +who had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's +mane. I speak to those who know the satisfaction of making a pair of +scissors meet through a duly resisting mass of hair. One delicious +grinding snip, and then another and another, and the hinder-locks fell +heavily on the floor, and Maggie stood cropped in a jagged, uneven +manner, but with a sense of clearness and freedom, as if she had +emerged from a wood into the open plain. + +"Oh, Maggie," said Tom, jumping round her, and slapping his knees as +he laughed, "Oh, my buttons! what a queer thing you look! Look at +yourself in the glass; you look like the idiot we throw out nutshells +to at school." + +Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had thought beforehand chiefly at +her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about +it, and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother +and her aunts by this very decided course of action; she didn't want +her hair to look pretty,--that was out of the question,--she only +wanted people to think her a clever little girl, and not to find fault +with her. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, and say she was +like an idiot, the affair had quite a new aspect. She looked in the +glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his hands, and Maggie's +cheeks began to pale, and her lips to tremble a little. + +"Oh, Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. +"Oh, my!" + +"Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, in a passionate tone, with an +outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push. + +"Now, then, spitfire!" said Tom. "What did you cut it off for, then? I +shall go down: I can smell the dinner going in." + +He hurried downstairs and left poor Maggie to that bitter sense of the +irrevocable which was almost an every-day experience of her small +soul. She could see clearly enough, now the thing was done, that it +was very foolish, and that she should have to hear and think more +about her hair than ever; for Maggie rushed to her deeds with +passionate impulse, and then saw not only their consequences, but what +would have happened if they had not been done, with all the detail and +exaggerated circumstance of an active imagination. Tom never did the +same sort of foolish things as Maggie, having a wonderful instinctive +discernment of what would turn to his advantage or disadvantage; and +so it happened, that though he was much more wilful and inflexible +than Maggie, his mother hardly ever called him naughty. But if Tom did +make a mistake of that sort, he espoused it, and stood by it: he +"didn't mind." If he broke the lash of his father's gigwhip by lashing +the gate, he couldn't help it,--the whip shouldn't have got caught in +the hinge. If Tom Tulliver whipped a gate, he was convinced, not that +the whipping of gates by all boys was a justifiable act, but that he, +Tom Tulliver, was justifiable in whipping that particular gate, and he +wasn't going to be sorry. But Maggie, as she stood crying before the +glass, felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner and endure +the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom and Lucy, and +Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her uncles, +would laugh at her; for if Tom had laughed at her, of course every one +else would; and if she had only let her hair alone, she could have sat +with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard! What +could she do but sob? She sat as helpless and despairing among her +black locks as Ajax among the slaughtered sheep. Very trivial, +perhaps, this anguish seems to weather-worn mortals who have to think +of Christmas bills, dead loves, and broken friendships; but it was not +less bitter to Maggie--perhaps it was even more bitter--than what we +are fond of calling antithetically the real troubles of mature life. +"Ah, my child, you will have real troubles to fret about by and by," +is the consolation we have almost all of us had administered to us in +our childhood, and have repeated to other children since we have been +grown up. We have all of us sobbed so piteously, standing with tiny +bare legs above our little socks, when we lost sight of our mother or +nurse in some strange place; but we can no longer recall the poignancy +of that moment and weep over it, as we do over the remembered +sufferings of five or ten years ago. Every one of those keen moments +has left its trace, and lives in us still, but such traces have blent +themselves irrecoverably with the firmer texture of our youth and +manhood; and so it comes that we can look on at the troubles of our +children with a smiling disbelief in the reality of their pain. Is +there any one who can recover the experience of his childhood, not +merely with a memory _of_ what he did and what happened to him, of +what he liked and disliked when he was in frock and trousers, but with +an intimate penetration, a revived consciousness of what he felt then, +when it was so long from one Midsummer to another; what he felt when +his school fellows shut him out of their game because he would pitch +the ball wrong out of mere wilfulness; or on a rainy day in the +holidays, when he didn't know how to amuse himself, and fell from +idleness into mischief, from mischief into defiance, and from defiance +into sulkiness; or when his mother absolutely refused to let him have +a tailed coat that "half," although every other boy of his age had +gone into tails already? Surely if we could recall that early +bitterness, and the dim guesses, the strangely perspectiveless +conception of life, that gave the bitterness its intensity, we should +not pooh-pooh the griefs of our children. + +"Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute," said Kezia, entering +the room hurriedly. "Lawks! what have you been a-doing? I never _see_ +such a fright!" + +"Don't, Kezia," said Maggie, angrily. "Go away!" + +"But I tell you you're to come down, Miss, this minute; your mother +says so," said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to +raise her from the floor. + +"Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting +Kezia's arm. "I sha'n't come." + +"Oh, well, I can't stay. I've got to wait at dinner," said Kezia, +going out again. + +"Maggie, you little silly," said Tom, peeping into the room ten +minutes after, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots +o' goodies, and mother says you're to come. What are you crying for, +you little spooney?" + +Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and unconcerned; if _he_ had been +crying on the floor, Maggie would have cried too. And there was the +dinner, so nice; and she was _so_ hungry. It was very bitter. + +But Tom was not altogether hard. He was not inclined to cry, and did +not feel that Maggie's grief spoiled his prospect of the sweets; but +he went and put his head near her, and said in a lower, comforting +tone,-- + +"Won't you come, then, Magsie? Shall I bring you a bit o' pudding when +I've had mine, and a custard and things?" + +"Ye-e-es," said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more +tolerable. + +"Very well," said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door and +said, "But you'd better come, you know. There's the dessert,--nuts, +you know, and cowslip wine." + +Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflective as Tom left her. +His good nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering, and +nuts with cowslip wine began to assert their legitimate influence. + +Slowly she rose from amongst her scattered locks, and slowly she made +her way downstairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against +the frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. She +saw Tom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the +custards on a side-table; it was too much. She slipped in and went +toward the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than she +repented and wished herself back again. + +Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and felt such a +"turn" that she dropped the large gravy-spoon into the dish, with the +most serious results to the table-cloth. For Kezia had not betrayed +the reason of Maggie's refusal to come down, not liking to give her +mistress a shock in the moment of carving, and Mrs. Tulliver thought +there was nothing worse in question than a fit of perverseness, which +was inflicting its own punishment by depriving Maggie of half her +dinner. + +Mrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as +her own, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while uncle +Glegg, a kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said,-- + +"Heyday! what little gell's this? Why, I don't know her. Is it some +little gell you've picked up in the road, Kezia?" + +"Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said Mr. Tulliver in an +undertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment. Did you ever +know such a little hussy as it is?" + +"Why, little miss, you've made yourself look very funny," said Uncle +Pullet, and perhaps he never in his life made an observation which was +felt to be so lacerating. + +"Fie, for shame!" said aunt Glegg, in her loudest, severest tone of +reproof. "Little gells as cut their own hair should be whipped and fed +on bread and water,--not come and sit down with their aunts and +uncles." + +"Ay, ay," said uncle Glegg, meaning to give a playful turn to this +denunciation, "she must be sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the +rest of her hair off there, and make it all even." + +"She's more like a gypsy nor ever," said aunt Pullet, in a pitying +tone; "it's very bad luck, sister, as the gell should be so brown; the +boy's fair enough. I doubt it'll stand in her way i' life to be so +brown." + +"She's a naughty child, as'll break her mother's heart," said Mrs. +Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. + +Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of reproach and derision. +Her first flush came from anger, which gave her a transient power of +defiance, and Tom thought she was braving it out, supported by the +recent appearance of the pudding and custard. Under this impression, +he whispered, "Oh, my! Maggie, I told you you'd catch it." He meant to +be friendly, but Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in her +ignominy. Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her +heart swelled, and getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, +hid her face on his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. + +"Come, come, my wench," said her father, soothingly, putting his arm +round her, "never mind; you was i' the right to cut it off if it +plagued you; give over crying; father'll take your part." + +Delicious words of tenderness! Maggie never forgot any of these +moments when her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, +and thought of them long years after, when every one else said that +her father had done very ill by his children. + +"How your husband does spoil that child, Bessy!" said Mrs. Glegg, in a +loud "aside," to Mrs. Tulliver. "It'll be the ruin of her, if you +don't take care. _My_ father never brought his children up so, else we +should ha' been a different sort o' family to what we are." + +Mrs. Tulliver's domestic sorrows seemed at this moment to have reached +the point at which insensibility begins. She took no notice of her +sister's remark, but threw back her capstrings and dispensed the +pudding, in mute resignation. + +With the dessert there came entire deliverance for Maggie, for the +children were told they might have their nuts and wine in the +summer-house, since the day was so mild; and they scampered out among +the budding bushes of the garden with the alacrity of small animals +getting from under a burning glass. + +Mrs. Tulliver had her special reason for this permission: now the +dinner was despatched, and every one's mind disengaged, it was the +right moment to communicate Mr. Tulliver's intention concerning Tom, +and it would be as well for Tom himself to be absent. The children +were used to hear themselves talked of as freely as if they were +birds, and could understand nothing, however they might stretch their +necks and listen; but on this occasion Mrs. Tulliver manifested an +unusual discretion, because she had recently had evidence that the +going to school to a clergyman was a sore point with Tom, who looked +at it as very much on a par with going to school to a constable. Mrs. +Tulliver had a sighing sense that her husband would do as he liked, +whatever sister Glegg said, or sister Pullet either; but at least they +would not be able to say, if the thing turned out ill, that Bessy had +fallen in with her husband's folly without letting her own friends +know a word about it. + +"Mr. Tulliver," she said, interrupting her husband in his talk with +Mr. Deane, "it's time now to tell the children's aunts and uncles what +you're thinking of doing with Tom, isn't it?" + +"Very well," said Mr. Tulliver, rather sharply, "I've no objections to +tell anybody what I mean to do with him. I've settled," he added, +looking toward Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane,--"I've settled to send him to +a Mr. Stelling, a parson, down at King's Lorton, there,--an uncommon +clever fellow, I understand, as'll put him up to most things." + +There was a rustling demonstration of surprise in the company, such as +you may have observed in a country congregation when they hear an +allusion to their week-day affairs from the pulpit. It was equally +astonishing to the aunts and uncles to find a parson introduced into +Mr. Tulliver's family arrangements. As for uncle Pullet, he could +hardly have been more thoroughly obfuscated if Mr. Tulliver had said +that he was going to send Tom to the Lord Chancellor; for uncle Pullet +belonged to that extinct class of British yeoman who, dressed in good +broadcloth, paid high rates and taxes, went to church, and ate a +particularly good dinner on Sunday, without dreaming that the British +constitution in Church and State had a traceable origin any more than +the solar system and the fixed stars. + +It is melancholy, but true, that Mr. Pullet had the most confused idea +of a bishop as a sort of a baronet, who might or might not be a +clergyman; and as the rector of his own parish was a man of high +family and fortune, the idea that a clergyman could be a schoolmaster +was too remote from Mr. Pullet's experience to be readily conceivable. +I know it is difficult for people in these instructed times to believe +in uncle Pullet's ignorance; but let them reflect on the remarkable +results of a great natural faculty under favoring circumstances. And +uncle Pullet had a great natural faculty for ignorance. He was the +first to give utterance to his astonishment. + +"Why, what can you be going to send him to a parson for?" he said, +with an amazed twinkling in his eyes, looking at Mr. Glegg and Mr. +Deane, to see if they showed any signs of comprehension. + +"Why, because the parsons are the best schoolmasters, by what I can +make out," said poor Mr. Tulliver, who, in the maze of this puzzling +world, laid hold of any clue with great readiness and tenacity. +"Jacobs at th' academy's no parson, and he's done very bad by the boy; +and I made up my mind, if I send him to school again, it should be to +somebody different to Jacobs. And this Mr. Stelling, by what I can +make out, is the sort o' man I want. And I mean my boy to go to him at +Midsummer," he concluded, in a tone of decision, tapping his snuff-box +and taking a pinch. + +"You'll have to pay a swinging half-yearly bill, then, eh, Tulliver? +The clergymen have highish notions, in general," said Mr. Deane, +taking snuff vigorously, as he always did when wishing to maintain a +neutral position. + +"What! do you think the parson'll teach him to know a good sample o' +wheat when he sees it, neighbor Tulliver?" said Mr. Glegg, who was +fond of his jest, and having retired from business, felt that it was +not only allowable but becoming in him to take a playful view of +things. + +"Why, you see, I've got a plan i' my head about Tom," said Mr. +Tulliver, pausing after that statement and lifting up his glass. + +"Well, if I may be allowed to speak, and it's seldom as I am," said +Mrs. Glegg, with a tone of bitter meaning, "I should like to know what +good is to come to the boy by bringin' him up above his fortin." + +"Why," said Mr. Tulliver, not looking at Mrs. Glegg, but at the male +part of his audience, "you see, I've made up my mind not to bring Tom +up to my own business. I've had my thoughts about it all along, and I +made up my mind by what I saw with Garnett and _his_ son. I mean to +put him to some business as he can go into without capital, and I want +to give him an eddication as he'll be even wi' the lawyers and folks, +and put me up to a notion now an' then." + +Mrs. Glegg emitted a long sort of guttural sound with closed lips, +that smiled in mingled pity and scorn. + +"It 'ud be a fine deal better for some people," she said, after that +introductory note, "if they'd let the lawyers alone." + +"Is he at the head of a grammar school, then, this clergyman, such as +that at Market Bewley?" said Mr. Deane. + +"No, nothing of that," said Mr. Tulliver. "He won't take more than two +or three pupils, and so he'll have the more time to attend to 'em, you +know." + +"Ah, and get his eddication done the sooner; they can't learn much at +a time when there's so many of 'em," said uncle Pullet, feeling that +he was getting quite an insight into this difficult matter. + +"But he'll want the more pay, I doubt," said Mr. Glegg. + +"Ay, ay, a cool hundred a year, that's all," said Mr. Tulliver, with +some pride at his own spirited course. "But then, you know, it's an +investment; Tom's eddication 'ull be so much capital to him." + +"Ay, there's something in that," said Mr. Glegg. "Well well, neighbor +Tulliver, you may be right, you may be right: + + 'When land is gone and money's spent, + Then learning is most excellent.' + +"I remember seeing those two lines wrote on a window at Buxton. But us +that have got no learning had better keep our money, eh, neighbor +Pullet?" Mr. Glegg rubbed his knees, and looked very pleasant. + +"Mr. Glegg, I wonder _at_ you," said his wife. "It's very unbecoming +in a man o' your age and belongings." + +"What's unbecoming, Mrs. G.?" said Mr. Glegg, winking pleasantly at +the company. "My new blue coat as I've got on?" + +"I pity your weakness, Mr. Glegg. I say it's unbecoming to be making a +joke when you see your own kin going headlongs to ruin." + +"If you mean me by that," said Mr. Tulliver, considerably nettled, +"you needn't trouble yourself to fret about me. I can manage my own +affairs without troubling other folks." + +"Bless me!" said Mr. Deane, judiciously introducing a new idea, "why, +now I come to think of it, somebody said Wakem was going to send _his_ +son--the deformed lad--to a clergyman, didn't they, Susan?" (appealing +to his wife). + +"I can give no account of it, I'm sure," said Mrs. Deane, closing her +lips very tightly again. Mrs. Deane was not a woman to take part in a +scene where missiles were flying. + +"Well," said Mr. Tulliver, speaking all the more cheerfully, that Mrs. +Glegg might see he didn't mind her, "if Wakem thinks o' sending his +son to a clergyman, depend on it I shall make no mistake i' sending +Tom to one. Wakem's as big a scoundrel as Old Harry ever made, but he +knows the length of every man's foot he's got to deal with. Ay, ay, +tell me who's Wakem's butcher, and I'll tell you where to get your +meat." + +"But lawyer Wakem's son's got a hump-back," said Mrs. Pullet, who felt +as if the whole business had a funereal aspect; "it's more nat'ral to +send _him_ to a clergyman." + +"Yes," said Mr. Glegg, interpreting Mrs. Pullet's observation with +erroneous plausibility, "you must consider that, neighbor Tulliver; +Wakem's son isn't likely to follow any business. Wakem 'ull make a +gentleman of him, poor fellow." + +"Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., in a tone which implied that her +indignation would fizz and ooze a little, though she was determined to +keep it corked up, "you'd far better hold your tongue. Mr. Tulliver +doesn't want to know your opinion nor mine either. There's folks in +the world as know better than everybody else." + +"Why, I should think that's you, if we're to trust your own tale," +said Mr. Tulliver, beginning to boil up again. + +"Oh, _I_ say nothing," said Mrs. Glegg, sarcastically. "My advice has +never been asked, and I don't give it." + +"It'll be the first time, then," said Mr. Tulliver. "It's the only +thing you're over-ready at giving." + +"I've been over-ready at lending, then, if I haven't been over-ready +at giving," said Mrs. Glegg. "There's folks I've lent money to, as +perhaps I shall repent o' lending money to kin." + +"Come, come, come," said Mr. Glegg, soothingly. But Mr. Tulliver was +not to be hindered of his retort. + +"You've got a bond for it, I reckon," he said; "and you've had your +five per cent, kin or no kin." + +"Sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, pleadingly, "drink your wine, and let me +give you some almonds and raisins." + +"Bessy, I'm sorry for you," said Mrs. Glegg, very much with the +feeling of a cur that seizes the opportunity of diverting his bark +toward the man who carries no stick. "It's poor work talking o' +almonds and raisins." + +"Lors, sister Glegg, don't be so quarrelsome," said Mrs. Pullet, +beginning to cry a little. "You may be struck with a fit, getting so +red in the face after dinner, and we are but just out o' mourning, all +of us,--and all wi' gowns craped alike and just put by; it's very bad +among sisters." + +"I should think it _is_ bad," said Mrs. Glegg. "Things are come to a +fine pass when one sister invites the other to her house o' purpose to +quarrel with her and abuse her." + +"Softly, softly, Jane; be reasonable, be reasonable," said Mr. Glegg. + +But while he was speaking, Mr. Tulliver, who had by no means said +enough to satisfy his anger, burst out again. + +"Who wants to quarrel with you?" he said. "It's you as can't let +people alone, but must be gnawing at 'em forever. _I_ should never +want to quarrel with any woman if she kept her place." + +"My place, indeed!" said Mrs. Glegg, getting rather more shrill. +"There's your betters, Mr. Tulliver, as are dead and in their grave, +treated me with a different sort o' respect to what you do; _though_ +I've got a husband as'll sit by and see me abused by them as 'ud never +ha' had the chance if there hadn't been them in our family as married +worse than they might ha' done." + +"If you talk o' that," said Mr. Tulliver, "my family's as good as +yours, and better, for it hasn't got a damned ill-tempered woman in +it!" + +"Well," said Mrs. Glegg, rising from her chair, "I don't know whether +you think it's a fine thing to sit by and hear me swore at, Mr. Glegg; +but I'm not going to stay a minute longer in this house. You can stay +behind, and come home with the gig, and I'll walk home." + +"Dear heart, dear heart!" said Mr. Glegg in a melancholy tone, as he +followed his wife out of the room. + +"Mr. Tulliver, how could you talk so?" said Mrs. Tulliver, with the +tears in her eyes. + +"Let her go," said Mr. Tulliver, too hot to be damped by any amount of +tears. "Let her go, and the sooner the better; she won't be trying to +domineer over _me_ again in a hurry." + +"Sister Pullet," said Mrs. Tulliver, helplessly, "do you think it 'ud +be any use for you to go after her and try to pacify her?" + +"Better not, better not," said Mr. Deane. "You'll make it up another +day." + +"Then, sisters, shall we go and look at the children?" said Mrs. +Tulliver, drying her eyes. + +No proposition could have been more seasonable. Mr. Tulliver felt very +much as if the air had been cleared of obtrusive flies now the women +were out of the room. There were few things he liked better than a +chat with Mr. Deane, whose close application to business allowed the +pleasure very rarely. Mr. Deane, he considered, was the "knowingest" +man of his acquaintance, and he had besides a ready causticity of +tongue that made an agreeable supplement to Mr. Tulliver's own +tendency that way, which had remained in rather an inarticulate +condition. And now the women were gone, they could carry on their +serious talk without frivolous interruption. They could exchange their +views concerning the Duke of Wellington, whose conduct in the Catholic +Question had thrown such an entirely new light on his character; and +speak slightingly of his conduct at the battle of Waterloo, which he +would never have won if there hadn't been a great many Englishmen at +his back, not to speak of Blucher and the Prussians, who, as Mr. +Tulliver had heard from a person of particular knowledge in that +matter, had come up in the very nick of time; though here there was a +slight dissidence, Mr. Deane remarking that he was not disposed to +give much credit to the Prussians,--the build of their vessels, +together with the unsatisfactory character of transactions in Dantzic +beer, inclining him to form rather a low view of Prussian pluck +generally. Rather beaten on this ground, Mr. Tulliver proceeded to +express his fears that the country could never again be what it used +to be; but Mr. Deane, attached to a firm of which the returns were on +the increase, naturally took a more lively view of the present, and +had some details to give concerning the state of the imports, +especially in hides and spelter, which soothed Mr. Tulliver's +imagination by throwing into more distant perspective the period when +the country would become utterly the prey of Papists and Radicals, and +there would be no more chance for honest men. + +Uncle Pullet sat by and listened with twinkling eyes to these high +matters. He didn't understand politics himself,--thought they were a +natural gift,--but by what he could make out, this Duke of Wellington +was no better than he should be. + + + +Chapter VIII + +Mr. Tulliver Shows His Weaker Side + + +"Suppose sister Glegg should call her money in; it 'ud be very awkward +for you to have to raise five hundred pounds now," said Mrs. Tulliver +to her husband that evening, as she took a plaintive review of the +day. + +Mrs. Tulliver had lived thirteen years with her husband, yet she +retained in all the freshness of her early married life a facility of +saying things which drove him in the opposite direction to the one she +desired. Some minds are wonderful for keeping their bloom in this way, +as a patriarchal goldfish apparently retains to the last its youthful +illusion that it can swim in a straight line beyond the encircling +glass. Mrs. Tulliver was an amiable fish of this kind, and after +running her head against the same resisting medium for thirteen years +would go at it again to-day with undulled alacrity. + +This observation of hers tended directly to convince Mr. Tulliver that +it would not be at all awkward for him to raise five hundred pounds; +and when Mrs. Tulliver became rather pressing to know _how_ he would +raise it without mortgaging the mill and the house which he had said +he never _would_ mortgage, since nowadays people were none so ready to +lend money without security, Mr. Tulliver, getting warm, declared that +Mrs. Glegg might do as she liked about calling in her money, he should +pay it in whether or not. He was not going to be beholden to his +wife's sisters. When a man had married into a family where there was a +whole litter of women, he might have plenty to put up with if he +chose. But Mr. Tulliver did _not_ choose. + +Mrs. Tulliver cried a little in a trickling, quiet way as she put on +her nightcap; but presently sank into a comfortable sleep, lulled by +the thought that she would talk everything over with her sister Pullet +to-morrow, when she was to take the children to Garum Firs to tea. Not +that she looked forward to any distinct issue from that talk; but it +seemed impossible that past events should be so obstinate as to remain +unmodified when they were complained against. + +Her husband lay awake rather longer, for he too was thinking of a +visit he would pay on the morrow; and his ideas on the subject were +not of so vague and soothing a kind as those of his amiable partner. + +Mr. Tulliver, when under the influence of a strong feeling, had a +promptitude in action that may seem inconsistent with that painful +sense of the complicated, puzzling nature of human affairs under which +his more dispassionate deliberations were conducted; but it is really +not improbable that there was a direct relation between these +apparently contradictory phenomena, since I have observed that for +getting a strong impression that a skein is tangled there is nothing +like snatching hastily at a single thread. It was owing to this +promptitude that Mr. Tulliver was on horseback soon after dinner the +next day (he was not dyspeptic) on his way to Basset to see his sister +Moss and her husband. For having made up his mind irrevocably that he +would pay Mrs. Glegg her loan of five hundred pounds, it naturally +occurred to him that he had a promissory note for three hundred pounds +lent to his brother-in-law Moss; and if the said brother-in-law could +manage to pay in the money within a given time, it would go far to +lessen the fallacious air of inconvenience which Mr. Tulliver's +spirited step might have worn in the eyes of weak people who require +to know precisely _how_ a thing is to be done before they are strongly +confident that it will be easy. + +For Mr. Tulliver was in a position neither new nor striking, but, like +other every-day things, sure to have a cumulative effect that will be +felt in the long run: he was held to be a much more substantial man +than he really was. And as we are all apt to believe what the world +believes about us, it was his habit to think of failure and ruin with +the same sort of remote pity with which a spare, long-necked man hears +that his plethoric short-necked neighbor is stricken with apoplexy. He +had been always used to hear pleasant jokes about his advantages as a +man who worked his own mill, and owned a pretty bit of land; and these +jokes naturally kept up his sense that he was a man of considerable +substance. They gave a pleasant flavor to his glass on a market-day, +and if it had not been for the recurrence of half-yearly payments, Mr. +Tulliver would really have forgotten that there was a mortgage of two +thousand pounds on his very desirable freehold. That was not +altogether his own fault, since one of the thousand pounds was his +sister's fortune, which he had to pay on her marriage; and a man who +has neighbors that _will_ go to law with him is not likely to pay off +his mortgages, especially if he enjoys the good opinion of +acquaintances who want to borrow a hundred pounds on security too +lofty to be represented by parchment. Our friend Mr. Tulliver had a +good-natured fibre in him, and did not like to give harsh refusals +even to his sister, who had not only come in to the world in that +superfluous way characteristic of sisters, creating a necessity for +mortgages, but had quite thrown herself away in marriage, and had +crowned her mistakes by having an eighth baby. On this point Mr. +Tulliver was conscious of being a little weak; but he apologized to +himself by saying that poor Gritty had been a good-looking wench +before she married Moss; he would sometimes say this even with a +slight tremulousness in his voice. But this morning he was in a mood +more becoming a man of business, and in the course of his ride along +the Basset lanes, with their deep ruts,--lying so far away from a +market-town that the labor of drawing produce and manure was enough to +take away the best part of the profits on such poor land as that +parish was made of,--he got up a due amount of irritation against Moss +as a man without capital, who, if murrain and blight were abroad, was +sure to have his share of them, and who, the more you tried to help +him out of the mud, would sink the further in. It would do him good +rather than harm, now, if he were obliged to raise this three hundred +pounds; it would make him look about him better, and not act so +foolishly about his wool this year as he did the last; in fact, Mr. +Tulliver had been too easy with his brother-in-law, and because he had +let the interest run on for two years, Moss was likely enough to think +that he should never be troubled about the principal. But Mr. Tulliver +was determined not to encourage such shuffling people any longer; and +a ride along the Basset lanes was not likely to enervate a man's +resolution by softening his temper. The deep-trodden hoof-marks, made +in the muddiest days of winter, gave him a shake now and then which +suggested a rash but stimulating snarl at the father of lawyers, who, +whether by means of his hoof or otherwise, had doubtless something to +do with this state of the roads; and the abundance of foul land and +neglected fences that met his eye, though they made no part of his +brother Moss's farm, strongly contributed to his dissatisfaction with +that unlucky agriculturist. If this wasn't Moss's fallow, it might +have been; Basset was all alike; it was a beggarly parish, in Mr. +Tulliver's opinion, and his opinion was certainly not groundless. +Basset had a poor soil, poor roads, a poor non-resident landlord, a +poor non-resident vicar, and rather less than half a curate, also +poor. If any one strongly impressed with the power of the human mind +to triumph over circumstances will contend that the parishioners of +Basset might nevertheless have been a very superior class of people, I +have nothing to urge against that abstract proposition; I only know +that, in point of fact, the Basset mind was in strict keeping with its +circumstances. The muddy lanes, green or clayey, that seemed to the +unaccustomed eye to lead nowhere but into each other, did really lead, +with patience, to a distant high-road; but there were many feet in +Basset which they led more frequently to a centre of dissipation, +spoken of formerly as the "Markis o' Granby," but among intimates as +"Dickison's." A large low room with a sanded floor; a cold scent of +tobacco, modified by undetected beer-dregs; Mr. Dickison leaning +against the door-post with a melancholy pimpled face, looking as +irrelevant to the daylight as a last night's guttered candle,--all +this may not seem a very seductive form of temptation; but the +majority of men in Basset found it fatally alluring when encountered +on their road toward four o'clock on a wintry afternoon; and if any +wife in Basset wished to indicate that her husband was not a +pleasure-seeking man, she could hardly do it more emphatically than by +saying that he didn't spend a shilling at Dickison's from one +Whitsuntide to another. Mrs. Moss had said so of _her_ husband more +than once, when her brother was in a mood to find fault with him, as +he certainly was to-day. And nothing could be less pacifying to Mr. +Tulliver than the behavior of the farmyard gate, which he no sooner +attempted to push open with his riding-stick than it acted as gates +without the upper hinge are known to do, to the peril of shins, +whether equine or human. He was about to get down and lead his horse +through the damp dirt of the hollow farmyard, shadowed drearily by the +large half-timbered buildings, up to the long line of tumble-down +dwelling-houses standing on a raised causeway; but the timely +appearance of a cowboy saved him that frustration of a plan he had +determined on,--namely, not to get down from his horse during this +visit. If a man means to be hard, let him keep in his saddle and speak +from that height, above the level of pleading eyes, and with the +command of a distant horizon. Mrs. Moss heard the sound of the horse's +feet, and, when her brother rode up, was already outside the kitchen +door, with a half-weary smile on her face, and a black-eyed baby in +her arms. Mrs. Moss's face bore a faded resemblance to her brother's; +baby's little fat hand, pressed against her cheek, seemed to show more +strikingly that the cheek was faded. + +"Brother, I'm glad to see you," she said, in an affectionate tone. "I +didn't look for you to-day. How do you do?" + +"Oh, pretty well, Mrs. Moss, pretty well," answered the brother, with +cool deliberation, as if it were rather too forward of her to ask that +question. She knew at once that her brother was not in a good humor; +he never called her Mrs. Moss except when he was angry, and when they +were in company. But she thought it was in the order of nature that +people who were poorly off should be snubbed. Mrs. Moss did not take +her stand on the equality of the human race; she was a patient, +prolific, loving-hearted woman. + +"Your husband isn't in the house, I suppose?" added Mr. Tulliver after +a grave pause, during which four children had run out, like chickens +whose mother has been suddenly in eclipse behind the hen-coop. + +"No," said Mrs. Moss, "but he's only in the potato-field yonders. +Georgy, run to the Far Close in a minute, and tell father your uncle's +come. You'll get down, brother, won't you, and take something?" + +"No, no; I can't get down. I must be going home again directly," said +Mr. Tulliver, looking at the distance. + +"And how's Mrs. Tulliver and the children?" said Mrs. Moss, humbly, +not daring to press her invitation. + +"Oh, pretty well. Tom's going to a new school at Midsummer,--a deal of +expense to me. It's bad work for me, lying out o' my money." + +"I wish you'd be so good as let the children come and see their +cousins some day. My little uns want to see their cousin Maggie so as +never was. And me her godmother, and so fond of her; there's nobody +'ud make a bigger fuss with her, according to what they've got. And I +know she likes to come, for she's a loving child, and how quick and +clever she is, to be sure!" + +If Mrs. Moss had been one of the most astute women in the world, +instead of being one of the simplest, she could have thought of +nothing more likely to propitiate her brother than this praise of +Maggie. He seldom found any one volunteering praise of "the little +wench"; it was usually left entirely to himself to insist on her +merits. But Maggie always appeared in the most amiable light at her +aunt Moss's; it was her Alsatia, where she was out of the reach of +law,--if she upset anything, dirtied her shoes, or tore her frock, +these things were matters of course at her aunt Moss's. In spite of +himself, Mr. Tulliver's eyes got milder, and he did not look away from +his sister as he said,-- + +"Ay; she's fonder o' you than o' the other aunts, I think. She takes +after our family: not a bit of her mother's in her." + +"Moss says she's just like what I used to be," said Mrs. Moss, "though +I was never so quick and fond o' the books. But I think my Lizzy's +like her; _she's_ sharp. Come here, Lizzy, my dear, and let your uncle +see you; he hardly knows you, you grow so fast." + +Lizzy, a black-eyed child of seven, looked very shy when her mother +drew her forward, for the small Mosses were much in awe of their uncle +from Dorlcote Mill. She was inferior enough to Maggie in fire and +strength of expression to make the resemblance between the two +entirely flattering to Mr. Tulliver's fatherly love. + +"Ay, they're a bit alike," he said, looking kindly at the little +figure in the soiled pinafore. "They both take after our mother. +You've got enough o' gells, Gritty," he added, in a tone half +compassionate, half reproachful. + +"Four of 'em, bless 'em!" said Mrs. Moss, with a sigh, stroking +Lizzy's hair on each side of her forehead; "as many as there's boys. +They've got a brother apiece." + +"Ah, but they must turn out and fend for themselves," said Mr. +Tulliver, feeling that his severity was relaxing and trying to brace +it by throwing out a wholesome hint "They mustn't look to hanging on +their brothers." + +"No; but I hope their brothers 'ull love the poor things, and remember +they came o' one father and mother; the lads 'ull never be the poorer +for that," said Mrs. Moss, flashing out with hurried timidity, like a +half-smothered fire. + +Mr. Tulliver gave his horse a little stroke on the flank, then checked +it, and said angrily, "Stand still with you!" much to the astonishment +of that innocent animal. + +"And the more there is of 'em, the more they must love one another," +Mrs. Moss went on, looking at her children with a didactic purpose. +But she turned toward her brother again to say, "Not but what I hope +your boy 'ull allays be good to his sister, though there's but two of +'em, like you and me, brother." + +The arrow went straight to Mr. Tulliver's heart. He had not a rapid +imagination, but the thought of Maggie was very near to him, and he +was not long in seeing his relation to his own sister side by side +with Tom's relation to Maggie. Would the little wench ever be poorly +off, and Tom rather hard upon her? + +"Ay, ay, Gritty," said the miller, with a new softness in his tone; +"but I've allays done what I could for you," he added, as if +vindicating himself from a reproach. + +"I'm not denying that, brother, and I'm noways ungrateful," said poor +Mrs. Moss, too fagged by toil and children to have strength left for +any pride. "But here's the father. What a while you've been, Moss!" + +"While, do you call it?" said Mr. Moss, feeling out of breath and +injured. "I've been running all the way. Won't you 'light, Mr. +Tulliver?" + +"Well, I'll just get down and have a bit o' talk with you in the +garden," said Mr. Tulliver, thinking that he should be more likely to +show a due spirit of resolve if his sister were not present. + +He got down, and passed with Mr. Moss into the garden, toward an old +yew-tree arbor, while his sister stood tapping her baby on the back +and looking wistfully after them. + +Their entrance into the yew-tree arbor surprised several fowls that +were recreating themselves by scratching deep holes in the dusty +ground, and at once took flight with much pother and cackling. Mr. +Tulliver sat down on the bench, and tapping the ground curiously here +and there with his stick, as if he suspected some hollowness, opened +the conversation by observing, with something like a snarl in his +tone,-- + +"Why, you've got wheat again in that Corner Close, I see; and never a +bit o' dressing on it. You'll do no good with it this year." + +Mr. Moss, who, when he married Miss Tulliver, had been regarded as the +buck of Basset, now wore a beard nearly a week old, and had the +depressed, unexpectant air of a machine-horse. He answered in a +patient-grumbling tone, "Why, poor farmers like me must do as they +can; they must leave it to them as have got money to play with, to put +half as much into the ground as they mean to get out of it." + +"I don't know who should have money to play with, if it isn't them as +can borrow money without paying interest," said Mr. Tulliver, who +wished to get into a slight quarrel; it was the most natural and easy +introduction to calling in money. + +"I know I'm behind with the interest," said Mr. Moss, "but I was so +unlucky wi' the wool last year; and what with the Missis being laid up +so, things have gone awk'arder nor usual." + +"Ay," snarled Mr. Tulliver, "there's folks as things 'ull allays go +awk'ard with; empty sacks 'ull never stand upright." + +"Well, I don't know what fault you've got to find wi' me, Mr. +Tulliver," said Mr. Moss, deprecatingly; "I know there isn't a +day-laborer works harder." + +"What's the use o' that," said Mr. Tulliver, sharply, "when a man +marries, and's got no capital to work his farm but his wife's bit o' +fortin? I was against it from the first; but you'd neither of you +listen to me. And I can't lie out o' my money any longer, for I've got +to pay five hundred o' Mrs. Glegg's, and there'll be Tom an expense to +me. I should find myself short, even saying I'd got back all as is my +own. You must look about and see how you can pay me the three hundred +pound." + +"Well, if that's what you mean," said Mr. Moss, looking blankly before +him, "we'd better be sold up, and ha' done with it; I must part wi' +every head o' stock I've got, to pay you and the landlord too." + +Poor relations are undeniably irritating,--their existence is so +entirely uncalled for on our part, and they are almost always very +faulty people. Mr. Tulliver had succeeded in getting quite as much +irritated with Mr. Moss as he had desired, and he was able to say +angrily, rising from his seat,-- + +"Well, you must do as you can. _I_ can't find money for everybody else +as well as myself. I must look to my own business and my own family. I +can't lie out o' my money any longer. You must raise it as quick as +you can." + +Mr. Tulliver walked abruptly out of the arbor as he uttered the last +sentence, and, without looking round at Mr. Moss, went on to the +kitchen door, where the eldest boy was holding his horse, and his +sister was waiting in a state of wondering alarm, which was not +without its alleviations, for baby was making pleasant gurgling +sounds, and performing a great deal of finger practice on the faded +face. Mrs. Moss had eight children, but could never overcome her +regret that the twins had not lived. Mr. Moss thought their removal +was not without its consolations. "Won't you come in, brother?" she +said, looking anxiously at her husband, who was walking slowly up, +while Mr. Tulliver had his foot already in the stirrup. + +"No, no; good-by," said he, turning his horse's head, and riding away. + +No man could feel more resolute till he got outside the yard gate, and +a little way along the deep-rutted lane; but before he reached the +next turning, which would take him out of sight of the dilapidated +farm-buildings, he appeared to be smitten by some sudden thought. He +checked his horse, and made it stand still in the same spot for two or +three minutes, during which he turned his head from side to side in a +melancholy way, as if he were looking at some painful object on more +sides than one. Evidently, after his fit of promptitude, Mr. Tulliver +was relapsing into the sense that this is a puzzling world. He turned +his horse, and rode slowly back, giving vent to the climax of feeling +which had determined this movement by saying aloud, as he struck his +horse, "Poor little wench! she'll have nobody but Tom, belike, when +I'm gone." + +Mr. Tulliver's return into the yard was descried by several young +Mosses, who immediately ran in with the exciting news to their mother, +so that Mrs. Moss was again on the door-step when her brother rode up. +She had been crying, but was rocking baby to sleep in her arms now, +and made no ostentatious show of sorrow as her brother looked at her, +but merely said: + +"The father's gone to the field, again, if you want him, brother." + +"No, Gritty, no," said Mr. Tulliver, in a gentle tone. "Don't you +fret,--that's all,--I'll make a shift without the money a bit, only +you must be as clever and contriving as you can." + +Mrs. Moss's tears came again at this unexpected kindness, and she +could say nothing. + +"Come, come!--the little wench shall come and see you. I'll bring her +and Tom some day before he goes to school. You mustn't fret. I'll +allays be a good brother to you." + +"Thank you for that word, brother," said Mrs. Moss, drying her tears; +then turning to Lizzy, she said, "Run now, and fetch the colored egg +for cousin Maggie." Lizzy ran in, and quickly reappeared with a small +paper parcel. + +"It's boiled hard, brother, and colored with thrums, very pretty; it +was done o' purpose for Maggie. Will you please to carry it in your +pocket?" + +"Ay, ay," said Mr. Tulliver, putting it carefully in his side pocket. +"Good-by." + +And so the respectable miller returned along the Basset lanes rather +more puzzled than before as to ways and means, but still with the +sense of a danger escaped. It had come across his mind that if he were +hard upon his sister, it might somehow tend to make Tom hard upon +Maggie at some distant day, when her father was no longer there to +take her part; for simple people, like our friend Mr. Tulliver, are +apt to clothe unimpeachable feelings in erroneous ideas, and this was +his confused way of explaining to himself that his love and anxiety +for "the little wench" had given him a new sensibility toward his +sister. + + + +Chapter IX + +To Garum Firs + + +While the possible troubles of Maggie's future were occupying her +father's mind, she herself was tasting only the bitterness of the +present. Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no +memories of outlived sorrow. + +The fact was, the day had begun ill with Maggie. The pleasure of +having Lucy to look at, and the prospect of the afternoon visit to +Garum Firs, where she would hear uncle Pullet's musical box, had been +marred as early as eleven o'clock by the advent of the hair-dresser +from St. Ogg's, who had spoken in the severest terms of the condition +in which he had found her hair, holding up one jagged lock after +another and saying, "See here! tut, tut, tut!" in a tone of mingled +disgust and pity, which to Maggie's imagination was equivalent to the +strongest expression of public opinion. Mr. Rappit, the hair-dresser, +with his well-anointed coronal locks tending wavily upward, like the +simulated pyramid of flame on a monumental urn, seemed to her at that +moment the most formidable of her contemporaries, into whose street at +St. Ogg's she would carefully refrain from entering through the rest +of her life. + +Moreover, the preparation for a visit being always a serious affair in +the Dodson family, Martha was enjoined to have Mrs. Tulliver's room +ready an hour earlier than usual, that the laying out of the best +clothes might not be deferred till the last moment, as was sometimes +the case in families of lax views, where the ribbon-strings were never +rolled up, where there was little or no wrapping in silver paper, and +where the sense that the Sunday clothes could be got at quite easily +produced no shock to the mind. Already, at twelve o'clock, Mrs. +Tulliver had on her visiting costume, with a protective apparatus of +brown holland, as if she had been a piece of satin furniture in danger +of flies; Maggie was frowning and twisting her shoulders, that she +might if possible shrink away from the prickliest of tuckers, while +her mother was remonstrating, "Don't, Maggie, my dear; don't make +yourself so ugly!" and Tom's cheeks were looking particularly +brilliant as a relief to his best blue suit, which he wore with +becoming calmness, having, after a little wrangling, effected what was +always the one point of interest to him in his toilet: he had +transferred all the contents of his every-day pockets to those +actually in wear. + +As for Lucy, she was just as pretty and neat as she had been +yesterday; no accidents ever happened to her clothes, and she was +never uncomfortable in them, so that she looked with wondering pity at +Maggie, pouting and writhing under the exasperating tucker. Maggie +would certainly have torn it off, if she had not been checked by the +remembrance of her recent humiliation about her hair; as it was, she +confined herself to fretting and twisting, and behaving peevishly +about the card-houses which they were allowed to build till dinner, as +a suitable amusement for boys and girls in their best clothes. Tom +could build perfect pyramids of houses; but Maggie's would never bear +the laying on the roof. It was always so with the things that Maggie +made; and Tom had deduced the conclusion that no girls could ever make +anything. But it happened that Lucy proved wonderfully clever at +building; she handled the cards so lightly, and moved so gently, that +Tom condescended to admire her houses as well as his own, the more +readily because she had asked him to teach her. Maggie, too, would +have admired Lucy's houses, and would have given up her own +unsuccessful building to contemplate them, without ill temper, if her +tucker had not made her peevish, and if Tom had not inconsiderately +laughed when her houses fell, and told her she was "a stupid." + +"Don't laugh at me, Tom!" she burst out angrily; "I'm not a stupid. I +know a great many things you don't." + +"Oh, I dare say, Miss Spitfire! I'd never be such a cross thing as +you, making faces like that. Lucy doesn't do so. I like Lucy better +than you; _I_ wish Lucy was _my_ sister." + +"Then it's very wicked and cruel of you to wish so," said Maggie, +starting up hurriedly from her place on the floor, and upsetting Tom's +wonderful pagoda. She really did not mean it, but the circumstantial +evidence was against her, and Tom turned white with anger, but said +nothing; he would have struck her, only he knew it was cowardly to +strike a girl, and Tom Tulliver was quite determined he would never do +anything cowardly. + +Maggie stood in dismay and terror, while Tom got up from the floor and +walked away, pale, from the scattered ruins of his pagoda, and Lucy +looked on mutely, like a kitten pausing from its lapping. + +"Oh, Tom," said Maggie, at last, going half-way toward him, "I didn't +mean to knock it down, indeed, indeed I didn't." + +Tom took no notice of her, but took, instead, two or three hard peas +out of his pocket, and shot them with his thumbnail against the +window, vaguely at first, but presently with the distinct aim of +hitting a superannuated blue-bottle which was exposing its imbecility +in the spring sunshine, clearly against the views of Nature, who had +provided Tom and the peas for the speedy destruction of this weak +individual. + +Thus the morning had been made heavy to Maggie, and Tom's persistent +coldness to her all through their walk spoiled the fresh air and +sunshine for her. He called Lucy to look at the half-built bird's nest +without caring to show it Maggie, and peeled a willow switch for Lucy +and himself, without offering one to Maggie. Lucy had said, "Maggie, +shouldn't _you_ like one?" but Tom was deaf. + +Still, the sight of the peacock opportunely spreading his tail on the +stackyard wall, just as they reached Garum Firs, was enough to divert +the mind temporarily from personal grievances. And this was only the +beginning of beautiful sights at Garum Firs. All the farmyard life was +wonderful there,--bantams, speckled and top-knotted; Friesland hens, +with their feathers all turned the wrong way; Guinea-fowls that flew +and screamed and dropped their pretty spotted feathers; pouter-pigeons +and a tame magpie; nay, a goat, and a wonderful brindled dog, half +mastiff, half bull-dog, as large as a lion. Then there were white +railings and white gates all about, and glittering weathercocks of +various design, and garden-walks paved with pebbles in beautiful +patterns,--nothing was quite common at Garum Firs; and Tom thought +that the unusual size of the toads there was simply due to the general +unusualness which characterized uncle Pullet's possessions as a +gentleman farmer. Toads who paid rent were naturally leaner. As for +the house, it was not less remarkable; it had a receding centre, and +two wings with battlemented turrets, and was covered with glittering +white stucco. + +Uncle Pullet had seen the expected party approaching from the window, +and made haste to unbar and unchain the front door, kept always in +this fortified condition from fear of tramps, who might be supposed to +know of the glass case of stuffed birds in the hall, and to +contemplate rushing in and carrying it away on their heads. Aunt +Pullet, too, appeared at the doorway, and as soon as her sister was +within hearing said, "Stop the children, for God's sake! Bessy; don't +let 'em come up the door-steps; Sally's bringing the old mat and the +duster, to rub their shoes." + +Mrs. Pullet's front-door mats were by no means intended to wipe shoes +on; the very scraper had a deputy to do its dirty work. Tom rebelled +particularly against this shoewiping, which he always considered in +the light of an indignity to his sex. He felt it as the beginning of +the disagreeables incident to a visit at aunt Pullet's, where he had +once been compelled to sit with towels wrapped round his boots; a fact +which may serve to correct the too-hasty conclusion that a visit to +Garum Firs must have been a great treat to a young gentleman fond of +animals,--fond, that is, of throwing stones at them. + +The next disagreeable was confined to his feminine companions; it was +the mounting of the polished oak stairs, which had very handsome +carpets rolled up and laid by in a spare bedroom, so that the ascent +of these glossy steps might have served, in barbarous times, as a +trial by ordeal from which none but the most spotless virtue could +have come off with unbroken limbs. Sophy's weakness about these +polished stairs was always a subject of bitter remonstrance on Mrs. +Glegg's part; but Mrs. Tulliver ventured on no comment, only thinking +to herself it was a mercy when she and the children were safe on the +landing. + +"Mrs. Gray has sent home my new bonnet, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, in a +pathetic tone, as Mrs. Tulliver adjusted her cap. + +"Has she, sister?" said Mrs. Tulliver, with an air of much interest. +"And how do you like it?" + +"It's apt to make a mess with clothes, taking 'em out and putting 'em +in again," said Mrs. Pullet, drawing a bunch of keys from her pocket +and looking at them earnestly, "but it 'ud be a pity for you to go +away without seeing it. There's no knowing what may happen." + +Mrs. Pullet shook her head slowly at this last serious consideration, +which determined her to single out a particular key. + +"I'm afraid it'll be troublesome to you getting it out, sister," said +Mrs. Tulliver; "but I _should_ like to see what sort of a crown she's +made you." + +Mrs. Pullet rose with a melancholy air and unlocked one wing of a very +bright wardrobe, where you may have hastily supposed she would find a +new bonnet. Not at all. Such a supposition could only have arisen from +a too-superficial acquaintance with the habits of the Dodson family. +In this wardrobe Mrs. Pullet was seeking something small enough to be +hidden among layers of linen,--it was a door-key. + +"You must come with me into the best room," said Mrs. Pullet. + +"May the children come too, sister?" inquired Mrs. Tulliver, who saw +that Maggie and Lucy were looking rather eager. + +"Well," said aunt Pullet, reflectively, "it'll perhaps be safer for +'em to come; they'll be touching something if we leave 'em behind." + +So they went in procession along the bright and slippery corridor, +dimly lighted by the semi-lunar top of the window which rose above the +closed shutter; it was really quite solemn. Aunt Pullet paused and +unlocked a door which opened on something still more solemn than the +passage,--a darkened room, in which the outer light, entering feebly, +showed what looked like the corpses of furniture in white shrouds. +Everything that was not shrouded stood with its legs upward. Lucy laid +hold of Maggie's frock, and Maggie's heart beat rapidly. + +Aunt Pullet half-opened the shutter and then unlocked the wardrobe, +with a melancholy deliberateness which was quite in keeping with the +funereal solemnity of the scene. The delicious scent of rose-leaves +that issued from the wardrobe made the process of taking out sheet +after sheet of silver paper quite pleasant to assist at, though the +sight of the bonnet at last was an anticlimax to Maggie, who would +have preferred something more strikingly preternatural. But few things +could have been more impressive to Mrs. Tulliver. She looked all round +it in silence for some moments, and then said emphatically, "Well, +sister, I'll never speak against the full crowns again!" + +It was a great concession, and Mrs. Pullet felt it; she felt something +was due to it. + +"You'd like to see it on, sister?" she said sadly. "I'll open the +shutter a bit further." + +"Well, if you don't mind taking off your cap, sister," said Mrs. +Tulliver. + +Mrs. Pullet took off her cap, displaying the brown silk scalp with a +jutting promontory of curls which was common to the more mature and +judicious women of those times, and placing the bonnet on her head, +turned slowly round, like a draper's lay-figure, that Mrs. Tulliver +might miss no point of view. + +"I've sometimes thought there's a loop too much o' ribbon on this left +side, sister; what do you think?" said Mrs. Pullet. + +Mrs. Tulliver looked earnestly at the point indicated, and turned her +head on one side. "Well, I think it's best as it is; if you meddled +with it, sister, you might repent." + +"That's true," said aunt Pullet, taking off the bonnet and looking at +it contemplatively. + +"How much might she charge you for that bonnet, sister?" said Mrs. +Tulliver, whose mind was actively engaged on the possibility of +getting a humble imitation of this _chef-d'œuvre_ made from a piece +of silk she had at home. + +Mrs. Pullet screwed up her mouth and shook her head, and then +whispered, "Pullet pays for it; he said I was to have the best bonnet +at Garum Church, let the next best be whose it would." + +She began slowly to adjust the trimmings, in preparation for returning +it to its place in the wardrobe, and her thoughts seemed to have taken +a melancholy turn, for she shook her head. + +"Ah," she said at last, "I may never wear it twice, sister; who +knows?" + +"Don't talk o' that sister," answered Mrs. Tulliver. "I hope you'll +have your health this summer." + +"Ah! but there may come a death in the family, as there did soon after +I had my green satin bonnet. Cousin Abbott may go, and we can't think +o' wearing crape less nor half a year for him." + +"That _would_ be unlucky," said Mrs. Tulliver, entering thoroughly +into the possibility of an inopportune decease. "There's never so much +pleasure i' wearing a bonnet the second year, especially when the +crowns are so chancy,--never two summers alike." + +"Ah, it's the way i' this world," said Mrs. Pullet, returning the +bonnet to the wardrobe and locking it up. She maintained a silence +characterized by head-shaking, until they had all issued from the +solemn chamber and were in her own room again. Then, beginning to cry, +she said, "Sister, if you should never see that bonnet again till I'm +dead and gone, you'll remember I showed it you this day." + +Mrs. Tulliver felt that she ought to be affected, but she was a woman +of sparse tears, stout and healthy; she couldn't cry so much as her +sister Pullet did, and had often felt her deficiency at funerals. Her +effort to bring tears into her eyes issued in an odd contraction of +her face. Maggie, looking on attentively, felt that there was some +painful mystery about her aunt's bonnet which she was considered too +young to understand; indignantly conscious, all the while, that she +could have understood that, as well as everything else, if she had +been taken into confidence. + +When they went down, uncle Pullet observed, with some acumen, that he +reckoned the missis had been showing her bonnet,--that was what had +made them so long upstairs. With Tom the interval had seemed still +longer, for he had been seated in irksome constraint on the edge of a +sofa directly opposite his uncle Pullet, who regarded him with +twinkling gray eyes, and occasionally addressed him as "Young sir." + +"Well, young sir, what do you learn at school?" was a standing +question with uncle Pullet; whereupon Tom always looked sheepish, +rubbed his hands across his face, and answered, "I don't know." It was +altogether so embarrassing to be seated _tête-à-tête_ with uncle +Pullet, that Tom could not even look at the prints on the walls, or +the flycages, or the wonderful flower-pots; he saw nothing but his +uncle's gaiters. Not that Tom was in awe of his uncle's mental +superiority; indeed, he had made up his mind that he didn't want to be +a gentleman farmer, because he shouldn't like to be such a +thin-legged, silly fellow as his uncle Pullet,--a molly-coddle, in +fact. A boy's sheepishness is by no means a sign of overmastering +reverence; and while you are making encouraging advances to him under +the idea that he is overwhelmed by a sense of your age and wisdom, ten +to one he is thinking you extremely queer. The only consolation I can +suggest to you is, that the Greek boys probably thought the same of +Aristotle. It is only when you have mastered a restive horse, or +thrashed a drayman, or have got a gun in your hand, that these shy +juniors feel you to be a truly admirable and enviable character. At +least, I am quite sure of Tom Tulliver's sentiments on these points. +In very tender years, when he still wore a lace border under his +outdoor cap, he was often observed peeping through the bars of a gate +and making minatory gestures with his small forefinger while he +scolded the sheep with an inarticulate burr, intended to strike terror +into their astonished minds; indicating thus early that desire for +mastery over the inferior animals, wild and domestic, including +cockchafers, neighbors' dogs, and small sisters, which in all ages has +been an attribute of so much promise for the fortunes of our race. +Now, Mr. Pullet never rode anything taller than a low pony, and was +the least predatory of men, considering firearms dangerous, as apt to +go off of themselves by nobody's particular desire. So that Tom was +not without strong reasons when, in confidential talk with a chum, he +had described uncle Pullet as a nincompoop, taking care at the same +time to observe that he was a very "rich fellow." + +The only alleviating circumstance in a _tête-à-tête_ with uncle Pullet +was that he kept a variety of lozenges and peppermint-drops about his +person, and when at a loss for conversation, he filled up the void by +proposing a mutual solace of this kind. + +"Do you like peppermints, young sir?" required only a tacit answer +when it was accompanied by a presentation of the article in question. + +The appearance of the little girls suggested to uncle Pullet the +further solace of small sweet-cakes, of which he also kept a stock +under lock and key for his own private eating on wet days; but the +three children had no sooner got the tempting delicacy between their +fingers, than aunt Pullet desired them to abstain from eating it till +the tray and the plates came, since with those crisp cakes they would +make the floor "all over" crumbs. Lucy didn't mind that much, for the +cake was so pretty, she thought it was rather a pity to eat it; but +Tom, watching his opportunity while the elders were talking, hastily +stowed it in his mouth at two bites, and chewed it furtively. As for +Maggie, becoming fascinated, as usual, by a print of Ulysses and +Nausicaa, which uncle Pullet had bought as a "pretty Scripture thing," +she presently let fall her cake, and in an unlucky movement crushed it +beneath her foot,--a source of so much agitation to aunt Pullet and +conscious disgrace to Maggie, that she began to despair of hearing the +musical snuff-box to-day, till, after some reflection, it occurred to +her that Lucy was in high favor enough to venture on asking for a +tune. So she whispered to Lucy; and Lucy, who always did what she was +desired to do, went up quietly to her uncle's knee, and blush-all over +her neck while she fingered her necklace, said, "Will you please play +us a tune, uncle?" + +Lucy thought it was by reason of some exceptional talent in uncle +Pullet that the snuff-box played such beautiful tunes, and indeed the +thing was viewed in that light by the majority of his neighbors in +Garum. Mr. Pullet had _bought_ the box, to begin with, and he +understood winding it up, and knew which tune it was going to play +beforehand; altogether the possession of this unique "piece of music" +was a proof that Mr. Pullet's character was not of that entire nullity +which might otherwise have been attributed to it. But uncle Pullet, +when entreated to exhibit his accomplishment, never depreciated it by +a too-ready consent. "We'll see about it," was the answer he always +gave, carefully abstaining from any sign of compliance till a suitable +number of minutes had passed. Uncle Pullet had a programme for all +great social occasions, and in this way fenced himself in from much +painful confusion and perplexing freedom of will. + +Perhaps the suspense did heighten Maggie's enjoyment when the fairy +tune began; for the first time she quite forgot that she had a load on +her mind, that Tom was angry with her; and by the time "Hush, ye +pretty warbling choir," had been played, her face wore that bright +look of happiness, while she sat immovable with her hands clasped, +which sometimes comforted her mother with the sense that Maggie could +look pretty now and then, in spite of her brown skin. But when the +magic music ceased, she jumped up, and running toward Tom, put her arm +round his neck and said, "Oh, Tom, isn't it pretty?" + +Lest you should think it showed a revolting insensibility in Tom that +he felt any new anger toward Maggie for this uncalled-for and, to him, +inexplicable caress, I must tell you that he had his glass of cowslip +wine in his hand, and that she jerked him so as to make him spill half +of it. He must have been an extreme milksop not to say angrily, "Look +there, now!" especially when his resentment was sanctioned, as it was, +by general disapprobation of Maggie's behavior. + +"Why don't you sit still, Maggie?" her mother said peevishly. + +"Little gells mustn't come to see me if they behave in that way," said +aunt Pullet. + +"Why, you're too rough, little miss," said uncle Pullet. + +Poor Maggie sat down again, with the music all chased out of her soul, +and the seven small demons all in again. + +Mrs. Tulliver, foreseeing nothing but misbehavior while the children +remained indoors, took an early opportunity of suggesting that, now +they were rested after their walk, they might go and play out of +doors; and aunt Pullet gave permission, only enjoining them not to go +off the paved walks in the garden, and if they wanted to see the +poultry fed, to view them from a distance on the horse-block; a +restriction which had been imposed ever since Tom had been found +guilty of running after the peacock, with an illusory idea that fright +would make one of its feathers drop off. + +Mrs. Tulliver's thoughts had been temporarily diverted from the +quarrel with Mrs. Glegg by millinery and maternal cares, but now the +great theme of the bonnet was thrown into perspective, and the +children were out of the way, yesterday's anxieties recurred. + +"It weighs on my mind so as never was," she said, by way of opening +the subject, "sister Glegg's leaving the house in that way. I'm sure +I'd no wish t' offend a sister." + +"Ah," said aunt Pullet, "there's no accounting for what Jane 'ull do. +I wouldn't speak of it out o' the family, if it wasn't to Dr. +Turnbull; but it's my belief Jane lives too low. I've said so to +Pullet often and often, and he knows it." + +"Why, you said so last Monday was a week, when we came away from +drinking tea with 'em," said Mr. Pullet, beginning to nurse his knee +and shelter it with his pocket-hand-kerchief, as was his way when the +conversation took an interesting turn. + +"Very like I did," said Mrs. Pullet, "for you remember when I said +things, better than I can remember myself. He's got a wonderful +memory, Pullet has," she continued, looking pathetically at her +sister. "I should be poorly off if he was to have a stroke, for he +always remembers when I've got to take my doctor's stuff; and I'm +taking three sorts now." + +"There's the 'pills as before' every other night, and the new drops at +eleven and four, and the 'fervescing mixture 'when agreeable,'" +rehearsed Mr. Pullet, with a punctuation determined by a lozenge on +his tongue. + +"Ah, perhaps it 'ud be better for sister Glegg if _she'd_ go to the +doctor sometimes, instead o' chewing Turkey rhubarb whenever there's +anything the matter with her," said Mrs. Tulliver, who naturally saw +the wide subject of medicine chiefly in relation to Mrs. Glegg. + +"It's dreadful to think on," said aunt Pullet, raising her hands and +letting them fall again, "people playing with their own insides in +that way! And it's flying i' the face o' Providence; for what are the +doctors for, if we aren't to call 'em in? And when folks have got the +money to pay for a doctor, it isn't respectable, as I've told Jane +many a time. I'm ashamed of acquaintance knowing it." + +"Well, _we've_ no call to be ashamed," said Mr. Pullet, "for Doctor +Turnbull hasn't got such another patient as you i' this parish, now +old Mrs. Sutton's gone." + +"Pullet keeps all my physic-bottles, did you know, Bessy?" said Mrs. +Pullet. "He won't have one sold. He says it's nothing but right folks +should see 'em when I'm gone. They fill two o' the long store-room +shelves a'ready; but," she added, beginning to cry a little, "it's +well if they ever fill three. I may go before I've made up the dozen +o' these last sizes. The pill-boxes are in the closet in my +room,--you'll remember that, sister,--but there's nothing to show for +the boluses, if it isn't the bills." + +"Don't talk o' your going, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver; "I should have +nobody to stand between me and sister Glegg if you was gone. And +there's nobody but you can get her to make it up with Mr. Tulliver, +for sister Deane's never o' my side, and if she was, it's not to be +looked for as she can speak like them as have got an independent +fortin." + +"Well, your husband _is_ awk'ard, you know, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, +good-naturedly ready to use her deep depression on her sister's +account as well as her own. "He's never behaved quite so pretty to our +family as he should do, and the children take after him,--the boy's +very mischievous, and runs away from his aunts and uncles, and the +gell's rude and brown. It's your bad luck, and I'm sorry for you, +Bessy; for you was allays my favorite sister, and we allays liked the +same patterns." + +"I know Tulliver's hasty, and says odd things," said Mrs. Tulliver, +wiping away one small tear from the corner of her eye; "but I'm sure +he's never been the man, since he married me, to object to my making +the friends o' my side o' the family welcome to the house." + +"_I_ don't want to make the worst of you, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, +compassionately, "for I doubt you'll have trouble enough without that; +and your husband's got that poor sister and her children hanging on +him,--and so given to lawing, they say. I doubt he'll leave you poorly +off when he dies. Not as I'd have it said out o' the family." + +This view of her position was naturally far from cheering to Mrs. +Tulliver. Her imagination was not easily acted on, but she could not +help thinking that her case was a hard one, since it appeared that +other people thought it hard. + +"I'm sure, sister, I can't help myself," she said, urged by the fear +lest her anticipated misfortunes might be held retributive, to take +comprehensive review of her past conduct. "There's no woman strives +more for her children; and I'm sure at scouring-time this Lady-day as +I've had all the bedhangings taken down I did as much as the two gells +put together; and there's the last elder-flower wine I've +made--beautiful! I allays offer it along with the sherry, though +sister Glegg will have it I'm so extravagant; and as for liking to +have my clothes tidy, and not go a fright about the house, there's +nobody in the parish can say anything against me in respect o' +backbiting and making mischief, for I don't wish anybody any harm; and +nobody loses by sending me a porkpie, for my pies are fit to show with +the best o' my neighbors'; and the linen's so in order as if I was to +die to-morrow I shouldn't be ashamed. A woman can do no more nor she +can." + +"But it's all o' no use, you know, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, holding +her head on one side, and fixing her eyes pathetically on her sister, +"if your husband makes away with his money. Not but what if you was +sold up, and other folks bought your furniture, it's a comfort to +think as you've kept it well rubbed. And there's the linen, with your +maiden mark on, might go all over the country. It 'ud be a sad pity +for our family." Mrs. Pullet shook her head slowly. + +"But what can I do, sister?" said Mrs. Tulliver. "Mr. Tulliver's not a +man to be dictated to,--not if I was to go to the parson and get by +heart what I should tell my husband for the best. And I'm sure I don't +pretend to know anything about putting out money and all that. I could +never see into men's business as sister Glegg does." + +"Well, you're like me in that, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet; "and I think +it 'ud be a deal more becoming o' Jane if she'd have that pier-glass +rubbed oftener,--there was ever so many spots on it last +week,--instead o' dictating to folks as have more comings in than she +ever had, and telling 'em what they're to do with their money. But +Jane and me were allays contrairy; she _would_ have striped things, +and I like spots. You like a spot too, Bessy; we allays hung together +i' that." + +"Yes, Sophy," said Mrs. Tulliver, "I remember our having a blue ground +with a white spot both alike,--I've got a bit in a bed-quilt now; and +if you would but go and see sister Glegg, and persuade her to make it +up with Tulliver, I should take it very kind of you. You was allays a +good sister to me." + +"But the right thing 'ud be for Tulliver to go and make it up with her +himself, and say he was sorry for speaking so rash. If he's borrowed +money of her, he shouldn't be above that," said Mrs. Pullet, whose +partiality did not blind her to principles; she did not forget what +was due to people of independent fortune. + +"It's no use talking o' that," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, almost +peevishly. "If I was to go down on my bare knees on the gravel to +Tulliver, he'd never humble himself." + +"Well, you can't expect me to persuade _Jane_ to beg pardon," said +Mrs. Pullet. "Her temper's beyond everything; it's well if it doesn't +carry her off her mind, though there never _was_ any of our family +went to a madhouse." + +"I'm not thinking of her begging pardon," said Mrs. Tulliver. "But if +she'd just take no notice, and not call her money in; as it's not so +much for one sister to ask of another; time 'ud mend things, and +Tulliver 'ud forget all about it, and they'd be friends again." + +Mrs. Tulliver, you perceive, was not aware of her husband's +irrevocable determination to pay in the five hundred pounds; at least +such a determination exceeded her powers of belief. + +"Well, Bessy," said Mrs. Pullet, mournfully, "_I_ don't want to help +you on to ruin. I won't be behindhand i' doing you a good turn, if it +is to be done. And I don't like it said among acquaintance as we've +got quarrels in the family. I shall tell Jane that; and I don't mind +driving to Jane's tomorrow, if Pullet doesn't mind. What do you say, +Mr. Pullet?" + +"I've no objections," said Mr. Pullet, who was perfectly contented +with any course the quarrel might take, so that Mr. Tulliver did not +apply to _him_ for money. Mr. Pullet was nervous about his +investments, and did not see how a man could have any security for his +money unless he turned it into land. + +After a little further discussion as to whether it would not be better +for Mrs. Tulliver to accompany them on a visit to sister Glegg, Mrs. +Pullet, observing that it was tea-time, turned to reach from a drawer +a delicate damask napkin, which she pinned before her in the fashion +of an apron. The door did, in fact, soon open, but instead of the +tea-tray, Sally introduced an object so startling that both Mrs. +Pullet and Mrs. Tulliver gave a scream, causing uncle Pullet to +swallow his lozenge--for the fifth time in his life, as he afterward +noted. + + + +Chapter X + +Maggie Behaves Worse Than She Expected + + +The startling object which thus made an epoch for uncle Pullet was no +other than little Lucy, with one side of her person, from her small +foot to her bonnet-crown, wet and discolored with mud, holding out two +tiny blackened hands, and making a very piteous face. To account for +this unprecedented apparition in aunt Pullet's parlor, we must return +to the moment when the three children went to play out of doors, and +the small demons who had taken possession of Maggie's soul at an early +period of the day had returned in all the greater force after a +temporary absence. All the disagreeable recollections of the morning +were thick upon her, when Tom, whose displeasure toward her had been +considerably refreshed by her foolish trick of causing him to upset +his cowslip wine, said, "Here, Lucy, you come along with me," and +walked off to the area where the toads were, as if there were no +Maggie in existence. Seeing this, Maggie lingered at a distance +looking like a small Medusa with her snakes cropped. Lucy was +naturally pleased that cousin Tom was so good to her, and it was very +amusing to see him tickling a fat toad with a piece of string when the +toad was safe down the area, with an iron grating over him. Still Lucy +wished Maggie to enjoy the spectacle also, especially as she would +doubtless find a name for the toad, and say what had been his past +history; for Lucy had a delighted semibelief in Maggie's stories about +the live things they came upon by accident,--how Mrs. Earwig had a +wash at home, and one of her children had fallen into the hot copper, +for which reason she was running so fast to fetch the doctor. Tom had +a profound contempt for this nonsense of Maggie's, smashing the earwig +at once as a superfluous yet easy means of proving the entire +unreality of such a story; but Lucy, for the life of her, could not +help fancying there was something in it, and at all events thought it +was very pretty make-believe. So now the desire to know the history of +a very portly toad, added to her habitual affectionateness, made her +run back to Maggie and say, "Oh, there is such a big, funny toad, +Maggie! Do come and see!" + +Maggie said nothing, but turned away from her with a deeper frown. As +long as Tom seemed to prefer Lucy to her, Lucy made part of his +unkindness. Maggie would have thought a little while ago that she +could never be cross with pretty little Lucy, any more than she could +be cruel to a little white mouse; but then, Tom had always been quite +indifferent to Lucy before, and it had been left to Maggie to pet and +make much of her. As it was, she was actually beginning to think that +she should like to make Lucy cry by slapping or pinching her, +especially as it might vex Tom, whom it was of no use to slap, even if +she dared, because he didn't mind it. And if Lucy hadn't been there, +Maggie was sure he would have got friends with her sooner. + +Tickling a fat toad who is not highly sensitive is an amusement that +it is possible to exhaust, and Tom by and by began to look round for +some other mode of passing the time. But in so prim a garden, where +they were not to go off the paved walks, there was not a great choice +of sport. The only great pleasure such a restriction suggested was the +pleasure of breaking it, and Tom began to meditate an insurrectionary +visit to the pond, about a field's length beyond the garden. + +"I say, Lucy," he began, nodding his head up and down with great +significance, as he coiled up his string again, "what do you think I +mean to do?" + +"What, Tom?" said Lucy, with curiosity. + +"I mean to go to the pond and look at the pike. You may go with me if +you like," said the young sultan. + +"Oh, Tom, _dare_ you?" said Lucy. "Aunt said we mustn't go out of the +garden." + +"Oh, I shall go out at the other end of the garden," said Tom. "Nobody +'ull see us. Besides, I don't care if they do,--I'll run off home." + +"But _I_ couldn't run," said Lucy, who had never before been exposed +to such severe temptation. + +"Oh, never mind; they won't be cross with _you_," said Tom. "You say I +took you." + +Tom walked along, and Lucy trotted by his side, timidly enjoying the +rare treat of doing something naughty,--excited also by the mention of +that celebrity, the pike, about which she was quite uncertain whether +it was a fish or a fowl. + +Maggie saw them leaving the garden, and could not resist the impulse +to follow. Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their +objects than love, and that Tom and Lucy should do or see anything of +which she was ignorant would have been an intolerable idea to Maggie. +So she kept a few yards behind them, unobserved by Tom, who was +presently absorbed in watching for the pike,--a highly interesting +monster; he was said to be so very old, so very large, and to have +such a remarkable appetite. The pike, like other celebrities, did not +show when he was watched for, but Tom caught sight of something in +rapid movement in the water, which attracted him to another spot on +the brink of the pond. + +"Here, Lucy!" he said in a loud whisper, "come here! take care! keep +on the grass!--don't step where the cows have been!" he added, +pointing to a peninsula of dry grass, with trodden mud on each side of +it; for Tom's contemptuous conception of a girl included the attribute +of being unfit to walk in dirty places. + +Lucy came carefully as she was bidden, and bent down to look at what +seemed a golden arrow-head darting through the water. It was a +water-snake, Tom told her; and Lucy at last could see the serpentine +wave of its body, very much wondering that a snake could swim. Maggie +had drawn nearer and nearer; she _must_ see it too, though it was +bitter to her, like everything else, since Tom did not care about her +seeing it. At last she was close by Lucy; and Tom, who had been aware +of her approach, but would not notice it till he was obliged, turned +round and said,-- + +"Now, get away, Maggie; there's no room for you on the grass here. +Nobody asked _you_ to come." + +There were passions at war in Maggie at that moment to have made a +tragedy, if tragedies were made by passion only; but the essential +[Greek text] which was present in the passion was wanting to the action; +the utmost Maggie could do, with a fierce thrust of her small brown arm, +was to push poor little pink-and-white Lucy into the cow-trodden mud. + +Then Tom could not restrain himself, and gave Maggie two smart slaps +on the arm as he ran to pick up Lucy, who lay crying helplessly. +Maggie retreated to the roots of a tree a few yards off, and looked on +impenitently. Usually her repentance came quickly after one rash deed, +but now Tom and Lucy had made her so miserable, she was glad to spoil +their happiness,--glad to make everybody uncomfortable. Why should she +be sorry? Tom was very slow to forgive _her_, however sorry she might +have been. + +"I shall tell mother, you know, Miss Mag," said Tom, loudly and +emphatically, as soon as Lucy was up and ready to walk away. It was +not Tom's practice to "tell," but here justice clearly demanded that +Maggie should be visited with the utmost punishment; not that Tom had +learned to put his views in that abstract form; he never mentioned +"justice," and had no idea that his desire to punish might be called +by that fine name. Lucy was too entirely absorbed by the evil that had +befallen her,--the spoiling of her pretty best clothes, and the +discomfort of being wet and dirty,--to think much of the cause, which +was entirely mysterious to her. She could never have guessed what she +had done to make Maggie angry with her; but she felt that Maggie was +very unkind and disagreeable, and made no magnanimous entreaties to +Tom that he would not "tell," only running along by his side and +crying piteously, while Maggie sat on the roots of the tree and looked +after them with her small Medusa face. + +"Sally," said Tom, when they reached the kitchen door, and Sally +looked at them in speechless amaze, with a piece of bread-and-butter +in her mouth and a toasting-fork in her hand,--"Sally, tell mother it +was Maggie pushed Lucy into the mud." + +"But Lors ha' massy, how did you get near such mud as that?" said +Sally, making a wry face, as she stooped down and examined the _corpus +delicti_. + +Tom's imagination had not been rapid and capacious enough to include +this question among the foreseen consequences, but it was no sooner +put than he foresaw whither it tended, and that Maggie would not be +considered the only culprit in the case. He walked quietly away from +the kitchen door, leaving Sally to that pleasure of guessing which +active minds notoriously prefer to ready-made knowledge. + +Sally, as you are aware, lost no time in presenting Lucy at the parlor +door, for to have so dirty an object introduced into the house at +Garum Firs was too great a weight to be sustained by a single mind. + +"Goodness gracious!" aunt Pullet exclaimed, after preluding by an +inarticulate scream; "keep her at the door, Sally! Don't bring her off +the oil-cloth, whatever you do." + +"Why, she's tumbled into some nasty mud," said Mrs. Tulliver, going up +to Lucy to examine into the amount of damage to clothes for which she +felt herself responsible to her sister Deane. + +"If you please, 'um, it was Miss Maggie as pushed her in," said Sally; +"Master Tom's been and said so, and they must ha' been to the pond, +for it's only there they could ha' got into such dirt." + +"There it is, Bessy; it's what I've been telling you," said Mrs. +Pullet, in a tone of prophetic sadness; "it's your children,--there's +no knowing what they'll come to." + +Mrs. Tulliver was mute, feeling herself a truly wretched mother. As +usual, the thought pressed upon her that people would think she had +done something wicked to deserve her maternal troubles, while Mrs. +Pullet began to give elaborate directions to Sally how to guard the +premises from serious injury in the course of removing the dirt. +Meantime tea was to be brought in by the cook, and the two naughty +children were to have theirs in an ignominious manner in the kitchen. +Mrs. Tulliver went out to speak to these naughty children, supposing +them to be close at hand; but it was not until after some search that +she found Tom leaning with rather a hardened, careless air against the +white paling of the poultry-yard, and lowering his piece of string on +the other side as a means of exasperating the turkey-cock. + +"Tom, you naughty boy, where's your sister?" said Mrs. Tulliver, in a +distressed voice. + +"I don't know," said Tom; his eagerness for justice on Maggie had +diminished since he had seen clearly that it could hardly be brought +about without the injustice of some blame on his own conduct. + +"Why, where did you leave her?" said the mother, looking round. + +"Sitting under the tree, against the pond," said Tom, apparently +indifferent to everything but the string and the turkey-cock. + +"Then go and fetch her in this minute, you naughty boy. And how could +you think o' going to the pond, and taking your sister where there was +dirt? You know she'll do mischief if there's mischief to be done." + +It was Mrs. Tulliver's way, if she blamed Tom, to refer his +misdemeanor, somehow or other, to Maggie. + +The idea of Maggie sitting alone by the pond roused an habitual fear +in Mrs. Tulliver's mind, and she mounted the horse-block to satisfy +herself by a sight of that fatal child, while Tom walked--not very +quickly--on his way toward her. + +"They're such children for the water, mine are," she said aloud, +without reflecting that there was no one to hear her; "they'll be +brought in dead and drownded some day. I wish that river was far +enough." + +But when she not only failed to discern Maggie, but presently saw Tom +returning from the pool alone, this hovering fear entered and took +complete possession of her, and she hurried to meet him. + +"Maggie's nowhere about the pond, mother," said Tom; "she's gone +away." + +You may conceive the terrified search for Maggie, and the difficulty +of convincing her mother that she was not in the pond. Mrs. Pullet +observed that the child might come to a worse end if she lived, there +was no knowing; and Mr. Pullet, confused and overwhelmed by this +revolutionary aspect of things,--the tea deferred and the poultry +alarmed by the unusual running to and fro,--took up his spud as an +instrument of search, and reached down a key to unlock the goose-pen, +as a likely place for Maggie to lie concealed in. + +Tom, after a while, started the idea that Maggie was gone home +(without thinking it necessary to state that it was what he should +have done himself under the circumstances), and the suggestion was +seized as a comfort by his mother. + +"Sister, for goodness' sake let 'em put the horse in the carriage and +take me home; we shall perhaps find her on the road. Lucy can't walk +in her dirty clothes," she said, looking at that innocent victim, who +was wrapped up in a shawl, and sitting with naked feet on the sofa. + +Aunt Pullet was quite willing to take the shortest means of restoring +her premises to order and quiet, and it was not long before Mrs. +Tulliver was in the chaise, looking anxiously at the most distant +point before her. What the father would say if Maggie was lost, was a +question that predominated over every other. + + + +Chapter XI + +Maggie Tries to Run away from Her Shadow + + +Maggie's intentions, as usual, were on a larger scale than Tom +imagined. The resolution that gathered in her mind, after Tom and Lucy +had walked away, was not so simple as that of going home. No! she +would run away and go to the gypsies, and Tom should never see her any +more. That was by no means a new idea to Maggie; she had been so often +told she was like a gypsy, and "half wild," that when she was +miserable it seemed to her the only way of escaping opprobrium, and +being entirely in harmony with circumstances, would be to live in a +little brown tent on the commons; the gypsies, she considered, would +gladly receive her and pay her much respect on account of her superior +knowledge. She had once mentioned her views on this point to Tom and +suggested that he should stain his face brown, and they should run +away together; but Tom rejected the scheme with contempt, observing +that gypsies were thieves, and hardly got anything to eat and had +nothing to drive but a donkey. To-day however, Maggie thought her +misery had reached a pitch at which gypsydom was her refuge, and she +rose from her seat on the roots of the tree with the sense that this +was a great crisis in her life; she would run straight away till she +came to Dunlow Common, where there would certainly be gypsies; and +cruel Tom, and the rest of her relations who found fault with her, +should never see her any more. She thought of her father as she ran +along, but she reconciled herself to the idea of parting with him, by +determining that she would secretly send him a letter by a small +gypsy, who would run away without telling where she was, and just let +him know that she was well and happy, and always loved him very much. + +Maggie soon got out of breath with running, but by the time Tom got to +the pond again she was at the distance of three long fields, and was +on the edge of the lane leading to the highroad. She stopped to pant a +little, reflecting that running away was not a pleasant thing until +one had got quite to the common where the gypsies were, but her +resolution had not abated; she presently passed through the gate into +the lane, not knowing where it would lead her, for it was not this way +that they came from Dorlcote Mill to Garum Firs, and she felt all the +safer for that, because there was no chance of her being overtaken. +But she was soon aware, not without trembling, that there were two men +coming along the lane in front of her; she had not thought of meeting +strangers, she had been too much occupied with the idea of her friends +coming after her. The formidable strangers were two shabby-looking men +with flushed faces, one of them carrying a bundle on a stick over his +shoulder; but to her surprise, while she was dreading their +disapprobation as a runaway, the man with the bundle stopped, and in a +half-whining, half-coaxing tone asked her if she had a copper to give +a poor man. Maggie had a sixpence in her pocket,--her uncle Glegg's +present,--which she immediately drew out and gave this poor man with a +polite smile, hoping he would feel very kindly toward her as a +generous person. "That's the only money I've got," she said +apologetically. "Thank you, little miss," said the man, in a less +respectful and grateful tone than Maggie anticipated, and she even +observed that he smiled and winked at his companion. She walked on +hurriedly, but was aware that the two men were standing still, +probably to look after her, and she presently heard them laughing +loudly. Suddenly it occurred to her that they might think she was an +idiot; Tom had said that her cropped hair made her look like an idiot, +and it was too painful an idea to be readily forgotten. Besides, she +had no sleeves on,--only a cape and bonnet. It was clear that she was +not likely to make a favorable impression on passengers, and she +thought she would turn into the fields again, but not on the same side +of the lane as before, lest they should still be uncle Pullet's +fields. She turned through the first gate that was not locked, and +felt a delightful sense of privacy in creeping along by the hedgerows, +after her recent humiliating encounter. She was used to wandering +about the fields by herself, and was less timid there than on the +highroad. Sometimes she had to climb over high gates, but that was a +small evil; she was getting out of reach very fast, and she should +probably soon come within sight of Dunlow Common, or at least of some +other common, for she had heard her father say that you couldn't go +very far without coming to a common. She hoped so, for she was getting +rather tired and hungry, and until she reached the gypsies there was +no definite prospect of bread and butter. It was still broad daylight, +for aunt Pullet, retaining the early habits of the Dodson family, took +tea at half-past four by the sun, and at five by the kitchen clock; +so, though it was nearly an hour since Maggie started, there was no +gathering gloom on the fields to remind her that the night would come. +Still, it seemed to her that she had been walking a very great +distance indeed, and it was really surprising that the common did not +come within sight. Hitherto she had been in the rich parish of Garum, +where was a great deal of pasture-land, and she had only seen one +laborer at a distance. That was fortunate in some respects, as +laborers might be too ignorant to understand the propriety of her +wanting to go to Dunlow Common; yet it would have been better if she +could have met some one who would tell her the way without wanting to +know anything about her private business. At last, however, the green +fields came to an end, and Maggie found herself looking through the +bars of a gate into a lane with a wide margin of grass on each side of +it. She had never seen such a wide lane before, and, without her +knowing why, it gave her the impression that the common could not be +far off; perhaps it was because she saw a donkey with a log to his +foot feeding on the grassy margin, for she had seen a donkey with that +pitiable encumbrance on Dunlow Common when she had been across it in +her father's gig. She crept through the bars of the gate and walked on +with new spirit, though not without haunting images of Apollyon, and a +highwayman with a pistol, and a blinking dwarf in yellow with a mouth +from ear to ear, and other miscellaneous dangers. For poor little +Maggie had at once the timidity of an active imagination and the +daring that comes from overmastering impulse. She had rushed into the +adventure of seeking her unknown kindred, the gypsies; and now she was +in this strange lane, she hardly dared look on one side of her, lest +she should see the diabolical blacksmith in his leathern apron +grinning at her with arms akimbo. It was not without a leaping of the +heart that she caught sight of a small pair of bare legs sticking up, +feet uppermost, by the side of a hillock; they seemed something +hideously preternatural,--a diabolical kind of fungus; for she was too +much agitated at the first glance to see the ragged clothes and the +dark shaggy head attached to them. It was a boy asleep, and Maggie +trotted along faster and more lightly, lest she should wake him; it +did not occur to her that he was one of her friends the gypsies, who +in all probability would have very genial manners. But the fact was +so, for at the next bend in the lane Maggie actually saw the little +semicircular black tent with the blue smoke rising before it, which +was to be her refuge from all the blighting obloquy that had pursued +her in civilized life. She even saw a tall female figure by the column +of smoke, doubtless the gypsy-mother, who provided the tea and other +groceries; it was astonishing to herself that she did not feel more +delighted. But it was startling to find the gypsies in a lane, after +all, and not on a common; indeed, it was rather disappointing; for a +mysterious illimitable common, where there were sand-pits to hide in, +and one was out of everybody's reach, had always made part of Maggie's +picture of gypsy life. She went on, however, and thought with some +comfort that gypsies most likely knew nothing about idiots, so there +was no danger of their falling into the mistake of setting her down at +the first glance as an idiot. It was plain she had attracted +attention; for the tall figure, who proved to be a young woman with a +baby on her arm, walked slowly to meet her. Maggie looked up in the +new face rather tremblingly as it approached, and was reassured by the +thought that her aunt Pullet and the rest were right when they called +her a gypsy; for this face, with the bright dark eyes and the long +hair, was really something like what she used to see in the glass +before she cut her hair off. + +"My little lady, where are you going to?" the gypsy said, in a tone of +coaxing deference. + +It was delightful, and just what Maggie expected; the gypsies saw at +once that she was a little lady, and were prepared to treat her +accordingly. + +"Not any farther," said Maggie, feeling as if she were saying what she +had rehearsed in a dream. "I'm come to stay with _you_, please." + +"That's pretty; come, then. Why, what a nice little lady you are, to +be sure!" said the gypsy, taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her +very agreeable, but wished she had not been so dirty. + +There was quite a group round the fire when she reached it. An old +gypsy woman was seated on the ground nursing her knees, and +occasionally poking a skewer into the round kettle that sent forth an +odorous steam; two small shock-headed children were lying prone and +resting on their elbows something like small sphinxes; and a placid +donkey was bending his head over a tall girl, who, lying on her back, +was scratching his nose and indulging him with a bite of excellent +stolen hay. The slanting sunlight fell kindly upon them, and the scene +was really very pretty and comfortable, Maggie thought, only she hoped +they would soon set out the tea-cups. Everything would be quite +charming when she had taught the gypsies to use a washing-basin, and +to feel an interest in books. It was a little confusing, though, that +the young woman began to speak to the old one in a language which +Maggie did not understand, while the tall girl, who was feeding the +donkey, sat up and stared at her without offering any salutation. At +last the old woman said,-- + +"What! my pretty lady, are you come to stay with us? Sit ye down and +tell us where you come from." + +It was just like a story; Maggie liked to be called pretty lady and +treated in this way. She sat down and said,-- + +"I'm come from home because I'm unhappy, and I mean to be a gypsy. +I'll live with you if you like, and I can teach you a great many +things." + +"Such a clever little lady," said the woman with the baby sitting down +by Maggie, and allowing baby to crawl; "and such a pretty bonnet and +frock," she added, taking off Maggie's bonnet and looking at it while +she made an observation to the old woman, in the unknown language. The +tall girl snatched the bonnet and put it on her own head hind-foremost +with a grin; but Maggie was determined not to show any weakness on +this subject, as if she were susceptible about her bonnet. + +"I don't want to wear a bonnet," she said; "I'd rather wear a red +handkerchief, like yours" (looking at her friend by her side). "My +hair was quite long till yesterday, when I cut it off; but I dare say +it will grow again very soon," she added apologetically, thinking it +probable the gypsies had a strong prejudice in favor of long hair. And +Maggie had forgotten even her hunger at that moment in the desire to +conciliate gypsy opinion. + +"Oh, what a nice little lady!--and rich, I'm sure," said the old +woman. "Didn't you live in a beautiful house at home?" + +"Yes, my home is pretty, and I'm very fond of the river, where we go +fishing, but I'm often very unhappy. I should have liked to bring my +books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you know. But I can tell +you almost everything there is in my books, I've read them so many +times, and that will amuse you. And I can tell you something about +Geography too,--that's about the world we live in,--very useful and +interesting. Did you ever hear about Columbus?" + +Maggie's eyes had begun to sparkle and her cheeks to flush,--she was +really beginning to instruct the gypsies, and gaining great influence +over them. The gypsies themselves were not without amazement at this +talk, though their attention was divided by the contents of Maggie's +pocket, which the friend at her right hand had by this time emptied +without attracting her notice. + +"Is that where you live, my little lady?" said the old woman, at the +mention of Columbus. + +"Oh, no!" said Maggie, with some pity; "Columbus was a very wonderful +man, who found out half the world, and they put chains on him and +treated him very badly, you know; it's in my Catechism of Geography, +but perhaps it's rather too long to tell before tea--_I want my tea +so_." + +The last words burst from Maggie, in spite of herself, with a sudden +drop from patronizing instruction to simple peevishness. + +"Why, she's hungry, poor little lady," said the younger woman. "Give +her some o' the cold victual. You've been walking a good way, I'll be +bound, my dear. Where's your home?" + +"It's Dorlcote Mill, a good way off," said Maggie. "My father is Mr. +Tulliver, but we mustn't let him know where I am, else he'll fetch me +home again. Where does the queen of the gypsies live?" + +"What! do you want to go to her, my little lady?" said the younger +woman. The tall girl meanwhile was constantly staring at Maggie and +grinning. Her manners were certainly not agreeable. + +"No," said Maggie, "I'm only thinking that if she isn't a very good +queen you might be glad when she died, and you could choose another. +If I was a queen, I'd be a very good queen, and kind to everybody." + +"Here's a bit o' nice victual, then," said the old woman, handing to +Maggie a lump of dry bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps, +and a piece of cold bacon. + +"Thank you,' said Maggie, looking at the food without taking it; "but +will you give me some bread-and-butter and tea instead? I don't like +bacon." + +"We've got no tea nor butter," said the old woman, with something like +a scowl, as if she were getting tired of coaxing. + +"Oh, a little bread and treacle would do," said Maggie. + +"We han't got no treacle," said the old woman, crossly, whereupon +there followed a sharp dialogue between the two women in their unknown +tongue, and one of the small sphinxes snatched at the bread-and-bacon, +and began to eat it. At this moment the tall girl, who had gone a few +yards off, came back, and said something which produced a strong +effect. The old woman, seeming to forget Maggie's hunger, poked the +skewer into the pot with new vigor, and the younger crept under the +tent and reached out some platters and spoons. Maggie trembled a +little, and was afraid the tears would come into her eyes. Meanwhile +the tall girl gave a shrill cry, and presently came running up the boy +whom Maggie had passed as he was sleeping,--a rough urchin about the +age of Tom. He stared at Maggie, and there ensued much incomprehensible +chattering. She felt very lonely, and was quite sure she should begin to +cry before long; the gypsies didn't seem to mind her at all, and she felt +quite weak among them. But the springing tears were checked by new +terror, when two men came up, whose approach had been the cause +of the sudden excitement. The elder of the two carried a bag, which +he flung down, addressing the women in a loud and scolding tone, +which they answered by a shower of treble sauciness; while a black +cur ran barking up to Maggie, and threw her into a tremor that only +found a new cause in the curses with which the younger man called +the dog off, and gave him a rap with a great stick he held in his hand. + +Maggie felt that it was impossible she should ever be queen of these +people, or ever communicate to them amusing and useful knowledge. + +Both the men now seemed to be inquiring about Maggie, for they looked +at her, and the tone of the conversation became of that pacific kind +which implies curiosity on one side and the power of satisfying it on +the other. At last the younger woman said in her previous deferential, +coaxing tone,-- + +"This nice little lady's come to live with us; aren't you glad?" + +"Ay, very glad," said the younger man, who was looking at Maggie's +silver thimble and other small matters that had been taken from her +pocket. He returned them all except the thimble to the younger woman, +with some observation, and she immediately restored them to Maggie's +pocket, while the men seated themselves, and began to attack the +contents of the kettle,--a stew of meat and potatoes,--which had been +taken off the fire and turned out into a yellow platter. + +Maggie began to think that Tom must be right about the gypsies; they +must certainly be thieves, unless the man meant to return her thimble +by and by. She would willingly have given it to him, for she was not +at all attached to her thimble; but the idea that she was among +thieves prevented her from feeling any comfort in the revival of +deference and attention toward her; all thieves, except Robin Hood, +were wicked people. The women saw she was frightened. + +"We've got nothing nice for a lady to eat," said the old woman, in her +coaxing tone. "And she's so hungry, sweet little lady." + +"Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit o' this," said the younger +woman, handing some of the stew on a brown dish with an iron spoon to +Maggie, who, remembering that the old woman had seemed angry with her +for not liking the bread-and-bacon, dared not refuse the stew, though +fear had chased away her appetite. If her father would but come by in +the gig and take her up! Or even if Jack the Giantkiller, or Mr. +Greatheart, or St. George who slew the dragon on the half-pennies, +would happen to pass that way! But Maggie thought with a sinking heart +that these heroes were never seen in the neighborhood of St. Ogg's; +nothing very wonderful ever came there. + +Maggie Tulliver, you perceive, was by no means that well trained, +well-informed young person that a small female of eight or nine +necessarily is in these days; she had only been to school a year at +St. Ogg's, and had so few books that she sometimes read the +dictionary; so that in travelling over her small mind you would have +found the most unexpected ignorance as well as unexpected knowledge. +She could have informed you that there was such a word as "polygamy," +and being also acquainted with "polysyllable," she had deduced the +conclusion that "poly" mean "many"; but she had had no idea that +gypsies were not well supplied with groceries, and her thoughts +generally were the oddest mixture of clear-eyed acumen and blind +dreams. + +Her ideas about the gypsies had undergone a rapid modification in the +last five minutes. From having considered them very respectful +companions, amenable to instruction, she had begun to think that they +meant perhaps to kill her as soon as it was dark, and cut up her body +for gradual cooking; the suspicion crossed her that the fierce-eyed +old man was in fact the Devil, who might drop that transparent +disguise at any moment, and turn either into the grinning blacksmith, +or else a fiery-eyed monster with dragon's wings. It was no use trying +to eat the stew, and yet the thing she most dreaded was to offend the +gypsies, by betraying her extremely unfavorable opinion of them; and +she wondered, with a keenness of interest that no theologian could +have exceeded, whether, if the Devil were really present, he would +know her thoughts. + +"What! you don't like the smell of it, my dear," said the young woman, +observing that Maggie did not even take a spoonful of the stew. "Try a +bit, come." + +"No, thank you," said Maggie, summoning all her force for a desperate +effort, and trying to smile in a friendly way. "I haven't time, I +think; it seems getting darker. I think I must go home now, and come +again another day, and then I can bring you a basket with some +jam-tarts and things." + +Maggie rose from her seat as she threw out this illusory prospect, +devoutly hoping that Apollyon was gullible; but her hope sank when the +old gypsy-woman said, "Stop a bit, stop a bit, little lady; we'll take +you home, all safe, when we've done supper; you shall ride home, like +a lady." + +Maggie sat down again, with little faith in this promise, though she +presently saw the tall girl putting a bridle on the donkey, and +throwing a couple of bags on his back. + +"Now, then, little missis," said the younger man, rising, and leading +the donkey forward, "tell us where you live; what's the name o' the +place?" + +"Dorlcote Mill is my home," said Maggie, eagerly. "My father is Mr. +Tulliver; he lives there." + +"What! a big mill a little way this side o' St. Ogg's?" + +"Yes," said Maggie. "Is it far off? I think I should like to walk +there, if you please." + +"No, no, it'll be getting dark, we must make haste. And the donkey'll +carry you as nice as can be; you'll see." + +He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on the donkey. She felt +relieved that it was not the old man who seemed to be going with her, +but she had only a trembling hope that she was really going home. + +"Here's your pretty bonnet," said the younger woman, putting that +recently despised but now welcome article of costume on Maggie's head; +"and you'll say we've been very good to you, won't you? and what a +nice little lady we said you was." + +"Oh yes, thank you," said Maggie, "I'm very much obliged to you. But I +wish you'd go with me too." She thought anything was better than going +with one of the dreadful men alone; it would be more cheerful to be +murdered by a larger party. + +"Ah, you're fondest o' _me_, aren't you?" said the woman. "But I can't +go; you'll go too fast for me." + +It now appeared that the man also was to be seated on the donkey, +holding Maggie before him, and she was as incapable of remonstrating +against this arrangement as the donkey himself, though no nightmare +had ever seemed to her more horrible. When the woman had patted her on +the back, and said "Good-by," the donkey, at a strong hint from the +man's stick, set off at a rapid walk along the lane toward the point +Maggie had come from an hour ago, while the tall girl and the rough +urchin, also furnished with sticks, obligingly escorted them for the +first hundred yards, with much screaming and thwacking. + +Not Leonore, in that preternatural midnight excursion with her phantom +lover, was more terrified than poor Maggie in this entirely natural +ride on a short-paced donkey, with a gypsy behind her, who considered +that he was earning half a crown. The red light of the setting sun +seemed to have a portentous meaning, with which the alarming bray of +the second donkey with the log on its foot must surely have some +connection. Two low thatched cottages--the only houses they passed in +this lane--seemed to add to its dreariness; they had no windows to +speak of, and the doors were closed; it was probable that they were +inhabitated by witches, and it was a relief to find that the donkey +did not stop there. + +At last--oh, sight of joy!--this lane, the longest in the world, was +coming to an end, was opening on a broad highroad, where there was +actually a coach passing! And there was a finger-post at the +corner,--she had surely seen that finger-post before,--"To St. Ogg's, +2 miles." The gypsy really meant to take her home, then; he was +probably a good man, after all, and might have been rather hurt at the +thought that she didn't like coming with him alone. This idea became +stronger as she felt more and more certain that she knew the road +quite well, and she was considering how she might open a conversation +with the injured gypsy, and not only gratify his feelings but efface +the impression of her cowardice, when, as they reached a cross-road. +Maggie caught sight of some one coming on a white-faced horse. + +"Oh, stop, stop!" she cried out. "There's my father! Oh, father, +father!" + +The sudden joy was almost painful, and before her father reached her, +she was sobbing. Great was Mr. Tulliver's wonder, for he had made a +round from Basset, and had not yet been home. + +"Why, what's the meaning o' this?" he said, checking his horse, while +Maggie slipped from the donkey and ran to her father's stirrup. + +"The little miss lost herself, I reckon," said the gypsy. "She'd come +to our tent at the far end o' Dunlow Lane, and I was bringing her +where she said her home was. It's a good way to come after being on +the tramp all day." + +"Oh yes, father, he's been very good to bring me home," said +Maggie,--"a very kind, good man!" + +"Here, then, my man," said Mr. Tulliver, taking out five shillings. +"It's the best day's work _you_ ever did. I couldn't afford to lose +the little wench; here, lift her up before me." + +"Why, Maggie, how's this, how's this?" he said, as they rode along, +while she laid her head against her father and sobbed. "How came you +to be rambling about and lose yourself?" + +"Oh, father," sobbed Maggie, "I ran away because I was so unhappy; Tom +was so angry with me. I couldn't bear it." + +"Pooh, pooh," said Mr. Tulliver, soothingly, "you mustn't think o' +running away from father. What 'ud father do without his little +wench?" + +"Oh no, I never will again, father--never." + +Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly when he reached home that +evening; and the effect was seen in the remarkable fact that Maggie +never heard one reproach from her mother, or one taunt from Tom, about +this foolish business of her running away to the gypsies. Maggie was +rather awe-stricken by this unusual treatment, and sometimes thought +that her conduct had been too wicked to be alluded to. + + + +Chapter XII + +Mr. and Mrs. Glegg at Home + + +In order to see Mr. and Mrs. Glegg at home, we must enter the town of +St. Ogg's,--that venerable town with the red fluted roofs and the +broad warehouse gables, where the black ships unlade themselves of +their burthens from the far north, and carry away, in exchange, the +precious inland products, the well-crushed cheese and the soft fleeces +which my refined readers have doubtless become acquainted with through +the medium of the best classic pastorals. + +It is one of those old, old towns which impress one as a continuation +and outgrowth of nature, as much as the nests of the bower-birds or +the winding galleries of the white ants; a town which carries the +traces of its long growth and history like a millennial tree, and has +sprung up and developed in the same spot between the river and the low +hill from the time when the Roman legions turned their backs on it +from the camp on the hillside, and the long-haired sea-kings came up +the river and looked with fierce, eager eyes at the fatness of the +land. It is a town "familiar with forgotten years." The shadow of the +Saxon hero-king still walks there fitfully, reviewing the scenes of +his youth and love-time, and is met by the gloomier shadow of the +dreadful heathen Dane, who was stabbed in the midst of his warriors by +the sword of an invisible avenger, and who rises on autumn evenings +like a white mist from his tumulus on the hill, and hovers in the +court of the old hall by the river-side, the spot where he was thus +miraculously slain in the days before the old hall was built. It was +the Normans who began to build that fine old hall, which is, like the +town, telling of the thoughts and hands of widely sundered +generations; but it is all so old that we look with loving pardon at +its inconsistencies, and are well content that they who built the +stone oriel, and they who built the Gothic façade and towers of finest +small brickwork with the trefoil ornament, and the windows and +battlements defined with stone, did not sacreligiously pull down the +ancient half-timbered body with its oak-roofed banqueting-hall. + +But older even than this old hall is perhaps the bit of wall now built +into the belfry of the parish church, and said to be a remnant of the +original chapel dedicated to St. Ogg, the patron saint of this ancient +town, of whose history I possess several manuscript versions. I +incline to the briefest, since, if it should not be wholly true, it is +at least likely to contain the least falsehood. "Ogg the son of +Beorl," says my private hagiographer, "was a boatman who gained a +scanty living by ferrying passengers across the river Floss. And it +came to pass, one evening when the winds were high, that there sat +moaning by the brink of the river a woman with a child in her arms; +and she was clad in rags, and had a worn and withered look, and she +craved to be rowed across the river. And the men thereabout questioned +her, and said, 'Wherefore dost thou desire to cross the river? Tarry +till the morning, and take shelter here for the night; so shalt thou +be wise and not foolish.' Still she went on to mourn and crave. But +Ogg the son of Beorl came up and said, 'I will ferry thee across; it +is enough that thy heart needs it.' And he ferried her across. And it +came to pass, when she stepped ashore, that her rags were turned into +robes of flowing white, and her face became bright with exceeding +beauty, and there was a glory around it, so that she shed a light on +the water like the moon in its brightness. And she said, 'Ogg, the son +of Beorl, thou art blessed in that thou didst not question and wrangle +with the heart's need, but wast smitten with pity, and didst +straightway relieve the same. And from henceforth whoso steps into thy +boat shall be in no peril from the storm; and whenever it puts forth +to the rescue, it shall save the lives both of men and beasts.' And +when the floods came, many were saved by reason of that blessing on +the boat. But when Ogg the son of Beorl died, behold, in the parting +of his soul, the boat loosed itself from its moorings, and was floated +with the ebbing tide in great swiftness to the ocean, and was seen no +more. Yet it was witnessed in the floods of aftertime, that at the +coming on of eventide, Ogg the son of Beorl was always seen with his +boat upon the wide-spreading waters, and the Blessed Virgin sat in the +prow, shedding a light around as of the moon in its brightness, so +that the rowers in the gathering darkness took heart and pulled anew." + +This legend, one sees, reflects from a far-off time the visitation of +the floods, which, even when they left human life untouched, were +widely fatal to the helpless cattle, and swept as sudden death over +all smaller living things. But the town knew worse troubles even than +the floods,--troubles of the civil wars, when it was a continual +fighting-place, where first Puritans thanked God for the blood of the +Loyalists, and then Loyalists thanked God for the blood of the +Puritans. Many honest citizens lost all their possessions for +conscience' sake in those times, and went forth beggared from their +native town. Doubtless there are many houses standing now on which +those honest citizens turned their backs in sorrow,--quaint-gabled +houses looking on the river, jammed between newer warehouses, and +penetrated by surprising passages, which turn and turn at sharp angles +till they lead you out on a muddy strand overflowed continually by the +rushing tide. Everywhere the brick houses have a mellow look, and in +Mrs. Glegg's day there was no incongruous new-fashioned smartness, no +plate-glass in shop-windows, no fresh stucco-facing or other +fallacious attempt to make fine old red St. Ogg's wear the air of a +town that sprang up yesterday. The shop-windows were small and +unpretending; for the farmers' wives and daughters who came to do +their shopping on market-days were not to be withdrawn from their +regular well-known shops; and the tradesmen had no wares intended for +customers who would go on their way and be seen no more. Ah! even Mrs. +Glegg's day seems far back in the past now, separated from us by +changes that widen the years. War and the rumor of war had then died +out from the minds of men, and if they were ever thought of by the +farmers in drab greatcoats, who shook the grain out of their +sample-bags and buzzed over it in the full market-place, it was as a +state of things that belonged to a past golden age when prices were +high. Surely the time was gone forever when the broad river could +bring up unwelcome ships; Russia was only the place where the linseed +came from,--the more the better,--making grist for the great vertical +millstones with their scythe-like arms, roaring and grinding and +carefully sweeping as if an informing soul were in them. The +Catholics, bad harvests, and the mysterious fluctuations of trade were +the three evils mankind had to fear; even the floods had not been +great of late years. The mind of St. Ogg's did not look extensively +before or after. It inherited a long past without thinking of it, and +had no eyes for the spirits that walk the streets. Since the centuries +when St. Ogg with his boat and the Virgin Mother at the prow had been +seen on the wide water, so many memories had been left behind, and had +gradually vanished like the receding hilltops! And the present time +was like the level plain where men lose their belief in volcanoes and +earthquakes, thinking to-morrow will be as yesterday, and the giant +forces that used to shake the earth are forever laid to sleep. The +days were gone when people could be greatly wrought upon by their +faith, still less change it; the Catholics were formidable because +they would lay hold of government and property, and burn men alive; +not because any sane and honest parishioner of St. Ogg's could be +brought to believe in the Pope. One aged person remembered how a rude +multitude had been swayed when John Wesley preached in the +cattle-market; but for a long while it had not been expected of +preachers that they should shake the souls of men. An occasional burst +of fervor in Dissenting pulpits on the subject of infant baptism was +the only symptom of a zeal unsuited to sober times when men had done +with change. Protestantism sat at ease, unmindful of schisms, careless +of proselytism: Dissent was an inheritance along with a superior pew +and a business connection; and Churchmanship only wondered +contemptuously at Dissent as a foolish habit that clung greatly to +families in the grocery and chandlering lines, though not incompatible +with prosperous wholesale dealing. But with the Catholic Question had +come a slight wind of controversy to break the calm: the elderly +rector had become occasionally historical and argumentative; and Mr. +Spray, the Independent minister, had begun to preach political +sermons, in which he distinguished with much subtlety between his +fervent belief in the right of the Catholics to the franchise and his +fervent belief in their eternal perdition. Most of Mr. Spray's +hearers, however, were incapable of following his subtleties, and many +old-fashioned Dissenters were much pained by his "siding with the +Catholics"; while others thought he had better let politics alone. +Public spirit was not held in high esteem at St. Ogg's, and men who +busied themselves with political questions were regarded with some +suspicion, as dangerous characters; they were usually persons who had +little or no business of their own to manage, or, if they had, were +likely enough to become insolvent. + +This was the general aspect of things at St. Ogg's in Mrs. Glegg's +day, and at that particular period in her family history when she had +had her quarrel with Mr. Tulliver. It was a time when ignorance was +much more comfortable than at present, and was received with all the +honors in very good society, without being obliged to dress itself in +an elaborate costume of knowledge; a time when cheap periodicals were +not, and when country surgeons never thought of asking their female +patients if they were fond of reading, but simply took it for granted +that they preferred gossip; a time when ladies in rich silk gowns wore +large pockets, in which they carried a mutton-bone to secure them +against cramp. Mrs. Glegg carried such a bone, which she had inherited +from her grandmother with a brocaded gown that would stand up empty, +like a suit of armor, and a silver-headed walking-stick; for the +Dodson family had been respectable for many generations. + +Mrs. Glegg had both a front and a back parlor in her excellent house +at St. Ogg's, so that she had two points of view from which she could +observe the weakness of her fellow-beings, and reinforce her +thankfulness for her own exceptional strength of mind. From her front +window she could look down the Tofton Road, leading out of St. Ogg's, +and note the growing tendency to "gadding about" in the wives of men +not retired from business, together with a practice of wearing woven +cotton stockings, which opened a dreary prospect for the coming +generation; and from her back windows she could look down the pleasant +garden and orchard which stretched to the river, and observe the folly +of Mr. Glegg in spending his time among "them flowers and vegetables." +For Mr. Glegg, having retired from active business as a wool-stapler +for the purpose of enjoying himself through the rest of his life, had +found this last occupation so much more severe than his business, that +he had been driven into amateur hard labor as a dissipation, and +habitually relaxed by doing the work of two ordinary gardeners. The +economizing of a gardener's wages might perhaps have induced Mrs. +Glegg to wink at this folly, if it were possible for a healthy female +mind even to simulate respect for a husband's hobby. But it is well +known that this conjugal complacency belongs only to the weaker +portion of the sex, who are scarcely alive to the responsibilities of +a wife as a constituted check on her husband's pleasures, which are +hardly ever of a rational or commendable kind. + +Mr. Glegg on his side, too, had a double source of mental occupation, +which gave every promise of being inexhaustible. On the one hand, he +surprised himself by his discoveries in natural history, finding that +his piece of garden-ground contained wonderful caterpillars, slugs, +and insects, which, so far as he had heard, had never before attracted +human observation; and he noticed remarkable coincidences between +these zoological phenomena and the great events of that time,--as, for +example, that before the burning of York Minster there had been +mysterious serpentine marks on the leaves of the rose-trees, together +with an unusual prevalence of slugs, which he had been puzzled to know +the meaning of, until it flashed upon him with this melancholy +conflagration. (Mr. Glegg had an unusual amount of mental activity, +which, when disengaged from the wool business, naturally made itself a +pathway in other directions.) And his second subject of meditation was +the "contrairiness" of the female mind, as typically exhibited in Mrs. +Glegg. That a creature made--in a genealogical sense--out of a man's +rib, and in this particular case maintained in the highest +respectability without any trouble of her own, should be normally in a +state of contradiction to the blandest propositions and even to the +most accommodating concessions, was a mystery in the scheme of things +to which he had often in vain sought a clew in the early chapters of +Genesis. Mr. Glegg had chosen the eldest Miss Dodson as a handsome +embodiment of female prudence and thrift, and being himself of a +money-getting, money-keeping turn, had calculated on much conjugal +harmony. But in that curious compound, the feminine character, it may +easily happen that the flavor is unpleasant in spite of excellent +ingredients; and a fine systematic stinginess may be accompanied with +a seasoning that quite spoils its relish. Now, good Mr. Glegg himself +was stingy in the most amiable manner; his neighbors called him +"near," which always means that the person in question is a lovable +skinflint. If you expressed a preference for cheese-parings, Mr. Glegg +would remember to save them for you, with a good-natured delight in +gratifying your palate, and he was given to pet all animals which +required no appreciable keep. There was no humbug or hypocrisy about +Mr. Glegg; his eyes would have watered with true feeling over the sale +of a widow's furniture, which a five-pound note from his side pocket +would have prevented; but a donation of five pounds to a person "in a +small way of life" would have seemed to him a mad kind of lavishness +rather than "charity," which had always presented itself to him as a +contribution of small aids, not a neutralizing of misfortune. And Mr. +Glegg was just as fond of saving other people's money as his own; he +would have ridden as far round to avoid a turnpike when his expenses +were to be paid for him, as when they were to come out of his own +pocket, and was quite zealous in trying to induce indifferent +acquaintances to adopt a cheap substitute for blacking. This +inalienable habit of saving, as an end in itself, belonged to the +industrious men of business of a former generation, who made their +fortunes slowly, almost as the tracking of the fox belongs to the +harrier,--it constituted them a "race," which is nearly lost in these +days of rapid money-getting, when lavishness comes close on the back +of want. In old-fashioned times an "independence" was hardly ever made +without a little miserliness as a condition, and you would have found +that quality in every provincial district, combined with characters as +various as the fruits from which we can extract acid. The true +Harpagons were always marked and exceptional characters; not so the +worthy tax-payers, who, having once pinched from real necessity, +retained even in the midst of their comfortable retirement, with their +wallfruit and wine-bins, the habit of regarding life as an ingenious +process of nibbling out one's livelihood without leaving any +perceptible deficit, and who would have been as immediately prompted +to give up a newly taxed luxury when they had had their clear five +hundred a year, as when they had only five hundred pounds of capital. +Mr. Glegg was one of these men, found so impracticable by chancellors +of the exchequer; and knowing this, you will be the better able to +understand why he had not swerved from the conviction that he had made +an eligible marriage, in spite of the too-pungent seasoning that +nature had given to the eldest Miss Dodson's virtues. A man with an +affectionate disposition, who finds a wife to concur with his +fundamental idea of life, easily comes to persuade himself that no +other woman would have suited him so well, and does a little daily +snapping and quarrelling without any sense of alienation. Mr. Glegg, +being of a reflective turn, and no longer occupied with wool, had much +wondering meditation on the peculiar constitution of the female mind +as unfolded to him in his domestic life; and yet he thought Mrs. +Glegg's household ways a model for her sex. It struck him as a +pitiable irregularity in other women if they did not roll up their +table-napkins with the same tightness and emphasis as Mrs. Glegg did, +if their pastry had a less leathery consistence, and their damson +cheese a less venerable hardness than hers; nay, even the peculiar +combination of grocery and druglike odors in Mrs. Glegg's private +cupboard impressed him as the only right thing in the way of cupboard +smells. I am not sure that he would not have longed for the +quarrelling again, if it had ceased for an entire week; and it is +certain that an acquiescent, mild wife would have left his meditations +comparatively jejune and barren of mystery. + +Mr. Glegg's unmistakable kind-heartedness was shown in this, that it +pained him more to see his wife at variance with others,--even with +Dolly, the servant,--than to be in a state of cavil with her himself; +and the quarrel between her and Mr. Tulliver vexed him so much that it +quite nullified the pleasure he would otherwise have had in the state +of his early cabbages, as he walked in his garden before breakfast the +next morning. Still, he went in to breakfast with some slight hope +that, now Mrs. Glegg had "slept upon it," her anger might be subdued +enough to give way to her usually strong sense of family decorum. She +had been used to boast that there had never been any of those deadly +quarrels among the Dodsons which had disgraced other families; that no +Dodson had ever been "cut off with a shilling," and no cousin of the +Dodsons disowned; as, indeed, why should they be? For they had no +cousins who had not money out at use, or some houses of their own, at +the very least. + +There was one evening-cloud which had always disappeared from Mrs. +Glegg's brow when she sat at the breakfast-table. It was her fuzzy +front of curls; for as she occupied herself in household matters in +the morning it would have been a mere extravagance to put on anything +so superfluous to the making of leathery pastry as a fuzzy curled +front. By half-past ten decorum demanded the front; until then Mrs. +Glegg could economize it, and society would never be any the wiser. +But the absence of that cloud only left it more apparent that the +cloud of severity remained; and Mr. Glegg, perceiving this, as he sat +down to his milkporridge, which it was his old frugal habit to stem +his morning hunger with, prudently resolved to leave the first remark +to Mrs. Glegg, lest, to so delicate an article as a lady's temper, the +slightest touch should do mischief. People who seem to enjoy their ill +temper have a way of keeping it in fine condition by inflicting +privations on themselves. That was Mrs. Glegg's way. She made her tea +weaker than usual this morning, and declined butter. It was a hard +case that a vigorous mood for quarrelling, so highly capable of using +an opportunity, should not meet with a single remark from Mr. Glegg on +which to exercise itself. But by and by it appeared that his silence +would answer the purpose, for he heard himself apostrophized at last +in that tone peculiar to the wife of one's bosom. + +"Well, Mr. Glegg! it's a poor return I get for making you the wife +I've made you all these years. If this is the way I'm to be treated, +I'd better ha' known it before my poor father died, and then, when I'd +wanted a home, I should ha' gone elsewhere, as the choice was offered +me." + +Mr. Glegg paused from his porridge and looked up, not with any new +amazement, but simply with that quiet, habitual wonder with which we +regard constant mysteries. + +"Why, Mrs. G., what have I done now?" + +"Done now, Mr. Glegg? _done now?_--I'm sorry for you." + +Not seeing his way to any pertinent answer, Mr. Glegg reverted to his +porridge. + +"There's husbands in the world," continued Mrs. Glegg, after a pause, +"as 'ud have known how to do something different to siding with +everybody else against their own wives. Perhaps I'm wrong and you can +teach me better. But I've allays heard as it's the husband's place to +stand by the wife, instead o' rejoicing and triumphing when folks +insult her." + +"Now, what call have you to say that?" said Mr. Glegg, rather warmly, +for though a kind man, he was not as meek as Moses. "When did I +rejoice or triumph over you?" + +"There's ways o' doing things worse than speaking out plain, Mr. +Glegg. I'd sooner you'd tell me to my face as you make light of me, +than try to make out as everybody's in the right but me, and come to +your breakfast in the morning, as I've hardly slept an hour this +night, and sulk at me as if I was the dirt under your feet." + +"Sulk at you?" said Mr. Glegg, in a tone of angry facetiousness. +"You're like a tipsy man as thinks everybody's had too much but +himself." + +"Don't lower yourself with using coarse language to _me_, Mr. Glegg! +It makes you look very small, though you can't see yourself," said +Mrs. Glegg, in a tone of energetic compassion. "A man in your place +should set an example, and talk more sensible." + +"Yes; but will you listen to sense?" retorted Mr. Glegg, sharply. "The +best sense I can talk to you is what I said last night,--as you're i' +the wrong to think o' calling in your money, when it's safe enough if +you'd let it alone, all because of a bit of a tiff, and I was in hopes +you'd ha' altered your mind this morning. But if you'd like to call it +in, don't do it in a hurry now, and breed more enmity in the family, +but wait till there's a pretty mortgage to be had without any trouble. +You'd have to set the lawyer to work now to find an investment, and +make no end o' expense." + +Mrs. Glegg felt there was really something in this, but she tossed her +head and emitted a guttural interjection to indicate that her silence +was only an armistice, not a peace. And, in fact hostilities soon +broke out again. + +"I'll thank you for my cup o' tea, now, Mrs. G.," said Mr. Glegg, +seeing that she did not proceed to give it him as usual, when he had +finished his porridge. She lifted the teapot with a slight toss of the +head, and said,-- + +"I'm glad to hear you'll _thank_ me, Mr. Glegg. It's little thanks _I_ +get for what I do for folks i' this world. Though there's never a +woman o' _your_ side o' the family, Mr. Glegg, as is fit to stand up +with me, and I'd say it if I was on my dying bed. Not but what I've +allays conducted myself civil to your kin, and there isn't one of 'em +can say the contrary, though my equils they aren't, and nobody shall +make me say it." + +"You'd better leave finding fault wi' my kin till you've left off +quarrelling with you own, Mrs. G.," said Mr. Glegg, with angry +sarcasm. "I'll trouble you for the milk-jug." + +"That's as false a word as ever you spoke, Mr. Glegg," said the lady, +pouring out the milk with unusual profuseness, as much as to say, if +he wanted milk he should have it with a vengeance. "And you know it's +false. I'm not the woman to quarrel with my own kin; _you_ may, for +I've known you to do it." + +"Why, what did you call it yesterday, then, leaving your sister's +house in a tantrum?" + +"I'd no quarrel wi' my sister, Mr. Glegg, and it's false to say it. +Mr. Tulliver's none o' my blood, and it was him quarrelled with me, +and drove me out o' the house. But perhaps you'd have had me stay and +be swore at, Mr. Glegg; perhaps you was vexed not to hear more abuse +and foul language poured out upo' your own wife. But, let me tell you, +it's _your_ disgrace." + +"Did ever anybody hear the like i' this parish?" said Mr. Glegg, +getting hot. "A woman, with everything provided for her, and allowed +to keep her own money the same as if it was settled on her, and with a +gig new stuffed and lined at no end o' expense, and provided for when +I die beyond anything she could expect--to go on i' this way, biting +and snapping like a mad dog! It's beyond everything, as God A 'mighty +should ha' made women _so_." (These last words were uttered in a tone +of sorrowful agitation. Mr. Glegg pushed his tea from him, and tapped +the table with both his hands.) + +"Well, Mr. Glegg, if those are your feelings, it's best they should be +known," said Mrs. Glegg, taking off her napkin, and folding it in an +excited manner. "But if you talk o' my being provided for beyond what +I could expect, I beg leave to tell you as I'd a right to expect a +many things as I don't find. And as to my being like a mad dog, it's +well if you're not cried shame on by the county for your treatment of +me, for it's what I can't bear, and I won't bear----" + +Here Mrs. Glegg's voice intimated that she was going to cry, and +breaking off from speech, she rang the bell violently. + +"Sally," she said, rising from her chair, and speaking in rather a +choked voice, "light a fire up-stairs, and put the blinds down. Mr. +Glegg, you'll please to order what you'd like for dinner. I shall have +gruel." + +Mrs. Glegg walked across the room to the small book-case, and took +down Baxter's "Saints' Everlasting Rest," which she carried with her +up-stairs. It was the book she was accustomed to lay open before her +on special occasions,--on wet Sunday mornings, or when she heard of a +death in the family, or when, as in this case, her quarrel with Mr. +Glegg had been set an octave higher than usual. + +But Mrs. Glegg carried something else up-stairs with her, which, +together with the "Saints' Rest" and the gruel, may have had some +influence in gradually calming her feelings, and making it possible +for her to endure existence on the ground-floor, shortly before +tea-time. This was, partly, Mr. Glegg's suggestion that she would do +well to let her five hundred lie still until a good investment turned +up; and, further, his parenthetic hint at his handsome provision for +her in case of his death. Mr. Glegg, like all men of his stamp, was +extremely reticent about his will; and Mrs. Glegg, in her gloomier +moments, had forebodings that, like other husbands of whom she had +heard, he might cherish the mean project of heightening her grief at +his death by leaving her poorly off, in which case she was firmly +resolved that she would have scarcely any weeper on her bonnet, and +would cry no more than if he had been a second husband. But if he had +really shown her any testamentary tenderness, it would be affecting to +think of him, poor man, when he was gone; and even his foolish fuss +about the flowers and garden-stuff, and his insistence on the subject +of snails, would be touching when it was once fairly at an end. To +survive Mr. Glegg, and talk eulogistically of him as a man who might +have his weaknesses, but who had done the right thing by her, +not-withstanding his numerous poor relations; to have sums of interest +coming in more frequently, and secrete it in various corners, baffling +to the most ingenious of thieves (for, to Mrs. Glegg's mind, banks and +strong-boxes would have nullified the pleasure of property; she might +as well have taken her food in capsules); finally, to be looked up to +by her own family and the neighborhood, so as no woman can ever hope +to be who has not the præterite and present dignity comprised in being +a "widow well left,"--all this made a flattering and conciliatory view +of the future. So that when good Mr. Glegg, restored to good humor by +much hoeing, and moved by the sight of his wife's empty chair, with +her knitting rolled up in the corner, went up-stairs to her, and +observed that the bell had been tolling for poor Mr. Morton, Mrs. +Glegg answered magnanimously, quite as if she had been an uninjured +woman: "Ah! then, there'll be a good business for somebody to take +to." + +Baxter had been open at least eight hours by this time, for it was +nearly five o'clock; and if people are to quarrel often, it follows as +a corollary that their quarrels cannot be protracted beyond certain +limits. + +Mr. and Mrs. Glegg talked quite amicably about the Tullivers that +evening. Mr. Glegg went the length of admitting that Tulliver was a +sad man for getting into hot water, and was like enough to run through +his property; and Mrs. Glegg, meeting this acknowledgment half-way, +declared that it was beneath her to take notice of such a man's +conduct, and that, for her sister's sake, she would let him keep the +five hundred a while longer, for when she put it out on a mortgage she +should only get four per cent. + + + +Chapter XIII + +Mr. Tulliver Further Entangles the Skein of Life + + +Owing to this new adjustment of Mrs. Glegg's thoughts, Mrs. Pullet +found her task of mediation the next day surprisingly easy. Mrs. +Glegg, indeed checked her rather sharply for thinking it would be +necessary to tell her elder sister what was the right mode of behavior +in family matters. Mrs. Pullet's argument, that it would look ill in +the neighborhood if people should have it in their power to say that +there was a quarrel in the family, was particularly offensive. If the +family name never suffered except through Mrs. Glegg, Mrs. Pullet +might lay her head on her pillow in perfect confidence. + +"It's not to be expected, I suppose," observed Mrs. Glegg, by way of +winding up the subject, "as I shall go to the mill again before Bessy +comes to see me, or as I shall go and fall down o' my knees to Mr. +Tulliver, and ask his pardon for showing him favors; but I shall bear +no malice, and when Mr. Tulliver speaks civil to me, I'll speak civil +to him. Nobody has any call to tell me what's becoming." + +Finding it unnecessary to plead for the Tullivers, it was natural that +aunt Pullet should relax a little in her anxiety for them, and recur +to the annoyance she had suffered yesterday from the offspring of that +apparently ill-fated house. Mrs. Glegg heard a circumstantial +narrative, to which Mr. Pullet's remarkable memory furnished some +items; and while aunt Pullet pitied poor Bessy's bad luck with her +children, and expressed a half-formed project of paying for Maggie's +being sent to a distant boarding-school, which would not prevent her +being so brown, but might tend to subdue some other vices in her, aunt +Glegg blamed Bessy for her weakness, and appealed to all witnesses who +should be living when the Tulliver children had turned out ill, that +she, Mrs. Glegg, had always said how it would be from the very first, +observing that it was wonderful to herself how all her words came +true. + +"Then I may call and tell Bessy you'll bear no malice, and everything +be as it was before?" Mrs. Pullet said, just before parting. + +"Yes, you may, Sophy," said Mrs. Glegg; "you may tell Mr. Tulliver, +and Bessy too, as I'm not going to behave ill because folks behave ill +to me; I know it's my place, as the eldest, to set an example in every +respect, and I do it. Nobody can say different of me, if they'll keep +to the truth." + +Mrs. Glegg being in this state of satisfaction in her own lofty +magnanimity, I leave you to judge what effect was produced on her by +the reception of a short letter from Mr. Tulliver that very evening, +after Mrs. Pullet's departure, informing her that she needn't trouble +her mind about her five hundred pounds, for it should be paid back to +her in the course of the next month at farthest, together with the +interest due thereon until the time of payment. And furthermore, that +Mr. Tulliver had no wish to behave uncivilly to Mrs. Glegg, and she +was welcome to his house whenever she liked to come, but he desired no +favors from her, either for himself or his children. + +It was poor Mrs. Tulliver who had hastened this catastrophe, entirely +through that irrepressible hopefulness of hers which led her to expect +that similar causes may at any time produce different results. It had +very often occurred in her experience that Mr. Tulliver had done +something because other people had said he was not able to do it, or +had pitied him for his supposed inability, or in any other way piqued +his pride; still, she thought to-day, if she told him when he came in +to tea that sister Pullet was gone to try and make everything up with +sister Glegg, so that he needn't think about paying in the money, it +would give a cheerful effect to the meal. Mr. Tulliver had never +slackened in his resolve to raise the money, but now he at once +determined to write a letter to Mrs. Glegg, which should cut off all +possibility of mistake. Mrs. Pullet gone to beg and pray for _him_ +indeed! Mr. Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found the +relation between spoken and written language, briefly known as +spelling, one of the most puzzling things in this puzzling world. +Nevertheless, like all fervid writing, the task was done in less time +than usual, and if the spelling differed from Mrs. Glegg's,--why, she +belonged, like himself, to a generation with whom spelling was a +matter of private judgment. + +Mrs. Glegg did not alter her will in consequence of this letter, and +cut off the Tulliver children from their sixth and seventh share in +her thousand pounds; for she had her principles. No one must be able +to say of her when she was dead that she had not divided her money +with perfect fairness among her own kin. In the matter of wills, +personal qualities were subordinate to the great fundamental fact of +blood; and to be determined in the distribution of your property by +caprice, and not make your legacies bear a direct ratio to degrees of +kinship, was a prospective disgrace that would have embittered her +life. This had always been a principle in the Dodson family; it was +one form if that sense of honor and rectitude which was a proud +tradition in such families,--a tradition which has been the salt of +our provincial society. + +But though the letter could not shake Mrs. Glegg's principles, it made +the family breach much more difficult to mend; and as to the effect it +produced on Mrs. Glegg's opinion of Mr. Tulliver, she begged to be +understood from that time forth that she had nothing whatever to say +about him; his state of mind, apparently, was too corrupt for her to +contemplate it for a moment. It was not until the evening before Tom +went to school, at the beginning of August, that Mrs. Glegg paid a +visit to her sister Tulliver, sitting in her gig all the while, and +showing her displeasure by markedly abstaining from all advice and +criticism; for, as she observed to her sister Deane, "Bessy must bear +the consequence o' having such a husband, though I'm sorry for her," +and Mrs. Deane agreed that Bessy was pitiable. + +That evening Tom observed to Maggie: "Oh my! Maggie, aunt Glegg's +beginning to come again; I'm glad I'm going to school. _You'll_ catch +it all now!" + +Maggie was already so full of sorrow at the thought of Tom's going +away from her, that this playful exultation of his seemed very unkind, +and she cried herself to sleep that night. + +Mr. Tulliver's prompt procedure entailed on him further promptitude in +finding the convenient person who was desirous of lending five hundred +pounds on bond. "It must be no client of Wakem's," he said to himself; +and yet at the end of a fortnight it turned out to the contrary; not +because Mr. Tulliver's will was feeble, but because external fact was +stronger. Wakem's client was the only convenient person to be found. +Mr. Tulliver had a destiny as well as Œdipus, and in this case +he might plead, like Œdipus, that his deed was inflicted on him +rather than committed by him. + + + + +Book II + +_School-Time_ + + + +Chapter I + +Tom's "First Half" + + +Tom Tulliver's sufferings during the first quarter he was at King's +Lorton, under the distinguished care of the Rev. Walter Stelling, were +rather severe. At Mr. Jacob's academy life had not presented itself to +him as a difficult problem; there were plenty of fellows to play with, +and Tom being good at all active games,--fighting especially,--had +that precedence among them which appeared to him inseparable from the +personality of Tom Tulliver. Mr. Jacobs himself, familiarly known as +Old Goggles, from his habit of wearing spectacles, imposed no painful +awe; and if it was the property of snuffy old hypocrites like him to +write like copperplate and surround their signatures with arabesques, +to spell without forethought, and to spout "my name is Norval" without +bungling, Tom, for his part, was glad he was not in danger of those +mean accomplishments. He was not going to be a snuffy schoolmaster, +he, but a substantial man, like his father, who used to go hunting +when he was younger, and rode a capital black mare,--as pretty a bit +of horse-flesh as ever you saw; Tom had heard what her points were a +hundred times. _He_ meant to go hunting too, and to be generally +respected. When people were grown up, he considered, nobody inquired +about their writing and spelling; when he was a man, he should be +master of everything, and do just as he liked. It had been very +difficult for him to reconcile himself to the idea that his +school-time was to be prolonged and that he was not to be brought up +to his father's business, which he had always thought extremely +pleasant; for it was nothing but riding about, giving orders, and +going to market; and he thought that a clergyman would give him a +great many Scripture lessons, and probably make him learn the Gospel +and Epistle on a Sunday, as well as the Collect. But in the absence of +specific information, it was impossible for him to imagine that school +and a schoolmaster would be something entirely different from the +academy of Mr. Jacobs. So, not to be at a deficiency, in case of his +finding genial companions, he had taken care to carry with him a small +box of percussion-caps; not that there was anything particular to be +done with them, but they would serve to impress strange boys with a +sense of his familiarity with guns. Thus poor Tom, though he saw very +clearly through Maggie's illusions, was not without illusions of his +own, which were to be cruelly dissipated by his enlarged experience at +King's Lorton. + +He had not been there a fortnight before it was evident to him that +life, complicated not only with the Latin grammar but with a new +standard of English pronunciation, was a very difficult business, made +all the more obscure by a thick mist of bashfulness. Tom, as you have +observed, was never an exception among boys for ease of address; but +the difficulty of enunciating a monosyllable in reply to Mr. or Mrs. +Stelling was so great, that he even dreaded to be asked at table +whether he would have more pudding. As to the percussion-caps, he had +almost resolved, in the bitterness of his heart, that he would throw +them into a neighboring pond; for not only was he the solitary pupil, +but he began even to have a certain scepticism about guns, and a +general sense that his theory of life was undermined. For Mr. Stelling +thought nothing of guns, or horses either, apparently; and yet it was +impossible for Tom to despise Mr. Stelling as he had despised Old +Goggles. If there were anything that was not thoroughly genuine about +Mr. Stelling, it lay quite beyond Tom's power to detect it; it is only +by a wide comparison of facts that the wisest full-grown man can +distinguish well-rolled barrels from mere supernal thunder. + +Mr. Stelling was a well-sized, broad-chested man, not yet thirty, with +flaxen hair standing erect, and large lightish-gray eyes, which were +always very wide open; he had a sonorous bass voice, and an air of +defiant self-confidence inclining to brazenness. He had entered on his +career with great vigor, and intended to make a considerable +impression on his fellowmen. The Rev. Walter Stelling was not a man +who would remain among the "inferior clergy" all his life. He had a +true British determination to push his way in the world,--as a +schoolmaster, in the first place, for there were capital masterships +of grammar-schools to be had, and Mr. Stelling meant to have one of +them; but as a preacher also, for he meant always to preach in a +striking manner, so as to have his congregation swelled by admirers +from neighboring parishes, and to produce a great sensation whenever +he took occasional duty for a brother clergyman of minor gifts. The +style of preaching he had chosen was the extemporaneous, which was +held little short of the miraculous in rural parishes like King's +Lorton. Some passages of Massillon and Bourdaloue, which he knew by +heart, were really very effective when rolled out in Mr. Stelling's +deepest tones; but as comparatively feeble appeals of his own were +delivered in the same loud and impressive manner, they were often +thought quite as striking by his hearers. Mr. Stelling's doctrine was +of no particular school; if anything, it had a tinge of +evangelicalism, for that was "the telling thing" just then in the +diocese to which King's Lorton belonged. In short, Mr. Stelling was a +man who meant to rise in his profession, and to rise by merit, +clearly, since he had no interest beyond what might be promised by a +problematic relationship to a great lawyer who had not yet become Lord +Chancellor. A clergyman who has such vigorous intentions naturally +gets a little into debt at starting; it is not to be expected that he +will live in the meagre style of a man who means to be a poor curate +all his life; and if the few hundreds Mr. Timpson advanced toward his +daughter's fortune did not suffice for the purchase of handsome +furniture, together with a stock of wine, a grand piano, and the +laying out of a superior flower-garden, it followed in the most +rigorous manner, either that these things must be procured by some +other means, or else that the Rev. Mr. Stelling must go without them, +which last alternative would be an absurd procrastination of the +fruits of success, where success was certain. Mr. Stelling was so +broad-chested and resolute that he felt equal to anything; he would +become celebrated by shaking the consciences of his hearers, and he +would by and by edit a Greek play, and invent several new readings. He +had not yet selected the play, for having been married little more +than two years, his leisure time had been much occupied with +attentions to Mrs. Stelling; but he had told that fine woman what he +meant to do some day, and she felt great confidence in her husband, as +a man who understood everything of that sort. + +But the immediate step to future success was to bring on Tom Tulliver +during this first half-year; for, by a singular coincidence, there had +been some negotiation concerning another pupil from the same +neighborhood and it might further a decision in Mr. Stelling's favor, +if it were understood that young Tulliver, who, Mr. Stelling observed +in conjugal privacy, was rather a rough cub, had made prodigious +progress in a short time. It was on this ground that he was severe +with Tom about his lessons; he was clearly a boy whose powers would +never be developed through the medium of the Latin grammar, without +the application of some sternness. Not that Mr. Stelling was a +harsh-tempered or unkind man; quite the contrary. He was jocose with +Tom at table, and corrected his provincialisms and his deportment in +the most playful manner; but poor Tom was only the more cowed and +confused by this double novelty, for he had never been used to jokes +at all like Mr. Stelling's; and for the first time in his life he had +a painful sense that he was all wrong somehow. When Mr. Stelling said, +as the roast-beef was being uncovered, "Now, Tulliver! which would you +rather decline, roast-beef or the Latin for it?" Tom, to whom in his +coolest moments a pun would have been a hard nut, was thrown into a +state of embarrassed alarm that made everything dim to him except the +feeling that he would rather not have anything to do with Latin; of +course he answered, "Roast-beef," whereupon there followed much +laughter and some practical joking with the plates, from which Tom +gathered that he had in some mysterious way refused beef, and, in +fact, made himself appear "a silly." If he could have seen a +fellow-pupil undergo these painful operations and survive them in good +spirits, he might sooner have taken them as a matter of course. But +there are two expensive forms of education, either of which a parent +may procure for his son by sending him as solitary pupil to a +clergyman: one is the enjoyment of the reverend gentleman's undivided +neglect; the other is the endurance of the reverend gentleman's +undivided attention. It was the latter privilege for which Mr. +Tulliver paid a high price in Tom's initiatory months at King's +Lorton. + +That respectable miller and maltster had left Tom behind, and driven +homeward in a state of great mental satisfaction. He considered that +it was a happy moment for him when he had thought of asking Riley's +advice about a tutor for Tom. Mr. Stelling's eyes were so wide open, +and he talked in such an off-hand, matter-of-fact way, answering every +difficult, slow remark of Mr. Tulliver's with, "I see, my good sir, I +see"; "To be sure, to be sure"; "You want your son to be a man who +will make his way in the world,"--that Mr. Tulliver was delighted to +find in him a clergyman whose knowledge was so applicable to the +every-day affairs of this life. Except Counsellor Wylde, whom he had +heard at the last sessions, Mr. Tulliver thought the Rev. Mr Stelling +was the shrewdest fellow he had ever met with,--not unlike Wylde, in +fact; he had the same way of sticking his thumbs in the armholes of +his waistcoat. Mr. Tulliver was not by any means an exception in +mistaking brazenness for shrewdness; most laymen thought Stelling +shrewd, and a man of remarkable powers generally; it was chiefly by +his clerical brethren that he was considered rather a full fellow. But +he told Mr. Tulliver several stories about "Swing" and incendiarism, +and asked his advice about feeding pigs in so thoroughly secular and +judicious a manner, with so much polished glibness of tongue, that the +miller thought, here was the very thing he wanted for Tom. He had no +doubt this first-rate man was acquainted with every branch of +information, and knew exactly what Tom must learn in order to become a +match for the lawyers, which poor Mr. Tulliver himself did _not_ know, +and so was necessarily thrown for self-direction on this wide kind of +inference. It is hardly fair to laugh at him, for I have known much +more highly instructed persons than he make inferences quite as wide, +and not at all wiser. + +As for Mrs. Tulliver, finding that Mrs. Stelling's views as to the +airing of linen and the frequent recurrence of hunger in a growing boy +entirely coincided with her own; moreover, that Mrs. Stelling, though +so young a woman, and only anticipating her second confinement, had +gone through very nearly the same experience as herself with regard to +the behavior and fundamental character of the monthly nurse,--she +expressed great contentment to her husband, when they drove away, at +leaving Tom with a woman who, in spite of her youth, seemed quite +sensible and motherly, and asked advice as prettily as could be. + +"They must be very well off, though," said Mrs. Tulliver, "for +everything's as nice as can be all over the house, and that watered +silk she had on cost a pretty penny. Sister Pullet has got one like +it." + +"Ah," said Mr. Tulliver, "he's got some income besides the curacy, I +reckon. Perhaps her father allows 'em something. There's Tom 'ull be +another hundred to him, and not much trouble either, by his own +account; he says teaching comes natural to him. That's wonderful, +now," added Mr. Tulliver, turning his head on one side, and giving his +horse a meditative tickling on the flank. + +Perhaps it was because teaching came naturally to Mr. Stelling, that +he set about it with that uniformity of method and independence of +circumstances which distinguish the actions of animals understood to +be under the immediate teaching of nature. Mr. Broderip's amiable +beaver, as that charming naturalist tells us, busied himself as +earnestly in constructing a dam, in a room up three pair of stairs in +London, as if he had been laying his foundation in a stream or lake in +Upper Canada. It was "Binny's" function to build; the absence of water +or of possible progeny was an accident for which he was not +accountable. With the same unerring instinct Mr. Stelling set to work +at his natural method of instilling the Eton Grammar and Euclid into +the mind of Tom Tulliver. This, he considered, was the only basis of +solid instruction; all other means of education were mere +charlatanism, and could produce nothing better than smatterers. Fixed +on this firm basis, a man might observe the display of various or +special knowledge made by irregularly educated people with a pitying +smile; all that sort of thing was very well, but it was impossible +these people could form sound opinions. In holding this conviction Mr. +Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive +accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about +Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr. +Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either +religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief +that everything was humbug. He thought religion was a very excellent +thing, and Aristotle a great authority, and deaneries and prebends +useful institutions, and Great Britain the providential bulwark of +Protestantism, and faith in the unseen a great support to afflicted +minds; he believed in all these things, as a Swiss hotel-keeper +believes in the beauty of the scenery around him, and in the pleasure +it gives to artistic visitors. And in the same way Mr. Stelling +believed in his method of education; he had no doubt that he was doing +the very best thing for Mr. Tulliver's boy. Of course, when the miller +talked of "mapping" and "summing" in a vague and diffident manner, Mr +Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood +what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any +reasonable judgment about the matter? Mr Stelling's duty was to teach +the lad in the only right way,--indeed he knew no other; he had not +wasted his time in the acquirement of anything abnormal. + +He very soon set down poor Tom as a thoroughly stupid lad; for though +by hard labor he could get particular declensions into his brain, +anything so abstract as the relation between cases and terminations +could by no means get such a lodgment there as to enable him to +recognize a chance genitive or dative. This struck Mr. Stelling as +something more than natural stupidity; he suspected obstinacy, or at +any rate indifference, and lectured Tom severely on his want of +thorough application. "You feel no interest in what you're doing, +sir," Mr. Stelling would say, and the reproach was painfully true. Tom +had never found any difficulty in discerning a pointer from a setter, +when once he had been told the distinction, and his perceptive powers +were not at all deficient. I fancy they were quite as strong as those +of the Rev. Mr. Stelling; for Tom could predict with accuracy what +number of horses were cantering behind him, he could throw a stone +right into the centre of a given ripple, he could guess to a fraction +how many lengths of his stick it would take to reach across the +playground, and could draw almost perfect squares on his slate without +any measurement. But Mr. Stelling took no note of these things; he +only observed that Tom's faculties failed him before the abstractions +hideously symbolized to him in the pages of the Eton Grammar, and that +he was in a state bordering on idiocy with regard to the demonstration +that two given triangles must be equal, though he could discern with +great promptitude and certainty the fact that they _were_ equal. +Whence Mr. Stelling concluded that Tom's brain, being peculiarly +impervious to etymology and demonstrations, was peculiarly in need of +being ploughed and harrowed by these patent implements; it was his +favorite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that +culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any +subsequent crop. I say nothing against Mr. Stelling's theory; if we +are to have one regimen for all minds, his seems to me as good as any +other. I only know it turned out as uncomfortably for Tom Tulliver as +if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness +which prevented him from digesting it. It is astonishing what a +different result one gets by changing the metaphor! Once call the +brain an intellectual stomach, and one's ingenious conception of the +classics and geometry as ploughs and harrows seems to settle nothing. +But then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and +call the mind a sheet of white paper or a mirror, in which case one's +knowledge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. It was +doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, +but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. O +Aristotle! if you had had the advantage of being "the freshest modern" +instead of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your +praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a +lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without +metaphor,--that we can so seldom declare what a thing is, except by +saying it is something else? + +Tom Tulliver, being abundant in no form of speech, did not use any +metaphor to declare his views as to the nature of Latin; he never +called it an instrument of torture; and it was not until he had got on +some way in the next half-year, and in the Delectus, that he was +advanced enough to call it a "bore" and "beastly stuff." At present, +in relation to this demand that he should learn Latin declensions and +conjugations, Tom was in a state of as blank unimaginativeness +concerning the cause and tendency of his sufferings, as if he had been +an innocent shrewmouse imprisoned in the split trunk of an ash-tree in +order to cure lameness in cattle. It is doubtless almost incredible to +instructed minds of the present day that a boy of twelve, not +belonging strictly to "the masses," who are now understood to have the +monopoly of mental darkness, should have had no distinct idea how +there came to be such a thing as Latin on this earth; yet so it was +with Tom. It would have taken a long while to make conceivable to him +that there ever existed a people who bought and sold sheep and oxen, +and transacted the every-day affairs of life, through the medium of +this language; and still longer to make him understand why he should +be called upon to learn it, when its connection with those affairs had +become entirely latent. So far as Tom had gained any acquaintance with +the Romans at Mr. Jacob's academy, his knowledge was strictly correct, +but it went no farther than the fact that they were "in the New +Testament"; and Mr. Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and +emasculate his pupil's mind by simplifying and explaining, or to +reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, +extraneous information, such as is given to girls. + +Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more +like a girl than he had ever been in his life before. He had a large +share of pride, which had hitherto found itself very comfortable in +the world, despising Old Goggles, and reposing in the sense of +unquestioned rights; but now this same pride met with nothing but +bruises and crushings. Tom was too clear-sighted not to be aware that +Mr. Stelling's standard of things was quite different, was certainly +something higher in the eyes of the world than that of the people he +had been living amongst, and that, brought in contact with it, he, Tom +Tulliver, appeared uncouth and stupid; he was by no means indifferent +to this, and his pride got into an uneasy condition which quite +nullified his boyish self-satisfaction, and gave him something of the +girl's susceptibility. He was a very firm, not to say obstinate, +disposition, but there was no brute-like rebellion and recklessness in +his nature; the human sensibilities predominated, and if it had +occurred to him that he could enable himself to show some quickness at +his lessons, and so acquire Mr. Stelling's approbation, by standing on +one leg for an inconvenient length of time, or rapping his head +moderately against the wall, or any voluntary action of that sort, he +would certainly have tried it. But no; Tom had never heard that these +measures would brighten the understanding, or strengthen the verbal +memory; and he was not given to hypothesis and experiment. It did +occur to him that he could perhaps get some help by praying for it; +but as the prayers he said every evening were forms learned by heart, +he rather shrank from the novelty and irregularity of introducing an +extempore passage on a topic of petition for which he was not aware of +any precedent. But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth +time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr. Stelling, +convinced that this must be carelessness, since it transcended the +bounds of possible stupidity, had lectured him very seriously, +pointing out that if he failed to seize the present golden opportunity +of learning supines, he would have to regret it when he became a +man,--Tom, more miserable than usual, determined to try his sole +resource; and that evening, after his usual form of prayer for his +parents and "little sister" (he had begun to pray for Maggie when she +was a baby), and that he might be able always to keep God's +commandments, he added, in the same low whisper, "and please to make +me always remember my Latin." He paused a little to consider how he +should pray about Euclid--whether he should ask to see what it meant, +or whether there was any other mental state which would be more +applicable to the case. But at last he added: "And make Mr. Stelling +say I sha'n't do Euclid any more. Amen." + +The fact that he got through his supines without mistake the next day, +encouraged him to persevere in this appendix to his prayers, and +neutralized any scepticism that might have arisen from Mr. Stelling's +continued demand for Euclid. But his faith broke down under the +apparent absence of all help when he got into the irregular verbs. It +seemed clear that Tom's despair under the caprices of the present +tense did not constitute a _nodus_ worthy of interference, and since +this was the climax of his difficulties, where was the use of praying +for help any longer? He made up his mind to this conclusion in one of +his dull, lonely evenings, which he spent in the study, preparing his +lessons for the morrow. His eyes were apt to get dim over the page, +though he hated crying, and was ashamed of it; he couldn't help +thinking with some affection even of Spouncer, whom he used to fight +and quarrel with; he would have felt at home with Spouncer, and in a +condition of superiority. And then the mill, and the river, and Yap +pricking up his ears, ready to obey the least sign when Tom said, +"Hoigh!" would all come before him in a sort of calenture, when his +fingers played absently in his pocket with his great knife and his +coil of whipcord, and other relics of the past. + +Tom, as I said, had never been so much like a girl in his life before, +and at that epoch of irregular verbs his spirit was further depressed +by a new means of mental development which had been thought of for him +out of school hours. Mrs. Stelling had lately had her second baby, and +as nothing could be more salutary for a boy than to feel himself +useful, Mrs. Stelling considered she was doing Tom a service by +setting him to watch the little cherub Laura while the nurse was +occupied with the sickly baby. It was quite a pretty employment for +Tom to take little Laura out in the sunniest hour of the autumn day; +it would help to make him feel that Lorton Parsonage was a home for +him, and that he was one of the family. The little cherub Laura, not +being an accomplished walker at present, had a ribbon fastened round +her waist, by which Tom held her as if she had been a little dog +during the minutes in which she chose to walk; but as these were rare, +he was for the most part carrying this fine child round and round the +garden, within sight of Mrs. Stelling's window, according to orders. +If any one considers this unfair and even oppressive toward Tom, I beg +him to consider that there are feminine virtues which are with +difficulty combined, even if they are not incompatible. When the wife +of a poor curate contrives, under all her disadvantages, to dress +extremely well, and to have a style of coiffure which requires that +her nurse shall occasionally officiate as lady's-maid; when, moreover, +her dinner-parties and her drawing-room show that effort at elegance +and completeness of appointment to which ordinary women might imagine +a large income necessary, it would be unreasonable to expect of her +that she should employ a second nurse, or even act as a nurse herself. +Mr. Stelling knew better; he saw that his wife did wonders already, +and was proud of her. It was certainly not the best thing in the world +for young Tulliver's gait to carry a heavy child, but he had plenty of +exercise in long walks with himself, and next half-year Mr. Stelling +would see about having a drilling-master. Among the many means whereby +Mr. Stelling intended to be more fortunate than the bulk of his +fellow-men, he had entirely given up that of having his own way in his +own house. What then? He had married "as kind a little soul as ever +breathed," according to Mr. Riley, who had been acquainted with Mrs. +Stelling's blond ringlets and smiling demeanor throughout her maiden +life, and on the strength of that knowledge would have been ready any +day to pronounce that whatever domestic differences might arise in her +married life must be entirely Mr. Stelling's fault. + +If Tom had had a worse disposition, he would certainly have hated the +little cherub Laura, but he was too kind-hearted a lad for that; there +was too much in him of the fibre that turns to true manliness, and to +protecting pity for the weak. I am afraid he hated Mrs. Stelling, and +contracted a lasting dislike to pale blond ringlets and broad plaits, +as directly associated with haughtiness of manner, and a frequent +reference to other people's "duty." But he couldn't help playing with +little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his +percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a +greater purpose,--thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, +and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs. Stelling for +teaching her child to play with fire. Laura was a sort of +playfellow--and oh, how Tom longed for playfellows! In his secret +heart he yearned to have Maggie with him, and was almost ready to dote +on her exasperating acts of forgetfulness; though, when he was at +home, he always represented it as a great favor on his part to let +Maggie trot by his side on his pleasure excursions. + +And before this dreary half-year was ended, Maggie actually came. Mrs. +Stelling had given a general invitation for the little girl to come +and stay with her brother; so when Mr. Tulliver drove over to King's +Lorton late in October, Maggie came too, with the sense that she was +taking a great journey, and beginning to see the world. It was Mr. +Tulliver's first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not to think +too much about home. + +"Well, my lad," he said to Tom, when Mr. Stelling had left the room to +announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom +freely, "you look rarely! School agrees with you." + +Tom wished he had looked rather ill. + +"I don't think I _am_ well, father," said Tom; "I wish you'd ask Mr. +Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I +think." + +(The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been +subject.) + +"Euclid, my lad,--why, what's that?" said Mr. Tulliver. + +"Oh, I don't know; it's definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and +things. It's a book I've got to learn in--there's no sense in it." + +"Go, go!" said Mr. Tulliver, reprovingly; "you mustn't say so. You +must learn what your master tells you. He knows what it's right for +you to learn." + +"_I'll_ help you now, Tom," said Maggie, with a little air of +patronizing consolation. "I'm come to stay ever so long, if Mrs. +Stelling asks me. I've brought my box and my pinafores, haven't I, +father?" + +"_You_ help me, you silly little thing!" said Tom, in such high +spirits at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of +confounding Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. "I should like to +see you doing one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never +learn such things. They're too silly." + +"I know what Latin is very well," said Maggie, confidently, "Latin's a +language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There's bonus, a +gift." + +"Now, you're just wrong there, Miss Maggie!" said Tom, secretly +astonished. "You think you're very wise! But 'bonus' means 'good,' as +it happens,--bonus, bona, bonum." + +"Well, that's no reason why it shouldn't mean 'gift,'" said Maggie, +stoutly. "It may mean several things; almost every word does. There's +'lawn,'--it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff +pocket-handkerchiefs are made of." + +"Well done, little 'un," said Mr. Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt +rather disgusted with Maggie's knowingness, though beyond measure +cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her +conceit would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books. + +Mrs. Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer +time than a week for Maggie's stay; but Mr. Stelling, who took her +between his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, +insisted that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr. Stelling +was a charming man, and Mr. Tulliver was quite proud to leave his +little wench where she would have an opportunity of showing her +cleverness to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should +not be fetched home till the end of the fortnight. + +"Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie," said Tom, as their +father drove away. "What do you shake and toss your head now for, you +silly?" he continued; for though her hair was now under a new +dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed +still in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. "It makes you +look as if you were crazy." + +"Oh, I can't help it," said Maggie, impatiently. "Don't tease me, Tom. +Oh, what books!" she exclaimed, as she saw the bookcases in the study. +"How I should like to have as many books as that!" + +"Why, you couldn't read one of 'em," said Tom, triumphantly. "They're +all Latin." + +"No, they aren't," said Maggie. "I can read the back of +this,--'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.'" + +"Well, what does that mean? _You_ don't know," said Tom, wagging his +head. + +"But I could soon find out," said Maggie, scornfully. + +"Why, how?" + +"I should look inside, and see what it was about." + +"You'd better not, Miss Maggie," said Tom, seeing her hand on the +volume. "Mr. Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and +_I_ shall catch it, if you take it out." + +"Oh, very well. Let me see all _your_ books, then," said Maggie, +turning to throw her arms round Tom's neck, and rub his cheek with her +small round nose. + +Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute +with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to +jump with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with +more and more vigor, till Maggie's hair flew from behind her ears, and +twirled about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the +table became more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last +reaching Mr. Stelling's reading stand, they sent it thundering down +with its heavy lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, +and the study was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the +downfall made no alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast +for a few minutes, dreading the appearance of Mr. or Mrs. Stelling. + +"Oh, I say, Maggie," said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, "we must +keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything Mrs. Stelling'll make +us cry peccavi." + +"What's that?" said Maggie. + +"Oh, it's the Latin for a good scolding," said Tom, not without some +pride in his knowledge. + +"Is she a cross woman?" said Maggie. + +"I believe you!" said Tom, with an emphatic nod. + +"I think all women are crosser than men," said Maggie. "Aunt Glegg's a +great deal crosser than uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than +father does." + +"Well, _you'll_ be a woman some day," said Tom, "so _you_ needn't +talk." + +"But I shall be a _clever_ woman," said Maggie, with a toss. + +"Oh, I dare say, and a nasty conceited thing. Everybody'll hate you." + +"But you oughtn't to hate me, Tom; it'll be very wicked of you, for I +shall be your sister." + +"Yes, but if you're a nasty disagreeable thing I _shall_ hate you." + +"Oh, but, Tom, you won't! I sha'n't be disagreeable. I shall be very +good to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won't hate me +really, will you, Tom?" + +"Oh, bother! never mind! Come, it's time for me to learn my lessons. +See here! what I've got to do," said Tom, drawing Maggie toward him +and showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her +ears, and prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in +Euclid. She began to read with full confidence in her own powers, but +presently, becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with +irritation. It was unavoidable; she must confess her incompetency, and +she was not fond of humiliation. + +"It's nonsense!" she said, "and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to +make it out." + +"Ah, there, now, Miss Maggie!" said Tom, drawing the book away, and +wagging his head at her, "You see you're not so clever as you thought +you were." + +"Oh," said Maggie, pouting, "I dare say I could make it out, if I'd +learned what goes before, as you have." + +"But that's what you just couldn't, Miss Wisdom," said Tom. "For it's +all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you've got to +say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V. is. But get along with you +now; I must go on with this. Here's the Latin Grammar. See what you +can make of that." + +Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical +mortification; for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that +there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise +about Latin, at slight expense. She presently made up her mind to skip +the rules in the Syntax, the examples became so absorbing. These +mysterious sentences, snatched from an unknown context,--like strange +horns of beasts, and leaves of unknown plants, brought from some +far-off region,--gave boundless scope to her imagination, and were all +the more fascinating because they were in a peculiar tongue of their +own, which she could learn to interpret. It was really very +interesting, the Latin Grammar that Tom had said no girls could learn; +and she was proud because she found it interesting. The most +fragmentary examples were her favourites. _Mors omnibus est communis_ +would have been jejune, only she liked to know the Latin; but the +fortunate gentleman whom every one congratulated because he had a son +"endowed with _such_ a disposition" afforded her a great deal of +pleasant conjecture, and she was quite lost in the "thick grove +penetrable by no star," when Tom called out,-- + +"Now, then, Magsie, give us the Grammar!" + +"Oh, Tom, it's such a pretty book!" she said, as she jumped out of the +large arm-chair to give it him; "it's much prettier than the +Dictionary. I could learn Latin very soon. I don't think it's at all +hard." + +"Oh, I know what you've been doing," said Tom; "you've been reading +the English at the end. Any donkey can do that." + +Tom seized the book and opened it with a determined and business-like +air, as much as to say that he had a lesson to learn which no donkeys +would find themselves equal to. Maggie, rather piqued, turned to the +bookcases to amuse herself with puzzling out the titles. + +Presently Tom called to her: "Here, Magsie, come and hear if I can say +this. Stand at that end of the table, where Mr. Stelling sits when he +hears me." + +Maggie obeyed, and took the open book. + +"Where do you begin, Tom?" + +"Oh, I begin at _'Appellativa arborum,'_ because I say all over again +what I've been learning this week." + +Tom sailed along pretty well for three lines; and Maggie was beginning +to forget her office of prompter in speculating as to what _mas_ could +mean, which came twice over, when he stuck fast at _Sunt etiam +volucrum_. + +"Don't tell me, Maggie; _Sunt etiam volucrum_--_Sunt etiam +volucrum_--_ut ostrea, cetus_----" + +"No," said Maggie, opening her mouth and shaking her head. + +"_Sunt etiam volucrum_," said Tom, very slowly, as if the next words +might be expected to come sooner when he gave them this strong hint +that they were waited for. + +"C, e, u," said Maggie, getting impatient. + +"Oh, I know--hold your tongue," said Tom. "_Ceu passer, hirundo; +Ferarum_--_ferarum_----" Tom took his pencil and made several hard +dots with it on his book-cover--"_ferarum_----" + +"Oh dear, oh dear, Tom," said Maggie, "what a time you are! _Ut_----" + +"_Ut ostrea_----" + +"No, no," said Maggie, "_ut tigris_----" + +"Oh yes, now I can do," said Tom; "it was _tigris, vulpes_, I'd +forgotten: _ut tigris, volupes; et Piscium_." + +With some further stammering and repetition, Tom got through the next +few lines. + +"Now, then," he said, "the next is what I've just learned for +to-morrow. Give me hold of the book a minute." + +After some whispered gabbling, assisted by the beating of his fist on +the table, Tom returned the book. + +"_Mascula nomina in a_," he began. + +"No, Tom," said Maggie, "that doesn't come next. It's _Nomen non +creskens genittivo_----" + +"_Creskens genittivo!_" exclaimed Tom, with a derisive laugh, for Tom +had learned this omitted passage for his yesterday's lesson, and a +young gentleman does not require an intimate or extensive acquaintance +with Latin before he can feel the pitiable absurdity of a false +quantity. "_Creskens genittivo!_ What a little silly you are, Maggie!" + +"Well, you needn't laugh, Tom, for you didn't remember it at all. I'm +sure it's spelt so; how was I to know?" + +"Phee-e-e-h! I told you girls couldn't learn Latin. It's _Nomen non +crescens genitivo_." + +"Very well, then," said Maggie, pouting. "I can say that as well as you +can. And you don't mind your stops. For you ought to stop twice as +long at a semicolon as you do at a comma, and you make the longest +stops where there ought to be no stop at all." + +"Oh, well, don't chatter. Let me go on." + +They were presently fetched to spend the rest of the evening in the +drawing-room, and Maggie became so animated with Mr. Stelling, who, +she felt sure, admired her cleverness, that Tom was rather amazed and +alarmed at her audacity. But she was suddenly subdued by Mr. +Stelling's alluding to a little girl of whom he had heard that she +once ran away to the gypsies. + +"What a very odd little girl that must be!" said Mrs. Stelling, +meaning to be playful; but a playfulness that turned on her supposed +oddity was not at all to Maggie's taste. She feared that Mr. Stelling, +after all, did not think much of her, and went to bed in rather low +spirits. Mrs. Stelling, she felt, looked at her as if she thought her +hair was very ugly because it hung down straight behind. + +Nevertheless it was a very happy fortnight to Maggie, this visit to +Tom. She was allowed to be in the study while he had his lessons, and +in her various readings got very deep into the examples in the Latin +Grammar. The astronomer who hated women generally caused her so much +puzzling speculation that she one day asked Mr. Stelling if all +astronomers hated women, or whether it was only this particular +astronomer. But forestalling his answer, she said,-- + +"I suppose it's all astronomers; because, you know, they live up in +high towers, and if the women came there they might talk and hinder +them from looking at the stars." + +Mr. Stelling liked her prattle immensely, and they were on the best +terms. She told Tom she should like to go to school to Mr. Stelling, +as he did, and learn just the same things. She knew she could do +Euclid, for she had looked into it again, and she saw what A B C +meant; they were the names of the lines. + +"I'm sure you couldn't do it, now," said Tom; "and I'll just ask Mr. +Stelling if you could." + +"I don't mind," said the little conceited minx, "I'll ask him myself." + +"Mr. Stelling," she said, that same evening when they were in the +drawing-room, "couldn't I do Euclid, and all Tom's lessons, if you +were to teach me instead of him?" + +"No, you couldn't," said Tom, indignantly. "Girls can't do Euclid; can +they, sir?" + +"They can pick up a little of everything, I dare say," said Mr. +Stelling. "They've a great deal of superficial cleverness; but they +couldn't go far into anything. They're quick and shallow." + +Tom, delighted with this verdict, telegraphed his triumph by wagging +his head at Maggie, behind Mr. Stelling's chair. As for Maggie, she +had hardly ever been so mortified. She had been so proud to be called +"quick" all her little life, and now it appeared that this quickness +was the brand of inferiority. It would have been better to be slow, +like Tom. + +"Ha, ha! Miss Maggie!" said Tom, when they were alone; "you see it's +not such a fine thing to be quick. You'll never go far into anything, +you know." + +And Maggie was so oppressed by this dreadful destiny that she had no +spirit for a retort. + +But when this small apparatus of shallow quickness was fetched away in +the gig by Luke, and the study was once more quite lonely for Tom, he +missed her grievously. He had really been brighter, and had got +through his lessons better, since she had been there; and she had +asked Mr. Stelling so many questions about the Roman Empire, and +whether there really ever was a man who said, in Latin, "I would not +buy it for a farthing or a rotten nut," or whether that had only been +turned into Latin, that Tom had actually come to a dim understanding +of the fact that there had once been people upon the earth who were so +fortunate as to know Latin without learning it through the medium of +the Eton Grammar. This luminous idea was a great addition to his +historical acquirements during this half-year, which were otherwise +confined to an epitomized history of the Jews. + +But the dreary half-year _did_ come to an end. How glad Tom was to see +the last yellow leaves fluttering before the cold wind! The dark +afternoons and the first December snow seemed to him far livelier than +the August sunshine; and that he might make himself the surer about +the flight of the days that were carrying him homeward, he stuck +twenty-one sticks deep in a corner of the garden, when he was three +weeks from the holidays, and pulled one up every day with a great +wrench, throwing it to a distance with a vigor of will which would +have carried it to limbo, if it had been in the nature of sticks to +travel so far. + +But it was worth purchasing, even at the heavy price of the Latin +Grammar, the happiness of seeing the bright light in the parlor at +home, as the gig passed noiselessly over the snow-covered bridge; the +happiness of passing from the cold air to the warmth and the kisses +and the smiles of that familiar hearth, where the pattern of the rug +and the grate and the fire-irons were "first ideas" that it was no +more possible to criticise than the solidity and extension of matter. +There is no sense of ease like the ease we felt in those scenes where +we were born, where objects became dear to us before we had known the +labor of choice, and where the outer world seemed only an extension of +our own personality; we accepted and loved it as we accepted our own +sense of existence and our own limbs. Very commonplace, even ugly, +that furniture of our early home might look if it were put up to +auction; an improved taste in upholstery scorns it; and is not the +striving after something better and better in our surroundings the +grand characteristic that distinguishes man from the brute, or, to +satisfy a scrupulous accuracy of definition, that distinguishes the +British man from the foreign brute? But heaven knows where that +striving might lead us, if our affections had not a trick of twining +round those old inferior things; if the loves and sanctities of our +life had no deep immovable roots in memory. One's delight in an +elderberry bush overhanging the confused leafage of a hedgerow bank, +as a more gladdening sight than the finest cistus or fuchsia spreading +itself on the softest undulating turf, is an entirely unjustifiable +preference to a nursery-gardener, or to any of those regulated minds +who are free from the weakness of any attachment that does not rest on +a demonstrable superiority of qualities. And there is no better reason +for preferring this elderberry bush than that it stirs an early +memory; that it is no novelty in my life, speaking to me merely +through my present sensibilities to form and color, but the long +companion of my existence, that wove itself into my joys when joys +were vivid. + + + +Chapter II + +The Christmas Holidays + + +Fine old Christmas, with the snowy hair and ruddy face, had done his +duty that year in the noblest fashion, and had set off his rich gifts +of warmth and color with all the heightening contrast of frost and +snow. + +Snow lay on the croft and river-bank in undulations softer than the +limbs of infancy; it lay with the neatliest finished border on every +sloping roof, making the dark-red gables stand out with a new depth of +color; it weighed heavily on the laurels and fir-trees, till it fell +from them with a shuddering sound; it clothed the rough turnip-field +with whiteness, and made the sheep look like dark blotches; the gates +were all blocked up with the sloping drifts, and here and there a +disregarded four-footed beast stood as if petrified "in unrecumbent +sadness"; there was no gleam, no shadow, for the heavens, too, were +one still, pale cloud; no sound or motion in anything but the dark +river that flowed and moaned like an unresting sorrow. But old +Christmas smiled as he laid this cruel-seeming spell on the outdoor +world, for he meant to light up home with new brightness, to deepen +all the richness of indoor color, and give a keener edge of delight to +the warm fragrance of food; he meant to prepare a sweet imprisonment +that would strengthen the primitive fellowship of kindred, and make +the sunshine of familiar human faces as welcome as the hidden +day-star. His kindness fell but hardly on the homeless,--fell but +hardly on the homes where the hearth was not very warm, and where the +food had little fragrance; where the human faces had had no sunshine +in them, but rather the leaden, blank-eyed gaze of unexpectant want. +But the fine old season meant well; and if he has not learned the +secret how to bless men impartially, it is because his father Time, +with ever-unrelenting unrelenting purpose, still hides that secret in +his own mighty, slow-beating heart. + +And yet this Christmas day, in spite of Tom's fresh delight in home, +was not, he thought, somehow or other, quite so happy as it had always +been before. The red berries were just as abundant on the holly, and +he and Maggie had dressed all the windows and mantlepieces and +picture-frames on Christmas eve with as much taste as ever, wedding +the thick-set scarlet clusters with branches of the black-berried ivy. +There had been singing under the windows after midnight,--supernatural +singing, Maggie always felt, in spite of Tom's contemptuous insistence +that the singers were old Patch, the parish clerk, and the rest of the +church choir; she trembled with awe when their carolling broke in upon +her dreams, and the image of men in fustian clothes was always thrust +away by the vision of angels resting on the parted cloud. The midnight +chant had helped as usual to lift the morning above the level of +common days; and then there were the smell of hot toast and ale from +the kitchen, at the breakfast hour; the favorite anthem, the green +boughs, and the short sermon gave the appropriate festal character to +the church-going; and aunt and uncle Moss, with all their seven +children, were looking like so many reflectors of the bright +parlor-fire, when the church-goers came back, stamping the snow from +their feet. The plum-pudding was of the same handsome roundness as +ever, and came in with the symbolic blue flames around it, as if it +had been heroically snatched from the nether fires, into which it had +been thrown by dyspeptic Puritans; the dessert was as splendid as +ever, with its golden oranges, brown nuts, and the crystalline light +and dark of apple-jelly and damson cheese; in all these things +Christmas was as it had always been since Tom could remember; it was +only distinguished, if by anything, by superior sliding and snowballs. + +Christmas was cheery, but not so Mr. Tulliver. He was irate and +defiant; and Tom, though he espoused his father's quarrels and shared +his father's sense of injury, was not without some of the feeling that +oppressed Maggie when Mr. Tulliver got louder and more angry in +narration and assertion with the increased leisure of dessert. The +attention that Tom might have concentrated on his nuts and wine was +distracted by a sense that there were rascally enemies in the world, +and that the business of grown-up life could hardly be conducted +without a good deal of quarrelling. Now, Tom was not fond of +quarrelling, unless it could soon be put an end to by a fair stand-up +fight with an adversary whom he had every chance of thrashing; and his +father's irritable talk made him uncomfortable, though he never +accounted to himself for the feeling, or conceived the notion that his +father was faulty in this respect. + +The particular embodiment of the evil principle now exciting Mr. +Tulliver's determined resistance was Mr. Pivart, who, having lands +higher up the Ripple, was taking measures for their irrigation, which +either were, or would be, or were bound to be (on the principle that +water was water), an infringement on Mr. Tulliver's legitimate share +of water-power. Dix, who had a mill on the stream, was a feeble +auxiliary of Old Harry compared with Pivart. Dix had been brought to +his senses by arbitration, and Wakem's advice had not carried _him_ +far. No; Dix, Mr. Tulliver considered, had been as good as nowhere in +point of law; and in the intensity of his indignation against Pivart, +his contempt for a baffled adversary like Dix began to wear the air of +a friendly attachment. He had no male audience to-day except Mr. Moss, +who knew nothing, as he said, of the "natur' o' mills," and could only +assent to Mr. Tulliver's arguments on the _a priori_ ground of family +relationship and monetary obligation; but Mr. Tulliver did not talk +with the futile intention of convincing his audience, he talked to +relieve himself; while good Mr. Moss made strong efforts to keep his +eyes wide open, in spite of the sleepiness which an unusually good +dinner produced in his hard-worked frame. Mrs. Moss, more alive to the +subject, and interested in everything that affected her brother, +listened and put in a word as often as maternal preoccupations +allowed. + +"Why, Pivart's a new name hereabout, brother, isn't it?" she said; "he +didn't own the land in father's time, nor yours either, before I was +married." + +"New name? Yes, I should think it _is_ a new name," said Mr. Tulliver, +with angry emphasis. "Dorlcote Mill's been in our family a hundred +year and better, and nobody ever heard of a Pivart meddling with the +river, till this fellow came and bought Bincome's farm out of hand, +before anybody else could so much as say 'snap.' But I'll _Pivart_ +him!" added Mr. Tulliver, lifting his glass with a sense that he had +defined his resolution in an unmistakable manner. + +"You won't be forced to go to law with him, I hope, brother?" said +Mrs. Moss, with some anxiety. + +"I don't know what I shall be forced to; but I know what I shall force +_him_ to, with his dikes and erigations, if there's any law to be +brought to bear o' the right side. I know well enough who's at the +bottom of it; he's got Wakem to back him and egg him on. I know Wakem +tells him the law can't touch him for it, but there's folks can handle +the law besides Wakem. It takes a big raskil to beat him; but there's +bigger to be found, as know more o' th' ins and outs o' the law, else +how came Wakem to lose Brumley's suit for him?" + +Mr. Tulliver was a strictly honest man, and proud of being honest, but +he considered that in law the ends of justice could only be achieved +by employing a stronger knave to frustrate a weaker. Law was a sort of +cock-fight, in which it was the business of injured honesty to get a +game bird with the best pluck and the strongest spurs. + +"Gore's no fool; you needn't tell me that," he observed presently, in +a pugnacious tone, as if poor Gritty had been urging that lawyer's +capabilities; "but, you see, he isn't up to the law as Wakem is. And +water's a very particular thing; you can't pick it up with a +pitchfork. That's why it's been nuts to Old Harry and the lawyers. +It's plain enough what's the rights and the wrongs of water, if you +look at it straight-forrard; for a river's a river, and if you've got +a mill, you must have water to turn it; and it's no use telling me +Pivart's erigation and nonsense won't stop my wheel; I know what +belongs to water better than that. Talk to me o' what th' engineers +say! I say it's common sense, as Pivart's dikes must do me an injury. +But if that's their engineering, I'll put Tom to it by-and-by, and he +shall see if he can't find a bit more sense in th' engineering +business than what _that_ comes to." + +Tom, looking round with some anxiety at this announcement of his +prospects, unthinkingly withdrew a small rattle he was amusing baby +Moss with, whereupon she, being a baby that knew her own mind with +remarkable clearness, instantaneously expressed her sentiments in a +piercing yell, and was not to be appeased even by the restoration of +the rattle, feeling apparently that the original wrong of having it +taken from her remained in all its force. Mrs. Moss hurried away with +her into another room, and expressed to Mrs. Tulliver, who accompanied +her, the conviction that the dear child had good reasons for crying; +implying that if it was supposed to be the rattle that baby clamored +for, she was a misunderstood baby. The thoroughly justifiable yell +being quieted, Mrs. Moss looked at her sister-in-law and said,-- + +"I'm sorry to see brother so put out about this water work." + +"It's your brother's way, Mrs. Moss; I'd never anything o' that sort +before I was married," said Mrs. Tulliver, with a half-implied +reproach. She always spoke of her husband as "your brother" to Mrs. +Moss in any case when his line of conduct was not matter of pure +admiration. Amiable Mrs. Tulliver, who was never angry in her life, +had yet her mild share of that spirit without which she could hardly +have been at once a Dodson and a woman. Being always on the defensive +toward her own sisters, it was natural that she should be keenly +conscious of her superiority, even as the weakest Dodson, over a +husband's sister, who, besides being poorly off, and inclined to "hang +on" her brother, had the good-natured submissiveness of a large, +easy-tempered, untidy, prolific woman, with affection enough in her +not only for her own husband and abundant children, but for any number +of collateral relations. + +"I hope and pray he won't go to law," said Mrs. Moss, "for there's +never any knowing where that'll end. And the right doesn't allays win. +This Mr. Pivart's a rich man, by what I can make out, and the rich +mostly get things their own way." + +"As to that," said Mrs. Tulliver, stroking her dress down, "I've seen +what riches are in my own family; for my sisters have got husbands as +can afford to do pretty much what they like. But I think sometimes I +shall be drove off my head with the talk about this law and erigation; +and my sisters lay all the fault to me, for they don't know what it is +to marry a man like your brother; how should they? Sister Pullet has +her own way from morning till night." + +"Well," said Mrs. Moss, "I don't think I should like my husband if he +hadn't got any wits of his own, and I had to find head-piece for him. +It's a deal easier to do what pleases one's husband, than to be +puzzling what else one should do." + +"If people come to talk o' doing what pleases their husbands," said +Mrs. Tulliver, with a faint imitation of her sister Glegg, "I'm sure +your brother might have waited a long while before he'd have found a +wife that 'ud have let him have his say in everything, as I do. It's +nothing but law and erigation now, from when we first get up in the +morning till we go to bed at night; and I never contradict him; I only +say, 'Well, Mr. Tulliver, do as you like; but whativer you do, don't +go to law." + +Mrs. Tulliver, as we have seen, was not without influence over her +husband. No woman is; she can always incline him to do either what she +wishes, or the reverse; and on the composite impulses that were +threatening to hurry Mr. Tulliver into "law," Mrs. Tulliver's +monotonous pleading had doubtless its share of force; it might even be +comparable to that proverbial feather which has the credit or +discredit of breaking the camel's back; though, on a strictly +impartial view, the blame ought rather to lie with the previous weight +of feathers which had already placed the back in such imminent peril +that an otherwise innocent feather could not settle on it without +mischief. Not that Mrs. Tulliver's feeble beseeching could have had +this feather's weight in virtue of her single personality; but +whenever she departed from entire assent to her husband, he saw in her +the representative of the Dodson family; and it was a guiding +principle with Mr. Tulliver to let the Dodsons know that they were not +to domineer over _him_, or--more specifically--that a male Tulliver +was far more than equal to four female Dodsons, even though one of +them was Mrs. Glegg. + +But not even a direct argument from that typical Dodson female herself +against his going to law could have heightened his disposition toward +it so much as the mere thought of Wakem, continually freshened by the +sight of the too able attorney on market-days. Wakem, to his certain +knowledge, was (metaphorically speaking) at the bottom of Pivart's +irrigation; Wakem had tried to make Dix stand out, and go to law about +the dam; it was unquestionably Wakem who had caused Mr. Tulliver to +lose the suit about the right of road and the bridge that made a +thoroughfare of his land for every vagabond who preferred an +opportunity of damaging private property to walking like an honest man +along the highroad; all lawyers were more or less rascals, but Wakem's +rascality was of that peculiarly aggravated kind which placed itself +in opposition to that form of right embodied in Mr. Tulliver's +interests and opinions. And as an extra touch of bitterness, the +injured miller had recently, in borrowing the five hundred pounds, +been obliged to carry a little business to Wakem's office on his own +account. A hook-nosed glib fellow! as cool as a cucumber,--always +looking so sure of his game! And it was vexatious that Lawyer Gore was +not more like him, but was a bald, round-featured man, with bland +manners and fat hands; a game-cock that you would be rash to bet upon +against Wakem. Gore was a sly fellow. His weakness did not lie on the +side of scrupulosity; but the largest amount of winking, however +significant, is not equivalent to seeing through a stone wall; and +confident as Mr. Tulliver was in his principle that water was water, +and in the direct inference that Pivart had not a leg to stand on in +this affair of irrigation, he had an uncomfortable suspicion that +Wakem had more law to show against this (rationally) irrefragable +inference than Gore could show for it. But then, if they went to law, +there was a chance for Mr. Tulliver to employ Counsellor Wylde on his +side, instead of having that admirable bully against him; and the +prospect of seeing a witness of Wakem's made to perspire and become +confounded, as Mr. Tulliver's witness had once been, was alluring to +the love of retributive justice. + +Much rumination had Mr. Tulliver on these puzzling subjects during his +rides on the gray horse; much turning of the head from side to side, +as the scales dipped alternately; but the probable result was still +out of sight, only to be reached through much hot argument and +iteration in domestic and social life. That initial stage of the +dispute which consisted in the narration of the case and the +enforcement of Mr. Tulliver's views concerning it throughout the +entire circle of his connections would necessarily take time; and at +the beginning of February, when Tom was going to school again, there +were scarcely any new items to be detected in his father's statement +of the case against Pivart, or any more specific indication of the +measures he was bent on taking against that rash contravener of the +principle that water was water. Iteration, like friction, is likely to +generate heat instead of progress, and Mr. Tulliver's heat was +certainly more and more palpable. If there had been no new evidence on +any other point, there had been new evidence that Pivart was as "thick +as mud" with Wakem. + +"Father," said Tom, one evening near the end of the holidays, "uncle +Glegg says Lawyer Wakem _is_ going to send his son to Mr. Stelling. It +isn't true, what they said about his going to be sent to France. You +won't like me to go to school with Wakem's son, shall you?" + +"It's no matter for that, my boy," said Mr. Tulliver; "don't you learn +anything bad of him, that's all. The lad's a poor deformed creatur, +and takes after his mother in the face; I think there isn't much of +his father in him. It's a sign Wakem thinks high o' Mr. Sterling, as +he sends his son to him, and Wakem knows meal from bran." + +Mr. Tulliver in his heart was rather proud of the fact that his son +was to have the same advantages as Wakem's; but Tom was not at all +easy on the point. It would have been much clearer if the lawyer's son +had not been deformed, for then Tom would have had the prospect of +pitching into him with all that freedom which is derived from a high +moral sanction. + + + +Chapter III + +The New Schoolfellow + + +It was a cold, wet January day on which Tom went back to school; a day +quite in keeping with this severe phase of his destiny. If he had not +carried in his pocket a parcel of sugar-candy and a small Dutch doll +for little Laura, there would have been no ray of expected pleasure to +enliven the general gloom. But he liked to think how Laura would put +out her lips and her tiny hands for the bits of sugarcandy; and to +give the greater keenness to these pleasures of imagination, he took +out the parcel, made a small hole in the paper, and bit off a crystal +or two, which had so solacing an effect under the confined prospect +and damp odors of the gig-umbrella, that he repeated the process more +than once on his way. + +"Well, Tulliver, we're glad to see you again," said Mr. Stelling, +heartily. "Take off your wrappings and come into the study till +dinner. You'll find a bright fire there, and a new companion." + +Tom felt in an uncomfortable flutter as he took off his woollen +comforter and other wrappings. He had seen Philip Wakem at St. Ogg's, +but had always turned his eyes away from him as quickly as possible. +He would have disliked having a deformed boy for his companion, even +if Philip had not been the son of a bad man. And Tom did not see how a +bad man's son could be very good. His own father was a good man, and +he would readily have fought any one who said the contrary. He was in +a state of mingled embarrassment and defiance as he followed Mr. +Stelling to the study. + +"Here is a new companion for you to shake hands with, Tulliver," said +that gentleman on entering the study,--"Master Philip Wakem. I shall +leave you to make acquaintance by yourselves. You already know +something of each other, I imagine; for you are neighbors at home." + +Tom looked confused and awkward, while Philip rose and glanced at him +timidly. Tom did not like to go up and put out his hand, and he was +not prepared to say, "How do you do?" on so short a notice. + +Mr. Stelling wisely turned away, and closed the door behind him; boys' +shyness only wears off in the absence of their elders. + +Philip was at once too proud and too timid to walk toward Tom. He +thought, or rather felt, that Tom had an aversion to looking at him; +every one, almost, disliked looking at him; and his deformity was more +conspicuous when he walked. So they remained without shaking hands or +even speaking, while Tom went to the fire and warmed himself, every +now and then casting furtive glances at Philip, who seemed to be +drawing absently first one object and then another on a piece of paper +he had before him. He had seated himself again, and as he drew, was +thinking what he could say to Tom, and trying to overcome his own +repugnance to making the first advances. + +Tom began to look oftener and longer at Philip's face, for he could +see it without noticing the hump, and it was really not a disagreeable +face,--very old-looking, Tom thought. He wondered how much older +Philip was than himself. An anatomist--even a mere physiognomist-- +would have seen that the deformity of Philip's spine was not a +congenital hump, but the result of an accident in infancy; but you +do not expect from Tom any acquaintance with such distinctions; +to him, Philip was simply a humpback. He had a vague notion +that the deformity of Wakem's son had some relation to the lawyer's +rascality, of which he had so often heard his father talk with hot +emphasis; and he felt, too, a half-admitted fear of him as probably +a spiteful fellow, who, not being able to fight you, had cunning +ways of doing you a mischief by the sly. There was a humpbacked +tailor in the neighborhood of Mr. Jacobs's academy, who was considered +a very unamiable character, and was much hooted after by public-spirited +boys solely on the ground of his unsatisfactory moral qualities; so +that Tom was not without a basis of fact to go upon. Still, no face +could be more unlike that ugly tailor's than this melancholy boy's +face,--the brown hair round it waved and curled at the ends like a +girl's; Tom thought that truly pitiable. This Wakem was a pale, +puny fellow, and it was quite clear he would not be able to play at +anything worth speaking of; but he handled his pencil in an enviable +manner, and was apparently making one thing after another without +any trouble. What was he drawing? Tom was quite warm now, and wanted +something new to be going forward. It was certainly more agreeable +to have an ill-natured humpback as a companion than to stand looking +out of the study window at the rain, and kicking his foot against +the washboard in solitude; something would happen every day,-- +"a quarrel or something"; and Tom thought he should rather like to +show Philip that he had better not try his spiteful tricks on _him_. +He suddenly walked across the hearth and looked over Philip's paper. + +"Why, that's a donkey with panniers, and a spaniel, and partridges in +the corn!" he exclaimed, his tongue being completely loosed by +surprise and admiration. "Oh my buttons! I wish I could draw like +that. I'm to learn drawing this half; I wonder if I shall learn to +make dogs and donkeys!" + +"Oh, you can do them without learning," said Philip; "I never learned +drawing." + +"Never learned?" said Tom, in amazement. "Why, when I make dogs and +horses, and those things, the heads and the legs won't come right; +though I can see how they ought to be very well. I can make houses, +and all sorts of chimneys,--chimneys going all down the wall,--and +windows in the roof, and all that. But I dare say I could do dogs and +horses if I was to try more," he added, reflecting that Philip might +falsely suppose that he was going to "knock under," if he were too +frank about the imperfection of his accomplishments. + +"Oh, yes," said Philip, "it's very easy. You've only to look well at +things, and draw them over and over again. What you do wrong once, you +can alter the next time." + +"But haven't you been taught _any_thing?" said Tom, beginning to have +a puzzled suspicion that Philip's crooked back might be the source of +remarkable faculties. "I thought you'd been to school a long while." + +"Yes," said Philip, smiling; "I've been taught Latin and Greek and +mathematics, and writing and such things." + +"Oh, but I say, you don't like Latin, though, do you?" said Tom, +lowering his voice confidentially. + +"Pretty well; I don't care much about it," said Philip. + +"Ah, but perhaps you haven't got into the _Propria quæ maribus_," said +Tom, nodding his head sideways, as much as to say, "that was the test; +it was easy talking till you came to _that_." + +Philip felt some bitter complacency in the promising stupidity of this +well-made, active-looking boy; but made polite by his own extreme +sensitiveness, as well as by his desire to conciliate, he checked his +inclination to laugh, and said quietly,-- + +"I've done with the grammar; I don't learn that any more." + +"Then you won't have the same lessons as I shall?" said Tom, with a +sense of disappointment. + +"No; but I dare say I can help you. I shall be very glad to help you +if I can." + +Tom did not say "Thank you," for he was quite absorbed in the thought +that Wakem's son did not seem so spiteful a fellow as might have been +expected. + +"I say," he said presently, "do you love your father?" + +"Yes," said Philip, coloring deeply; "don't you love yours?" + +"Oh yes--I only wanted to know," said Tom, rather ashamed of himself, +now he saw Philip coloring and looking uncomfortable. He found much +difficulty in adjusting his attitude of mind toward the son of Lawyer +Wakem, and it had occurred to him that if Philip disliked his father, +that fact might go some way toward clearing up his perplexity. + +"Shall you learn drawing now?" he said, by way of changing the +subject. + +"No," said Philip. "My father wishes me to give all my time to other +things now." + +"What! Latin and Euclid, and those things?" said Tom. + +"Yes," said Philip, who had left off using his pencil, and was resting +his head on one hand, while Tom was learning forward on both elbows, +and looking with increasing admiration at the dog and the donkey. + +"And you don't mind that?" said Tom, with strong curiosity. + +"No; I like to know what everybody else knows. I can study what I like +by-and-by." + +"I can't think why anybody should learn Latin," said Tom. "It's no +good." + +"It's part of the education of a gentleman," said Philip. "All +gentlemen learn the same things." + +"What! do you think Sir John Crake, the master of the harriers, knows +Latin?" said Tom, who had often thought he should like to resemble Sir +John Crake. + +"He learned it when he was a boy, of course," said Philip. "But I dare +say he's forgotten it." + +"Oh, well, I can do that, then," said Tom, not with any epigrammatic +intention, but with serious satisfaction at the idea that, as far as +Latin was concerned, there was no hindrance to his resembling Sir John +Crake. "Only you're obliged to remember it while you're at school, +else you've got to learn ever so many lines of 'Speaker.' Mr. +Stelling's very particular--did you know? He'll have you up ten times +if you say 'nam' for 'jam,'--he won't let you go a letter wrong, _I_ +can tell you." + +"Oh, I don't mind," said Philip, unable to choke a laugh; "I can +remember things easily. And there are some lessons I'm very fond of. +I'm very fond of Greek history, and everything about the Greeks. I +should like to have been a Greek and fought the Persians, and then +have come home and have written tragedies, or else have been listened +to by everybody for my wisdom, like Socrates, and have died a grand +death." (Philip, you perceive, was not without a wish to impress the +well-made barbarian with a sense of his mental superiority.) + +"Why, were the Greeks great fighters?" said Tom, who saw a vista in +this direction. "Is there anything like David and Goliath and Samson +in the Greek history? Those are the only bits I like in the history of +the Jews." + +"Oh, there are very fine stories of that sort about the Greeks,--about +the heroes of early times who killed the wild beasts, as Samson did. +And in the Odyssey--that's a beautiful poem--there's a more wonderful +giant than Goliath,--Polypheme, who had only one eye in the middle of +his forehead; and Ulysses, a little fellow, but very wise and cunning, +got a red-hot pine-tree and stuck it into this one eye, and made him +roar like a thousand bulls." + +"Oh, what fun!" said Tom, jumping away from the table, and stamping +first with one leg and then the other. "I say, can you tell me all +about those stories? Because I sha'n't learn Greek, you know. Shall +I?" he added, pausing in his stamping with a sudden alarm, lest the +contrary might be possible. "Does every gentleman learn Greek? Will +Mr. Stelling make me begin with it, do you think?" + +"No, I should think not, very likely not," said Philip. "But you may +read those stories without knowing Greek. I've got them in English." + +"Oh, but I don't like reading; I'd sooner have you tell them me. But +only the fighting ones, you know. My sister Maggie is always wanting +to tell me stories, but they're stupid things. Girls' stories always +are. Can you tell a good many fighting stories?" + +"Oh yes," said Philip; "lots of them, besides the Greek stories. I can +tell you about Richard Cœur-de-Lion and Saladin, and about William +Wallace and Robert Bruce and James Douglas,--I know no end." + +"You're older than I am, aren't you?" said Tom. + +"Why, how old are _you?_ I'm fifteen." + +"I'm only going in fourteen," said Tom. "But I thrashed all the +fellows at Jacob's--that's where I was before I came here. And I beat +'em all at bandy and climbing. And I wish Mr. Stelling would let us go +fishing. _I_ could show you how to fish. You _could_ fish, couldn't +you? It's only standing, and sitting still, you know." + +Tom, in his turn, wished to make the balance dip in his favor. This +hunchback must not suppose that his acquaintance with fighting stories +put him on a par with an actual fighting hero, like Tom Tulliver. +Philip winced under this allusion to his unfitness for active sports, +and he answered almost peevishly,-- + +"I can't bear fishing. I think people look like fools sitting watching +a line hour after hour, or else throwing and throwing, and catching +nothing." + +"Ah, but you wouldn't say they looked like fools when they landed a +big pike, I can tell you," said Tom, who had never caught anything +that was "big" in his life, but whose imagination was on the stretch +with indignant zeal for the honor of sport. Wakem's son, it was plain, +had his disagreeable points, and must be kept in due check. Happily +for the harmony of this first interview, they were now called to +dinner, and Philip was not allowed to develop farther his unsound +views on the subject of fishing. But Tom said to himself, that was +just what he should have expected from a hunchback. + + + +Chapter IV + +"The Young Idea" + + +The alterations of feeling in that first dialogue between Tom and +Philip continued to make their intercourse even after many weeks of +schoolboy intimacy. Tom never quite lost the feeling that Philip, +being the son of a "rascal," was his natural enemy; never thoroughly +overcame his repulsion to Philip's deformity. He was a boy who adhered +tenaciously to impressions once received; as with all minds in which +mere perception predominates over thought and emotion, the external +remained to him rigidly what it was in the first instance. But then it +was impossible not to like Philip's company when he was in a good +humor; he could help one so well in one's Latin exercises, which Tom +regarded as a kind of puzzle that could only be found out by a lucky +chance; and he could tell such wonderful fighting stories about Hal of +the Wynd, for example, and other heroes who were especial favorites +with Tom, because they laid about them with heavy strokes. He had +small opinion of Saladin, whose cimeter could cut a cushion in two in +an instant; who wanted to cut cushions? That was a stupid story, and +he didn't care to hear it again. But when Robert Bruce, on the black +pony, rose in his stirrups, and lifting his good battle-axe, cracked +at once the helmet and the skull of the too hasty knight at +Bannockburn, then Tom felt all the exaltation of sympathy, and if he +had had a cocoanut at hand, he would have cracked it at once with the +poker. Philip in his happier moods indulged Tom to the top of his +bent, heightening the crash and bang and fury of every fight with all +the artillery of epithets and similes at his command. But he was not +always in a good humor or happy mood. The slight spurt of peevish +susceptibility which had escaped him in their first interview was a +symptom of a perpetually recurring mental ailment, half of it nervous +irritability, half of it the heart-bitterness produced by the sense of +his deformity. In these fits of susceptibility every glance seemed to +him to be charged either with offensive pity or with ill-repressed +disgust; at the very least it was an indifferent glance, and Philip +felt indifference as a child of the south feels the chill air of a +northern spring. Poor Tom's blundering patronage when they were out of +doors together would sometimes make him turn upon the well-meaning lad +quite savagely; and his eyes, usually sad and quiet, would flash with +anything but playful lightning. No wonder Tom retained his suspicions +of the humpback. + +But Philip's self-taught skill in drawing was another link between +them; for Tom found, to his disgust, that his new drawing-master gave +him no dogs and donkeys to draw, but brooks and rustic bridges and +ruins, all with a general softness of black-lead surface, indicating +that nature, if anything, was rather satiny; and as Tom's feeling for +the picturesque in landscape was at present quite latent, it is not +surprising that Mr. Goodrich's productions seemed to him an +uninteresting form of art. Mr. Tulliver, having a vague intention that +Tom should be put to some business which included the drawing out of +plans and maps, had complained to Mr. Riley, when he saw him at +Mudport, that Tom seemed to be learning nothing of that sort; +whereupon that obliging adviser had suggested that Tom should have +drawing-lessons. Mr. Tulliver must not mind paying extra for drawing; +let Tom be made a good draughtsman, and he would be able to turn his +pencil to any purpose. So it was ordered that Tom should have +drawing-lessons; and whom should Mr. Stelling have selected as a +master if not Mr. Goodrich, who was considered quite at the head of +his profession within a circuit of twelve miles round King's Lorton? +By which means Tom learned to make an extremely fine point to his +pencil, and to represent landscape with a "broad generality," which, +doubtless from a narrow tendency in his mind to details, he thought +extremely dull. + +All this, you remember, happened in those dark ages when there were no +schools of design; before schoolmasters were invariably men of +scrupulous integrity, and before the clergy were all men of enlarged +minds and varied culture. In those less favored days, it is no fable +that there were other clergymen besides Mr. Stelling who had narrow +intellects and large wants, and whose income, by a logical confusion +to which Fortune, being a female as well as blindfold, is peculiarly +liable, was proportioned not to their wants but to their intellect, +with which income has clearly no inherent relation. The problem these +gentlemen had to solve was to readjust the proportion between their +wants and their income; and since wants are not easily starved to +death, the simpler method appeared to be to raise their income. There +was but one way of doing this; any of those low callings in which men +are obliged to do good work at a low price were forbidden to +clergymen; was it their fault if their only resource was to turn out +very poor work at a high price? Besides, how should Mr. Stelling be +expected to know that education was a delicate and difficult business, +any more than an animal endowed with a power of boring a hole through +a rock should be expected to have wide views of excavation? Mr. +Stelling's faculties had been early trained to boring in a straight +line, and he had no faculty to spare. But among Tom's contemporaries, +whose fathers cast their sons on clerical instruction to find them +ignorant after many days, there were many far less lucky than Tom +Tulliver. Education was almost entirely a matter of luck--usually of +ill-luck--in those distant days. The state of mind in which you take a +billiard-cue or a dice-box in your hand is one of sober certainty +compared with that of old-fashioned fathers, like Mr. Tulliver, when +they selected a school or a tutor for their sons. Excellent men, who +had been forced all their lives to spell on an impromptu-phonetic +system, and having carried on a successful business in spite of this +disadvantage, had acquired money enough to give their sons a better +start in life than they had had themselves, must necessarily take +their chance as to the conscience and the competence of the +schoolmaster whose circular fell in their way, and appeared to promise +so much more than they would ever have thought of asking for, +including the return of linen, fork, and spoon. It was happy for them +if some ambitious draper of their acquaintance had not brought up his +son to the Church, and if that young gentleman, at the age of +four-and-twenty, had not closed his college dissipations by an +imprudent marriage; otherwise, these innocent fathers, desirous of +doing the best for their offspring, could only escape the draper's son +by happening to be on the foundation of a grammar-school as yet +unvisited by commissioners, where two or three boys could have, all to +themselves, the advantages of a large and lofty building, together +with a head-master, toothless, dim-eyed and deaf, whose erudite +indistinctness and inattention were engrossed by them at the rate of +three hundred pounds a-head,--a ripe scholar, doubtless, when first +appointed; but all ripeness beneath the sun has a further stage less +esteemed in the market. + +Tom Tulliver, then, compared with many other British youths of his +time who have since had to scramble through life with some fragments +of more or less relevant knowledge, and a great deal of strictly +relevant ignorance, was not so very unlucky. Mr. Stelling was a +broad-chested, healthy man, with the bearing of a gentleman, a +conviction that a growing boy required a sufficiency of beef, and a +certain hearty kindness in him that made him like to see Tom looking +well and enjoying his dinner; not a man of refined conscience, or with +any deep sense of the infinite issues belonging to every-day duties, +not quite competent to his high offices; but incompetent gentlemen +must live, and without private fortune it is difficult to see how they +could all live genteelly if they had nothing to do with education or +government. Besides, it was the fault of Tom's mental constitution +that his faculties could not be nourished on the sort of knowledge Mr. +Stelling had to communicate. A boy born with a deficient power of +apprehending signs and abstractions must suffer the penalty of his +congenital deficiency, just as if he had been born with one leg +shorter than the other. A method of education sanctioned by the long +practice of our venerable ancestors was not to give way before the +exceptional dulness of a boy who was merely living at the time then +present. And Mr. Stelling was convinced that a boy so stupid at signs +and abstractions must be stupid at everything else, even if that +reverend gentleman could have taught him everything else. It was the +practice of our venerable ancestors to apply that ingenious instrument +the thumb-screw, and to tighten and tighten it in order to elicit +non-existent facts; they had a fixed opinion to begin with, that the +facts were existent, and what had they to do but to tighten the +thumb-screw? In like manner, Mr. Stelling had a fixed opinion that all +boys with any capacity could learn what it was the only regular thing +to teach; if they were slow, the thumb-screw must be tightened,--the +exercises must be insisted on with increased severity, and a page of +Virgil be awarded as a penalty, to encourage and stimulate a too +languid inclination to Latin verse. + +The thumb-screw was a little relaxed, however, during this second +half-year. Philip was so advanced in his studies, and so apt, that Mr. +Stelling could obtain credit by his facility, which required little +help, much more easily than by the troublesome process of overcoming +Tom's dulness. Gentlemen with broad chests and ambitious intentions do +sometimes disappoint their friends by failing to carry the world +before them. Perhaps it is that high achievements demand some other +unusual qualification besides an unusual desire for high prizes; +perhaps it is that these stalwart gentlemen are rather indolent, their +_divinæ particulum auræ_ being obstructed from soaring by a too hearty +appetite. Some reason or other there was why Mr. Stelling deferred the +execution of many spirited projects,--why he did not begin the editing +of his Greek play, or any other work of scholarship, in his leisure +hours, but, after turning the key of his private study with much +resolution, sat down to one of Theodore Hook's novels. Tom was +gradually allowed to shuffle through his lessons with less rigor, and +having Philip to help him, he was able to make some show of having +applied his mind in a confused and blundering way, without being +cross-examined into a betrayal that his mind had been entirely neutral +in the matter. He thought school much more bearable under this +modification of circumstances; and he went on contentedly enough, +picking up a promiscuous education chiefly from things that were not +intended as education at all. What was understood to be his education +was simply the practice of reading, writing, and spelling, carried on +by an elaborate appliance of unintelligible ideas, and by much failure +in the effort to learn by rote. + +Nevertheless, there was a visible improvement in Tom under this +training; perhaps because he was not a boy in the abstract, existing +solely to illustrate the evils of a mistaken education, but a boy made +of flesh and blood, with dispositions not entirely at the mercy of +circumstances. + +There was a great improvement in his bearing, for example; and some +credit on this score was due to Mr. Poulter, the village schoolmaster, +who, being an old Peninsular soldier, was employed to drill Tom,--a +source of high mutual pleasure. Mr. Poulter, who was understood by the +company at the Black Swan to have once struck terror into the hearts +of the French, was no longer personally formidable. He had rather a +shrunken appearance, and was tremulous in the mornings, not from age, +but from the extreme perversity of the King's Lorton boys, which +nothing but gin could enable him to sustain with any firmness. Still, +he carried himself with martial erectness, had his clothes +scrupulously brushed, and his trousers tightly strapped; and on the +Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, when he came to Tom, he was always +inspired with gin and old memories, which gave him an exceptionally +spirited air, as of a superannuated charger who hears the drum. The +drilling-lessons were always protracted by episodes of warlike +narrative, much more interesting to Tom than Philip's stories out of +the Iliad; for there were no cannon in the Iliad, and besides, Tom had +felt some disgust on learning that Hector and Achilles might possibly +never have existed. But the Duke of Wellington was really alive, and +Bony had not been long dead; therefore Mr. Poulter's reminiscences of +the Peninsular War were removed from all suspicion of being mythical. +Mr. Poulter, it appeared, had been a conspicuous figure at Talavera, +and had contributed not a little to the peculiar terror with which his +regiment of infantry was regarded by the enemy. On afternoons when his +memory was more stimulated than usual, he remembered that the Duke of +Wellington had (in strict privacy, lest jealousies should be awakened) +expressed his esteem for that fine fellow Poulter. The very surgeon +who attended him in the hospital after he had received his +gunshot-wound had been profoundly impressed with the superiority of +Mr. Poulter's flesh,--no other flesh would have healed in anything +like the same time. On less personal matters connected with the +important warfare in which he had been engaged, Mr. Poulter was more +reticent, only taking care not to give the weight of his authority to +any loose notions concerning military history. Any one who pretended +to a knowledge of what occurred at the siege of Badajos was especially +an object of silent pity to Mr. Poulter; he wished that prating person +had been run down, and had the breath trampled out of him at the first +go-off, as he himself had,--he might talk about the siege of Badajos +then! Tom did not escape irritating his drilling-master occasionally, +by his curiosity concerning other military matters than Mr. Poulter's +personal experience. + +"And General Wolfe, Mr. Poulter,--wasn't he a wonderful fighter?" said +Tom, who held the notion that all the martial heroes commemorated on +the public-house signs were engaged in the war with Bony. + +"Not at all!" said Mr. Poulter, contemptuously. "Nothing o' the sort! +Heads up!" he added, in a tone of stern command, which delighted Tom, +and made him feel as if he were a regiment in his own person. + +"No, no!" Mr. Poulter would continue, on coming to a pause in his +discipline; "they'd better not talk to me about General Wolfe. He did +nothing but die of his wound; that's a poor haction, I consider. Any +other man 'ud have died o' the wounds I've had. One of my sword-cuts +'ud ha' killed a fellow like General Wolfe." + +"Mr. Poulter," Tom would say, at any allusion to the sword, "I wish +you'd bring your sword and do the sword-exercise!" + +For a long while Mr. Poulter only shook his head in a significant +manner at this request, and smiled patronizingly, as Jupiter may have +done when Semele urged her too ambitious request. But one afternoon, +when a sudden shower of heavy rain had detained Mr. Poulter twenty +minutes longer than usual at the Black Swan, the sword was +brought,--just for Tom to look at. + +"And this is the real sword you fought with in all the battles, Mr. +Poulter?" said Tom, handling the hilt. "Has it ever cut a Frenchman's +head off?" + +"Head off? Ah! and would, if he'd had three heads." + +"But you had a gun and bayonet besides?" said Tom. "_I_ should like +the gun and bayonet best, because you could shoot 'em first and spear +'em after. Bang! Ps-s-s-s!" Tom gave the requisite pantomime to +indicate the double enjoyment of pulling the trigger and thrusting the +spear. + +"Ah, but the sword's the thing when you come to close fighting," said +Mr. Poulter, involuntarily falling in with Tom's enthusiasm, and +drawing the sword so suddenly that Tom leaped back with much agility. + +"Oh, but, Mr. Poulter, if you're going to do the exercise," said Tom, +a little conscious that he had not stood his ground as became an +Englishman, "let me go and call Philip. He'll like to see you, you +know." + +"What! the humpbacked lad?" said Mr. Poulter, contemptuously; "what's +the use of _his_ looking on?" + +"Oh, but he knows a great deal about fighting," said Tom, "and how +they used to fight with bows and arrows, and battle-axes." + +"Let him come, then. I'll show him something different from his bows +and arrows," said Mr. Poulter, coughing and drawing himself up, while +he gave a little preliminary play to his wrist. + +Tom ran in to Philip, who was enjoying his afternoon's holiday at the +piano, in the drawing-room, picking out tunes for himself and singing +them. He was supremely happy, perched like an amorphous bundle on the +high stool, with his head thrown back, his eyes fixed on the opposite +cornice, and his lips wide open, sending forth, with all his might, +impromptu syllables to a tune of Arne's which had hit his fancy. + +"Come, Philip," said Tom, bursting in; "don't stay roaring 'la la' +there; come and see old Poulter do his sword-exercise in the +carriage-house!" + +The jar of this interruption, the discord of Tom's tones coming across +the notes to which Philip was vibrating in soul and body, would have +been enough to unhinge his temper, even if there had been no question +of Poulter the drilling-master; and Tom, in the hurry of seizing +something to say to prevent Mr. Poulter from thinking he was afraid of +the sword when he sprang away from it, had alighted on this +proposition to fetch Philip, though he knew well enough that Philip +hated to hear him mention his drilling-lessons. Tom would never have +done so inconsiderate a thing except under the severe stress of his +personal pride. + +Philip shuddered visibly as he paused from his music. Then turning +red, he said, with violent passion,-- + +"Get away, you lumbering idiot! Don't come bellowing at me; you're not +fit to speak to anything but a cart-horse!" + +It was not the first time Philip had been made angry by him, but Tom +had never before been assailed with verbal missiles that he understood +so well. + +"I'm fit to speak to something better than you, you poor-spirited +imp!" said Tom, lighting up immediately at Philip's fire. "You know I +won't hit you, because you're no better than a girl. But I'm an honest +man's son, and _your_ father's a rogue; everybody says so!" + +Tom flung out of the room, and slammed the door after him, made +strangely heedless by his anger; for to slam doors within the hearing +of Mrs. Stelling, who was probably not far off, was an offence only to +be wiped out by twenty lines of Virgil. In fact, that lady did +presently descend from her room, in double wonder at the noise and the +subsequent cessation of Philip's music. She found him sitting in a +heap on the hassock, and crying bitterly. + +"What's the matter, Wakem? what was that noise about? Who slammed the +door?" + +Philip looked up, and hastily dried his eyes. "It was Tulliver who +came in--to ask me to go out with him." + +"And what are you in trouble about?" said Mrs. Stelling. + +Philip was not her favorite of the two pupils; he was less obliging +than Tom, who was made useful in many ways. Still, his father paid +more than Mr. Tulliver did, and she meant him to feel that she behaved +exceedingly well to him. Philip, however, met her advances toward a +good understanding very much as a caressed mollusk meets an invitation +to show himself out of his shell. Mrs. Stelling was not a loving, +tender-hearted woman; she was a woman whose skirt sat well, who +adjusted her waist and patted her curls with a preoccupied air when +she inquired after your welfare. These things, doubtless, represent a +great social power, but it is not the power of love; and no other +power could win Philip from his personal reserve. + +He said, in answer to her question, "My toothache came on, and made me +hysterical again." + +This had been the fact once, and Philip was glad of the recollection; +it was like an inspiration to enable him to excuse his crying. He had +to accept eau-de-Cologne and to refuse creosote in consequence; but +that was easy. + +Meanwhile Tom, who had for the first time sent a poisoned arrow into +Philip's heart, had returned to the carriage-house, where he found Mr. +Poulter, with a fixed and earnest eye, wasting the perfections of his +sword-exercise on probably observant but inappreciative rats. But Mr. +Poulter was a host in himself; that is to say, he admired himself more +than a whole army of spectators could have admired him. He took no +notice of Tom's return, being too entirely absorbed in the cut and +thrust,--the solemn one, two, three, four; and Tom, not without a +slight feeling of alarm at Mr. Poulter's fixed eye and hungry-looking +sword, which seemed impatient for something else to cut besides the +air, admired the performance from as great a distance as possible. It +was not until Mr. Poulter paused and wiped the perspiration from his +forehead, that Tom felt the full charm of the sword-exercise, and +wished it to be repeated. + +"Mr. Poulter," said Tom, when the sword was being finally sheathed, "I +wish you'd lend me your sword a little while to keep." + +"No no, young gentleman," said Mr. Poulter, shaking his head +decidedly; "you might do yourself some mischief with it." + +"No, I'm sure I wouldn't; I'm sure I'd take care and not hurt myself. +I shouldn't take it out of the sheath much, but I could ground arms +with it, and all that." + +"No, no, it won't do, I tell you; it won't do," said Mr. Poulter, +preparing to depart. "What 'ud Mr. Stelling say to me?" + +"Oh, I say, do, Mr. Poulter! I'd give you my five-shilling piece if +you'd let me keep the sword a week. Look here!" said Tom, reaching out +the attractively large round of silver. The young dog calculated the +effect as well as if he had been a philosopher. + +"Well," said Mr. Poulter, with still deeper gravity, "you must keep it +out of sight, you know." + +"Oh yes, I'll keep it under the bed," said Tom, eagerly, "or else at +the bottom of my large box." + +"And let me see, now, whether you can draw it out of the sheath +without hurting yourself." That process having been gone through more +than once, Mr. Poulter felt that he had acted with scrupulous +conscientiousness, and said, "Well, now, Master Tulliver, if I take +the crown-piece, it is to make sure as you'll do no mischief with the +sword." + +"Oh no, indeed, Mr. Poulter," said Tom, delightedly handing him the +crown-piece, and grasping the sword, which, he thought, might have +been lighter with advantage. + +"But if Mr. Stelling catches you carrying it in?" said Mr. Poulter, +pocketing the crown-piece provisionally while he raised this new +doubt. + +"Oh, he always keeps in his upstairs study on Saturday afternoon," +said Tom, who disliked anything sneaking, but was not disinclined to a +little stratagem in a worthy cause. So he carried off the sword in +triumph mixed with dread--dread that he might encounter Mr. or Mrs. +Stelling--to his bedroom, where, after some consideration, he hid it +in the closet behind some hanging clothes. That night he fell asleep +in the thought that he would astonish Maggie with it when she +came,--tie it round his waist with his red comforter, and make her +believe that the sword was his own, and that he was going to be a +soldier. There was nobody but Maggie who would be silly enough to +believe him, or whom he dared allow to know he had a sword; and Maggie +was really coming next week to see Tom, before she went to a +boarding-school with Lucy. + +If you think a lad of thirteen would have been so childish, you must +be an exceptionally wise man, who, although you are devoted to a civil +calling, requiring you to look bland rather than formidable, yet +never, since you had a beard, threw yourself into a martial attitude, +and frowned before the looking-glass. It is doubtful whether our +soldiers would be maintained if there were not pacific people at home +who like to fancy themselves soldiers. War, like other dramatic +spectacles, might possibly cease for want of a "public." + + + +Chapter V + +Maggie's Second Visit + + +This last breach between the two lads was not readily mended, and for +some time they spoke to each other no more than was necessary. Their +natural antipathy of temperament made resentment an easy passage to +hatred, and in Philip the transition seemed to have begun; there was +no malignity in his disposition, but there was a susceptibility that +made him peculiarly liable to a strong sense of repulsion. The ox--we +may venture to assert it on the authority of a great classic--is not +given to use his teeth as an instrument of attack, and Tom was an +excellent bovine lad, who ran at questionable objects in a truly +ingenious bovine manner; but he had blundered on Philip's tenderest +point, and had caused him as much acute pain as if he had studied the +means with the nicest precision and the most envenomed spite. Tom saw +no reason why they should not make up this quarrel as they had done +many others, by behaving as if nothing had happened; for though he had +never before said to Philip that his father was a rogue, this idea had +so habitually made part of his feeling as to the relation between +himself and his dubious schoolfellow, who he could neither like nor +dislike, that the mere utterance did not make such an epoch to him as +it did to Philip. And he had a right to say so when Philip hectored +over _him_, and called him names. But perceiving that his first +advances toward amity were not met, he relapsed into his least +favorable disposition toward Philip, and resolved never to appeal to +him either about drawing or exercise again. They were only so far +civil to each other as was necessary to prevent their state of feud +from being observed by Mr. Stelling, who would have "put down" such +nonsense with great vigor. + +When Maggie came, however, she could not help looking with growing +interest at the new schoolfellow, although he was the son of that +wicked Lawyer Wakem, who made her father so angry. She had arrived in +the middle of school-hours, and had sat by while Philip went through +his lessons with Mr. Stelling. Tom, some weeks ago, had sent her word +that Philip knew no end of stories,--not stupid stories like hers; and +she was convinced now from her own observation that he must be very +clever; she hoped he would think _her_ rather clever too, when she +came to talk to him. Maggie, moreover, had rather a tenderness for +deformed things; she preferred the wry-necked lambs, because it seemed +to her that the lambs which were quite strong and well made wouldn't +mind so much about being petted; and she was especially fond of +petting objects that would think it very delightful to be petted by +her. She loved Tom very dearly, but she often wished that he _cared_ +more about her loving him. + +"I think Philip Wakem seems a nice boy, Tom," she said, when they went +out of the study together into the garden, to pass the interval before +dinner. "He couldn't choose his father, you know; and I've read of +very bad men who had good sons, as well as good parents who had bad +children. And if Philip is good, I think we ought to be the more sorry +for him because his father is not a good man. _You_ like him, don't +you?" + +"Oh, he's a queer fellow," said Tom, curtly, "and he's as sulky as can +be with me, because I told him his father was a rogue. And I'd a right +to tell him so, for it was true; and _he_ began it, with calling me +names. But you stop here by yourself a bit, Maggie, will you? I've got +something I want to do upstairs." + +"Can't I go too?" said Maggie, who in this first day of meeting again +loved Tom's shadow. + +"No, it's something I'll tell you about by-and-by, not yet," said Tom, +skipping away. + +In the afternoon the boys were at their books in the study, preparing +the morrow's lesson's that they might have a holiday in the evening in +honor of Maggie's arrival. Tom was hanging over his Latin grammar, +moving his lips inaudibly like a strict but impatient Catholic +repeating his tale of paternosters; and Philip, at the other end of +the room, was busy with two volumes, with a look of contented +diligence that excited Maggie's curiosity; he did not look at all as +if he were learning a lesson. She sat on a low stool at nearly a right +angle with the two boys, watching first one and then the other; and +Philip, looking off his book once toward the fire-place, caught the +pair of questioning dark eyes fixed upon him. He thought this sister +of Tulliver's seemed a nice little thing, quite unlike her brother; he +wished _he_ had a little sister. What was it, he wondered, that made +Maggie's dark eyes remind him of the stories about princesses being +turned into animals? I think it was that her eyes were full of +unsatisfied intelligence, and unsatisfied beseeching affection. + +"I say, Magsie," said Tom at last, shutting his books and putting them +away with the energy and decision of a perfect master in the art of +leaving off, "I've done my lessons now. Come upstairs with me." + +"What is it?" said Maggie, when they were outside the door, a slight +suspicion crossing her mind as she remembered Tom's preliminary visit +upstairs. "It isn't a trick you're going to play me, now?" + +"No, no, Maggie," said Tom, in his most coaxing tone; "It's something +you'll like _ever so_." + +He put his arm round her neck, and she put hers round his waist, and +twined together in this way, they went upstairs. + +"I say, Magsie, you must not tell anybody, you know," said Tom, "else +I shall get fifty lines." + +"Is it alive?" said Maggie, whose imagination had settled for the +moment on the idea that Tom kept a ferret clandestinely. + +"Oh, I sha'n't tell you," said he. "Now you go into that corner and +hide your face, while I reach it out," he added, as he locked the +bedroom door behind them. "I'll tell you when to turn round. You +mustn't squeal out, you know." + +"Oh, but if you frighten me, I shall," said Maggie, beginning to look +rather serious. + +"You won't be frightened, you silly thing," said Tom. "Go and hide +your face, and mind you don't peep." + +"Of course I sha'n't peep," said Maggie, disdainfully; and she buried +her face in the pillow like a person of strict honor. + +But Tom looked round warily as he walked to the closet; then he +stepped into the narrow space, and almost closed the door. Maggie kept +her face buried without the aid of principle, for in that +dream-suggestive attitude she had soon forgotten where she was, and +her thoughts were busy with the poor deformed boy, who was so clever, +when Tom called out, "Now then, Magsie!" + +Nothing but long meditation and preconcerted arrangement of effects +would have enabled Tom to present so striking a figure as he did to +Maggie when she looked up. Dissatisfied with the pacific aspect of a +face which had no more than the faintest hint of flaxen eyebrow, +together with a pair of amiable blue-gray eyes and round pink cheeks +that refused to look formidable, let him frown as he would before the +looking-glass (Philip had once told him of a man who had a horseshoe +frown, and Tom had tried with all his frowning might to make a +horseshoe on his forehead), he had had recourse to that unfailing +source of the terrible, burnt cork, and had made himself a pair of +black eyebrows that met in a satisfactory manner over his nose, and +were matched by a less carefully adjusted blackness about the chin. He +had wound a red handkerchief round his cloth cap to give it the air of +a turban, and his red comforter across his breast as a scarf,--an +amount of red which, with the tremendous frown on his brow, and the +decision with which he grasped the sword, as he held it with its point +resting on the ground, would suffice to convey an approximate idea of +his fierce and bloodthirsty disposition. + +Maggie looked bewildered for a moment, and Tom enjoyed that moment +keenly; but in the next she laughed, clapped her hands together, and +said, "Oh, Tom, you've made yourself like Bluebeard at the show." + +It was clear she had not been struck with the presence of the +sword,--it was not unsheathed. Her frivolous mind required a more +direct appeal to its sense of the terrible, and Tom prepared for his +master-stroke. Frowning with a double amount of intention, if not of +corrugation, he (carefully) drew the sword from its sheath, and +pointed it at Maggie. + +"Oh, Tom, please don't!" exclaimed Maggie, in a tone of suppressed +dread, shrinking away from him into the opposite corner. "I _shall_ +scream--I'm sure I shall! Oh, don't I wish I'd never come upstairs!" + +The corners of Tom's mouth showed an inclination to a smile of +complacency that was immediately checked as inconsistent with the +severity of a great warrior. Slowly he let down the scabbard on the +floor, lest it should make too much noise, and then said sternly,-- + +"I'm the Duke of Wellington! March!" stamping forward with the right +leg a little bent, and the sword still pointing toward Maggie, who, +trembling, and with tear-filled eyes, got upon the bed, as the only +means of widening the space between them. + +Tom, happy in this spectator of his military performances, even though +the spectator was only Maggie, proceeded, with the utmost exertion of +his force, to such an exhibition of the cut and thrust as would +necessarily be expected of the Duke of Wellington. + +"Tom, I _will not_ bear it, I _will_ scream," said Maggie, at the +first movement of the sword. "You'll hurt yourself; you'll cut your +head off!" + +"One--two," said Tom, resolutely, though at "two" his wrist trembled a +little. "Three" came more slowly, and with it the sword swung +downward, and Maggie gave a loud shriek. The sword had fallen, with +its edge on Tom's foot, and in a moment after he had fallen too. +Maggie leaped from the bed, still shrieking, and immediately there was +a rush of footsteps toward the room. Mr. Stelling, from his upstairs +study, was the first to enter. He found both the children on the +floor. Tom had fainted, and Maggie was shaking him by the collar of +his jacket, screaming, with wild eyes. She thought he was dead, poor +child! and yet she shook him, as if that would bring him back to life. +In another minute she was sobbing with joy because Tom opened his +eyes. She couldn't sorrow yet that he had hurt his foot; it seemed as +if all happiness lay in his being alive. + + + +Chapter VI + +A Love-Scene + + +Poor Tom bore his severe pain heroically, and was resolute in not +"telling" of Mr. Poulter more than was unavoidable; the five-shilling +piece remained a secret even to Maggie. But there was a terrible dread +weighing on his mind, so terrible that he dared not even ask the +question which might bring the fatal "yes"; he dared not ask the +surgeon or Mr. Stelling, "Shall I be lame, Sir?" He mastered himself +so as not to cry out at the pain; but when his foot had been dressed, +and he was left alone with Maggie seated by his bedside, the children +sobbed together, with their heads laid on the same pillow. Tom was +thinking of himself walking about on crutches, like the wheelwright's +son; and Maggie, who did not guess what was in his mind, sobbed for +company. It had not occurred to the surgeon or to Mr. Stelling to +anticipate this dread in Tom's mind, and to reassure him by hopeful +words. But Philip watched the surgeon out of the house, and waylaid +Mr. Stelling to ask the very question that Tom had not dared to ask +for himself. + +"I beg your pardon, sir,--but does Mr. Askern say Tulliver will be +lame?" + +"Oh, no; oh, no," said Mr. Stelling, "not permanently; only for a +little while." + +"Did he tell Tulliver so, sir, do you think?" + +"No; nothing was said to him on the subject." + +"Then may I go and tell him, sir?" + +"Yes, to be sure; now you mention it, I dare say he may be troubling +about that. Go to his bedroom, but be very quiet at present." + +It had been Philip's first thought when he heard of the +accident,--"Will Tulliver be lame? It will be very hard for him if he +is"; and Tom's hitherto unforgiven offences were washed out by that +pity. Philip felt that they were no longer in a state of repulsion, +but were being drawn into a common current of suffering and sad +privation. His imagination did not dwell on the outward calamity and +its future effect on Tom's life, but it made vividly present to him +the probable state of Tom's feeling. Philip had only lived fourteen +years, but those years had, most of them, been steeped in the sense of +a lot irremediably hard. + +"Mr. Askern says you'll soon be all right again, Tulliver, did you +know?" he said rather timidly, as he stepped gently up to Tom's bed. +"I've just been to ask Mr. Stelling, and he says you'll walk as well +as ever again by-and-day." + +Tom looked up with that momentary stopping of the breath which comes +with a sudden joy; then he gave a long sigh, and turned his blue-gray +eyes straight on Philip's face, as he had not done for a fortnight or +more. As for Maggie, this intimation of a possibility she had not +thought of before affected her as a new trouble; the bare idea of +Tom's being always lame overpowered the assurance that such a +misfortune was not likely to befall him, and she clung to him and +cried afresh. + +"Don't be a little silly, Magsie," said Tom, tenderly, feeling very +brave now. "I shall soon get well." + +"Good-by, Tulliver," said Philip, putting out his small, delicate +hand, which Tom clasped immediately with his more substantial fingers. + +"I say," said Tom, "ask Mr. Stelling to let you come and sit with me +sometimes, till I get up again, Wakem; and tell me about Robert Bruce, +you know." + +After that, Philip spent all his time out of school-hours with Tom and +Maggie. Tom liked to hear fighting stories as much as ever, but he +insisted strongly on the fact that those great fighters who did so +many wonderful things and came off unhurt, wore excellent armor from +head to foot, which made fighting easy work, he considered. He should +not have hurt his foot if he had had an iron shoe on. He listened with +great interest to a new story of Philip's about a man who had a very +bad wound in his foot, and cried out so dreadfully with the pain that +his friends could bear with him no longer, but put him ashore on a +desert island, with nothing but some wonderful poisoned arrows to kill +animals with for food. + +"I didn't roar out a bit, you know," Tom said, "and I dare say my foot +was as bad as his. It's cowardly to roar." + +But Maggie would have it that when anything hurt you very much, it was +quite permissible to cry out, and it was cruel of people not to bear +it. She wanted to know if Philoctetes had a sister, and why _she_ +didn't go with him on the desert island and take care of him. + +One day, soon after Philip had told this story, he and Maggie were in +the study alone together while Tom's foot was being dressed. Philip +was at his books, and Maggie, after sauntering idly round the room, +not caring to do anything in particular, because she would soon go to +Tom again, went and leaned on the table near Philip to see what he was +doing, for they were quite old friends now, and perfectly at home with +each other. + +"What are you reading about in Greek?" she said. "It's poetry, I can +see that, because the lines are so short." + +"It's about Philoctetes, the lame man I was telling you of yesterday," +he answered, resting his head on his hand, and looking at her as if he +were not at all sorry to be interrupted. Maggie, in her absent way, +continued to lean forward, resting on her arms and moving her feet +about, while her dark eyes got more and more fixed and vacant, as if +she had quite forgotten Philip and his book. + +"Maggie," said Philip, after a minute or two, still leaning on his +elbow and looking at her, "if you had had a brother like me, do you +think you should have loved him as well as Tom?" + +Maggie started a little on being roused from her reverie, and said, +"What?" Philip repeated his question. + +"Oh, yes, better," she answered immediately. "No, not better; because +I don't think I _could_ love you better than Tom. But I should be so +sorry,--_so sorry_ for you." + +Philip colored; he had meant to imply, would she love him as well in +spite of his deformity, and yet when she alluded to it so plainly, he +winced under her pity. Maggie, young as she was, felt her mistake. +Hitherto she had instinctively behaved as if she were quite +unconscious of Philip's deformity; her own keen sensitiveness and +experience under family criticism sufficed to teach her this as well +as if she had been directed by the most finished breeding. + +"But you are so very clever, Philip, and you can play and sing," she +added quickly. "I wish you _were_ my brother. I'm very fond of you. +And you would stay at home with me when Tom went out, and you would +teach me everything; wouldn't you,--Greek and everything?" + +"But you'll go away soon, and go to school, Maggie," said Philip, "and +then you'll forget all about me, and not care for me any more. And +then I shall see you when you're grown up, and you'll hardly take any +notice of me." + +"Oh, no, I sha'n't forget you, I'm sure," said Maggie, shaking her +head very seriously. "I never forget anything, and I think about +everybody when I'm away from them. I think about poor Yap; he's got a +lump in his throat, and Luke says he'll die. Only don't you tell Tom. +because it will vex him so. You never saw Yap; he's a queer little +dog,--nobody cares about him but Tom and me." + +"Do you care as much about me as you do about Yap, Maggie?" said +Philip, smiling rather sadly. + +"Oh, yes, I should think so," said Maggie, laughing. + +"I'm very fond of _you_, Maggie; I shall never forget _you_," said +Philip, "and when I'm very unhappy, I shall always think of you, and +wish I had a sister with dark eyes, just like yours." + +"Why do you like my eyes?" said Maggie, well pleased. She had never +heard any one but her father speak of her eyes as if they had merit. + +"I don't know," said Philip. "They're not like any other eyes. They +seem trying to speak,--trying to speak kindly. I don't like other +people to look at me much, but I like you to look at me, Maggie." + +"Why, I think you're fonder of me than Tom is," said Maggie, rather +sorrowfully. Then, wondering how she could convince Philip that she +could like him just as well, although he was crooked, she said: + +"Should you like me to kiss you, as I do Tom? I will, if you like." + +"Yes, very much; nobody kisses me." + +Maggie put her arm round his neck and kissed him quite earnestly. + +"There now," she said, "I shall always remember you, and kiss you when +I see you again, if it's ever so long. But I'll go now, because I +think Mr. Askern's done with Tom's foot." + +When their father came the second time, Maggie said to him, "Oh, +father, Philip Wakem is so very good to Tom; he is such a clever boy, +and I _do_ love him. And you love him too, Tom, don't you? _Say_ you +love him," she added entreatingly. + +Tom colored a little as he looked at his father, and said: "I sha'n't +be friends with him when I leave school, father; but we've made it up +now, since my foot has been bad, and he's taught me to play at +draughts, and I can beat him." + +"Well, well," said Mr. Tulliver, "if he's good to you, try and make +him amends, and be good to _him_. He's a poor crooked creature, and +takes after his dead mother. But don't you be getting too thick with +him; he's got his father's blood in him too. Ay, ay, the gray colt may +chance to kick like his black sire." + +The jarring natures of the two boys effected what Mr. Tulliver's +admonition alone might have failed to effect; in spite of Philip's new +kindness, and Tom's answering regard in this time of his trouble, they +never became close friends. When Maggie was gone, and when Tom +by-and-by began to walk about as usual, the friendly warmth that had +been kindled by pity and gratitude died out by degrees, and left them +in their old relation to each other. Philip was often peevish and +contemptuous; and Tom's more specific and kindly impressions gradually +melted into the old background of suspicion and dislike toward him as +a queer fellow, a humpback, and the son of a rogue. If boys and men +are to be welded together in the glow of transient feeling, they must +be made of metal that will mix, else they inevitably fall asunder when +the heat dies out. + + + +Chapter VII + +The Golden Gates Are Passed + + +So Tom went on even to the fifth half-year--till he was turned +sixteen--at King's Lorton, while Maggie was growing with a rapidity +which her aunts considered highly reprehensible, at Miss Firniss's +boarding-school in the ancient town of Laceham on the Floss, with +cousin Lucy for her companion. In her early letters to Tom she had +always sent her love to Philip, and asked many questions about him, +which were answered by brief sentences about Tom's toothache, and a +turf-house which he was helping to build in the garden, with other +items of that kind. She was pained to hear Tom say in the holidays +that Philip was as queer as ever again, and often cross. They were no +longer very good friends, she perceived; and when she reminded Tom +that he ought always to love Philip for being so good to him when his +foot was bad, he answered: "Well, it isn't my fault; _I_ don't do +anything to him." She hardly ever saw Philip during the remainder of +their school-life; in the Midsummer holidays he was always away at the +seaside, and at Christmas she could only meet him at long intervals in +the street of St. Ogg's. When they did meet, she remembered her +promise to kiss him, but, as a young lady who had been at a +boarding-school, she knew now that such a greeting was out of the +question, and Philip would not expect it. The promise was void, like +so many other sweet, illusory promises of our childhood; void as +promises made in Eden before the seasons were divided, and when the +starry blossoms grew side by side with the ripening peach,--impossible +to be fulfilled when the golden gates had been passed. + +But when their father was actually engaged in the long-threatened +lawsuit, and Wakem, as the agent at once of Pivart and Old Harry, was +acting against him, even Maggie felt, with some sadness, that they +were not likely ever to have any intimacy with Philip again; the very +name of Wakem made her father angry, and she had once heard him say +that if that crook-backed son lived to inherit his father's ill-gotten +gains, there would be a curse upon him. "Have as little to do with him +at school as you can, my lad," he said to Tom; and the command was +obeyed the more easily because Mr. Sterling by this time had two +additional pupils; for though this gentleman's rise in the world was +not of that meteor-like rapidity which the admirers of his +extemporaneous eloquence had expected for a preacher whose voice +demanded so wide a sphere, he had yet enough of growing prosperity to +enable him to increase his expenditure in continued disproportion to +his income. + +As for Tom's school course, it went on with mill-like monotony, his +mind continuing to move with a slow, half-stifled pulse in a medium +uninteresting or unintelligible ideas. But each vacation he brought +home larger and larger drawings with the satiny rendering of +landscape, and water-colors in vivid greens, together with manuscript +books full of exercises and problems, in which the handwriting was all +the finer because he gave his whole mind to it. Each vacation he +brought home a new book or two, indicating his progress through +different stages of history, Christian doctrine, and Latin literature; +and that passage was not entirely without results, besides the +possession of the books. Tom's ear and tongue had become accustomed to +a great many words and phrases which are understood to be signs of an +educated condition; and though he had never really applied his mind to +any one of his lessons, the lessons had left a deposit of vague, +fragmentary, ineffectual notions. Mr. Tulliver, seeing signs of +acquirement beyond the reach of his own criticism, thought it was +probably all right with Tom's education; he observed, indeed, that +there were no maps, and not enough "summing"; but he made no formal +complaint to Mr. Stelling. It was a puzzling business, this schooling; +and if he took Tom away, where could he send him with better effect? + +By the time Tom had reached his last quarter at King's Lorton, the +years had made striking changes in him since the day we saw him +returning from Mr. Jacobs's academy. He was a tall youth now, carrying +himself without the least awkwardness, and speaking without more +shyness than was a becoming symptom of blended diffidence and pride; +he wore his tail-coat and his stand-up collars, and watched the down +on his lip with eager impatience, looking every day at his virgin +razor, with which he had provided himself in the last holidays. Philip +had already left,--at the autumn quarter,--that he might go to the +south for the winter, for the sake of his health; and this change +helped to give Tom the unsettled, exultant feeling that usually +belongs to the last months before leaving school. This quarter, too, +there was some hope of his father's lawsuit being decided; _that_ made +the prospect of home more entirely pleasurable. For Tom, who had +gathered his view of the case from his father's conversation, had no +doubt that Pivart would be beaten. + +Tom had not heard anything from home for some weeks,--a fact which did +not surprise him, for his father and mother were not apt to manifest +their affection in unnecessary letters,--when, to his great surprise, +on the morning of a dark, cold day near the end of November, he was +told, soon after entering the study at nine o'clock, that his sister +was in the drawing-room. It was Mrs. Stelling who had come into the +study to tell him, and she left him to enter the drawing-room alone. + +Maggie, too, was tall now, with braided and coiled hair; she was +almost as tall as Tom, though she was only thirteen; and she really +looked older than he did at that moment. She had thrown off her +bonnet, her heavy braids were pushed back from her forehead, as if it +would not bear that extra load, and her young face had a strangely +worn look, as her eyes turned anxiously toward the door. When Tom +entered she did not speak, but only went up to him, put her arms round +his neck, and kissed him earnestly. He was used to various moods of +hers, and felt no alarm at the unusual seriousness of her greeting. + +"Why, how is it you're come so early this cold morning, Maggie? Did +you come in the gig?" said Tom, as she backed toward the sofa, and +drew him to her side. + +"No, I came by the coach. I've walked from the turnpike." + +"But how is it you're not at school? The holidays have not begun yet?" + +"Father wanted me at home," said Maggie, with a slight trembling of +the lip. "I came home three or four days ago." + +"Isn't my father well?" said Tom, rather anxiously. + +"Not quite," said Maggie. "He's very unhappy, Tom. The lawsuit is +ended, and I came to tell you because I thought it would be better for +you to know it before you came home, and I didn't like only to send +you a letter." + +"My father hasn't lost?" said Tom, hastily, springing from the sofa, +and standing before Maggie with his hands suddenly thrust into his +pockets. + +"Yes, dear Tom," said Maggie, looking up at him with trembling. + +Tom was silent a minute or two, with his eyes fixed on the floor. Then +he said: + +"My father will have to pay a good deal of money, then?" + +"Yes," said Maggie, rather faintly. + +"Well, it can't be helped," said Tom, bravely, not translating the +loss of a large sum of money into any tangible results. "But my +father's very much vexed, I dare say?" he added, looking at Maggie, +and thinking that her agitated face was only part of her girlish way +of taking things. + +"Yes," said Maggie, again faintly. Then, urged to fuller speech by +Tom's freedom from apprehension, she said loudly and rapidly, as if +the words _would_ burst from her: "Oh, Tom, he will lose the mill and +the land and everything; he will have nothing left." + +Tom's eyes flashed out one look of surprise at her, before he turned +pale, and trembled visibly. He said nothing, but sat down on the sofa +again, looking vaguely out of the opposite window. + +Anxiety about the future had never entered Tom's mind. His father had +always ridden a good horse, kept a good house, and had the cheerful, +confident air of a man who has plenty of property to fall back upon. +Tom had never dreamed that his father would "fail"; _that_ was a form +of misfortune which he had always heard spoken of as a deep disgrace, +and disgrace was an idea that he could not associate with any of his +relations, least of all with his father. A proud sense of family +respectability was part of the very air Tom had been born and brought +up in. He knew there were people in St. Ogg's who made a show without +money to support it, and he had always heard such people spoken of by +his own friends with contempt and reprobation. He had a strong belief, +which was a lifelong habit, and required no definite evidence to rest +on, that his father could spend a great deal of money if he chose; and +since his education at Mr. Stelling's had given him a more expensive +view of life, he had often thought that when he got older he would +make a figure in the world, with his horse and dogs and saddle, and +other accoutrements of a fine young man, and show himself equal to any +of his contemporaries at St. Ogg's, who might consider themselves a +grade above him in society because their fathers were professional +men, or had large oil-mills. As to the prognostics and headshaking of +his aunts and uncles, they had never produced the least effect on him, +except to make him think that aunts and uncles were disagreeable +society; he had heard them find fault in much the same way as long as +he could remember. His father knew better than they did. + +The down had come on Tom's lip, yet his thoughts and expectations had +been hitherto only the reproduction, in changed forms, of the boyish +dreams in which he had lived three years ago. He was awakened now with +a violent shock. + +Maggie was frightened at Tom's pale, trembling silence. There was +something else to tell him,--something worse. She threw her arms round +him at last, and said, with a half sob: + +"Oh, Tom--dear, dear Tom, don't fret too much; try and bear it well." + +Tom turned his cheek passively to meet her entreating kisses, and +there gathered a moisture in his eyes, which he just rubbed away with +his hand. The action seemed to rouse him, for he shook himself and +said: "I shall go home, with you, Maggie. Didn't my father say I was +to go?" + +"No, Tom, father didn't wish it," said Maggie, her anxiety about _his_ +feeling helping her to master her agitation. What _would_ he do when +she told him all? "But mother wants you to come,--poor mother!--she +cries so. Oh, Tom, it's very dreadful at home." + +Maggie's lips grew whiter, and she began to tremble almost as Tom had +done. The two poor things clung closer to each other, both +trembling,--the one at an unshapen fear, the other at the image of a +terrible certainty. When Maggie spoke, it was hardly above a whisper. + +"And--and--poor father----" + +Maggie could not utter it. But the suspense was intolerable to Tom. A +vague idea of going to prison, as a consequence of debt, was the shape +his fears had begun to take. + +"Where's my father?" he said impatiently. "_Tell_ me, Maggie." + +"He's at home," said Maggie, finding it easier to reply to that +question. "But," she added, after a pause, "not himself--he fell off +his horse. He has known nobody but me ever since--he seems to have +lost his senses. O father, father----" + +With these last words, Maggie's sobs burst forth with the more +violence for the previous struggle against them. Tom felt that +pressure of the heart which forbids tears; he had no distinct vision +of their troubles as Maggie had, who had been at home; he only felt +the crushing weight of what seemed unmitigated misfortune. He +tightened his arm almost convulsively round Maggie as she sobbed, but +his face looked rigid and tearless, his eyes blank,--as if a black +curtain of cloud had suddenly fallen on his path. + +But Maggie soon checked herself abruptly; a single thought had acted +on her like a startling sound. + +"We must set out, Tom, we must not stay. Father will miss me; we must +be at the turnpike at ten to meet the coach." She said this with hasty +decision, rubbing her eyes, and rising to seize her bonnet. + +Tom at once felt the same impulse, and rose too. "Wait a minute, +Maggie," he said. "I must speak to Mr. Stelling, and then we'll go." + +He thought he must go to the study where the pupils were; but on his +way he met Mr. Stelling, who had heard from his wife that Maggie +appeared to be in trouble when she asked for her brother, and now that +he thought the brother and sister had been alone long enough, was +coming to inquire and offer his sympathy. + +"Please, sir, I must go home," Tom said abruptly, as he met Mr. +Stelling in the passage. "I must go back with my sister directly. My +father's lost his lawsuit--he's lost all his property--and he's very +ill." + +Mr. Stelling felt like a kind-hearted man; he foresaw a probable money +loss for himself, but this had no appreciable share in his feeling, +while he looked with grave pity at the brother and sister for whom +youth and sorrow had begun together. When he knew how Maggie had come, +and how eager she was to get home again, he hurried their departure, +only whispering something to Mrs. Stelling, who had followed him, and +who immediately left the room. + +Tom and Maggie were standing on the door-step, ready to set out, when +Mrs. Stelling came with a little basket, which she hung on Maggie's +arm, saying: "Do remember to eat something on the way, dear." Maggie's +heart went out toward this woman whom she had never liked, and she +kissed her silently. It was the first sign within the poor child of +that new sense which is the gift of sorrow,--that susceptibility to +the bare offices of humanity which raises them into a bond of loving +fellowship, as to haggard men among the ice-bergs the mere presence of +an ordinary comrade stirs the deep fountains of affection. + +Mr. Stelling put his hand on Tom's shoulder and said: "God bless you, +my boy; let me know how you get on." Then he pressed Maggie's hand; +but there were no audible good-byes. Tom had so often thought how +joyful he should be the day he left school "for good"! And now his +school years seemed like a holiday that had come to an end. + +The two slight youthful figures soon grew indistinct on the distant +road,--were soon lost behind the projecting hedgerow. + +They had gone forth together into their life of sorrow, and they would +never more see the sunshine undimmed by remembered cares. They had +entered the thorny wilderness, and the golden gates of their childhood +had forever closed behind them. + + + + +Book III + +_The Downfall_ + + + +Chapter I + +What Had Happened at Home + + +When Mr. Tulliver first knew the fact that the lawsuit was decided +against him, and that Pivart and Wakem were triumphant, every one who +happened to observe him at the time thought that, for so confident and +hot-tempered a man, he bore the blow remarkably well. He thought so +himself; he thought he was going to show that if Wakem or anybody else +considered him crushed, they would find themselves mistaken. He could +not refuse to see that the costs of this protracted suit would take +more than he possessed to pay them; but he appeared to himself to be +full of expedients by which he could ward off any results but such as +were tolerable, and could avoid the appearance of breaking down in the +world. All the obstinacy and defiance of his nature, driven out of +their old channel, found a vent for themselves in the immediate +formation of plans by which he would meet his difficulties, and remain +Mr. Tulliver of Dorlcote Mill in spite of them. There was such a rush +of projects in his brain, that it was no wonder his face was flushed +when he came away from his talk with his attorney, Mr. Gore, and +mounted his horse to ride home from Lindum. There was Furley, who held +the mortgage on the land,--a reasonable fellow, who would see his own +interest, Mr. Tulliver was convinced, and who would be glad not only +to purchase the whole estate, including the mill and homestead, but +would accept Mr. Tulliver as tenant, and be willing to advance money +to be repaid with high interest out of the profits of the business, +which would be made over to him, Mr. Tulliver only taking enough +barely to maintain himself and his family. Who would neglect such a +profitable investment? Certainly not Furley, for Mr. Tulliver had +determined that Furley should meet his plans with the utmost alacrity; +and there are men whoses brains have not yet been dangerously heated +by the loss of a lawsuit, who are apt to see in their own interest or +desires a motive for other men's actions. There was no doubt (in the +miller's mind) that Furley would do just what was desirable; and if he +did--why, things would not be so very much worse. Mr. Tulliver and his +family must live more meagrely and humbly, but it would only be till +the profits of the business had paid off Furley's advances, and that +might be while Mr. Tulliver had still a good many years of life before +him. It was clear that the costs of the suit could be paid without his +being obliged to turn out of his old place, and look like a ruined +man. It was certainly an awkward moment in his affairs. There was that +suretyship for poor Riley, who had died suddenly last April, and left +his friend saddled with a debt of two hundred and fifty pounds,--a +fact which had helped to make Mr. Tulliver's banking book less +pleasant reading than a man might desire toward Christmas. Well! he +had never been one of those poor-spirited sneaks who would refuse to +give a helping hand to a fellow-traveller in this puzzling world. The +really vexatious business was the fact that some months ago the +creditor who had lent him the five hundred pounds to repay Mrs. Glegg +had become uneasy about his money (set on by Wakem, of course), and +Mr. Tulliver, still confident that he should gain his suit, and +finding it eminently inconvenient to raise the said sum until that +desirable issue had taken place, had rashly acceded to the demand that +he should give a bill of sale on his household furniture and some +other effects, as security in lieu of the bond. It was all one, he had +said to himself; he should soon pay off the money, and there was no +harm in giving that security any more than another. But now the +consequences of this bill of sale occurred to him in a new light, and +he remembered that the time was close at hand when it would be +enforced unless the money were repaid. Two months ago he would have +declared stoutly that he would never be beholden to his wife's +friends; but now he told himself as stoutly that it was nothing but +right and natural that Bessy should go to the Pullets and explain the +thing to them; they would hardly let Bessy's furniture be sold, and it +might be security to Pullet if he advanced the money,--there would, +after all, be no gift or favor in the matter. Mr. Tulliver would never +have asked for anything from so poor-spirited a fellow for himself, +but Bessy might do so if she liked. + +It is precisely the proudest and most obstinate men who are the most +liable to shift their position and contradict themselves in this +sudden manner; everything is easier to them than to face the simple +fact that they have been thoroughly defeated, and must begin life +anew. And Mr. Tulliver, you perceive, though nothing more than a +superior miller and maltster, was as proud and obstinate as if he had +been a very lofty personage, in whom such dispositions might be a +source of that conspicuous, far-echoing tragedy, which sweeps the +stage in regal robes, and makes the dullest chronicler sublime. The +pride and obstinacy of millers and other insignificant people, whom +you pass unnoticingly on the road every day, have their tragedy too; +but it is of that unwept, hidden sort that goes on from generation to +generation, and leaves no record,--such tragedy, perhaps, as lies in +the conflicts of young souls, hungry for joy, under a lot made +suddenly hard to them, under the dreariness of a home where the +morning brings no promise with it, and where the unexpectant +discontent of worn and disappointed parents weighs on the children +like a damp, thick air, in which all the functions of life are +depressed; or such tragedy as lies in the slow or sudden death that +follows on a bruised passion, though it may be a death that finds only +a parish funeral. There are certain animals to which tenacity of +position is a law of life,--they can never flourish again, after a +single wrench: and there are certain human beings to whom predominance +is a law of life,--they can only sustain humiliation so long as they +can refuse to believe in it, and, in their own conception, predominate +still. + +Mr. Tulliver was still predominating, in his own imagination, as he +approached St. Ogg's, through which he had to pass on his way +homeward. But what was it that suggested to him, as he saw the Laceham +coach entering the town, to follow it to the coach-office, and get the +clerk there to write a letter, requiring Maggie to come home the very +next day? Mr. Tulliver's own hand shook too much under his excitement +for him to write himself, and he wanted the letter to be given to the +coachman to deliver at Miss Firniss's school in the morning. There was +a craving which he would not account for to himself, to have Maggie +near him, without delay,--she must come back by the coach to-morrow. + +To Mrs. Tulliver, when he got home, he would admit no difficulties, +and scolded down her burst of grief on hearing that the lawsuit was +lost, by angry assertions that there was nothing to grieve about. He +said nothing to her that night about the bill of sale and the +application to Mrs. Pullet, for he had kept her in ignorance of the +nature of that transaction, and had explained the necessity for taking +an inventory of the goods as a matter connected with his will. The +possession of a wife conspicuously one's inferior in intellect is, +like other high privileges, attended with a few inconveniences, and, +among the rest, with the occasional necessity for using a little +deception. + +The next day Mr. Tulliver was again on horseback in the afternoon, on +his way to Mr. Gore's office at St. Ogg's. Gore was to have seen +Furley in the morning, and to have sounded him in relation to Mr. +Tulliver's affairs. But he had not gone half-way when he met a clerk +from Mr. Gore's office, who was bringing a letter to Mr. Tulliver. Mr. +Gore had been prevented by a sudden call of business from waiting at +his office to see Mr. Tulliver, according to appointment, but would be +at his office at eleven to-morrow morning, and meanwhile had sent some +important information by letter. + +"Oh!" said Mr. Tulliver, taking the letter, but not opening it. "Then +tell Gore I'll see him to-morrow at eleven"; and he turned his horse. + +The clerk, struck with Mr. Tulliver's glistening, excited glance, +looked after him for a few moments, and then rode away. The reading of +a letter was not the affair of an instant to Mr. Tulliver; he took in +the sense of a statement very slowly through the medium of written or +even printed characters; so he had put the letter in his pocket, +thinking he would open it in his armchair at home. But by-and-by it +occurred to him that there might be something in the letter Mrs. +Tulliver must not know about, and if so, it would be better to keep it +out of her sight altogether. He stopped his horse, took out the +letter, and read it. It was only a short letter; the substance was, +that Mr. Gore had ascertained, on secret, but sure authority, that +Furley had been lately much straitened for money, and had parted with +his securities,--among the rest, the mortgage on Mr. Tulliver's +property, which he had transferred to----Wakem. + +In half an hour after this Mr. Tulliver's own wagoner found him lying +by the roadside insensible, with an open letter near him, and his gray +horse snuffing uneasily about him. + +When Maggie reached home that evening, in obedience to her father's +call, he was no longer insensible. About an hour before he had become +conscious, and after vague, vacant looks around him, had muttered +something about "a letter," which he presently repeated impatiently. +At the instance of Mr. Turnbull, the medical man, Gore's letter was +brought and laid on the bed, and the previous impatience seemed to be +allayed. The stricken man lay for some time with his eyes fixed on the +letter, as if he were trying to knit up his thoughts by its help. But +presently a new wave of memory seemed to have come and swept the other +away; he turned his eyes from the letter to the door, and after +looking uneasily, as if striving to see something his eyes were too +dim for, he said, "The little wench." + +He repeated the words impatiently from time to time, appearing +entirely unconscious of everything except this one importunate want, +and giving no sign of knowing his wife or any one else; and poor Mrs. +Tulliver, her feeble faculties almost paralyzed by this sudden +accumulation of troubles, went backward and forward to the gate to see +if the Laceham coach were coming, though it was not yet time. + +But it came at last, and set down the poor anxious girl, no longer the +"little wench," except to her father's fond memory. + +"Oh, mother, what is the matter?" Maggie said, with pale lips, as her +mother came toward her crying. She didn't think her father was ill, +because the letter had come at his dictation from the office at St. +Ogg's. + +But Mr. Turnbull came now to meet her; a medical man is the good angel +of the troubled house, and Maggie ran toward the kind old friend, whom +she remembered as long as she could remember anything, with a +trembling, questioning look. + +"Don't alarm yourself too much, my dear," he said, taking her hand. +"Your father has had a sudden attack, and has not quite recovered his +memory. But he has been asking for you, and it will do him good to see +you. Keep as quiet as you can; take off your things, and come upstairs +with me." + +Maggie obeyed, with that terrible beating of the heart which makes +existence seem simply a painful pulsation. The very quietness with +which Mr. Turnbull spoke had frightened her susceptible imagination. +Her father's eyes were still turned uneasily toward the door when she +entered and met the strange, yearning, helpless look that had been +seeking her in vain. With a sudden flash and movement, he raised +himself in the bed; she rushed toward him, and clasped him with +agonized kisses. + +Poor child! it was very early for her to know one of those supreme +moments in life when all we have hoped or delighted in, all we can +dread or endure, falls away from our regard as insignificant; is lost, +like a trivial memory, in that simple, primitive love which knits us +to the beings who have been nearest to us, in their times of +helplessness or of anguish. + +But that flash of recognition had been too great a strain on the +father's bruised, enfeebled powers. He sank back again in renewed +insensibility and rigidity, which lasted for many hours, and was only +broken by a flickering return of consciousness, in which he took +passively everything that was given to him, and seemed to have a sort +of infantine satisfaction in Maggie's near presence,--such +satisfaction as a baby has when it is returned to the nurse's lap. + +Mrs. Tulliver sent for her sisters, and there was much wailing and +lifting up of hands below stairs. Both uncles and aunts saw that the +ruin of Bessy and her family was as complete as they had ever +foreboded it, and there was a general family sense that a judgment had +fallen on Mr. Tulliver, which it would be an impiety to counteract by +too much kindness. But Maggie heard little of this, scarcely ever +leaving her father's bedside, where she sat opposite him with her hand +on his. Mrs. Tulliver wanted to have Tom fetched home, and seemed to +be thinking more of her boy even than of her husband; but the aunts +and uncles opposed this. Tom was better at school, since Mr. Turnbull +said there was no immediate danger, he believed. But at the end of the +second day, when Maggie had become more accustomed to her father's +fits of insensibility, and to the expectation that he would revive +from them, the thought of Tom had become urgent with _her_ too; and +when her mother sate crying at night and saying, "My poor lad--it's +nothing but right he should come home," Maggie said, "Let me go for +him, and tell him, mother; I'll go to-morrow morning if father doesn't +know me and want me. It would be so hard for Tom to come home and not +know anything about it beforehand." + +And the next morning Maggie went, as we have seen. Sitting on the +coach on their way home, the brother and sister talked to each other +in sad, interrupted whispers. + +"They say Mr. Wakem has got a mortgage or something on the land, Tom," +said Maggie. "It was the letter with that news in it that made father +ill, they think." + +"I believe that scoundrel's been planning all along to ruin my +father," said Tom, leaping from the vaguest impressions to a definite +conclusion. "I'll make him feel for it when I'm a man. Mind you never +speak to Philip again." + +"Oh, Tom!" said Maggie, in a tone of sad remonstrance; but she had no +spirit to dispute anything then, still less to vex Tom by opposing +him. + + + +Chapter II + +Mrs. Tulliver's Teraphim, or Household Gods + + +When the coach set down Tom and Maggie, it was five hours since she +had started from home, and she was thinking with some trembling that +her father had perhaps missed her, and asked for "the little wench" in +vain. She thought of no other change that might have happened. + +She hurried along the gravel-walk and entered the house before Tom; +but in the entrance she was startled by a strong smell of tobacco. The +parlor door was ajar; that was where the smell came from. It was very +strange; could any visitor be smoking at a time like this? Was her +mother there? If so, she must be told that Tom was come. Maggie, after +this pause of surprise, was only in the act of opening the door when +Tom came up, and they both looked into the parlor together. + +There was a coarse, dingy man, of whose face Tom had some vague +recollection, sitting in his father's chair, smoking, with a jug and +glass beside him. + +The truth flashed on Tom's mind in an instant. To "have the bailiff in +the house," and "to be sold up," were phrases which he had been used +to, even as a little boy; they were part of the disgrace and misery of +"failing," of losing all one's money, and being ruined,--sinking into +the condition of poor working people. It seemed only natural this +should happen, since his father had lost all his property, and he +thought of no more special cause for this particular form of +misfortune than the loss of the lawsuit. But the immediate presence of +this disgrace was so much keener an experience to Tom than the worst +form of apprehension, that he felt at this moment as if his real +trouble had only just begin; it was a touch on the irritated nerve +compared with its spontaneous dull aching. + +"How do you do, sir?" said the man, taking the pipe out of his mouth, +with rough, embarrassed civility. The two young startled faces made +him a little uncomfortable. + +But Tom turned away hastily without speaking; the sight was too +hateful. Maggie had not understood the appearance of this stranger, as +Tom had. She followed him, whispering: "Who can it be, Tom? What is +the matter?" Then, with a sudden undefined dread lest this stranger +might have something to do with a change in her father, she rushed +upstairs, checking herself at the bedroom door to throw off her +bonnet, and enter on tiptoe. All was silent there; her father was +lying, heedless of everything around him, with his eyes closed as when +she had left him. A servant was there, but not her mother. + +"Where's my mother?" she whispered. The servant did not know. + +Maggie hastened out, and said to Tom; "Father is lying quiet; let us +go and look for my mother. I wonder where she is." + +Mrs. Tulliver was not downstairs, not in any of the bedrooms. There +was but one room below the attic which Maggie had left unsearched; it +was the storeroom, where her mother kept all her linen and all the +precious "best things" that were only unwrapped and brought out on +special occasions. + +Tom, preceding Maggie, as they returned along the passage, opened the +door of this room, and immediately said, "Mother!" + +Mrs. Tulliver was seated there with all her laid-up treasures. One of +the linen chests was open; the silver teapot was unwrapped from its +many folds of paper, and the best china was laid out on the top of the +closed linen-chest; spoons and skewers and ladles were spread in rows +on the shelves; and the poor woman was shaking her head and weeping, +with a bitter tension of the mouth, over the mark, "Elizabeth Dodson," +on the corner of some tablecloths she held in her lap. + +She dropped them, and started up as Tom spoke. + +"Oh, my boy, my boy!" she said, clasping him round the neck. "To think +as I should live to see this day! We're ruined--everything's going to +be sold up--to think as your father should ha' married me to bring me +to this! We've got nothing--we shall be beggars--we must go to the +workhouse----" + +She kissed him, then seated herself again, and took another tablecloth +on her lap, unfolding it a little way to look at the pattern, while +the children stood by in mute wretchedness, their minds quite filled +for the moment with the words "beggars" and "workhouse." + +"To think o' these cloths as I spun myself," she went on, lifting +things out and turning them over with an excitement all the more +strange and piteous because the stout blond woman was usually so +passive,--if she had been ruffled before, it was at the surface +merely,--"and Job Haxey wove 'em, and brought the piece home on his +back, as I remember standing at the door and seeing him come, before I +ever thought o' marrying your father! And the pattern as I chose +myself, and bleached so beautiful, and I marked 'em so as nobody ever +saw such marking,--they must cut the cloth to get it out, for it's a +particular stitch. And they're all to be sold, and go into strange +people's houses, and perhaps be cut with the knives, and wore out +before I'm dead. You'll never have one of 'em, my boy," she said, +looking up at Tom with her eyes full of tears, "and I meant 'em for +you. I wanted you to have all o' this pattern. Maggie could have had +the large check--it never shows so well when the dishes are on it." + +Tom was touched to the quick, but there was an angry reaction +immediately. His face flushed as he said: + +"But will my aunts let them be sold, mother? Do they know about it? +They'll never let your linen go, will they? Haven't you sent to them?" + +"Yes, I sent Luke directly they'd put the bailies in, and your aunt +Pullet's been--and, oh dear, oh dear, she cries so and says your +father's disgraced my family and made it the talk o' the country; and +she'll buy the spotted cloths for herself, because she's never had so +many as she wanted o' that pattern, and they sha'n't go to strangers, +but she's got more checks a'ready nor she can do with." (Here Mrs. +Tulliver began to lay back the tablecloths in the chest, folding and +stroking them automatically.) "And your uncle Glegg's been too, and he +says things must be bought in for us to lie down on, but he must talk +to your aunt; and they're all coming to consult. But I know they'll +none of 'em take my chany," she added, turning toward the cups and +saucers, "for they all found fault with 'em when I bought 'em, 'cause +o' the small gold sprig all over 'em, between the flowers. But there's +none of 'em got better chany, not even your aunt Pullet herself; and I +bought it wi' my own money as I'd saved ever since I was turned +fifteen; and the silver teapot, too,--your father never paid for 'em. +And to think as he should ha' married me, and brought me to this." + +Mrs. Tulliver burst out crying afresh, and she sobbed with her +handkerchief at her eyes a few moments, but then removing it, she said +in a deprecating way, still half sobbing, as if she were called upon +to speak before she could command her voice,-- + +"And I _did_ say to him times and times, 'Whativer you do, don't go to +law,' and what more could I do? I've had to sit by while my own +fortin's been spent, and what should ha' been my children's, too. +You'll have niver a penny, my boy--but it isn't your poor mother's +fault." + +She put out one arm toward Tom, looking up at him piteously with her +helpless, childish blue eyes. The poor lad went to her and kissed her, +and she clung to him. For the first time Tom thought of his father +with some reproach. His natural inclination to blame, hitherto kept +entirely in abeyance toward his father by the predisposition to think +him always right, simply on the ground that he was Tom Tulliver's +father, was turned into this new channel by his mother's plaints; and +with his indignation against Wakem there began to mingle some +indignation of another sort. Perhaps his father might have helped +bringing them all down in the world, and making people talk of them +with contempt, but no one should talk long of Tom Tulliver with +contempt. + +The natural strength and firmness of his nature was beginning to +assert itself, urged by the double stimulus of resentment against his +aunts, and the sense that he must behave like a man and take care of +his mother. + +"Don't fret, mother," he said tenderly. "I shall soon be able to get +money; I'll get a situation of some sort." + +"Bless you, my boy!" said Mrs. Tulliver, a little soothed. Then, +looking round sadly, "But I shouldn't ha' minded so much if we could +ha' kept the things wi' my name on 'em." + +Maggie had witnessed this scene with gathering anger. The implied +reproaches against her father--her father, who was lying there in a +sort of living death--neutralized all her pity for griefs about +tablecloths and china; and her anger on her father's account was +heightened by some egoistic resentment at Tom's silent concurrence +with her mother in shutting her out from the common calamity. She had +become almost indifferent to her mother's habitual depreciation of +her, but she was keenly alive to any sanction of it, however passive, +that she might suspect in Tom. Poor Maggie was by no means made up of +unalloyed devotedness, but put forth large claims for herself where +she loved strongly. She burst out at last in an agitated, almost +violent tone: "Mother, how can you talk so; as if you cared only for +things with _your_ name on, and not for what has my father's name too; +and to care about anything but dear father himself!--when he's lying +there, and may never speak to us again. Tom, you ought to say so too; +you ought not to let any one find fault with my father." + +Maggie, almost choked with mingled grief and anger, left the room, and +took her old place on her father's bed. Her heart went out to him with +a stronger movement than ever, at the thought that people would blame +him. Maggie hated blame; she had been blamed all her life, and nothing +had come of it but evil tempers. + +Her father had always defended and excused her, and her loving +remembrance of his tenderness was a force within her that would enable +her to do or bear anything for his sake. + +Tom was a little shocked at Maggie's outburst,--telling _him_ as well +as his mother what it was right to do! She ought to have learned +better than have those hectoring, assuming manners, by this time. But +he presently went into his father's room, and the sight there touched +him in a way that effaced the slighter impressions of the previous +hour. When Maggie saw how he was moved, she went to him and put her +arm round his neck as he sat by the bed, and the two children forgot +everything else in the sense that they had one father and one sorrow. + + + +Chapter III + +The Family Council + + +It was at eleven o'clock the next morning that the aunts and uncles +came to hold their consultation. The fire was lighted in the large +parlor, and poor Mrs. Tulliver, with a confused impression that it was +a great occasion, like a funeral, unbagged the bell-rope tassels, and +unpinned the curtains, adjusting them in proper folds, looking round +and shaking her head sadly at the polished tops and legs of the +tables, which sister Pullet herself could not accuse of insufficient +brightness. + +Mr. Deane was not coming, he was away on business; but Mrs. Deane +appeared punctually in that handsome new gig with the head to it, and +the livery-servant driving it, which had thrown so clear a light on +several traits in her character to some of her female friends in St. +Ogg's. Mr. Deane had been advancing in the world as rapidly as Mr. +Tulliver had been going down in it; and in Mrs. Deane's house the +Dodson linen and plate were beginning to hold quite a subordinate +position, as a mere supplement to the handsomer articles of the same +kind, purchased in recent years,--a change which had caused an +occasional coolness in the sisterly intercourse between her and Mrs. +Glegg, who felt that Susan was getting "like the rest," and there +would soon be little of the true Dodson spirit surviving except in +herself, and, it might be hoped, in those nephews who supported the +Dodson name on the family land, far away in the Wolds. + +People who live at a distance are naturally less faulty than those +immediately under our own eyes; and it seems superfluous, when we +consider the remote geographical position of the Ethiopians, and how +very little the Greeks had to do with them, to inquire further why +Homer calls them "blameless." + +Mrs. Deane was the first to arrive; and when she had taken her seat in +the large parlor, Mrs. Tulliver came down to her with her comely face +a little distorted, nearly as it would have been if she had been +crying. She was not a woman who could shed abundant tears, except in +moments when the prospect of losing her furniture became unusually +vivid, but she felt how unfitting it was to be quite calm under +present circumstances. + +"Oh, sister, what a world this is!" she exclaimed as she entered; +"what trouble, oh dear!" + +Mrs. Deane was a thin-lipped woman, who made small well-considered +speeches on peculiar occasions, repeating them afterward to her +husband, and asking him if she had not spoken very properly. + +"Yes, sister," she said deliberately, "this is a changing world, and +we don't know to-day what may happen tomorrow. But it's right to be +prepared for all things, and if trouble's sent, to remember as it +isn't sent without a cause. I'm very sorry for you as a sister, and if +the doctor orders jelly for Mr. Tulliver, I hope you'll let me know. +I'll send it willingly; for it is but right he should have proper +attendance while he's ill." + +"Thank you, Susan," said Mrs. Tulliver, rather faintly, withdrawing +her fat hand from her sister's thin one. "But there's been no talk o' +jelly yet." Then after a moment's pause she added, "There's a dozen o' +cut jelly-glasses upstairs--I shall never put jelly into 'em no more." + +Her voice was rather agitated as she uttered the last words, but the +sound of wheels diverted her thoughts. Mr. and Mrs. Glegg were come, +and were almost immediately followed by Mr. and Mrs. Pullet. + +Mrs. Pullet entered crying, as a compendious mode, at all times, of +expressing what were her views of life in general, and what, in brief, +were the opinions she held concerning the particular case before her. + +Mrs. Glegg had on her fuzziest front, and garments which appeared to +have had a recent resurrection from rather a creasy form of burial; a +costume selected with the high moral purpose of instilling perfect +humility into Bessy and her children. + +"Mrs. G., won't you come nearer the fire?" said her husband, unwilling +to take the more comfortable seat without offering it to her. + +"You see I've seated myself here, Mr. Glegg," returned this superior +woman; "_you_ can roast yourself, if you like." + +"Well," said Mr. Glegg, seating himself good-humoredly, "and how's the +poor man upstairs?" + +"Dr. Turnbull thought him a deal better this morning," said Mrs. +Tulliver; "he took more notice, and spoke to me; but he's never known +Tom yet,--looks at the poor lad as if he was a stranger, though he +said something once about Tom and the pony. The doctor says his +memory's gone a long way back, and he doesn't know Tom because he's +thinking of him when he was little. Eh dear, eh dear!" + +"I doubt it's the water got on his brain," said aunt Pullet, turning +round from adjusting her cap in a melancholy way at the pier-glass. +"It's much if he ever gets up again; and if he does, he'll most like +be childish, as Mr. Carr was, poor man! They fed him with a spoon as +if he'd been a babby for three year. He'd quite lost the use of his +limbs; but then he'd got a Bath chair, and somebody to draw him; and +that's what you won't have, I doubt, Bessy." + +"Sister Pullet," said Mrs. Glegg, severely, "if I understand right, +we've come together this morning to advise and consult about what's to +be done in this disgrace as has fallen upon the family, and not to +talk o' people as don't belong to us. Mr. Carr was none of our blood, +nor noways connected with us, as I've ever heared." + +"Sister Glegg," said Mrs. Pullet, in a pleading tone, drawing on her +gloves again, and stroking the fingers in an agitated manner, "if +you've got anything disrespectful to say o' Mr. Carr, I do beg of you +as you won't say it to me. _I_ know what he was," she added, with a +sigh; "his breath was short to that degree as you could hear him two +rooms off." + +"Sophy!" said Mrs. Glegg, with indignant disgust, "you _do_ talk o' +people's complaints till it's quite undecent. But I say again, as I +said before, I didn't come away from home to talk about acquaintances, +whether they'd short breath or long. If we aren't come together for +one to hear what the other 'ull do to save a sister and her children +from the parish, _I_ shall go back. _One_ can't act without the other, +I suppose; it isn't to be expected as _I_ should do everything." + +"Well, Jane," said Mrs. Pullet, "I don't see as you've been so very +forrard at doing. So far as I know, this is the first time as here +you've been, since it's been known as the bailiff's in the house; and +I was here yesterday, and looked at all Bessy's linen and things, and +I told her I'd buy in the spotted tablecloths. I couldn't speak +fairer; for as for the teapot as she doesn't want to go out o' the +family, it stands to sense I can't do with two silver teapots, not if +it _hadn't_ a straight spout, but the spotted damask I was allays fond +on." + +"I wish it could be managed so as my teapot and chany and the best +castors needn't be put up for sale," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, +beseechingly, "and the sugar-tongs the first things ever I bought." + +"But that can't be helped, you know," said Mr. Glegg. "If one o' the +family chooses to buy 'em in, they can, but one thing must be bid for +as well as another." + +"And it isn't to be looked for," said uncle Pullet, with unwonted +independence of idea, "as your own family should pay more for things +nor they'll fetch. They may go for an old song by auction." + +"Oh dear, oh dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, "to think o' my chany being +sold i' that way, and I bought it when I was married, just as you did +yours, Jane and Sophy; and I know you didn't like mine, because o' the +sprig, but I was fond of it; and there's never been a bit broke, for +I've washed it myself; and there's the tulips on the cups, and the +roses, as anybody might go and look at 'em for pleasure. You wouldn't +like _your_ chany to go for an old song and be broke to pieces, though +yours has got no color in it, Jane,--it's all white and fluted, and +didn't cost so much as mine. And there's the castors, sister Deane, I +can't think but you'd like to have the castors, for I've heard you say +they're pretty." + +"Well, I've no objection to buy some of the best things," said Mrs. +Deane, rather loftily; "we can do with extra things in our house." + +"Best things!" exclaimed Mrs. Glegg, with severity, which had gathered +intensity from her long silence. "It drives me past patience to hear +you all talking o' best things, and buying in this, that, and the +other, such as silver and chany. You must bring your mind to your +circumstances, Bessy, and not be thinking o' silver and chany; but +whether you shall get so much as a flock-bed to lie on, and a blanket +to cover you, and a stool to sit on. You must remember, if you get +'em, it'll be because your friends have bought 'em for you, for you're +dependent upon _them_ for everything; for your husband lies there +helpless, and hasn't got a penny i' the world to call his own. And +it's for your own good I say this, for it's right you should feel what +your state is, and what disgrace your husband's brought on your own +family, as you've got to look to for everything, and be humble in your +mind." + +Mrs. Glegg paused, for speaking with much energy for the good of +others is naturally exhausting. + +Mrs. Tulliver, always borne down by the family predominance of sister +Jane, who had made her wear the yoke of a younger sister in very +tender years, said pleadingly: + +"I'm sure, sister, I've never asked anybody to do anything, only buy +things as it 'ud be a pleasure to 'em to have, so as they mightn't go +and be spoiled i' strange houses. I never asked anybody to buy the +things in for me and my children; though there's the linen I spun, and +I thought when Tom was born,--I thought one o' the first things when +he was lying i' the cradle, as all the things I'd bought wi' my own +money, and been so careful of, 'ud go to him. But I've said nothing as +I wanted my sisters to pay their money for me. What my husband has +done for _his_ sister's unknown, and we should ha' been better off +this day if it hadn't been as he's lent money and never asked for it +again." + +"Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, kindly, "don't let us make things too +dark. What's done can't be undone. We shall make a shift among us to +buy what's sufficient for you; though, as Mrs. G. says, they must be +useful, plain things. We mustn't be thinking o' what's unnecessary. A +table, and a chair or two, and kitchen things, and a good bed, and +such-like. Why, I've seen the day when I shouldn't ha' known myself if +I'd lain on sacking i'stead o' the floor. We get a deal o' useless +things about us, only because we've got the money to spend." + +"Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., "if you'll be kind enough to let me speak, +i'stead o' taking the words out o' my mouth,--I was going to say, +Bessy, as it's fine talking for you to say as you've never asked us to +buy anything for you; let me tell you, you _ought_ to have asked us. +Pray, how are you to be purvided for, if your own family don't help +you? You must go to the parish, if they didn't. And you ought to know +that, and keep it in mind, and ask us humble to do what we can for +you, i'stead o' saying, and making a boast, as you've never asked us +for anything." + +"You talked o' the Mosses, and what Mr. Tulliver's done for 'em," said +uncle Pullet, who became unusually suggestive where advances of money +were concerned. "Haven't _they_ been anear you? They ought to do +something as well as other folks; and if he's lent 'em money, they +ought to be made to pay it back." + +"Yes, to be sure," said Mrs. Deane; "I've been thinking so. How is it +Mr. and Mrs. Moss aren't here to meet us? It is but right they should +do their share." + +"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Tulliver, "I never sent 'em word about Mr. +Tulliver, and they live so back'ard among the lanes at Basset, they +niver hear anything only when Mr. Moss comes to market. But I niver +gave 'em a thought. I wonder Maggie didn't, though, for she was allays +so fond of her aunt Moss." + +"Why don't your children come in, Bessy?" said Mrs. Pullet, at the +mention of Maggie. "They should hear what their aunts and uncles have +got to say; and Maggie,--when it's me as have paid for half her +schooling, she ought to think more of her aunt Pullet than of aunt +Moss. I may go off sudden when I get home to-day; there's no telling." + +"If I'd had _my_ way," said Mrs. Glegg, "the children 'ud ha' been in +the room from the first. It's time they knew who they've to look to, +and it's right as _somebody_ should talk to 'em, and let 'em know +their condition i' life, and what they're come down to, and make 'em +feel as they've got to suffer for their father's faults." + +"Well, I'll go and fetch 'em, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, resignedly. +She was quite crushed now, and thought of the treasures in the +storeroom with no other feeling than blank despair. + +She went upstairs to fetch Tom and Maggie, who were both in their +father's room, and was on her way down again, when the sight of the +storeroom door suggested a new thought to her. She went toward it, and +left the children to go down by themselves. + +The aunts and uncles appeared to have been in warm discussion when the +brother and sister entered,--both with shrinking reluctance; for +though Tom, with a practical sagacity which had been roused into +activity by the strong stimulus of the new emotions he had undergone +since yesterday, had been turning over in his mind a plan which he +meant to propose to one of his aunts or uncles, he felt by no means +amicably toward them, and dreaded meeting them all at once as he would +have dreaded a large dose of concentrated physic, which was but just +endurable in small draughts. As for Maggie, she was peculiarly +depressed this morning; she had been called up, after brief rest, at +three o'clock, and had that strange dreamy weariness which comes from +watching in a sick-room through the chill hours of early twilight and +breaking day,--in which the outside day-light life seems to have no +importance, and to be a mere margin to the hours in the darkened +chamber. Their entrance interrupted the conversation. The shaking of +hands was a melancholy and silent ceremony, till uncle Pullet +observed, as Tom approached him: + +"Well, young sir, we've been talking as we should want your pen and +ink; you can write rarely now, after all your schooling, I should +think." + +"Ay, ay," said uncle Glegg, with admonition which he meant to be kind, +"we must look to see the good of all this schooling, as your father's +sunk so much money in, now,-- + + 'When land is gone and money's spent, + Then learning is most excellent.' + +Now's the time, Tom, to let us see the good o' your learning. Let us +see whether you can do better than I can, as have made my fortin +without it. But I began wi' doing with little, you see; I could live +on a basin o' porridge and a crust o' bread-and-cheese. But I doubt +high living and high learning 'ull make it harder for you, young man, +nor it was for me." + +"But he must do it," interposed aunt Glegg, energetically, "whether +it's hard or no. He hasn't got to consider what's hard; he must +consider as he isn't to trusten to his friends to keep him in idleness +and luxury; he's got to bear the fruits of his father's misconduct, +and bring his mind to fare hard and to work hard. And he must be +humble and grateful to his aunts and uncles for what they're doing for +his mother and father, as must be turned out into the streets and go +to the workhouse if they didn't help 'em. And his sister, too," +continued Mrs. Glegg, looking severely at Maggie, who had sat down on +the sofa by her aunt Deane, drawn to her by the sense that she was +Lucy's mother, "she must make up her mind to be humble and work; for +there'll be no servants to wait on her any more,--she must remember +that. She must do the work o' the house, and she must respect and love +her aunts as have done so much for her, and saved their money to leave +to their nepheys and nieces." + +Tom was still standing before the table in the centre of the group. +There was a heightened color in his face, and he was very far from +looking humbled, but he was preparing to say, in a respectful tone, +something he had previously meditated, when the door opened and his +mother re-entered. + +Poor Mrs. Tulliver had in her hands a small tray, on which she had +placed her silver teapot, a specimen teacup and saucer, the castors, +and sugar-tongs. + +"See here, sister," she said, looking at Mrs. Deane, as she set the +tray on the table, "I thought, perhaps, if you looked at the teapot +again,--it's a good while since you saw it,--you might like the +pattern better; it makes beautiful tea, and there's a stand and +everything; you might use it for every day, or else lay it by for Lucy +when she goes to housekeeping. I should be so loath for 'em to buy it +at the Golden Lion," said the poor woman, her heart swelling, and the +tears coming,--"my teapot as I bought when I was married, and to think +of its being scratched, and set before the travellers and folks, and +my letters on it,--see here, E. D.,--and everybody to see 'em." + +"Ah, dear, dear!" said aunt Pullet, shaking her head with deep +sadness, "it's very bad,--to think o' the family initials going about +everywhere--it niver was so before; you're a very unlucky sister, +Bessy. But what's the use o' buying the teapot, when there's the linen +and spoons and everything to go, and some of 'em with your full +name,--and when it's got that straight spout, too." + +"As to disgrace o' the family," said Mrs. Glegg, "that can't be helped +wi' buying teapots. The disgrace is, for one o' the family to ha' +married a man as has brought her to beggary. The disgrace is, as +they're to be sold up. We can't hinder the country from knowing that." + +Maggie had started up from the sofa at the allusion to her father, but +Tom saw her action and flushed face in time to prevent her from +speaking. "Be quiet, Maggie," he said authoritatively, pushing her +aside. It was a remarkable manifestation of self-command and practical +judgment in a lad of fifteen, that when his aunt Glegg ceased, he +began to speak in a quiet and respectful manner, though with a good +deal of trembling in his voice; for his mother's words had cut him to +the quick. + +"Then, aunt," he said, looking straight at Mrs. Glegg, "if you think +it's a disgrace to the family that we should be sold up, wouldn't it +be better to prevent it altogether? And if you and aunt Pullet," he +continued, looking at the latter, "think of leaving any money to me +and Maggie, wouldn't it be better to give it now, and pay the debt +we're going to be sold up for, and save my mother from parting with +her furniture?" + +There was silence for a few moments, for every one, including Maggie, +was astonished at Tom's sudden manliness of tone. Uncle Glegg was the +first to speak. + +"Ay, ay, young man, come now! You show some notion o' things. But +there's the interest, you must remember; your aunts get five per cent +on their money, and they'd lose that if they advanced it; you haven't +thought o' that." + +"I could work and pay that every year," said Tom, promptly. "I'd do +anything to save my mother from parting with her things." + +"Well done!" said uncle Glegg, admiringly. He had been drawing Tom +out, rather than reflecting on the practicability of his proposal. But +he had produced the unfortunate result of irritating his wife. + +"Yes, Mr. Glegg!" said that lady, with angry sarcasm. "It's pleasant +work for you to be giving my money away, as you've pretended to leave +at my own disposal. And my money, as was my own father's gift, and not +yours, Mr. Glegg; and I've saved it, and added to it myself, and had +more to put out almost every year, and it's to go and be sunk in other +folks' furniture, and encourage 'em in luxury and extravagance as +they've no means of supporting; and I'm to alter my will, or have a +codicil made, and leave two or three hundred less behind me when I +die,--me as have allays done right and been careful, and the eldest o' +the family; and my money's to go and be squandered on them as have had +the same chance as me, only they've been wicked and wasteful. Sister +Pullet, _you_ may do as you like, and you may let your husband rob you +back again o' the money he's given you, but that isn't _my_ sperrit." + +"La, Jane, how fiery you are!" said Mrs. Pullet. "I'm sure you'll have +the blood in your head, and have to be cupped. I'm sorry for Bessy and +her children,--I'm sure I think of 'em o' nights dreadful, for I sleep +very bad wi' this new medicine,--but it's no use for me to think o' +doing anything, if you won't meet me half-way." + +"Why, there's this to be considered," said Mr. Glegg. "It's no use to +pay off this debt and save the furniture, when there's all the law +debts behind, as 'ud take every shilling, and more than could be made +out o' land and stock, for I've made that out from Lawyer Gore. We'd +need save our money to keep the poor man with, instead o' spending it +on furniture as he can neither eat nor drink. You _will_ be so hasty, +Jane, as if I didn't know what was reasonable." + +"Then speak accordingly, Mr. Glegg!" said his wife, with slow, loud +emphasis, bending her head toward him significantly. + +Tom's countenance had fallen during this conversation, and his lip +quivered; but he was determined not to give way. He would behave like +a man. Maggie, on the contrary, after her momentary delight in Tom's +speech, had relapsed into her state of trembling indignation. Her +mother had been standing close by Tom's side, and had been clinging to +his arm ever since he had last spoken; Maggie suddenly started up and +stood in front of them, her eyes flashing like the eyes of a young +lioness. + +"Why do you come, then," she burst out, "talking and interfering with +us and scolding us, if you don't mean to do anything to help my poor +mother--your own sister,--if you've no feeling for her when she's in +trouble, and won't part with anything, though you would never miss it, +to save her from pain? Keep away from us then, and don't come to find +fault with my father,--he was better than any of you; he was kind,--he +would have helped _you_, if you had been in trouble. Tom and I don't +ever want to have any of your money, if you won't help my mother. We'd +rather not have it! We'll do without you." + +Maggie, having hurled her defiance at aunts and uncles in this way, +stood still, with her large dark eyes glaring at them, as if she were +ready to await all consequences. + +Mrs. Tulliver was frightened; there was something portentous in this +mad outbreak; she did not see how life could go on after it. Tom was +vexed; it was no _use_ to talk so. The aunts were silent with surprise +for some moments. At length, in a case of aberration such as this, +comment presented itself as more expedient than any answer. + +"You haven't seen the end o' your trouble wi' that child, Bessy," said +Mrs. Pullet; "she's beyond everything for boldness and unthankfulness. +It's dreadful. I might ha' let alone paying for her schooling, for +she's worse nor ever." + +"It's no more than what I've allays said," followed Mrs. Glegg. "Other +folks may be surprised, but I'm not. I've said over and over +again,--years ago I've said,--'Mark my words; that child 'ull come to +no good; there isn't a bit of our family in her.' And as for her +having so much schooling, I never thought well o' that. I'd my reasons +when I said _I_ wouldn't pay anything toward it." + +"Come, come," said Mr. Glegg, "let's waste no more time in +talking,--let's go to business. Tom, now, get the pen and ink----" + +While Mr. Glegg was speaking, a tall dark figure was seen hurrying +past the window. + +"Why, there's Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Tulliver. "The bad news must ha' +reached her, then"; and she went out to open the door, Maggie eagerly +following her. + +"That's fortunate," said Mrs. Glegg. "She can agree to the list o' +things to be bought in. It's but right she should do her share when +it's her own brother." + +Mrs. Moss was in too much agitation to resist Mrs. Tulliver's +movement, as she drew her into the parlor automatically, without +reflecting that it was hardly kind to take her among so many persons +in the first painful moment of arrival. The tall, worn, dark-haired +woman was a strong contrast to the Dodson sisters as she entered in +her shabby dress, with her shawl and bonnet looking as if they had +been hastily huddled on, and with that entire absence of +self-consciousness which belongs to keenly felt trouble. Maggie was +clinging to her arm; and Mrs. Moss seemed to notice no one else except +Tom, whom she went straight up to and took by the hand. + +"Oh, my dear children," she burst out, "you've no call to think well +o' me; I'm a poor aunt to you, for I'm one o' them as take all and +give nothing. How's my poor brother?" + +"Mr. Turnbull thinks he'll get better," said Maggie. "Sit down, aunt +Gritty. Don't fret." + +"Oh, my sweet child, I feel torn i' two," said Mrs. Moss, allowing +Maggie to lead her to the sofa, but still not seeming to notice the +presence of the rest. "We've three hundred pounds o' my brother's +money, and now he wants it, and you all want it, poor things!--and yet +we must be sold up to pay it, and there's my poor children,--eight of +'em, and the little un of all can't speak plain. And I feel as if I +was a robber. But I'm sure I'd no thought as my brother----" + +The poor woman was interrupted by a rising sob. + +"Three hundred pounds! oh dear, dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, who, when +she had said that her husband had done "unknown" things for his +sister, had not had any particular sum in her mind, and felt a wife's +irritation at having been kept in the dark. + +"What madness, to be sure!" said Mrs. Glegg. "A man with a family! +He'd no right to lend his money i' that way; and without security, +I'll be bound, if the truth was known." + +Mrs. Glegg's voice had arrested Mrs. Moss's attention, and looking up, +she said: + +"Yes, there _was_ security; my husband gave a note for it. We're not +that sort o' people, neither of us, as 'ud rob my brother's children; +and we looked to paying back the money, when the times got a bit +better." + +"Well, but now," said Mr. Glegg, gently, "hasn't your husband no way +o' raising this money? Because it 'ud be a little fortin, like, for +these folks, if we can do without Tulliver's being made a bankrupt. +Your husband's got stock; it is but right he should raise the money, +as it seems to me,--not but what I'm sorry for you, Mrs. Moss." + +"Oh, sir, you don't know what bad luck my husband's had with his +stock. The farm's suffering so as never was for want o' stock; and +we've sold all the wheat, and we're behind with our rent,--not but +what we'd like to do what's right, and I'd sit up and work half the +night, if it 'ud be any good; but there's them poor children,--four of +'em such little uns----" + +"Don't cry so, aunt; don't fret," whispered Maggie, who had kept hold +of Mrs. Moss's hand. + +"Did Mr. Tulliver let you have the money all at once?" said Mrs. +Tulliver, still lost in the conception of things which had been "going +on" without her knowledge. + +"No; at twice," said Mrs. Moss, rubbing her eyes and making an effort +to restrain her tears. "The last was after my bad illness four years +ago, as everything went wrong, and there was a new note made then. +What with illness and bad luck, I've been nothing but cumber all my +life." + +"Yes, Mrs. Moss," said Mrs. Glegg, with decision, "yours is a very +unlucky family; the more's the pity for _my_ sister." + +"I set off in the cart as soon as ever I heard o' what had happened," +said Mrs. Moss, looking at Mrs. Tulliver. "I should never ha' stayed +away all this while, if you'd thought well to let me know. And it +isn't as I'm thinking all about ourselves, and nothing about my +brother, only the money was so on my mind, I couldn't help speaking +about it. And my husband and me desire to do the right thing, sir," +she added, looking at Mr. Glegg, "and we'll make shift and pay the +money, come what will, if that's all my brother's got to trust to. +We've been used to trouble, and don't look for much else. It's only +the thought o' my poor children pulls me i' two." + +"Why, there's this to be thought on, Mrs. Moss," said Mr. Glegg, "and +it's right to warn you,--if Tulliver's made a bankrupt, and he's got a +note-of-hand of your husband's for three hundred pounds, you'll be +obliged to pay it; th' assignees 'ull come on you for it." + +"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Tulliver, thinking of the bankruptcy, +and not of Mrs. Moss's concern in it. Poor Mrs. Moss herself listened +in trembling submission, while Maggie looked with bewildered distress +at Tom to see if _he_ showed any signs of understanding this trouble, +and caring about poor aunt Moss. Tom was only looking thoughtful, with +his eyes on the tablecloth. + +"And if he isn't made bankrupt," continued Mr. Glegg, "as I said +before, three hundred pounds 'ud be a little fortin for him, poor man. +We don't know but what he may be partly helpless, if he ever gets up +again. I'm very sorry if it goes hard with you, Mrs. Moss, but my +opinion is, looking at it one way, it'll be right for you to raise the +money; and looking at it th' other way, you'll be obliged to pay it. +You won't think ill o' me for speaking the truth." + +"Uncle," said Tom, looking up suddenly from his meditative view of the +tablecloth, "I don't think it would be right for my aunt Moss to pay +the money if it would be against my father's will for her to pay it; +would it?" + +Mr. Glegg looked surprised for a moment or two before he said: "Why, +no, perhaps not, Tom; but then he'd ha' destroyed the note, you know. +We must look for the note. What makes you think it 'ud be against his +will?" + +"Why," said Tom, coloring, but trying to speak firmly, in spite of a +boyish tremor, "I remember quite well, before I went to school to Mr. +Stelling, my father said to me one night, when we were sitting by the +fire together, and no one else was in the room----" + +Tom hesitated a little, and then went on. + +"He said something to me about Maggie, and then he said: 'I've always +been good to my sister, though she married against my will, and I've +lent Moss money; but I shall never think of distressing him to pay it; +I'd rather lose it. My children must not mind being the poorer for +that.' And now my father's ill, and not able to speak for himself, I +shouldn't like anything to be done contrary to what he said to me." + +"Well, but then, my boy," said Uncle Glegg, whose good feeling led him +to enter into Tom's wish, but who could not at once shake off his +habitual abhorrence of such recklessness as destroying securities, or +alienating anything important enough to make an appreciable difference +in a man's property, "we should have to make away wi' the note, you +know, if we're to guard against what may happen, supposing your +father's made bankrupt----" + +"Mr. Glegg," interrupted his wife, severely, "mind what you're saying. +You're putting yourself very forrard in other folks's business. If you +speak rash, don't say it was my fault." + +"That's such a thing as I never heared of before," said uncle Pullet, +who had been making haste with his lozenge in order to express his +amazement,--"making away with a note! I should think anybody could set +the constable on you for it." + +"Well, but," said Mrs. Tulliver, "if the note's worth all that money, +why can't we pay it away, and save my things from going away? We've no +call to meddle with your uncle and aunt Moss, Tom, if you think your +father 'ud be angry when he gets well." + +Mrs. Tulliver had not studied the question of exchange, and was +straining her mind after original ideas on the subject. + +"Pooh, pooh, pooh! you women don't understand these things," said +uncle Glegg. "There's no way o' making it safe for Mr. and Mrs. Moss +but destroying the note." + +"Then I hope you'll help me do it, uncle," said Tom, earnestly. "If my +father shouldn't get well, I should be very unhappy to think anything +had been done against his will that I could hinder. And I'm sure he +meant me to remember what he said that evening. I ought to obey my +father's wish about his property." + +Even Mrs. Glegg could not withhold her approval from Tom's words; she +felt that the Dodson blood was certainly speaking in him, though, if +his father had been a Dodson, there would never have been this wicked +alienation of money. Maggie would hardly have restrained herself from +leaping on Tom's neck, if her aunt Moss had not prevented her by +herself rising and taking Tom's hand, while she said, with rather a +choked voice: + +"You'll never be the poorer for this, my dear boy, if there's a God +above; and if the money's wanted for your father, Moss and me 'ull pay +it, the same as if there was ever such security. We'll do as we'd be +done by; for if my children have got no other luck, they've got an +honest father and mother." + +"Well," said Mr. Glegg, who had been meditating after Tom's words, "we +shouldn't be doing any wrong by the creditors, supposing your father +_was_ bankrupt. I've been thinking o' that, for I've been a creditor +myself, and seen no end o' cheating. If he meant to give your aunt the +money before ever he got into this sad work o' lawing, it's the same +as if he'd made away with the note himself; for he'd made up his mind +to be that much poorer. But there's a deal o' things to be considered, +young man," Mr. Glegg added, looking admonishingly at Tom, "when you +come to money business, and you may be taking one man's dinner away to +make another man's breakfast. You don't understand that, I doubt?" + +"Yes, I do," said Tom, decidedly. "I know if I owe money to one man, +I've no right to give it to another. But if my father had made up his +mind to give my aunt the money before he was in debt, he had a right +to do it." + +"Well done, young man! I didn't think you'd been so sharp," said uncle +Glegg, with much candor. "But perhaps your father _did_ make away with +the note. Let us go and see if we can find it in the chest." + +"It's in my father's room. Let us go too, aunt Gritty," whispered +Maggie. + + + +Chapter IV + +A Vanishing Gleam + + +Mr. Tulliver, even between the fits of spasmodic rigidity which had +recurred at intervals ever since he had been found fallen from his +horse, was usually in so apathetic a condition that the exits and +entrances into his room were not felt to be of great importance. He +had lain so still, with his eyes closed, all this morning, that Maggie +told her aunt Moss she must not expect her father to take any notice +of them. + +They entered very quietly, and Mrs. Moss took her seat near the head +of the bed, while Maggie sat in her old place on the bed, and put her +hand on her father's without causing any change in his face. + +Mr. Glegg and Tom had also entered, treading softly, and were busy +selecting the key of the old oak chest from the bunch which Tom had +brought from his father's bureau. They succeeded in opening the +chest,--which stood opposite the foot of Mr. Tulliver's bed,--and +propping the lid with the iron holder, without much noise. + +"There's a tin box," whispered Mr. Glegg; "he'd most like put a small +thing like a note in there. Lift it out, Tom; but I'll just lift up +these deeds,--they're the deeds o' the house and mill, I suppose,--and +see what there is under 'em." + +Mr. Glegg had lifted out the parchments, and had fortunately drawn +back a little, when the iron holder gave way, and the heavy lid fell +with a loud bang that resounded over the house. + +Perhaps there was something in that sound more than the mere fact of +the strong vibration that produced the instantaneous effect on the +frame of the prostrate man, and for the time completely shook off the +obstruction of paralysis. The chest had belonged to his father and his +father's father, and it had always been rather a solemn business to +visit it. All long-known objects, even a mere window fastening or a +particular door-latch, have sounds which are a sort of recognized +voice to us,--a voice that will thrill and awaken, when it has been +used to touch deep-lying fibres. In the same moment, when all the eyes +in the room were turned upon him, he started up and looked at the +chest, the parchments in Mr. Glegg's hand, and Tom holding the tin +box, with a glance of perfect consciousness and recognition. + +"What are you going to do with those deeds?" he said, in his ordinary +tone of sharp questioning whenever he was irritated. "Come here, Tom. +What do you do, going to my chest?" + +Tom obeyed, with some trembling; it was the first time his father had +recognized him. But instead of saying anything more to him, his father +continued to look with a growing distinctness of suspicion at Mr. +Glegg and the deeds. + +"What's been happening, then?" he said sharply. "What are you meddling +with my deeds for? Is Wakem laying hold of everything? Why don't you +tell me what you've been a-doing?" he added impatiently, as Mr. Glegg +advanced to the foot of the bed before speaking. + +"No, no, friend Tulliver," said Mr. Glegg, in a soothing tone. +"Nobody's getting hold of anything as yet. We only came to look and +see what was in the chest. You've been ill, you know, and we've had to +look after things a bit. But let's hope you'll soon be well enough to +attend to everything yourself." + +Mr. Tulliver looked around him meditatively, at Tom, at Mr. Glegg, and +at Maggie; then suddenly appearing aware that some one was seated by +his side at the head of the bed he turned sharply round and saw his +sister. + +"Eh, Gritty!" he said, in the half-sad, affectionate tone in which he +had been wont to speak to her. "What! you're there, are you? How could +you manage to leave the children?" + +"Oh, brother!" said good Mrs. Moss, too impulsive to be prudent, "I'm +thankful I'm come now to see you yourself again; I thought you'd never +know us any more." + +"What! have I had a stroke?" said Mr. Tulliver, anxiously, looking at +Mr. Glegg. + +"A fall from your horse--shook you a bit,--that's all, I think," said +Mr. Glegg. "But you'll soon get over it, let's hope." + +Mr. Tulliver fixed his eyes on the bed-clothes, and remained silent +for two or three minutes. A new shadow came over his face. He looked +up at Maggie first, and said in a lower tone, "You got the letter, +then, my wench?" + +"Yes, father," she said, kissing him with a full heart. She felt as if +her father were come back to her from the dead, and her yearning to +show him how she had always loved him could be fulfilled. + +"Where's your mother?" he said, so preoccupied that he received the +kiss as passively as some quiet animal might have received it. + +"She's downstairs with my aunts, father. Shall I fetch her?" + +"Ay, ay; poor Bessy!" and his eyes turned toward Tom as Maggie left +the room. + +"You'll have to take care of 'em both if I die, you know, Tom. You'll +be badly off, I doubt. But you must see and pay everybody. And +mind,--there's fifty pound o' Luke's as I put into the business,--he +gave me a bit at a time, and he's got nothing to show for it. You must +pay him first thing." + +Uncle Glegg involuntarily shook his head, and looked more concerned +than ever, but Tom said firmly: + +"Yes, father. And haven't you a note from my uncle Moss for three +hundred pounds? We came to look for that. What do you wish to be done +about it, father?" + +"Ah! I'm glad you thought o' that, my lad," said Mr. Tulliver. "I +allays meant to be easy about that money, because o' your aunt. You +mustn't mind losing the money, if they can't pay it,--and it's like +enough they can't. The note's in that box, mind! I allays meant to be +good to you, Gritty," said Mr. Tulliver, turning to his sister; "but +you know you aggravated me when you would have Moss." + +At this moment Maggie re-entered with her mother, who came in much +agitated by the news that her husband was quite himself again. + +"Well, Bessy," he said, as she kissed him, "you must forgive me if +you're worse off than you ever expected to be. But it's the fault o' +the law,--it's none o' mine," he added angrily. "It's the fault o' +raskills. Tom, you mind this: if ever you've got the chance, you make +Wakem smart. If you don't, you're a good-for-nothing son. You might +horse-whip him, but he'd set the law on you,--the law's made to take +care o' raskills." + +Mr. Tulliver was getting excited, and an alarming flush was on his +face. Mr. Glegg wanted to say something soothing, but he was prevented +by Mr. Tulliver's speaking again to his wife. "They'll make a shift to +pay everything, Bessy," he said, "and yet leave you your furniture; +and your sisters'll do something for you--and Tom'll grow up--though +what he's to be I don't know--I've done what I could--I've given him a +eddication--and there's the little wench, she'll get married--but it's +a poor tale----" + +The sanative effect of the strong vibration was exhausted, and with +the last words the poor man fell again, rigid and insensible. Though +this was only a recurrence of what had happened before, it struck all +present as if it had been death, not only from its contrast with the +completeness of the revival, but because his words had all had +reference to the possibility that his death was near. But with poor +Tulliver death was not to be a leap; it was to be a long descent under +thickening shadows. + +Mr. Turnbull was sent for; but when he heard what had passed, he said +this complete restoration, though only temporary, was a hopeful sign, +proving that there was no permanent lesion to prevent ultimate +recovery. + +Among the threads of the past which the stricken man had gathered up, +he had omitted the bill of sale; the flash of memory had only lit up +prominent ideas, and he sank into forgetfulness again with half his +humiliation unlearned. + +But Tom was clear upon two points,--that his uncle Moss's note must be +destroyed; and that Luke's money must be paid, if in no other way, out +of his own and Maggie's money now in the savings bank. There were +subjects, you perceive, on which Tom was much quicker than on the +niceties of classical construction, or the relations of a mathematical +demonstration. + + + +Chapter V + +Tom Applies His Knife to the Oyster + + +The next day, at ten o'clock, Tom was on his way to St. Ogg's, to see +his uncle Deane, who was to come home last night, his aunt had said; +and Tom had made up his mind that his uncle Deane was the right person +to ask for advice about getting some employment. He was in a great way +of business; he had not the narrow notions of uncle Glegg; and he had +risen in the world on a scale of advancement which accorded with Tom's +ambition. + +It was a dark, chill, misty morning, likely to end in rain,--one of +those mornings when even happy people take refuge in their hopes. And +Tom was very unhappy; he felt the humiliation as well as the +prospective hardships of his lot with all the keenness of a proud +nature; and with all his resolute dutifulness toward his father there +mingled an irrepressible indignation against him which gave misfortune +the less endurable aspect of a wrong. Since these were the +consequences of going to law, his father was really blamable, as his +aunts and uncles had always said he was; and it was a significant +indication of Tom's character, that though he thought his aunts ought +to do something more for his mother, he felt nothing like Maggie's +violent resentment against them for showing no eager tenderness and +generosity. There were no impulses in Tom that led him to expect what +did not present itself to him as a right to be demanded. Why should +people give away their money plentifully to those who had not taken +care of their own money? Tom saw some justice in severity; and all the +more, because he had confidence in himself that he should never +deserve that just severity. It was very hard upon him that he should +be put at this disadvantage in life by his father's want of prudence; +but he was not going to complain and to find fault with people because +they did not make everything easy for him. He would ask no one to help +him, more than to give him work and pay him for it. Poor Tom was not +without his hopes to take refuge in under the chill damp imprisonment +of the December fog, which seemed only like a part of his home +troubles. At sixteen, the mind that has the strongest affinity for +fact cannot escape illusion and self-flattery; and Tom, in sketching +his future, had no other guide in arranging his facts than the +suggestions of his own brave self-reliance. Both Mr. Glegg and Mr. +Deane, he knew, had been very poor once; he did not want to save money +slowly and retire on a moderate fortune like his uncle Glegg, but he +would be like his uncle Deane--get a situation in some great house of +business and rise fast. He had scarcely seen anything of his uncle +Deane for the last three years--the two families had been getting +wider apart; but for this very reason Tom was the more hopeful about +applying to him. His uncle Glegg, he felt sure, would never encourage +any spirited project, but he had a vague imposing idea of the +resources at his uncle Deane's command. He had heard his father say, +long ago, how Deane had made himself so valuable to Guest & Co. that +they were glad enough to offer him a share in the business; that was +what Tom resolved _he_ would do. It was intolerable to think of being +poor and looked down upon all one's life. He would provide for his +mother and sister, and make every one say that he was a man of high +character. He leaped over the years in this way, and, in the haste of +strong purpose and strong desire, did not see how they would be made +up of slow days, hours, and minutes. + +By the time he had crossed the stone bridge over the Floss and was +entering St. Ogg's, he was thinking that he would buy his father's +mill and land again when he was rich enough, and improve the house and +live there; he should prefer it to any smarter, newer place, and he +could keep as many horses and dogs as he liked. + +Walking along the street with a firm, rapid step, at this point in his +reverie he was startled by some one who had crossed without his +notice, and who said to him in a rough, familiar voice: + +"Why, Master Tom, how's your father this morning?" It was a publican +of St. Ogg's, one of his father's customers. + +Tom disliked being spoken to just then; but he said civilly, "He's +still very ill, thank you." + +"Ay, it's been a sore chance for you, young man, hasn't it,--this +lawsuit turning out against him?" said the publican, with a confused, +beery idea of being good-natured. + +Tom reddened and passed on; he would have felt it like the handling of +a bruise, even if there had been the most polite and delicate +reference to his position. + +"That's Tulliver's son," said the publican to a grocer standing on the +adjacent door-step. + +"Ah!" said the grocer, "I thought I knew his features. He takes after +his mother's family; she was a Dodson. He's a fine, straight youth; +what's he been brought up to?" + +"Oh! to turn up his nose at his father's customers, and be a fine +gentleman,--not much else, I think." + +Tom, roused from his dream of the future to a thorough consciousness +of the present, made all the greater haste to reach the warehouse +offices of Guest & Co., where he expected to find his uncle Deane. But +this was Mr. Deane's morning at the band, a clerk told him, and with +some contempt for his ignorance; Mr. Deane was not to be found in +River Street on a Thursday morning. + +At the bank Tom was admitted into the private room where his uncle +was, immediately after sending in his name. Mr. Deane was auditing +accounts; but he looked up as Tom entered, and putting out his hand, +said, "Well, Tom, nothing fresh the matter at home, I hope? How's your +father?" + +"Much the same, thank you, uncle," said Tom, feeling nervous. "But I +want to speak to you, please, when you're at liberty." + +"Sit down, sit down," said Mr. Deane, relapsing into his accounts, in +which he and the managing-clerk remained so absorbed for the next +half-hour that Tom began to wonder whether he should have to sit in +this way till the bank closed,--there seemed so little tendency toward +a conclusion in the quiet, monotonous procedure of these sleek, +prosperous men of business. Would his uncle give him a place in the +bank? It would be very dull, prosy work, he thought, writing there +forever to the loud ticking of a timepiece. He preferred some other +way of getting rich. But at last there was a change; his uncle took a +pen and wrote something with a flourish at the end. + +"You'll just step up to Torry's now, Mr. Spence, will you?" said Mr. +Deane, and the clock suddenly became less loud and deliberate in Tom's +ears. + +"Well, Tom," said Mr. Deane, when they were alone, turning his +substantial person a little in his chair, and taking out his +snuff-box; "what's the business, my boy; what's the business?" Mr. +Deane, who had heard from his wife what had passed the day before, +thought Tom was come to appeal to him for some means of averting the +sale. + +"I hope you'll excuse me for troubling you, uncle," said Tom, +coloring, but speaking in a tone which, though, tremulous, had a +certain proud independence in it; "but I thought you were the best +person to advise me what to do." + +"Ah!" said Mr. Deane, reserving his pinch of snuff, and looking at Tom +with new attention, "let us hear." + +"I want to get a situation, uncle, so that I may earn some money," +said Tom, who never fell into circumlocution. + +"A situation?" said Mr. Deane, and then took his pinch of snuff with +elaborate justice to each nostril. Tom thought snuff-taking a most +provoking habit. + +"Why, let me see, how old are you?" said Mr. Deane, as he threw +himself backward again. + +"Sixteen; I mean, I am going in seventeen," said Tom, hoping his uncle +noticed how much beard he had. + +"Let me see; your father had some notion of making you an engineer, I +think?" + +"But I don't think I could get any money at that for a long while, +could I?" + +"That's true; but people don't get much money at anything, my boy, +when they're only sixteen. You've had a good deal of schooling, +however; I suppose you're pretty well up in accounts, eh? You +understand book keeping?" + +"No," said Tom, rather falteringly. "I was in Practice. But Mr. +Stelling says I write a good hand, uncle. That's my writing," added +Tom, laying on the table a copy of the list he had made yesterday. + +"Ah! that's good, that's good. But, you see, the best hand in the +world'll not get you a better place than a copying-clerk's, if you +know nothing of book-keeping,--nothing of accounts. And a +copying-clerk's a cheap article. But what have you been learning at +school, then?" + +Mr. Deane had not occupied himself with methods of education, and had +no precise conception of what went forward in expensive schools. + +"We learned Latin," said Tom, pausing a little between each item, as +if he were turning over the books in his school-desk to assist his +memory,--"a good deal of Latin; and the last year I did Themes, one +week in Latin and one in English; and Greek and Roman history; and +Euclid; and I began Algebra, but I left it off again; and we had one +day every week for Arithmetic. Then I used to have drawing-lessons; +and there were several other books we either read or learned out +of,--English Poetry, and Horæ Paulinæ and Blair's Rhetoric, the last +half." + +Mr. Deane tapped his snuff-box again and screwed up his mouth; he felt +in the position of many estimable persons when they had read the New +Tariff, and found how many commodities were imported of which they +knew nothing; like a cautious man of business, he was not going to +speak rashly of a raw material in which he had had no experience. But +the presumption was, that if it had been good for anything, so +successful a man as himself would hardly have been ignorant of it. + +About Latin he had an opinion, and thought that in case of another +war, since people would no longer wear hair-powder, it would be well +to put a tax upon Latin, as a luxury much run upon by the higher +classes, and not telling at all on the ship-owning department. But, +for what he knew, the Horæ Paulinæ might be something less neutral. On +the whole, this list of acquirements gave him a sort of repulsion +toward poor Tom. + +"Well," he said at last, in rather a cold, sardonic tone, "you've had +three years at these things,--you must be pretty strong in 'em. Hadn't +you better take up some line where they'll come in handy?" + +Tom colored, and burst out, with new energy: + +"I'd rather not have any employment of that sort, uncle. I don't like +Latin and those things. I don't know what I could do with them unless +I went as usher in a school; and I don't know them well enough for +that! besides, I would as soon carry a pair of panniers. I don't want +to be that sort of person. I should like to enter into some business +where I can get on,--a manly business, where I should have to look +after things, and get credit for what I did. And I shall want to keep +my mother and sister." + +"Ah, young gentleman," said Mr. Deane, with that tendency to repress +youthful hopes which stout and successful men of fifty find one of +their easiest duties, "that's sooner said than done,--sooner said than +done." + +"But didn't _you_ get on in that way, uncle?" said Tom, a little +irritated that Mr. Deane did not enter more rapidly into his views. "I +mean, didn't you rise from one place to another through your abilities +and good conduct?" + +"Ay, ay, sir," said Mr. Deane, spreading himself in his chair a +little, and entering with great readiness into a retrospect of his own +career. "But I'll tell you how I got on. It wasn't by getting astride +a stick and thinking it would turn into a horse if I sat on it long +enough. I kept my eyes and ears open, sir, and I wasn't too fond of my +own back, and I made my master's interest my own. Why, with only +looking into what went on in the mill, I found out how there was a +waste of five hundred a-year that might be hindered. Why, sir, I +hadn't more schooling to begin with than a charity boy; but I saw +pretty soon that I couldn't get on far enough without mastering +accounts, and I learned 'em between working hours, after I'd been +unlading. Look here." Mr. Deane opened a book and pointed to the page. +"I write a good hand enough, and I'll match anybody at all sorts of +reckoning by the head; and I got it all by hard work, and paid for it +out of my own earnings,--often out of my own dinner and supper. And I +looked into the nature of all the things we had to do in the business, +and picked up knowledge as I went about my work, and turned it over in +my head. Why, I'm no mechanic,--I never pretended to be--but I've +thought of a thing or two that the mechanics never thought of, and +it's made a fine difference in our returns. And there isn't an article +shipped or unshipped at our wharf but I know the quality of it. If I +got places, sir, it was because I made myself fit for 'em. If you want +to slip into a round hole, you must make a ball of yourself; that's +where it is." + +Mr. Deane tapped his box again. He had been led on by pure enthusiasm +in his subject, and had really forgotten what bearing this +retrospective survey had on his listener. He had found occasion for +saying the same thing more than once before, and was not distinctly +aware that he had not his port-wine before him. + +"Well, uncle," said Tom, with a slight complaint in his tone, "that's +what I should like to do. Can't _I_ get on in the same way?" + +"In the same way?" said Mr. Deane, eyeing Tom with quiet deliberation. +"There go two or three questions to that, Master Tom. That depends on +what sort of material you are, to begin with, and whether you've been +put into the right mill. But I'll tell you what it is. Your poor +father went the wrong way to work in giving you an education. It +wasn't my business, and I didn't interfere; but it is as I thought it +would be. You've had a sort of learning that's all very well for a +young fellow like our Mr. Stephen Guest, who'll have nothing to do but +sign checks all his life, and may as well have Latin inside his head +as any other sort of stuffing." + +"But, uncle," said Tom, earnestly, "I don't see why the Latin need +hinder me from getting on in business. I shall soon forget it all; it +makes no difference to me. I had to do my lessons at school, but I +always thought they'd never be of any use to me afterward; I didn't +care about them." + +"Ay, ay, that's all very well," said Mr. Deane; "but it doesn't alter +what I was going to say. Your Latin and rigmarole may soon dry off +you, but you'll be but a bare stick after that. Besides, it's whitened +your hands and taken the rough work out of you. And what do you know? +Why, you know nothing about book-keeping, to begin with, and not so +much of reckoning as a common shopman. You'll have to begin at a low +round of the ladder, let me tell you, if you mean to get on in life. +It's no use forgetting the education your father's been paying for, if +you don't give yourself a new un." + +Tom bit his lips hard; he felt as if the tears were rising, and he +would rather die than let them. + +"You want me to help you to a situation," Mr. Deane went on; "well, +I've no fault to find with that. I'm willing to do something for you. +But you youngsters nowadays think you're to begin with living well and +working easy; you've no notion of running afoot before you get +horseback. Now, you must remember what you are,--you're a lad of +sixteen, trained to nothing particular. There's heaps of your sort, +like so many pebbles, made to fit in nowhere. Well, you might be +apprenticed to some business,--a chemist's and druggist's perhaps; +your Latin might come in a bit there----" + +Tom was going to speak, but Mr. Deane put up his hand and said: + +"Stop! hear what I've got to say. You don't want to be a 'prentice,--I +know, I know,--you want to make more haste, and you don't want to +stand behind a counter. But if you're a copying-clerk, you'll have to +stand behind a desk, and stare at your ink and paper all day; there +isn't much out-look there, and you won't be much wiser at the end of +the year than at the beginning. The world isn't made of pen, ink, and +paper, and if you're to get on in the world, young man, you must know +what the world's made of. Now the best chance for you 'ud be to have a +place on a wharf, or in a warehouse, where you'd learn the smell of +things, but you wouldn't like that, I'll be bound; you'd have to stand +cold and wet, and be shouldered about by rough fellows. You're too +fine a gentleman for that." + +Mr. Deane paused and looked hard at Tom, who certainly felt some +inward struggle before he could reply. + +"I would rather do what will be best for me in the end, sir; I would +put up with what was disagreeable." + +"That's well, if you can carry it out. But you must remember it isn't +only laying hold of a rope, you must go on pulling. It's the mistake +you lads make that have got nothing either in your brains or your +pocket, to think you've got a better start in the world if you stick +yourselves in a place where you can keep your coats clean, and have +the shopwenches take you for fine gentlemen. That wasn't the way _I_ +started, young man; when I was sixteen, my jacket smelt of tar, and I +wasn't afraid of handling cheeses. That's the reason I can wear good +broadcloth now, and have my legs under the same table with the head +of the best firms in St. Ogg's." + +Uncle Deane tapped his box, and seemed to expand a little under his +waistcoat and gold chain, as he squared his shoulders in the chair. + +"Is there any place at liberty that you know of now, uncle, that I +should do for? I should like to set to work at once," said Tom, with a +slight tremor in his voice. + +"Stop a bit, stop a bit; we mustn't be in too great a hurry. You must +bear in mind, if I put you in a place you're a bit young for, because +you happen to be my nephew, I shall be responsible for you. And +there's no better reason, you know, than your being my nephew; because +it remains to be seen whether you're good for anything." + +"I hope I shall never do you any discredit, uncle," said Tom, hurt, as +all boys are at the statement of the unpleasant truth that people feel +no ground for trusting them. "I care about my own credit too much for +that." + +"Well done, Tom, well done! That's the right spirit, and I never +refuse to help anybody if they've a mind to do themselves justice. +There's a young man of two-and-twenty I've got my eye on now. I shall +do what I can for that young man; he's got some pith in him. But then, +you see, he's made good use of his time,--a first-rate calculator,-- +can tell you the cubic contents of anything in no time, and put me up +the other day to a new market for Swedish bark; he's uncommonly +knowing in manufactures, that young fellow." + +"I'd better set about learning book-keeping, hadn't I, uncle?" said +Tom, anxious to prove his readiness to exert himself. + +"Yes, yes, you can't do amiss there. But--Ah, Spence, you're back +again. Well Tom, there's nothing more to be said just now, I think, +and I must go to business again. Good-by. Remember me to your mother." + +Mr. Deane put out his hand, with an air of friendly dismissal, and Tom +had not courage to ask another question, especially in the presence of +Mr. Spence. So he went out again into the cold damp air. He had to +call at his uncle Glegg's about the money in the Savings Bank, and by +the time he set out again the mist had thickened, and he could not see +very far before him; but going along River Street again, he was +startled, when he was within two yards of the projecting side of a +shop-window, by the words "Dorlcote Mill" in large letters on a +hand-bill, placed as if on purpose to stare at him. It was the +catalogue of the sale to take place the next week; it was a reason for +hurrying faster out of the town. + +Poor Tom formed no visions of the distant future as he made his way +homeward; he only felt that the present was very hard. It seemed a +wrong toward him that his uncle Deane had no confidence in him,--did +not see at once that he should acquit himself well, which Tom himself +was as certain of as of the daylight. Apparently he, Tom Tulliver, was +likely to be held of small account in the world; and for the first +time he felt a sinking of heart under the sense that he really was +very ignorant, and could do very little. Who was that enviable young +man that could tell the cubic contents of things in no time, and make +suggestions about Swedish bark! Tom had been used to be so entirely +satisfied with himself, in spite of his breaking down in a +demonstration, and construing _nunc illas promite vires_ as "now +promise those men"; but now he suddenly felt at a disadvantage, +because he knew less than some one else knew. There must be a world of +things connected with that Swedish bark, which, if he only knew them, +might have helped him to get on. It would have been much easier to +make a figure with a spirited horse and a new saddle. + +Two hours ago, as Tom was walking to St. Ogg's, he saw the distant +future before him as he might have seen a tempting stretch of smooth +sandy beach beyond a belt of flinty shingles; he was on the grassy +bank then, and thought the shingles might soon be passed. But now his +feet were on the sharp stones; the belt of shingles had widened, and +the stretch of sand had dwindled into narrowness. + +"What did my Uncle Deane say, Tom?" said Maggie, putting her arm +through Tom's as he was warming himself rather drearily by the kitchen +fire. "Did he say he would give you a situation?" + +"No, he didn't say that. He didn't quite promise me anything; he +seemed to think I couldn't have a very good situation. I'm too young." + +"But didn't he speak kindly, Tom?" + +"Kindly? Pooh! what's the use of talking about that? I wouldn't care +about his speaking kindly, if I could get a situation. But it's such a +nuisance and bother; I've been at school all this while learning Latin +and things,--not a bit of good to me,--and now my uncle says I must +set about learning book-keeping and calculation, and those things. He +seems to make out I'm good for nothing." + +Tom's mouth twitched with a bitter expression as he looked at the +fire. + +"Oh, what a pity we haven't got Dominie Sampson!" said Maggie, who +couldn't help mingling some gayety with their sadness. "If he had +taught me book-keeping by double entry and after the Italian method, +as he did Lucy Bertram, I could teach you, Tom." + +"_You_ teach! Yes, I dare say. That's always the tone you take," said +Tom. + +"Dear Tom, I was only joking," said Maggie, putting her cheek against +his coat-sleeve. + +"But it's always the same, Maggie," said Tom, with the little frown he +put on when he was about to be justifiably severe. "You're always +setting yourself up above me and every one else, and I've wanted to +tell you about it several times. You ought not to have spoken as you +did to my uncles and aunts; you should leave it to me to take care of +my mother and you, and not put yourself forward. You think you know +better than any one, but you're almost always wrong. I can judge much +better than you can." + +Poor Tom! he had just come from being lectured and made to feel his +inferiority; the reaction of his strong, self-asserting nature must +take place somehow; and here was a case in which he could justly show +himself dominant. Maggie's cheek flushed and her lip quivered with +conflicting resentment and affection, and a certain awe as well as +admiration of Tom's firmer and more effective character. She did not +answer immediately; very angry words rose to her lips, but they were +driven back again, and she said at last: + +"You often think I'm conceited, Tom, when I don't mean what I say at +all in that way. I don't mean to put myself above you; I know you +behaved better than I did yesterday. But you are always so harsh to +me, Tom." + +With the last words the resentment was rising again. + +"No, I'm not harsh," said Tom, with severe decision. "I'm always kind +to you, and so I shall be; I shall always take care of you. But you +must mind what I say." + +Their mother came in now, and Maggie rushed away, that her burst of +tears, which she felt must come, might not happen till she was safe +upstairs. They were very bitter tears; everybody in the world seemed +so hard and unkind to Maggie; there was no indulgence, no fondness, +such as she imagined when she fashioned the world afresh in her own +thoughts. In books there were people who were always agreeable or +tender, and delighted to do things that made one happy, and who did +not show their kindness by finding fault. The world outside the books +was not a happy one, Maggie felt; it seemed to be a world where people +behaved the best to those they did not pretend to love, and that did +not belong to them. And if life had no love in it, what else was there +for Maggie? Nothing but poverty and the companionship of her mother's +narrow griefs, perhaps of her father's heart-cutting childish +dependence. There is no hopelessness so sad as that of early youth, +when the soul is made up of wants, and has no long memories, no +superadded life in the life of others; though we who looked on think +lightly of such premature despair, as if our vision of the future +lightened the blind sufferer's present. + +Maggie, in her brown frock, with her eyes reddened and her heavy hair +pushed back, looking from the bed where her father lay to the dull +walls of this sad chamber which was the centre of her world, was a +creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful +and glad; thirsty for all knowledge; with an ear straining after +dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her; with a +blind, unconscious yearning for something that would link together the +wonderful impressions of this mysterious life, and give her soul a +sense of home in it. + +No wonder, when there is this contrast between the outward and the +inward, that painful collisions come of it. + + + +Chapter VI + +Tending to Refute the Popular Prejudice against the Present of a +Pocket-Knife + + +In that dark time of December, the sale of the household furniture +lasted beyond the middle of the second day. Mr. Tulliver, who had +begun, in his intervals of consciousness, to manifest an irritability +which often appeared to have as a direct effect the recurrence of +spasmodic rigidity and insensibility, had lain in this living death +throughout the critical hours when the noise of the sale came nearest +to his chamber. Mr. Turnbull had decided that it would be a less risk +to let him remain where he was than to remove him to Luke's +cottage,--a plan which the good Luke had proposed to Mrs. Tulliver, +thinking it would be very bad if the master were "to waken up" at the +noise of the sale; and the wife and children had sat imprisoned in the +silent chamber, watching the large prostrate figure on the bed, and +trembling lest the blank face should suddenly show some response to +the sounds which fell on their own ears with such obstinate, painful +repetition. + +But it was over at last, that time of importunate certainty and +eye-straining suspense. The sharp sound of a voice, almost as metallic +as the rap that followed it, had ceased; the tramping of footsteps on +the gravel had died out. Mrs. Tulliver's blond face seemed aged ten +years by the last thirty hours; the poor woman's mind had been busy +divining when her favorite things were being knocked down by the +terrible hammer; her heart had been fluttering at the thought that +first one thing and then another had gone to be identified as hers in +the hateful publicity of the Golden Lion; and all the while she had to +sit and make no sign of this inward agitation. Such things bring lines +in well-rounded faces, and broaden the streaks of white among the +hairs that once looked as if they had been dipped in pure sunshine. +Already, at three o'clock, Kezia, the good-hearted, bad-tempered +housemaid, who regarded all people that came to the sale as her +personal enemies, the dirt on whose feet was of a peculiarly vile +quality, had begun to scrub and swill with an energy much assisted by +a continual low muttering against "folks as came to buy up other +folk's things," and made light of "scrazing" the tops of mahogany +tables over which better folks than themselves had had to--suffer a +waste of tissue through evaporation. She was not scrubbing +indiscriminately, for there would be further dirt of the same +atrocious kind made by people who had still to fetch away their +purchases; but she was bent on bringing the parlor, where that +"pipe-smoking pig," the bailiff, had sat, to such an appearance of +scant comfort as could be given to it by cleanliness and the few +articles of furniture bought in for the family. Her mistress and the +young folks should have their tea in it that night, Kezia was +determined. + +It was between five and six o'clock, near the usual teatime, when she +came upstairs and said that Master Tom was wanted. The person who +wanted him was in the kitchen, and in the first moments, by the +imperfect fire and candle light, Tom had not even an indefinite sense +of any acquaintance with the rather broad-set but active figure, +perhaps two years older than himself, that looked at him with a pair +of blue eyes set in a disc of freckles, and pulled some curly red +locks with a strong intention of respect. A low-crowned +oilskin-covered hat, and a certain shiny deposit of dirt on the rest +of the costume, as of tablets prepared for writing upon, suggested a +calling that had to do with boats; but this did not help Tom's memory. + +"Sarvant, Master Tom," said he of the red locks, with a smile which +seemed to break through a self-imposed air of melancholy. "You don't +know me again, I doubt," he went on, as Tom continued to look at him +inquiringly; "but I'd like to talk to you by yourself a bit, please." + +"There's a fire i' the parlor, Master Tom," said Kezia, who objected +to leaving the kitchen in the crisis of toasting. + +"Come this way, then," said Tom, wondering if this young fellow +belonged to Guest & Co.'s Wharf, for his imagination ran continually +toward that particular spot; and uncle Deane might any time be sending +for him to say that there was a situation at liberty. + +The bright fire in the parlor was the only light that showed the few +chairs, the bureau, the carpetless floor, and the one table--no, not +the _one_ table; there was a second table, in a corner, with a large +Bible and a few other books upon it. It was this new strange bareness +that Tom felt first, before he thought of looking again at the face +which was also lit up by the fire, and which stole a half-shy, +questioning glance at him as the entirely strange voice said: + +"Why! you don't remember Bob, then, as you gen the pocket-knife to, +Mr. Tom?" + +The rough-handled pocket-knife was taken out in the same moment, and +the largest blade opened by way of irresistible demonstration. + +"What! Bob Jakin?" said Tom, not with any cordial delight, for he felt +a little ashamed of that early intimacy symbolized by the +pocket-knife, and was not at all sure that Bob's motives for recalling +it were entirely admirable. + +"Ay, ay, Bob Jakin, if Jakin it must be, 'cause there's so many Bobs +as you went arter the squerrils with, that day as I plumped right down +from the bough, and bruised my shins a good un--but I got the squerril +tight for all that, an' a scratter it was. An' this littlish blade's +broke, you see, but I wouldn't hev a new un put in, 'cause they might +be cheatin' me an' givin' me another knife instid, for there isn't +such a blade i' the country,--it's got used to my hand, like. An' +there was niver nobody else gen me nothin' but what I got by my own +sharpness, only you, Mr. Tom; if it wasn't Bill Fawks as gen me the +terrier pup istid o' drowndin't it, an' I had to jaw him a good un +afore he'd give it me." + +Bob spoke with a sharp and rather treble volubility, and got through +his long speech with surprising despatch, giving the blade of his +knife an affectionate rub on his sleeve when he had finished. + +"Well, Bob," said Tom, with a slight air of patronage, the foregoing +reminscences having disposed him to be as friendly as was becoming, +though there was no part of his acquaintance with Bob that he +remembered better than the cause of their parting quarrel; "is there +anything I can do for you?" + +"Why, no, Mr. Tom," answered Bob, shutting up his knife with a click +and returning it to his pocket, where he seemed to be feeling for +something else. "I shouldn't ha' come back upon you now ye're i' +trouble, an' folks say as the master, as I used to frighten the birds +for, an' he flogged me a bit for fun when he catched me eatin' the +turnip, as they say he'll niver lift up his head no more,--I shouldn't +ha' come now to ax you to gi' me another knife 'cause you gen me one +afore. If a chap gives me one black eye, that's enough for me; I +sha'n't ax him for another afore I sarve him out; an' a good turn's +worth as much as a bad un, anyhow. I shall niver grow down'ards again, +Mr. Tom, an' you war the little chap as I liked the best when _I_ war +a little chap, for all you leathered me, and wouldn't look at me +again. There's Dick Brumby, there, I could leather him as much as I'd +a mind; but lors! you get tired o' leatherin' a chap when you can +niver make him see what you want him to shy at. I'n seen chaps as 'ud +stand starin' at a bough till their eyes shot out, afore they'd see as +a bird's tail warn't a leaf. It's poor work goin' wi' such raff. But +you war allays a rare un at shying, Mr. Tom, an' I could trusten to +you for droppin' down wi' your stick in the nick o' time at a runnin' +rat, or a stoat, or that, when I war a-beatin' the bushes." + +Bob had drawn out a dirty canvas bag, and would perhaps not have +paused just then if Maggie had not entered the room and darted a look +of surprise and curiosity at him, whereupon he pulled his red locks +again with due respect. But the next moment the sense of the altered +room came upon Maggie with a force that overpowered the thought of +Bob's presence. Her eyes had immediately glanced from him to the place +where the bookcase had hung; there was nothing now but the oblong +unfaded space on the wall, and below it the small table with the Bible +and the few other books. + +"Oh, Tom!" she burst out, clasping her hands, "where are the books? I +thought my uncle Glegg said he would buy them. Didn't he? Are those +all they've left us?" + +"I suppose so," said Tom, with a sort of desperate indifference. "Why +should they buy many books when they bought so little furniture?" + +"Oh, but, Tom," said Maggie, her eyes filling with tears, as she +rushed up to the table to see what books had been rescued. "Our dear +old Pilgrim's Progress that you colored with your little paints; and +that picture of Pilgrim with a mantle on, looking just like a +turtle--oh dear!" Maggie went on, half sobbing as she turned over the +few books, "I thought we should never part with that while we lived; +everything is going away from us; the end of our lives will have +nothing in it like the beginning!" + +Maggie turned away from the table and threw herself into a chair, with +the big tears ready to roll down her cheeks, quite blinded to the +presence of Bob, who was looking at her with the pursuant gaze of an +intelligent dumb animal, with perceptions more perfect than his +comprehension. + +"Well, Bob," said Tom, feeling that the subject of the books was +unseasonable, "I suppose you just came to see me because we're in +trouble? That was very good-natured of you." + +"I'll tell you how it is, Master Tom," said Bob, beginning to untwist +his canvas bag. "You see, I'n been with a barge this two 'ear; that's +how I'n been gettin' my livin',--if it wasn't when I was tentin' the +furnace, between whiles, at Torry's mill. But a fortni't ago I'd a +rare bit o' luck,--I allays thought I was a lucky chap, for I niver +set a trap but what I catched something; but this wasn't trap, it was +a fire i' Torry's mill, an' I doused it, else it 'ud set th' oil +alight, an' the genelman gen me ten suvreigns; he gen me 'em himself +last week. An' he said first, I was a sperrited chap,--but I knowed +that afore,--but then he outs wi' the ten suvreigns, an' that war +summat new. Here they are, all but one!" Here Bob emptied the canvas +bag on the table. "An' when I'd got 'em, my head was all of a boil +like a kettle o' broth, thinkin' what sort o' life I should take to, +for there war a many trades I'd thought on; for as for the barge, I'm +clean tired out wi't, for it pulls the days out till they're as long +as pigs' chitterlings. An' I thought first I'd ha' ferrets an' dogs, +an' be a rat-catcher; an' then I thought as I should like a bigger way +o' life, as I didn't know so well; for I'n seen to the bottom o' +rat-catching; an' I thought, an' thought, till at last I settled I'd +be a packman,--for they're knowin' fellers, the packmen are,--an' I'd +carry the lightest things I could i' my pack; an' there'd be a use for +a feller's tongue, as is no use neither wi' rats nor barges. An' I +should go about the country far an' wide, an' come round the women wi' +my tongue, an' get my dinner hot at the public,--lors! it 'ud be a +lovely life!" + +Bob paused, and then said, with defiant decision, as if resolutely +turning his back on that paradisaic picture: + +"But I don't mind about it, not a chip! An' I'n changed one o' the +suvreigns to buy my mother a goose for dinner, an' I'n bought a blue +plush wescoat, an' a sealskin cap,--for if I meant to be a packman, +I'd do it respectable. But I don't mind about it, not a chip! My yead +isn't a turnip, an' I shall p'r'aps have a chance o' dousing another +fire afore long. I'm a lucky chap. So I'll thank you to take the nine +suvreigns, Mr. Tom, and set yoursen up with 'em somehow, if it's true +as the master's broke. They mayn't go fur enough, but they'll help." + +Tom was touched keenly enough to forget his pride and suspicion. + +"You're a very kind fellow, Bob," he said, coloring, with that little +diffident tremor in his voice which gave a certain charm even to Tom's +pride and severity, "and I sha'n't forget you again, though I didn't +know you this evening. But I can't take the nine sovereigns; I should +be taking your little fortune from you, and they wouldn't do me much +good either." + +"Wouldn't they, Mr. Tom?" said Bob, regretfully. "Now don't say so +'cause you think I want 'em. I aren't a poor chap. My mother gets a +good penn'orth wi' picking feathers an' things; an' if she eats +nothin' but bread-an'-water, it runs to fat. An' I'm such a lucky +chap; an' I doubt you aren't quite so lucky, Mr. Tom,--th' old master +isn't, anyhow,--an' so you might take a slice o' my luck, an' no harm +done. Lors! I found a leg o' pork i' the river one day; it had tumbled +out o' one o' them round-sterned Dutchmen, I'll be bound. Come, think +better on it, Mr. Tom, for old 'quinetance' sake, else I shall think +you bear me a grudge." + +Bob pushed the sovereigns forward, but before Tom could speak Maggie, +clasping her hands, and looking penitently at Bob, said: + +"Oh, I'm so sorry, Bob; I never thought you were so good. Why, I think +you're the kindest person in the world!" + +Bob had not been aware of the injurious opinion for which Maggie was +performing an inward act of penitence, but he smiled with pleasure at +this handsome eulogy,--especially from a young lass who, as he +informed his mother that evening, had "such uncommon eyes, they looked +somehow as they made him feel nohow." + +"No, indeed Bob, I can't take them," said Tom; "but don't think I feel +your kindness less because I say no. I don't want to take anything +from anybody, but to work my own way. And those sovereigns wouldn't +help me much--they wouldn't really--if I were to take them. Let me +shake hands with you instead." + +Tom put out his pink palm, and Bob was not slow to place his hard, +grimy hand within it. + +"Let me put the sovereigns in the bag again," said Maggie; "and you'll +come and see us when you've bought your pack, Bob." + +"It's like as if I'd come out o' make believe, o' purpose to show 'em +you," said Bob, with an air of discontent, as Maggie gave him the bag +again, "a-taking 'em back i' this way. I _am_ a bit of a Do, you know; +but it isn't that sort o' Do,--it's on'y when a feller's a big rogue, +or a big flat, I like to let him in a bit, that's all." + +"Now, don't you be up to any tricks, Bob," said Tom, "else you'll get +transported some day." + +"No, no; not me, Mr. Tom," said Bob, with an air of cheerful +confidence. "There's no law again' flea-bites. If I wasn't to take a +fool in now and then, he'd niver get any wiser. But, lors! hev a +suvreign to buy you and Miss summat, on'y for a token--just to match +my pocket-knife." + +While Bob was speaking he laid down the sovereign, and resolutely +twisted up his bag again. Tom pushed back the gold, and said, "No, +indeed, Bob; thank you heartily, but I can't take it." And Maggie, +taking it between her fingers, held it up to Bob and said, more +persuasively: + +"Not now, but perhaps another time. If ever Tom or my father wants +help that you can give, we'll let you know; won't we, Tom? That's what +you would like,--to have us always depend on you as a friend that we +can go to,--isn't it, Bob?" + +"Yes, Miss, and thank you," said Bob, reluctantly taking the money; +"that's what I'd like, anything as you like. An' I wish you good-by, +Miss, and good-luck, Mr. Tom, and thank you for shaking hands wi' me, +_though_ you wouldn't take the money." + +Kezia's entrance, with very black looks, to inquire if she shouldn't +bring in the tea now, or whether the toast was to get hardened to a +brick, was a seasonable check on Bob's flux of words, and hastened his +parting bow. + + + +Chapter VII + +How a Hen Takes to Stratagem + + +The days passed, and Mr. Tulliver showed, at least to the eyes of the +medical man, stronger and stronger symptoms of a gradual return to his +normal condition; the paralytic obstruction was, little by little, +losing its tenacity, and the mind was rising from under it with fitful +struggles, like a living creature making its way from under a great +snowdrift, that slides and slides again, and shuts up the newly made +opening. + +Time would have seemed to creep to the watchers by the bed, if it had +only been measured by the doubtful, distant hope which kept count of +the moments within the chamber; but it was measured for them by a +fast-approaching dread which made the nights come too quickly. While +Mr. Tulliver was slowly becoming himself again, his lot was hastening +toward its moment of most palpable change. The taxing-masters had done +their work like any respectable gunsmith conscientiously preparing the +musket, that, duly pointed by a brave arm, will spoil a life or two. +Allocaturs, filing of bills in Chancery, decrees of sale, are legal +chain-shot or bomb-shells that can never hit a solitary mark, but must +fall with widespread shattering. So deeply inherent is it in this life +of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably +diffusive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and +we can conceive no retribution that does not spread beyond its mark in +pulsations of unmerited pain. + +By the beginning of the second week in January, the bills were out +advertising the sale, under a decree of Chancery, of Mr. Tulliver's +farming and other stock, to be followed by a sale of the mill and +land, held in the proper after-dinner hour at the Golden Lion. The +miller himself, unaware of the lapse of time, fancied himself still in +that first stage of his misfortunes when expedients might be thought +of; and often in his conscious hours talked in a feeble, disjointed +manner of plans he would carry out when he "got well." The wife and +children were not without hope of an issue that would at least save +Mr. Tulliver from leaving the old spot, and seeking an entirely +strange life. For uncle Deane had been induced to interest himself in +this stage of the business. It would not, he acknowledged, be a bad +speculation for Guest & Co. to buy Dorlcote Mill, and carry on the +business, which was a good one, and might be increased by the addition +of steam power; in which case Tulliver might be retained as manager. +Still, Mr. Deane would say nothing decided about the matter; the fact +that Wakem held the mortgage on the land might put it into his head to +bid for the whole estate, and further, to outbid the cautious firm of +Guest &Co., who did not carry on business on sentimental grounds. Mr. +Deane was obliged to tell Mrs. Tulliver something to that effect, when +he rode over to the mill to inspect the books in company with Mrs. +Glegg; for she had observed that "if Guest &Co. would only think about +it, Mr. Tulliver's father and grandfather had been carrying on +Dorlcote Mill long before the oil-mill of that firm had been so much +as thought of." + +Mr. Deane, in reply, doubted whether that was precisely the relation +between the two mills which would determine their value as +investments. As for uncle Glegg, the thing lay quite beyond his +imagination; the good-natured man felt sincere pity for the Tulliver +family, but his money was all locked up in excellent mortgages, and he +could run no risk; that would be unfair to his own relatives; but he +had made up his mind that Tulliver should have some new flannel +waistcoats which he had himself renounced in favor of a more elastic +commodity, and that he would buy Mrs. Tulliver a pound of tea now and +then; it would be a journey which his benevolence delighted in +beforehand, to carry the tea and see her pleasure on being assured it +was the best black. + +Still, it was clear that Mr. Deane was kindly disposed toward the +Tullivers. One day he had brought Lucy, who was come home for the +Christmas holidays, and the little blond angel-head had pressed itself +against Maggie's darker cheek with many kisses and some tears. These +fair slim daughters keep up a tender spot in the heart of many a +respectable partner in a respectable firm, and perhaps Lucy's anxious, +pitying questions about her poor cousins helped to make uncle Deane +more prompt in finding Tom a temporary place in the warehouse, and in +putting him in the way of getting evening lessons in book-keeping and +calculation. + +That might have cheered the lad and fed his hopes a little, if there +had not come at the same time the much-dreaded blow of finding that +his father must be a bankrupt, after all; at least, the creditors must +be asked to take less than their due, which to Tom's untechnical mind +was the same thing as bankruptcy. His father must not only be said to +have "lost his property," but to have "failed,"--the word that carried +the worst obloquy to Tom's mind. For when the defendant's claim for +costs had been satisfied, there would remain the friendly bill of Mr. +Gore, and the deficiency at the bank, as well as the other debts which +would make the assets shrink into unequivocal disproportion; "not more +than ten or twelve shillings in the pound," predicted Mr. Deane, in a +decided tone, tightening his lips; and the words fell on Tom like a +scalding liquied, leaving a continual smart. + +He was sadly in want of something to keep up his spirits a little in +the unpleasant newness of his position,--suddenly transported from the +easy carpeted _ennui_ of study-hours at Mr. Stelling's, and the busy +idleness of castle-building in a "last half" at school, to the +companionship of sacks and hides, and bawling men thundering down +heavy weights at his elbow. The first step toward getting on in the +world was a chill, dusty, noisy affair, and implied going without +one's tea in order to stay in St. Ogg's and have an evening lesson +from a one-armed elderly clerk, in a room smelling strongly of bad +tobacco. Tom's young pink-and-white face had its colors very much +deadened by the time he took off his hat at home, and sat down with +keen hunger to his supper. No wonder he was a little cross if his +mother or Maggie spoke to him. + +But all this while Mrs. Tulliver was brooding over a scheme by which +she, and no one else, would avert the result most to be dreaded, and +prevent Wakem from entertaining the purpose of bidding for the mill. +Imagine a truly respectable and amiable hen, by some portentous +anomaly, taking to reflection and inventing combinations by which she +might prevail on Hodge not to wring her neck, or send her and her +chicks to market; the result could hardly be other than much cackling +and fluttering. Mrs. Tulliver, seeing that everything had gone wrong, +had begun to think she had been too passive in life; and that, if she +had applied her mind to business, and taken a strong resolution now +and then, it would have been all the better for her and her family. +Nobody, it appeared, had thought of going to speak to Wakem on this +business of the mill; and yet, Mrs. Tulliver reflected, it would have +been quite the shortest method of securing the right end. It would +have been of no use, to be sure, for Mr. Tulliver to go,--even if he +had been able and willing,--for he had been "going to law against +Wakem" and abusing him for the last ten years; Wakem was always likely +to have a spite against him. And now that Mrs. Tulliver had come to +the conclusion that her husband was very much in the wrong to bring +her into this trouble, she was inclined to think that his opinion of +Wakem was wrong too. To be sure, Wakem had "put the bailies in the +house, and sold them up"; but she supposed he did that to please the +man that lent Mr. Tulliver the money, for a lawyer had more folks to +please than one, and he wasn't likely to put Mr. Tulliver, who had +gone to law with him, above everybody else in the world. The attorney +might be a very reasonable man; why not? He had married a Miss Clint, +and at the time Mrs. Tulliver had heard of that marriage, the summer +when she wore her blue satin spencer, and had not yet any thoughts of +Mr. Tulliver, she knew no harm of Wakem. And certainly toward herself, +whom he knew to have been a Miss Dodson, it was out of all possibility +that he could entertain anything but good-will, when it was once +brought home to his observation that she, for her part, had never +wanted to go to law, and indeed was at present disposed to take Mr. +Wakem's view of all subjects rather than her husband's. In fact, if +that attorney saw a respectable matron like herself disposed "to give +him good words," why shouldn't he listen to her representations? For +she would put the matter clearly before him, which had never been done +yet. And he would never go and bid for the mill on purpose to spite +her, an innocent woman, who thought it likely enough that she had +danced with him in their youth at Squire Darleigh's, for at those big +dances she had often and often danced with young men whose names she +had forgotten. + +Mrs. Tulliver hid these reasonings in her own bosom; for when she had +thrown out a hint to Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg that she wouldn't mind +going to speak to Wakem herself, they had said, "No, no, no," and +"Pooh, pooh," and "Let Wakem alone," in the tone of men who were not +likely to give a candid attention to a more definite exposition of her +project; still less dared she mention the plan to Tom and Maggie, for +"the children were always so against everything their mother said"; +and Tom, she observed, was almost as much set against Wakem as his +father was. But this unusual concentration of thought naturally gave +Mrs. Tulliver an unusual power of device and determination: and a day +or two before the sale, to be held at the Golden Lion, when there was +no longer any time to be lost, she carried out her plan by a +stratagem. There were pickles in question, a large stock of pickles +and ketchup which Mrs. Tulliver possessed, and which Mr. Hyndmarsh, +the grocer, would certainly purchase if she could transact the +business in a personal interview, so she would walk with Tom to St. +Ogg's that morning; and when Tom urged that she might let the pickles +be at present,--he didn't like her to go about just yet,--she appeared +so hurt at this conduct in her son, contradicting her about pickles +which she had made after the family receipts inherited from his own +grandmother, who had died when his mother was a little girl, that he +gave way, and they walked together until she turned toward Danish +Street, where Mr. Hyndmarsh retailed his grocery, not far from the +offices of Mr. Wakem. + +That gentleman was not yet come to his office; would Mrs. Tulliver sit +down by the fire in his private room and wait for him? She had not +long to wait before the punctual attorney entered, knitting his brow +with an examining glance at the stout blond woman who rose, curtsying +deferentially,--a tallish man, with an aquiline nose and abundant +iron-gray hair. You have never seen Mr. Wakem before, and are possibly +wondering whether he was really as eminent a rascal, and as crafty, +bitter an enemy of honest humanity in general, and of Mr. Tulliver in +particular, as he is represented to be in that eidolon or portrait of +him which we have seen to exist in the miller's mind. + +It is clear that the irascible miller was a man to interpret any +chance-shot that grazed him as an attempt on his own life, and was +liable to entanglements in this puzzling world, which, due +consideration had to his own infallibility, required the hypothesis of +a very active diabolical agency to explain them. It is still possible +to believe that the attorney was not more guilty toward him than an +ingenious machine, which performs its work with much regularity, is +guilty toward the rash man who, venturing too near it, is caught up by +some fly-wheel or other, and suddenly converted into unexpected +mince-meat. + +But it is really impossible to decide this question by a glance at his +person; the lines and lights of the human countenance are like other +symbols,--not always easy to read without a key. On an _a priori_ view +of Wakem's aquiline nose, which offended Mr. Tulliver, there was not +more rascality than in the shape of his stiff shirt-collar, though +this too along with his nose, might have become fraught with damnatory +meaning when once the rascality was ascertained. + +"Mrs. Tulliver, I think?" said Mr. Wakem. + +"Yes, sir; Miss Elizabeth Dodson as was." + +"Pray be seated. You have some business with me?" + +"Well, sir, yes," said Mrs. Tulliver, beginning to feel alarmed at her +own courage, now she was really in presence of the formidable man, and +reflecting that she had not settled with herself how she should begin. +Mr. Wakem felt in his waistcoat pockets, and looked at her in silence. + +"I hope, sir," she began at last,--"I hope, sir, you're not a-thinking +as _I_ bear you any ill-will because o' my husband's losing his +lawsuit, and the bailies being put in, and the linen being sold,--oh +dear!--for I wasn't brought up in that way. I'm sure you remember my +father, sir, for he was close friends with Squire Darleigh, and we +allays went to the dances there, the Miss Dodsons,--nobody could be +more looked on,--and justly, for there was four of us, and you're +quite aware as Mrs. Glegg and Mrs. Deane are my sisters. And as for +going to law and losing money, and having sales before you're dead, I +never saw anything o' that before I was married, nor for a long while +after. And I'm not to be answerable for my bad luck i' marrying out o' +my own family into one where the goings-on was different. And as for +being drawn in t' abuse you as other folks abuse you, sir, _that_ I +niver was, and nobody can say it of me." + +Mrs. Tulliver shook her head a little, and looked at the hem of her +pocket-handkerchief. + +"I've no doubt of what you say, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. Wakem, with +cold politeness. "But you have some question to ask me?" + +"Well, sir, yes. But that's what I've said to myself,--I've said you'd +had some nat'ral feeling; and as for my husband, as hasn't been +himself for this two months, I'm not a-defending him, in no way, for +being so hot about th' erigation,--not but what there's worse men, for +he never wronged nobody of a shilling nor a penny, not willingly; and +as for his fieriness and lawing, what could I do? And him struck as if +it was with death when he got the letter as said you'd the hold upo' +the land. But I can't believe but what you'll behave as a gentleman." + +"What does all this mean, Mrs. Tulliver?" said Mr. Wakem rather +sharply. "What do you want to ask me?" + +"Why, sir, if you'll be so good," said Mrs. Tulliver, starting a +little, and speaking more hurriedly,--"if you'll be so good not to buy +the mill an' the land,--the land wouldn't so much matter, only my +husband ull' be like mad at your having it." + +Something like a new thought flashed across Mr. Wakem's face as he +said, "Who told you I meant to buy it?" + +"Why, sir, it's none o' my inventing, and I should never ha' thought +of it; for my husband, as ought to know about the law, he allays used +to say as lawyers had never no call to buy anything,--either lands or +houses,--for they allays got 'em into their hands other ways. An' I +should think that 'ud be the way with you, sir; and I niver said as +you'd be the man to do contrairy to that." + +"Ah, well, who was it that _did_ say so?" said Wakem, opening his +desk, and moving things about, with the accompaniment of an almost +inaudible whistle. + +"Why, sir, it was Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane, as have all the management; +and Mr. Deane thinks as Guest &Co. 'ud buy the mill and let Mr. +Tulliver work it for 'em, if you didn't bid for it and raise the +price. And it 'ud be such a thing for my husband to stay where he is, +if he could get his living: for it was his father's before him, the +mill was, and his grandfather built it, though I wasn't fond o' the +noise of it, when first I was married, for there was no mills in our +family,--not the Dodson's,--and if I'd known as the mills had so much +to do with the law, it wouldn't have been me as 'ud have been the +first Dodson to marry one; but I went into it blindfold, that I did, +erigation and everything." + +"What! Guest &Co. would keep the mill in their own hands, I suppose, +and pay your husband wages?" + +"Oh dear, sir, it's hard to think of," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, a +little tear making its way, "as my husband should take wage. But it +'ud look more like what used to be, to stay at the mill than to go +anywhere else; and if you'll only think--if you was to bid for the +mill and buy it, my husband might be struck worse than he was before, +and niver get better again as he's getting now." + +"Well, but if I bought the mill, and allowed your husband to act as my +manager in the same way, how then?" said Mr. Wakem. + +"Oh, sir, I doubt he could niver be got to do it, not if the very mill +stood still to beg and pray of him. For your name's like poison to +him, it's so as never was; and he looks upon it as you've been the +ruin of him all along, ever since you set the law on him about the +road through the meadow,--that's eight year ago, and he's been going +on ever since--as I've allays told him he was wrong----" + +"He's a pig-headed, foul-mouthed fool!" burst out Mr. Wakem, +forgetting himself. + +"Oh dear, sir!" said Mrs. Tulliver, frightened at a result so +different from the one she had fixed her mind on; "I wouldn't wish to +contradict you, but it's like enough he's changed his mind with this +illness,--he's forgot a many things he used to talk about. And you +wouldn't like to have a corpse on your mind, if he was to die; and +they _do_ say as it's allays unlucky when Dorlcote Mill changes hands, +and the water might all run away, and _then_--not as I'm wishing you +any ill-luck, sir, for I forgot to tell you as I remember your wedding +as if it was yesterday; Mrs. Wakem was a Miss Clint, I know _that;_ +and my boy, as there isn't a nicer, handsomer, straighter boy nowhere, +went to school with your son----" + +Mr. Wakem rose, opened the door, and called to one of his clerks. + +"You must excuse me for interrupting you, Mrs. Tulliver; I have +business that must be attended to; and I think there is nothing more +necessary to be said." + +"But if you _would_ bear it in mind, sir," said Mrs. Tulliver, rising, +"and not run against me and my children; and I'm not denying Mr. +Tulliver's been in the wrong, but he's been punished enough, and +there's worse men, for it's been giving to other folks has been his +fault. He's done nobody any harm but himself and his family,--the +more's the pity,--and I go and look at the bare shelves every day, and +think where all my things used to stand." + +"Yes, yes, I'll bear it in mind," said Mr. Wakem, hastily, looking +toward the open door. + +"And if you'd please not to say as I've been to speak to you, for my +son 'ud be very angry with me for demeaning myself, I know he would, +and I've trouble enough without being scolded by my children." + +Poor Mrs. Tulliver's voice trembled a little, and she could make no +answer to the attorney's "good morning," but curtsied and walked out +in silence. + +"Which day is it that Dorlcote Mill is to be sold? Where's the bill?" +said Mr. Wakem to his clerk when they were alone. + +"Next Friday is the day,--Friday at six o'clock." + +"Oh, just run to Winship's the auctioneer, and see if he's at home. I +have some business for him; ask him to come up." + +Although, when Mr. Wakem entered his office that morning, he had had +no intention of purchasing Dorlcote Mill, his mind was already made +up. Mrs. Tulliver had suggested to him several determining motives, +and his mental glance was very rapid; he was one of those men who can +be prompt without being rash, because their motives run in fixed +tracks, and they have no need to reconcile conflicting aims. + +To suppose that Wakem had the same sort of inveterate hatred toward +Tulliver that Tulliver had toward him would be like supposing that a +pike and a roach can look at each other from a similar point of view. +The roach necessarily abhors the mode in which the pike gets his +living, and the pike is likely to think nothing further even of the +most indignant roach than that he is excellent good eating; it could +only be when the roach choked him that the pike could entertain a +strong personal animosity. If Mr. Tulliver had ever seriously injured +or thwarted the attorney, Wakem would not have refused him the +distinction of being a special object of his vindictiveness. But when +Mr. Tulliver called Wakem a rascal at the market dinner-table, the +attorneys' clients were not a whit inclined to withdraw their business +from him; and if, when Wakem himself happened to be present, some +jocose cattle-feeder, stimulated by opportunity and brandy, made a +thrust at him by alluding to old ladies' wills, he maintained perfect +_sang froid_, and knew quite well that the majority of substantial men +then present were perfectly contented with the fact that "Wakem was +Wakem"; that is to say, a man who always knew the stepping-stones that +would carry him through very muddy bits of practice. A man who had +made a large fortune, had a handsome house among the trees at Tofton, +and decidedly the finest stock of port-wine in the neighborhood of St. +Ogg's, was likely to feel himself on a level with public opinion. And +I am not sure that even honest Mr. Tulliver himself, with his general +view of law as a cockpit, might not, under opposite circumstances, +have seen a fine appropriateness in the truth that "Wakem was Wakem"; +since I have understood from persons versed in history, that mankind +is not disposed to look narrowly into the conduct of great victors +when their victory is on the right side. Tulliver, then, could be no +obstruction to Wakem; on the contrary, he was a poor devil whom the +lawyer had defeated several times; a hot-tempered fellow, who would +always give you a handle against him. Wakem's conscience was not +uneasy because he had used a few tricks against the miller; why should +he hate that unsuccessful plaintiff, that pitiable, furious bull +entangled in the meshes of a net? + +Still, among the various excesses to which human nature is subject, +moralists have never numbered that of being too fond of the people who +openly revile us. The successful Yellow candidate for the borough of +Old Topping, perhaps, feels no pursuant meditative hatred toward the +Blue editor who consoles his subscribers with vituperative rhetoric +against Yellow men who sell their country, and are the demons of +private life; but he might not be sorry, if law and opportunity +favored, to kick that Blue editor to a deeper shade of his favorite +color. Prosperous men take a little vengeance now and then, as they +take a diversion, when it comes easily in their way, and is no +hindrance to business; and such small unimpassioned revenges have an +enormous effect in life, running through all degrees of pleasant +infliction, blocking the fit men out of places, and blackening +characters in unpremeditated talk. Still more, to see people who have +been only insignificantly offensive to us reduced in life and +humiliated, without any special effort of ours, is apt to have a +soothing, flattering influence. Providence or some other prince of +this world, it appears, has undertaken the task of retribution for us; +and really, by an agreeable constitution of things, our enemies +somehow _don't_ prosper. + +Wakem was not without this parenthetic vindictiveness toward the +uncomplimentary miller; and now Mrs. Tulliver had put the notion into +his head, it presented itself to him as a pleasure to do the very +thing that would cause Mr. Tulliver the most deadly mortification,-- +and a pleasure of a complex kind, not made up of crude malice, but +mingling with it the relish of self-approbation. To see an enemy +humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared +with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your +benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is a sort of +revenge which falls into the scale of virtue, and Wakem was not without +an intention of keeping that scale respectably filled. He had once +had the pleasure of putting an old enemy of his into one of the St. +Ogg's alms-houses, to the rebuilding of which he had given a large +subscription; and here was an opportunity of providing for another by +making him his own servant. Such things give a completeness to +prosperity, and contribute elements of agreeable consciousness that +are not dreamed of by that short-sighted, overheated vindictiveness +which goes out its way to wreak itself in direct injury. And Tulliver, +with his rough tongue filed by a sense of obligation, would make a +better servant than any chance-fellow who was cap-in-hand for a +situation. Tulliver was known to be a man of proud honesty, and Wakem +was too acute not to believe in the existence of honesty. He was given +too observing individuals, not to judging of them according to maxims, +and no one knew better than he that all men were not like himself. +Besides, he intended to overlook the whole business of land and mill +pretty closely; he was fond of these practical rural matters. But +there were good reasons for purchasing Dorlcote Mill, quite apart from +any benevolent vengeance on the miller. It was really a capital +investment; besides, Guest &Co. were going to bid for it. Mr. Guest +and Mr. Wakem were on friendly dining terms, and the attorney liked to +predominate over a ship-owner and mill-owner who was a little too loud +in the town affairs as well as in his table-talk. For Wakem was not a +mere man of business; he was considered a pleasant fellow in the upper +circles of St. Ogg's--chatted amusingly over his port-wine, did a +little amateur farming, and had certainly been an excellent husband +and father; at church, when he went there, he sat under the handsomest +of mural monuments erected to the memory of his wife. Most men would +have married again under his circumstances, but he was said to be more +tender to his deformed son than most men were to their best-shapen +offspring. Not that Mr. Wakem had not other sons beside Philip; but +toward them he held only a chiaroscuro parentage, and provided for +them in a grade of life duly beneath his own. In this fact, indeed, +there lay the clenching motive to the purchase of Dorlcote Mill. While +Mrs. Tulliver was talking, it had occurred to the rapid-minded lawyer, +among all the other circumstances of the case, that this purchase +would, in a few years to come, furnish a highly suitable position for +a certain favorite lad whom he meant to bring on in the world. + +These were the mental conditions on which Mrs. Tulliver had undertaken +to act persuasively, and had failed; a fact which may receive some +illustration from the remark of a great philosopher, that fly-fishers +fail in preparing their bait so as to make it alluring in the right +quarter, for want of a due acquaintance with the subjectivity of +fishes. + + + +Chapter VIII + +Daylight on the Wreck + + +It was a clear frosty January day on which Mr. Tulliver first came +downstairs. The bright sun on the chestnut boughs and the roofs +opposite his window had made him impatiently declare that he would be +caged up no longer; he thought everywhere would be more cheery under +this sunshine than his bedroom; for he knew nothing of the bareness +below, which made the flood of sunshine importunate, as if it had an +unfeeling pleasure in showing the empty places, and the marks where +well-known objects once had been. The impression on his mind that it +was but yesterday when he received the letter from Mr. Gore was so +continually implied in his talk, and the attempts to convey to him the +idea that many weeks had passed and much had happened since then had +been so soon swept away by recurrent forgetfulness, that even Mr. +Turnbull had begun to despair of preparing him to meet the facts by +previous knowledge. The full sense of the present could only be +imparted gradually by new experience,--not by mere words, which must +remain weaker than the impressions left by the _old_ experience. This +resolution to come downstairs was heard with trembling by the wife and +children. Mrs. Tulliver said Tom must not go to St. Ogg's at the usual +hour, he must wait and see his father downstairs; and Tom complied, +though with an intense inward shrinking from the painful scene. The +hearts of all three had been more deeply dejected than ever during the +last few days. For Guest & Co. had not bought the mill; both mill and +land had been knocked down to Wakem, who had been over the premises, +and had laid before Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg, in Mrs. Tulliver's +presence, his willingness to employ Mr. Tulliver, in case of his +recovery, as a manager of the business. This proposition had +occasioned much family debating. Uncles and aunts were almost +unanimously of opinion that such an offer ought not to be rejected +when there was nothing in the way but a feeling in Mr. Tulliver's +mind, which, as neither aunts nor uncles shared it, was regarded as +entirely unreasonable and childish,--indeed, as a transferring toward +Wakem of that indignation and hatred which Mr. Tulliver ought properly +to have directed against himself for his general quarrelsomeness, and +his special exhibition of it in going to law. Here was an opportunity +for Mr. Tulliver to provide for his wife and daughter without any +assistance from his wife's relations, and without that too evident +descent into pauperism which makes it annoying to respectable people +to meet the degraded member of the family by the wayside. Mr. +Tulliver, Mrs. Glegg considered, must be made to feel, when he came to +his right mind, that he could never humble himself enough; for _that_ +had come which she had always foreseen would come of his insolence in +time past "to them as were the best friends he'd got to look to." Mr +Glegg and Mr. Deane were less stern in their views, but they both of +them thought Tulliver had done enough harm by his hot-tempered +crotchets and ought to put them out of the question when a livelihood +was offered him; Wakem showed a right feeling about the matter,--_he_ +had no grudge against Tulliver. + +Tom had protested against entertaining the proposition. He shouldn't +like his father to be under Wakem; he thought it would look +mean-spirited; but his mother's main distress was the utter +impossibility of ever "turning Mr. Tulliver round about Wakem," or +getting him to hear reason; no, they would all have to go and live in +a pigsty on purpose to spite Wakem, who spoke "so as nobody could be +fairer." Indeed, Mrs. Tulliver's mind was reduced to such confusion by +living in this strange medium of unaccountable sorrow, against which +she continually appealed by asking, "Oh dear, what _have_ I done to +deserve worse than other women?" that Maggie began to suspect her poor +mother's wits were quite going. + +"Tom," she said, when they were out of their father's room together, +"we _must_ try to make father understand a little of what has happened +before he goes downstairs. But we must get my mother away. She will +say something that will do harm. Ask Kezia to fetch her down, and keep +her engaged with something in the kitchen." + +Kezia was equal to the task. Having declared her intention of staying +till the master could get about again, "wage or no wage," she had +found a certain recompense in keeping a strong hand over her mistress, +scolding her for "moithering" herself, and going about all day without +changing her cap, and looking as if she was "mushed." Altogether, this +time of trouble was rather a Saturnalian time to Kezia; she could +scold her betters with unreproved freedom. On this particular occasion +there were drying clothes to be fetched in; she wished to know if one +pair of hands could do everything in-doors and out, and observed that +_she_ should have thought it would be good for Mrs. Tulliver to put on +her bonnet, and get a breath of fresh air by doing that needful piece +of work. Poor Mrs. Tulliver went submissively downstairs; to be +ordered about by a servant was the last remnant of her household +dignities,--she would soon have no servant to scold her. Mr. Tulliver +was resting in his chair a little after the fatigue of dressing, and +Maggie and Tom were seated near him, when Luke entered to ask if he +should help master downstairs. + +"Ay, ay, Luke; stop a bit, sit down," said Mr. Tulliver pointing his +stick toward a chair, and looking at him with that pursuant gaze which +convalescent persons often have for those who have tended them, +reminding one of an infant gazing about after its nurse. For Luke had +been a constant night-watcher by his master's bed. + +"How's the water now, eh, Luke?" said Mr. Tulliver. "Dix hasn't been +choking you up again, eh?" + +"No, sir, it's all right." + +"Ay, I thought not; he won't be in a hurry at that again, now Riley's +been to settle him. That was what I said to Riley yesterday--I +said----" + +Mr. Tulliver leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armchair, and +looking on the ground as if in search of something, striving after +vanishing images like a man struggling against a doze. Maggie looked +at Tom in mute distress, their father's mind was so far off the +present, which would by-and-by thrust itself on his wandering +consciousness! Tom was almost ready to rush away, with that impatience +of painful emotion which makes one of the differences between youth +and maiden, man and woman. + +"Father," said Maggie, laying her hand on his, "don't you remember +that Mr. Riley is dead?" + +"Dead?" said Mr. Tulliver, sharply, looking in her face with a +strange, examining glance. + +"Yes, he died of apoplexy nearly a year ago. I remember hearing you +say you had to pay money for him; and he left his daughters badly off; +one of them is under-teacher at Miss Firniss's, where I've been to +school, you know." + +"Ah?" said her father, doubtfully, still looking in her face. But as +soon as Tom began to speak he turned to look at _him_ with the same +inquiring glances, as if he were rather surprised at the presence of +these two young people. Whenever his mind was wandering in the far +past, he fell into this oblivion of their actual faces; they were not +those of the lad and the little wench who belonged to that past. + +"It's a long while since you had the dispute with Dix, father," said +Tom. "I remember your talking about it three years ago, before I went +to school at Mr. Stelling's. I've been at school there three years; +don't you remember?" + +Mr. Tulliver threw himself backward again, losing the childlike +outward glance under a rush of new ideas, which diverted him from +external impressions. + +"Ay, ay," he said, after a minute or two, "I've paid a deal o' +money--I was determined my son should have a good eddication; I'd none +myself, and I've felt the miss of it. And he'll want no other fortin, +that's what I say--if Wakem was to get the better of me again----" + +The thought of Wakem roused new vibrations, and after a moment's pause +he began to look at the coat he had on, and to feel in his +side-pocket. Then he turned to Tom, and said in his old sharp way, +"Where have they put Gore's letter?" + +It was close at hand in a drawer, for he had often asked for it +before. + +"You know what there is in the letter, father?" said Tom, as he gave +it to him. + +"To be sure I do," said Mr. Tulliver, rather angrily. "What o' that? +If Furley can't take to the property, somebody else can; there's +plenty o' people in the world besides Furley. But it's hindering--my +not being well--go and tell 'em to get the horse in the gig, Luke; I +can get down to St. Ogg's well enough--Gore's expecting me." + +"No, dear father!" Maggie burst out entreatingly; "it's a very long +while since all that; you've been ill a great many weeks,--more than +two months; everything is changed." + +Mr. Tulliver looked at them all three alternately with a startled +gaze; the idea that much had happened of which he knew nothing had +often transiently arrested him before, but it came upon him now with +entire novelty. + +"Yes, father," said Tom, in answer to the gaze. "You needn't trouble +your mind about business until you are quite well; everything is +settled about that for the present,--about the mill and the land and +the debts." + +"What's settled, then?" said his father, angrily. + +"Don't you take on too much bout it, sir," said Luke. "You'd ha' paid +iverybody if you could,--that's what I said to Master Tom,--I said +you'd ha' paid iverybody if you could." + +Good Luke felt, after the manner of contented hard-working men whose +lives have been spent in servitude, that sense of natural fitness in +rank which made his master's downfall a tragedy to him. He was urged, +in his slow way, to say something that would express his share in the +family sorrow; and these words, which he had used over and over again +to Tom when he wanted to decline the full payment of his fifty pounds +out of the children's money, were the most ready to his tongue. They +were just the words to lay the most painful hold on his master's +bewildered mind. + +"Paid everybody?" he said, with vehement agitation, his face flushing, +and his eye lighting up. "Why--what--have they made me a _bankrupt?_" + +"Oh, father, dear father!" said Maggie, who thought that terrible word +really represented the fact; "bear it well, because we love you; your +children will always love you. Tom will pay them all; he says he will, +when he's a man." + +She felt her father beginning to tremble; his voice trembled too, as +he said, after a few moments: + +"Ay, my little wench, but I shall never live twice o'er." + +"But perhaps you will live to see me pay everybody, father," said Tom, +speaking with a great effort. + +"Ah, my lad," said Mr. Tulliver, shaking his head slowly, "but what's +broke can never be whole again; it 'ud be your doing, not mine." Then +looking up at him, "You're only sixteen; it's an up-hill fight for +you, but you mustn't throw it at your father; the raskills have been +too many for him. I've given you a good eddication,--that'll start +you." + +Something in his throat half choked the last words; the flush, which +had alarmed his children because it had so often preceded a recurrence +of paralysis, had subsided, and his face looked pale and tremulous. +Tom said nothing; he was still struggling against his inclination to +rush away. His father remained quiet a minute or two, but his mind did +not seem to be wandering again. + +"Have they sold me up, then?" he said more calmly, as if he were +possessed simply by the desire to know what had happened. + +"Everything is sold, father; but we don't know all about the mill and +the land yet," said Tom, anxious to ward off any question leading to +the fact that Wakem was the purchaser. + +"You must not be surprised to see the room look very bare downstairs, +father," said Maggie; "but there's your chair and the bureau; +_they're_ not gone." + +"Let us go; help me down, Luke,--I'll go and see everything," said Mr. +Tulliver, leaning on his stick, and stretching out his other hand +toward Luke. + +"Ay, sir," said Luke, as he gave his arm to his master, "you'll make +up your mind to't a bit better when you've seen iverything; you'll get +used to't. That's what my mother says about her shortness o' +breath,--she says she's made friends wi't now, though she fought +again' it sore when it just come on." + +Maggie ran on before to see that all was right in the dreary parlor, +where the fire, dulled by the frosty sunshine, seemed part of the +general shabbiness. She turned her father's chair, and pushed aside +the table to make an easy way for him, and then stood with a beating +heart to see him enter and look round for the first time. Tom advanced +before him, carrying the leg-rest, and stood beside Maggie on the +hearth. Of those two young hearts Tom's suffered the most unmixed +pain, for Maggie, with all her keen susceptibility, yet felt as if the +sorrow made larger room for her love to flow in, and gave +breathing-space to her passionate nature. No true boy feels that; he +would rather go and slay the Nemean lion, or perform any round of +heroic labors, than endure perpetual appeals to his pity, for evils +over which he can make no conquest. + +Mr. Tulliver paused just inside the door, resting on Luke, and looking +round him at all the bare places, which for him were filled with the +shadows of departed objects,--the daily companions of his life. His +faculties seemed to be renewing their strength from getting a footing +on this demonstration of the senses. + +"Ah!" he said slowly, moving toward his chair, "they've sold me +up--they've sold me up." + +Then seating himself, and laying down his stick, while Luke left the +room, he looked round again. + +"They've left the big Bible," he said. "It's got everything in,--when +I was born and married; bring it me, Tom." + +The quarto Bible was laid open before him at the fly-leaf, and while +he was reading with slowly travelling eyes Mrs. Tulliver entered the +room, but stood in mute surprise to find her husband down already, and +with the great Bible before him. + +"Ah," he said, looking at a spot where his finger rested, "my mother +was Margaret Beaton; she died when she was forty-seven,--hers wasn't a +long-lived family; we're our mother's children, Gritty and me are,--we +shall go to our last bed before long." + +He seemed to be pausing over the record of his sister's birth and +marriage, as if it were suggesting new thoughts to him; then he +suddenly looked up at Tom, and said, in a sharp tone of alarm: + +"They haven't come upo' Moss for the money as I lent him, have they?" + +"No, father," said Tom; "the note was burnt." + +Mr. Tulliver turned his eyes on the page again, and presently said: + +"Ah--Elizabeth Dodson--it's eighteen year since I married her----" + +"Come next Ladyday," said Mrs. Tulliver, going up to his side and +looking at the page. + +Her husband fixed his eyes earnestly on her face. + +"Poor Bessy," he said, "you was a pretty lass then,--everybody said +so,--and I used to think you kept your good looks rarely. But you're +sorely aged; don't you bear me ill-will--I meant to do well by you--we +promised one another for better or for worse----" + +"But I never thought it 'ud be so for worse as this," said poor Mrs. +Tulliver, with the strange, scared look that had come over her of +late; "and my poor father gave me away--and to come on so all at +once----" + +"Oh, mother!" said Maggie, "don't talk in that way." + +"No, I know you won't let your poor mother speak--that's been the way +all my life--your father never minded what I said--it 'ud have been o' +no use for me to beg and pray--and it 'ud be no use now, not if I was +to go down o' my hands and knees----" + +"Don't say so, Bessy," said Mr. Tulliver, whose pride, in these first +moments of humiliation, was in abeyance to the sense of some justice +in his wife's reproach. "It there's anything left as I could do to +make you amends, I wouldn't say you nay." + +"Then we might stay here and get a living, and I might keep among my +own sisters,--and me been such a good wife to you, and never crossed +you from week's end to week's end--and they all say so--they say it +'ud be nothing but right, only you're so turned against Wakem." + +"Mother," said Tom, severely, "this is not the time to talk about +that." + +"Let her be," said Mr. Tulliver. "Say what you mean, Bessy." + +"Why, now the mill and the land's all Wakem's, and he's got everything +in his hands, what's the use o' setting your face against him, when he +says you may stay here, and speaks as fair as can be, and says you may +manage the business, and have thirty shillings a-week, and a horse to +ride about to market? And where have we got to put our heads? We must +go into one o' the cottages in the village,--and me and my children +brought down to that,--and all because you must set your mind against +folks till there's no turning you." + +Mr. Tulliver had sunk back in his chair trembling. + +"You may do as you like wi' me, Bessy," he said, in a low voice; "I've +been the bringing of you to poverty--this world's too many for me--I'm +nought but a bankrupt; it's no use standing up for anything now." + +"Father," said Tom, "I don't agree with my mother or my uncles, and I +don't think you ought to submit to be under Wakem. I get a pound +a-week now, and you can find something else to do when you get well." + +"Say no more, Tom, say no more; I've had enough for this day. Give me +a kiss, Bessy, and let us bear one another no ill-will; we shall never +be young again--this world's been too many for me." + + + +Chapter IX + +An Item Added to the Family Register + + +That first moment of renunciation and submission was followed by days +of violent struggle in the miller's mind, as the gradual access of +bodily strength brought with it increasing ability to embrace in one +view all the conflicting conditions under which he found himself. +Feeble limbs easily resign themselves to be tethered, and when we are +subdued by sickness it seems possible to us to fulfil pledges which +the old vigor comes back and breaks. There were times when poor +Tulliver thought the fulfilment of his promise to Bessy was something +quite too hard for human nature; he had promised her without knowing +what she was going to say,--she might as well have asked him to carry +a ton weight on his back. But again, there were many feelings arguing +on her side, besides the sense that life had been made hard to her by +having married him. He saw a possibility, by much pinching, of saving +money out of his salary toward paying a second dividend to his +creditors, and it would not be easy elsewhere to get a situation such +as he could fill. + +He had led an easy life, ordering much and working little, and had no +aptitude for any new business. He must perhaps take to day-labor, and +his wife must have help from her sisters,--a prospect doubly bitter to +him, now they had let all Bessy's precious things be sold, probably +because they liked to set her against him, by making her feel that he +had brought her to that pass. He listened to their admonitory talk, +when they came to urge on him what he was bound to do for poor Bessy's +sake, with averted eyes, that every now and then flashed on them +furtively when their backs were turned. Nothing but the dread of +needing their help could have made it an easier alternative to take +their advice. + +But the strongest influence of all was the love of the old premises +where he had run about when he was a boy, just as Tom had done after +him. The Tullivers had lived on this spot for generations, and he had +sat listening on a low stool on winter evenings while his father +talked of the old half-timbered mill that had been there before the +last great floods which damaged it so that his grandfather pulled it +down and built the new one. It was when he got able to walk about and +look at all the old objects that he felt the strain of his clinging +affection for the old home as part of his life, part of himself. He +couldn't bear to think of himself living on any other spot than this, +where he knew the sound of every gate door, and felt that the shape +and color of every roof and weather-stain and broken hillock was good, +because his growing senses had been fed on them. Our instructed +vagrancy, which was hardly time to linger by the hedgerows, but runs +away early to the tropics, and is at home with palms and +banyans,--which is nourished on books of travel and stretches the +theatre of its imagination to the Zambesi,--can hardly get a dim +notion of what an old-fashioned man like Tulliver felt for this spot, +where all his memories centred, and where life seemed like a familiar +smooth-handled tool that the fingers clutch with loving ease. And just +now he was living in that freshened memory of the far-off time which +comes to us in the passive hours of recovery from sickness. + +"Ay, Luke," he said one afternoon, as he stood looking over the +orchard gate, "I remember the day they planted those apple-trees. My +father was a huge man for planting,--it was like a merry-making to him +to get a cart full o' young trees; and I used to stand i' the cold +with him, and follow him about like a dog." + +Then he turned round, and leaning against the gate-post, looked at the +opposite buildings. + +"The old mill 'ud miss me, I think, Luke. There's a story as when the +mill changes hands, the river's angry; I've heard my father say it +many a time. There's no telling whether there mayn't be summat _in_ +the story, for this is a puzzling world, and Old Harry's got a finger +in it--it's been too many for me, I know." + +"Ay, sir," said Luke, with soothing sympathy, "what wi' the rust on +the wheat, an' the firin' o' the ricks an' that, as I've seen i' my +time,--things often looks comical; there's the bacon fat wi' our last +pig run away like butter,--it leaves nought but a scratchin'." + +"It's just as if it was yesterday, now," Mr. Tulliver went on, "when +my father began the malting. I remember, the day they finished the +malt-house, I thought summat great was to come of it; for we'd a +plum-pudding that day and a bit of a feast, and I said to my +mother,--she was a fine dark-eyed woman, my mother was,--the little +wench 'ull be as like her as two peas." Here Mr. Tulliver put his +stick between his legs, and took out his snuff-box, for the greater +enjoyment of this anecdote, which dropped from him in fragments, as if +he every other moment lost narration in vision. "I was a little chap +no higher much than my mother's knee,--she was sore fond of us +children, Gritty and me,--and so I said to her, 'Mother,' I said, +'shall we have plum-pudding _every_ day because o' the malt-house? She +used to tell me o' that till her dying day. She was but a young woman +when she died, my mother was. But it's forty good year since they +finished the malt-house, and it isn't many days out of 'em all as I +haven't looked out into the yard there, the first thing in the +morning,--all weathers, from year's end to year's end. I should go off +my head in a new place. I should be like as if I'd lost my way. It's +all hard, whichever way I look at it,--the harness 'ull gall me, but +it 'ud be summat to draw along the old road, instead of a new un." + +"Ay, sir," said Luke, "you'd be a deal better here nor in some new +place. I can't abide new places mysen: things is allays +awk'ard,--narrow-wheeled waggins, belike, and the stiles all another +sort, an' oat-cake i' some places, tow'rt th' head o' the Floss, +there. It's poor work, changing your country-side." + +"But I doubt, Luke, they'll be for getting rid o' Ben, and making you +do with a lad; and I must help a bit wi' the mill. You'll have a worse +place." + +"Ne'er mind, sir," said Luke, "I sha'n't plague mysen. I'n been wi' +you twenty year, an' you can't get twenty year wi' whistlin' for 'em, +no more nor you can make the trees grow: you mun wait till God +A'mighty sends 'em. I can't abide new victual nor new faces, _I_ +can't,--you niver know but what they'll gripe you." + +The walk was finished in silence after this, for Luke had disburthened +himself of thoughts to an extent that left his conversational +resources quite barren, and Mr. Tulliver had relapsed from his +recollections into a painful meditation on the choice of hardships +before him. Maggie noticed that he was unusually absent that evening +at tea; and afterward he sat leaning forward in his chair, looking at +the ground, moving his lips, and shaking his head from time to time. +Then he looked hard at Mrs. Tulliver, who was knitting opposite him, +then at Maggie, who, as she bent over her sewing, was intensely +conscious of some drama going forward in her father's mind. Suddenly +he took up the poker and broke the large coal fiercely. + +"Dear heart, Mr. Tulliver, what can you be thinking of?" said his +wife, looking up in alarm; "it's very wasteful, breaking the coal, and +we've got hardly any large coal left, and I don't know where the rest +is to come from." + +"I don't think you're quite so well to-night, are you, father?" said +Maggie; "you seem uneasy." + +"Why, how is it Tom doesn't come?" said Mr. Tulliver, impatiently. + +"Dear heart, is it time? I must go and get his supper," said Mrs. +Tulliver, laying down her knitting, and leaving the room. + +"It's nigh upon half-past eight," said Mr. Tulliver. "He'll be here +soon. Go, go and get the big Bible, and open it at the beginning, +where everything's set down. And get the pen and ink." + +Maggie obeyed, wondering; but her father gave no further orders, and +only sat listening for Tom's footfall on the gravel, apparently +irritated by the wind, which had risen, and was roaring so as to drown +all other sounds. There was a strange light in his eyes that rather +frightened Maggie; _she_ began to wish that Tom would come, too. + +"There he is, then," said Mr. Tulliver, in an excited way, when the +knock came at last. Maggie went to open the door, but her mother came +out of the kitchen hurriedly, saying, "Stop a bit, Maggie; I'll open +it." + +Mrs. Tulliver had begun to be a little frightened at her boy, but she +was jealous of every office others did for him. + +"Your supper's ready by the kitchen-fire, my boy," she said, as he +took off his hat and coat. "You shall have it by yourself, just as you +like, and I won't speak to you." + +"I think my father wants Tom, mother," said Maggie; "he must come into +the parlor first." + +Tom entered with his usual saddened evening face, but his eyes fell +immediately on the open Bible and the inkstand, and he glanced with a +look of anxious surprise at his father, who was saying,-- + +"Come, come, you're late; I want you." + +"Is there anything the matter, father?" said Tom. + +"You sit down, all of you," said Mr. Tulliver, peremptorily. + +"And, Tom, sit down here; I've got something for you to write i' the +Bible." + +They all three sat down, looking at him. He began to speak slowly, +looking first at his wife. + +"I've made up my mind, Bessy, and I'll be as good as my word to you. +There'll be the same grave made for us to lie down in, and we mustn't +be bearing one another ill-will. I'll stop in the old place, and I'll +serve under Wakem, and I'll serve him like an honest man; there's no +Tulliver but what's honest, mind that, Tom,"--here his voice +rose,--"they'll have it to throw up against me as I paid a dividend, +but it wasn't my fault; it was because there's raskills in the world. +They've been too many for me, and I must give in. I'll put my neck in +harness,--for you've a right to say as I've brought you into trouble, +Bessy,--and I'll serve him as honest as if he was no raskill; I'm an +honest man, though I shall never hold my head up no more. I'm a tree +as is broke--a tree as is broke." + +He paused and looked on the ground. Then suddenly raising his head, he +said, in a louder yet deeper tone: + +"But I won't forgive him! I know what they say, he never meant me any +harm. That's the way Old Harry props up the rascals. He's been at the +bottom of everything; but he's a fine gentleman,--I know, I know. I +shouldn't ha' gone to law, they say. But who made it so as there was +no arbitratin', and no justice to be got? It signifies nothing to him, +I know that; he's one o' them fine gentlemen as get money by doing +business for poorer folks, and when he's made beggars of 'em he'll +give 'em charity. I won't forgive him! I wish he might be punished +with shame till his own son 'ud like to forget him. I wish he may do +summat as they'd make him work at the treadmill! But he won't,--he's +too big a raskill to let the law lay hold on him. And you mind this, +Tom,--you never forgive him neither, if you mean to be my son. +There'll maybe come a time when you may make him feel; it'll never +come to me; I'n got my head under the yoke. Now write--write it i' the +Bible." + +"Oh, father, what?" said Maggie, sinking down by his knee, pale and +trembling. "It's wicked to curse and bear malice." + +"It isn't wicked, I tell you," said her father, fiercely. "It's wicked +as the raskills should prosper; it's the Devil's doing. Do as I tell +you, Tom. Write." + +"What am I to write?" said Tom, with gloomy submission. + +"Write as your father, Edward Tulliver, took service under John Wakem, +the man as had helped to ruin him, because I'd promised my wife to +make her what amends I could for her trouble, and because I wanted to +die in th' old place where I was born and my father was born. Put that +i' the right words--you know how--and then write, as I don't forgive +Wakem for all that; and for all I'll serve him honest, I wish evil may +befall him. Write that." + +There was a dead silence as Tom's pen moved along the paper; Mrs. +Tulliver looked scared, and Maggie trembled like a leaf. + +"Now let me hear what you've wrote," said Mr. Tulliver, Tom read aloud +slowly. + +"Now write--write as you'll remember what Wakem's done to your father, +and you'll make him and his feel it, if ever the day comes. And sign +your name Thomas Tulliver." + +"Oh no, father, dear father!" said Maggie, almost choked with fear. +"You shouldn't make Tom write that." + +"Be quiet, Maggie!" said Tom. "I _shall_ write it." + + + + +Book IV + +_The Valley of Humiliation_ + + + +Chapter I + +A Variation of Protestantism Unknown to Bossuet + + +Journeying down the Rhone on a summer's day, you have perhaps felt the +sunshine made dreary by those ruined villages which stud the banks in +certain parts of its course, telling how the swift river once rose, +like an angry, destroying god, sweeping down the feeble generations +whose breath is in their nostrils, and making their dwellings a +desolation. Strange contrast, you may have thought, between the +effect produced on us by these dismal remnants of commonplace +houses, which in their best days were but the sign of a sordid life, +belonging in all its details to our own vulgar era, and the effect +produced by those ruins on the castled Rhine, which have crumbled and +mellowed into such harmony with the green and rocky steeps that they +seem to have a natural fitness, like the mountain-pine; nay, even in +the day when they were built they must have had this fitness, as if +they had been raised by an earth-born race, who had inherited from +their mighty parent a sublime instinct of form. And that was a day of +romance; If those robber-barons were somewhat grim and drunken ogres, +they had a certain grandeur of the wild beast in them,--they were +forest boars with tusks, tearing and rending, not the ordinary +domestic grunter; they represented the demon forces forever in +collision with beauty, virtue, and the gentle uses of life; they made +a fine contrast in the picture with the wandering minstrel, the +soft-lipped princess, the pious recluse, and the timid Israelite. That +was a time of color, when the sunlight fell on glancing steel and +floating banners; a time of adventure and fierce struggle,--nay, of +living, religious art and religious enthusiasm; for were not +cathedrals built in those days, and did not great emperors leave their +Western palaces to die before the infidel strongholds in the sacred +East? Therefore it is that these Rhine castles thrill me with a sense +of poetry; they belong to the grand historic life of humanity, and +raise up for me the vision of an echo. But these dead-tinted, +hollow-eyed, angular skeletons of villages on the Rhone oppress me +with the feeling that human life--very much of it--is a narrow, ugly, +grovelling existence, which even calamity does not elevate, but rather +tends to exhibit in all its bare vulgarity of conception; and I have a +cruel conviction that the lives these ruins are the traces of were +part of a gross sum of obscure vitality, that will be swept into the +same oblivion with the generations of ants and beavers. + +Perhaps something akin to this oppressive feeling may have weighed +upon you in watching this old-fashioned family life on the banks of +the Floss, which even sorrow hardly suffices to lift above the level +of the tragi-comic. It is a sordid life, you say, this of the +Tullivers and Dodsons, irradiated by no sublime principles, no +romantic visions, no active, self-renouncing faith; moved by none of +those wild, uncontrollable passions which create the dark shadows of +misery and crime; without that primitive, rough simplicity of wants, +that hard, submissive, ill-paid toil, that childlike spelling-out of +what nature has written, which gives its poetry to peasant life. Here +one has conventional worldly notions and habits without instruction +and without polish, surely the most prosaic form of human life; proud +respectability in a gig of unfashionable build; worldliness without +side-dishes. Observing these people narrowly, even when the iron hand +of misfortune has shaken them from their unquestioning hold on the +world, one sees little trace of religion, still less of a +distinctively Christian creed. Their belief in the Unseen, so far as +it manifests itself at all, seems to be rather a pagan kind; their +moral notions, though held with strong tenacity, seem to have no +standard beyond hereditary custom. You could not live among such +people; you are stifled for want of an outlet toward something +beautiful, great, or noble; you are irritated with these dull men and +women, as a kind of population out of keeping with the earth on which +they live,--with this rich plain where the great river flows forever +onward, and links the small pulse of the old English town with the +beatings of the world's mighty heart. A vigorous superstition, that +lashes its gods or lashes its own back, seems to be more congruous +with the mystery of the human lot, than the mental condition of these +emmet-like Dodsons and Tullivers. + +I share with you this sense of oppressive narrowness; but it is +necessary that we should feel it, if we care to understand how it +acted on the lives of Tom and Maggie,--how it has acted on young +natures in many generations, that in the onward tendency of human +things have risen above the mental level of the generation before +them, to which they have been nevertheless tied by the strongest +fibres of their hearts. The suffering, whether of martyr or victim, +which belongs to every historical advance of mankind, is represented +in this way in every town, and by hundreds of obscure hearths; and we +need not shrink from this comparison of small things with great; for +does not science tell us that its highest striving is after the +ascertainment of a unity which shall bind the smallest things with the +greatest? In natural science, I have understood, there is nothing +petty to the mind that has a large vision of relations, and to which +every single object suggests a vast sum of conditions. It is surely +the same with the observation of human life. + +Certainly the religious and moral ideas of the Dodsons and Tullivers +were of too specific a kind to be arrived at deductively, from the +statement that they were part of the Protestant population of Great +Britain. Their theory of life had its core of soundness, as all +theories must have on which decent and prosperous families have been +reared and have flourished; but it had the very slightest tincture of +theology. If, in the maiden days of the Dodson sisters, their Bibles +opened more easily at some parts than others, it was because of dried +tulip-petals, which had been distributed quite impartially, without +preference for the historical, devotional, or doctrinal. Their +religion was of a simple, semi-pagan kind, but there was no heresy in +it,--if heresy properly means choice,--for they didn't know there was +any other religion, except that of chapel-goers, which appeared to run +in families, like asthma. How _should_ they know? The vicar of their +pleasant rural parish was not a controversialist, but a good hand at +whist, and one who had a joke always ready for a blooming female +parishioner. The religion of the Dodsons consisted in revering +whatever was customary and respectable; it was necessary to be +baptized, else one could not be buried in the church-yard, and to take +the sacrament before death, as a security against more dimly +understood perils; but it was of equal necessity to have the proper +pall-bearers and well-cured hams at one's funeral, and to leave an +unimpeachable will. A Dodson would not be taxed with the omission of +anything that was becoming, or that belonged to that eternal fitness +of things which was plainly indicated in the practice of the most +substantial parishioners, and in the family traditions,--such as +obedience to parents, faithfulness to kindred, industry, rigid +honesty, thrift, the thorough scouring of wooden and copper utensils, +the hoarding of coins likely to disappear from the currency, the +production of first-rate commodities for the market, and the general +preference of whatever was home-made. The Dodsons were a very proud +race, and their pride lay in the utter frustration of all desire to +tax them with a breach of traditional duty or propriety. A wholesome +pride in many respects, since it identified honor with perfect +integrity, thoroughness of work, and faithfulness to admitted rules; +and society owes some worthy qualities in many of her members to +mothers of the Dodson class, who made their butter and their fromenty +well, and would have felt disgraced to make it otherwise. To be honest +and poor was never a Dodson motto, still less to seem rich though +being poor; rather, the family badge was to be honest and rich, and +not only rich, but richer than was supposed. To live respected, and +have the proper bearers at your funeral, was an achievement of the +ends of existence that would be entirely nullified if, on the reading +of your will, you sank in the opinion of your fellow-men, either by +turning out to be poorer than they expected, or by leaving your money +in a capricious manner, without strict regard to degrees of kin. The +right thing must always be done toward kindred. The right thing was to +correct them severely, if they were other than a credit to the family, +but still not to alienate from them the smallest rightful share in the +family shoebuckles and other property. A conspicuous quality in the +Dodson character was its genuineness; its vices and virtues alike were +phases of a proud honest egoism, which had a hearty dislike to +whatever made against its own credit and interest, and would be +frankly hard of speech to inconvenient "kin," but would never forsake +or ignore them,--would not let them want bread, but only require them +to eat it with bitter herbs. + +The same sort of traditional belief ran in the Tulliver veins, but it +was carried in richer blood, having elements of generous imprudence, +warm affection, and hot-tempered rashness. Mr. Tulliver's grandfather +had been heard to say that he was descended from one Ralph Tulliver, a +wonderfully clever fellow, who had ruined himself. It is likely enough +that the clever Ralph was a high liver, rode spirited horses, and was +very decidedly of his own opinion. On the other hand, nobody had ever +heard of a Dodson who had ruined himself; it was not the way of that +family. + +If such were the views of life on which the Dodsons and Tullivers had +been reared in the praiseworthy past of Pitt and high prices, you will +infer from what you already know concerning the state of society in +St. Ogg's, that there had been no highly modifying influence to act on +them in their maturer life. It was still possible, even in that later +time of anti-Catholic preaching, for people to hold many pagan ideas, +and believe themselves good church-people, notwithstanding; so we need +hardly feel any surprise at the fact that Mr. Tulliver, though a +regular church-goer, recorded his vindictiveness on the fly-leaf of +his Bible. It was not that any harm could be said concerning the vicar +of that charming rural parish to which Dorlcote Mill belonged; he was +a man of excellent family, an irreproachable bachelor, of elegant +pursuits,--had taken honors, and held a fellowship. Mr. Tulliver +regarded him with dutiful respect, as he did everything else belonging +to the church-service; but he considered that church was one thing and +common-sense another, and he wanted nobody to tell _him_ what +commonsense was. Certain seeds which are required to find a nidus for +themselves under unfavorable circumstances have been supplied by +nature with an apparatus of hooks, so that they will get a hold on +very unreceptive surfaces. The spiritual seed which had been scattered +over Mr. Tulliver had apparently been destitute of any corresponding +provision, and had slipped off to the winds again, from a total +absence of hooks. + + + +Chapter II + +The Torn Nest Is Pierced by the Thorns + + +There is something sustaining in the very agitation that accompanies +the first shocks of trouble, just as an acute pain is often a +stimulus, and produces an excitement which is transient strength. It +is in the slow, changed life that follows; in the time when sorrow has +become stale, and has no longer an emotive intensity that counteracts +its pain; in the time when day follows day in dull, unexpectant +sameness, and trial is a dreary routine,--it is then that despair +threatens; it is then that the peremptory hunger of the soul is felt, +and eye and ear are strained after some unlearned secret of our +existence, which shall give to endurance the nature of satisfaction. + +This time of utmost need was come to Maggie, with her short span of +thirteen years. To the usual precocity of the girl, she added that +early experience of struggle, of conflict between the inward impulse +and outward fact, which is the lot of every imaginative and passionate +nature; and the years since she hammered the nails into her wooden +Fetish among the worm-eaten shelves of the attic had been filled with +so eager a life in the triple world of Reality, Books, and Waking +Dreams, that Maggie was strangely old for her years in everything +except in her entire want of that prudence and self-command which were +the qualities that made Tom manly in the midst of his intellectual +boyishness. And now her lot was beginning to have a still, sad +monotony, which threw her more than ever on her inward self. Her +father was able to attend to business again, his affairs were settled, +and he was acting as Wakem's manager on the old spot. Tom went to and +fro every morning and evening, and became more and more silent in the +short intervals at home; what was there to say? One day was like +another; and Tom's interest in life, driven back and crushed on every +other side, was concentrating itself into the one channel of ambitious +resistance to misfortune. The peculiarities of his father and mother +were very irksome to him, now they were laid bare of all the softening +accompaniments of an easy, prosperous home; for Tom had very clear, +prosaic eyes, not apt to be dimmed by mists of feeling or imagination. +Poor Mrs. Tulliver, it seemed, would never recover her old self, her +placid household activity; how could she? The objects among which her +mind had moved complacently were all gone,--all the little hopes and +schemes and speculations, all the pleasant little cares about her +treasures which had made the world quite comprehensible to her for a +quarter of a century, since she had made her first purchase of the +sugar-tongs, had been suddenly snatched away from her, and she +remained bewildered in this empty life. Why that should have happened +to her which had not happened to other women remained an insoluble +question by which she expressed her perpetual ruminating comparison of +the past with the present. It was piteous to see the comely woman +getting thinner and more worn under a bodily as well as mental +restlessness, which made her often wander about the empty house after +her work was done, until Maggie, becoming alarmed about her, would +seek her, and bring her down by telling her how it vexed Tom that she +was injuring her health by never sitting down and resting herself. Yet +amidst this helpless imbecility there was a touching trait of humble, +self-devoting maternity, which made Maggie feel tenderly toward her +poor mother amidst all the little wearing griefs caused by her mental +feebleness. She would let Maggie do none of the work that was heaviest +and most soiling to the hands, and was quite peevish when Maggie +attempted to relieve her from her grate-brushing and scouring: "Let it +alone, my dear; your hands 'ull get as hard as hard," she would say; +"it's your mother's place to do that. I can't do the sewing--my eyes +fail me." And she would still brush and carefully tend Maggie's hair, +which she had become reconciled to, in spite of its refusal to curl, +now it was so long and massy. Maggie was not her pet child, and, in +general, would have been much better if she had been quite different; +yet the womanly heart, so bruised in its small personal desires, found +a future to rest on in the life of this young thing, and the mother +pleased herself with wearing out her own hands to save the hands that +had so much more life in them. + +But the constant presence of her mother's regretful bewilderment was +less painful to Maggie than that of her father's sullen, +incommunicative depression. As long as the paralysis was upon him, and +it seemed as if he might always be in a childlike condition of +dependence,--as long as he was still only half awakened to his +trouble,--Maggie had felt the strong tide of pitying love almost as an +inspiration, a new power, that would make the most difficult life easy +for his sake; but now, instead of childlike dependence, there had come +a taciturn, hard concentration of purpose, in strange contrast with +his old vehement communicativeness and high spirit; and this lasted +from day to day, and from week to week, the dull eye never brightening +with any eagerness or any joy. It is something cruelly incomprehensible +to youthful natures, this sombre sameness in middle-aged and elderly +people, whose life has resulted in disappointment and discontent, to +whose faces a smile becomes so strange that the sad lines all about +the lips and brow seem to take no notice of it, and it hurries away +again for want of a welcome. "Why will they not kindle up and be +glad sometimes?" thinks young elasticity. "It would be so easy if they +only liked to do it." And these leaden clouds that never part are apt +to create impatience even in the filial affection that streams forth in +nothing but tenderness and pity in the time of more obvious affliction. + +Mr. Tulliver lingered nowhere away from home; he hurried away from +market, he refused all invitations to stay and chat, as in old times, +in the houses where he called on business. He could not be reconciled +with his lot. There was no attitude in which his pride did not feel +its bruises; and in all behavior toward him, whether kind or cold, he +detected an allusion to the change in his circumstances. Even the days +on which Wakem came to ride round the land and inquire into the +business were not so black to him as those market-days on which he had +met several creditors who had accepted a composition from him. To save +something toward the repayment of those creditors was the object +toward which he was now bending all his thoughts and efforts; and +under the influence of this all-compelling demand of his nature, the +somewhat profuse man, who hated to be stinted or to stint any one else +in his own house, was gradually metamorphosed into the keen-eyed +grudger of morsels. Mrs. Tulliver could not economize enough to +satisfy him, in their food and firing; and he would eat nothing +himself but what was of the coarsest quality. Tom, though depressed +and strongly repelled by his father's sullenness, and the dreariness +of home, entered thoroughly into his father's feelings about paying +the creditors; and the poor lad brought his first quarter's money, +with a delicious sense of achievement, and gave it to his father to +put into the tin box which held the savings. The little store of +sovereigns in the tin box seemed to be the only sight that brought a +faint beam of pleasure into the miller's eyes,--faint and transient, +for it was soon dispelled by the thought that the time would be +long--perhaps longer than his life,--before the narrow savings could +remove the hateful incubus of debt. A deficit of more than five +hundred pounds, with the accumulating interest, seemed a deep pit to +fill with the savings from thirty shillings a-week, even when Tom's +probable savings were to be added. On this one point there was entire +community of feeling in the four widely differing beings who sat round +the dying fire of sticks, which made a cheap warmth for them on the +verge of bedtime. Mrs. Tulliver carried the proud integrity of the +Dodsons in her blood, and had been brought up to think that to wrong +people of their money, which was another phrase for debt, was a sort +of moral pillory; it would have been wickedness, to her mind, to have +run counter to her husband's desire to "do the right thing," and +retrieve his name. She had a confused, dreamy notion that, if the +creditors were all paid, her plate and linen ought to come back to +her; but she had an inbred perception that while people owed money +they were unable to pay, they couldn't rightly call anything their +own. She murmured a little that Mr. Tulliver so peremptorily refused +to receive anything in repayment from Mr. and Mrs. Moss; but to all +his requirements of household economy she was submissive to the point +of denying herself the cheapest indulgences of mere flavor; her only +rebellion was to smuggle into the kitchen something that would make +rather a better supper than usual for Tom. + +These narrow notions about debt, held by the old fashioned Tullivers, +may perhaps excite a smile on the faces of many readers in these days +of wide commercial views and wide philosophy, according to which +everything rights itself without any trouble of ours. The fact that my +tradesman is out of pocket by me is to be looked at through the serene +certainty that somebody else's tradesman is in pocket by somebody +else; and since there must be bad debts in the world, why, it is mere +egoism not to like that we in particular should make them instead of +our fellow-citizens. I am telling the history of very simple people, +who had never had any illuminating doubts as to personal integrity and +honor. + +Under all this grim melancholy and narrowing concentration of desire, +Mr. Tulliver retained the feeling toward his "little wench" which made +her presence a need to him, though it would not suffice to cheer him. +She was still the desire of his eyes; but the sweet spring of fatherly +love was now mingled with bitterness, like everything else. When +Maggie laid down her work at night, it was her habit to get a low +stool and sit by her father's knee, leaning her cheek against it. How +she wished he would stroke her head, or give some sign that he was +soothed by the sense that he had a daughter who loved him! But now she +got no answer to her little caresses, either from her father or from +Tom,--the two idols of her life. Tom was weary and abstracted in the +short intervals when he was at home, and her father was bitterly +preoccupied with the thought that the girl was growing up, was +shooting up into a woman; and how was she to do well in life? She had +a poor chance for marrying, down in the world as they were. And he +hated the thought of her marrying poorly, as her aunt Gritty had done; +_that_ would be a thing to make him turn in his grave,--the little +wench so pulled down by children and toil, as her aunt Moss was. When +uncultured minds, confined to a narrow range of personal experience, +are under the pressure of continued misfortune, their inward life is +apt to become a perpetually repeated round of sad and bitter thoughts; +the same words, the same scenes, are revolved over and over again, the +same mood accompanies them; the end of the year finds them as much +what they were at the beginning as if they were machines set to a +recurrent series of movements. + +The sameness of the days was broken by few visitors. Uncles and aunts +paid only short visits now; of course, they could not stay to meals, +and the constraint caused by Mr. Tulliver's savage silence, which +seemed to add to the hollow resonance of the bare, uncarpeted room +when the aunts were talking, heightened the unpleasantness of these +family visits on all sides, and tended to make them rare. As for other +acquaintances, there is a chill air surrounding those who are down in +the world, and people are glad to get away from them, as from a cold +room; human beings, mere men and women, without furniture, without +anything to offer you, who have ceased to count as anybody, present an +embarrassing negation of reasons for wishing to see them, or of +subjects on which to converse with them. At that distant day, there +was a dreary isolation in the civilized Christian society of these +realms for families that had dropped below their original level, +unless they belonged to a sectarian church, which gets some warmth of +brotherhood by walling in the sacred fire. + + + +Chapter III + +A Voice from the Past + + +One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had +brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a +book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they +did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of +jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows +on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for +something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more +miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had +a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the +boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had +a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene +had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen, +that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to +speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread +with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the +wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The +battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give +her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again +her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing +neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future +scenes of home-sorrow. + +Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of +footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in +a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his +back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and +defiant aspect. + +"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased +recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface +the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you." + +"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted +face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying +embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of +disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!" + +"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at +St. Ogg's in the daytime." + +"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that +isn't just what I'm come for,--look here!" + +Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with +it a row of small books fastened together with string. + +Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to +call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried +under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief. + +"See here!" he said again, laying the red parcel on the others and +unfolding it; "you won't think I'm a-makin' too free, Miss, I hope, +but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you +a bit for them as you've lost; for I heared you speak o' picturs,--an' +as for picturs, _look_ here!" + +The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated +"Keepsake" and six or seven numbers of a "Portrait Gallery," in royal +octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of +George the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed cranium and +voluminous neckcloth. + +"There's all sorts o' genelmen here," Bob went on, turning over the +leaves with some excitement, "wi' all sorts o' nones,--an' some bald +an' some wi' wigs,--Parlament genelmen, I reckon. An' here," he added, +opening the "Keepsake,"--"_here's_ ladies for you, some wi' curly hair +and some wi' smooth, an' some a-smiling wi' their heads o' one side, +an' some as if they were goin' to cry,--look here,--a-sittin' on the +ground out o' door, dressed like the ladies I'n seen get out o' the +carriages at the balls in th' Old Hall there. My eyes! I wonder what +the chaps wear as go a-courtin' 'em! I sot up till the clock was gone +twelve last night, a-lookin' at 'em,--I did,--till they stared at me +out o' the picturs as if they'd know when I spoke to 'em. But, lors! I +shouldn't know what to say to 'em. They'll be more fittin' company for +you, Miss; and the man at the book-stall, he said they banged +iverything for picturs; he said they was a fust-rate article." + +"And you've bought them for me, Bob?" said Maggie, deeply touched by +this simple kindness. "How very, very good of you! But I'm afraid you +gave a great deal of money for them." + +"Not me!" said Bob. "I'd ha' gev three times the money if they'll make +up to you a bit for them as was sold away from you, Miss. For I'n +niver forgot how you looked when you fretted about the books bein' +gone; it's stuck by me as if it was a pictur hingin' before me. An' +when I see'd the book open upo' the stall, wi' the lady lookin' out of +it wi' eyes a bit like your'n when you was frettin',--you'll excuse my +takin' the liberty, Miss,--I thought I'd make free to buy it for you, +an' then I bought the books full o' genelmen to match; an' then"--here +Bob took up the small stringed packet of books--"I thought you might +like a bit more print as well as the picturs, an' I got these for a +sayso,--they're cram-full o' print, an' I thought they'd do no harm +comin' along wi' these bettermost books. An' I hope you won't say me +nay, an' tell me as you won't have 'em, like Mr. Tom did wi' the +suvreigns." + +"No, indeed, Bob," said Maggie, "I'm very thankful to you for thinking +of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don't think any one ever did +such a kind thing for me before. I haven't many friends who care for +me." + +"Hev a dog, Miss!--they're better friends nor any Christian," said +Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the +intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in +talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually said of +himself, "his tongue overrun him" when he began to speak. "I can't +give you Mumps, 'cause he'd break his heart to go away from me--eh, +Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?" (Mumps declined to express +himself more diffusely than by a single affirmative movement of his +tail.) "But I'd get you a pup, Miss, an' welcome." + +"No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn't keep a dog of my +own." + +"Eh, that's a pity; else there's a pup,--if you didn't mind about it +not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show,--an +uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi' her bark nor half +the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There's +one chap carries pots,--a poor, low trade as any on the road,--he +says, 'Why Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in +her.' But I says to him, 'Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? +There wasn't much pickin' o' _your_ feyther an' mother, to look at +you.' Not but I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see +one cur grinnin' at another. I wish you good evenin', Miss," said Bob, +abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his +tongue was acting in an undisciplined manner. + +"Won't you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?" +said Maggie. + +"Yes, Miss, thank you--another time. You'll give my duty to him, if +you please. Eh, he's a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to +growin' i' the legs, an' _I_ didn't." + +The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow +gone wrong. + +"You don't call Mumps a cur, I suppose?" said Maggie, divining that +any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master. + +"No, Miss, a fine way off that," said Bob, with pitying smile; "Mumps +is as fine a cross as you'll see anywhere along the Floss, an' I'n +been up it wi' the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at +him; but you won't catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much,--he minds +his own business, he does." + +The expression of Mump's face, which seemed to be tolerating the +superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory +of this high praise. + +"He looks dreadfully surly," said Maggie. "Would he let me pat him?" + +"Ay, that would he, and thank you. He knows his company, Mumps does. +He isn't a dog as 'ull be caught wi' gingerbread; he'd smell a thief a +good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him +by th' hour together, when I'm walking i' lone places, and if I'n done +a bit o' mischief, I allays tell him. I'n got no secrets but what +Mumps knows 'em. He knows about my big thumb, he does." + +"Your big thumb--what's that, Bob?" said Maggie. + +"That's what it is, Miss," said Bob, quickly, exhibiting a singularly +broad specimen of that difference between the man and the monkey. "It +tells i' measuring out the flannel, you see. I carry flannel, 'cause +it's light for my pack, an' it's dear stuff, you see, so a big thumb +tells. I clap my thumb at the end o' the yard and cut o' the hither +side of it, and the old women aren't up to't." + +"But Bob," said Maggie, looking serious, "that's cheating; I don't +like to hear you say that." + +"Don't you, Miss?" said Bob regretfully. "Then I'm sorry I said it. +But I'm so used to talking to Mumps, an' he doesn't mind a bit o' +cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, an' +'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an' 'ud niver ask +theirselves how I got my dinner out on't. I niver cheat anybody as +doesn't want to cheat me, Miss,--lors, I'm a honest chap, I am; only I +must hev a bit o' sport, an' now I don't go wi' th' ferrets, I'n got +no varmint to come over but them haggling women. I wish you good +evening, Miss." + +"Good-by, Bob. Thank you very much for bringing me the books. And come +again to see Tom." + +"Yes, Miss," said Bob, moving on a few steps; then turning half round +he said, "I'll leave off that trick wi' my big thumb, if you don't +think well on me for it, Miss; but it 'ud be a pity, it would. I +couldn't find another trick so good,--an' what 'ud be the use o' +havin' a big thumb? It might as well ha' been narrow." + +Maggie, thus exalted into Bob's exalting Madonna, laughed in spite of +herself; at which her worshipper's blue eyes twinkled too, and under +these favoring auspices he touched his cap and walked away. + +The days of chivalry are not gone, notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge +over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a +youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch +so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe. Bob, with the +pack on his back, had as respectful an adoration for this dark-eyed +maiden as if he had been a knight in armor calling aloud on her name +as he pricked on to the fight. + +That gleam of merriment soon died away from Maggie's face, and perhaps +only made the returning gloom deeper by contrast. She was too +dispirited even to like answering questions about Bob's present of +books, and she carried them away to her bedroom, laying them down +there and seating herself on her one stool, without caring to look at +them just yet. She leaned her cheek against the window-frame, and +thought that the light-hearted Bob had a lot much happier than hers. + +Maggie's sense of loneliness, and utter privation of joy, had deepened +with the brightness of advancing spring. All the favorite outdoor +nooks about home, which seemed to have done their part with her +parents in nurturing and cherishing her, were now mixed up with the +home-sadness, and gathered no smile from the sunshine. Every +affection, every delight the poor child had had, was like an aching +nerve to her. There was no music for her any more,--no piano, no +harmonized voices, no delicious stringed instruments, with their +passionate cries of imprisoned spirits sending a strange vibration +through her frame. And of all her school-life there was nothing left +her now but her little collection of school-books, which she turned +over with a sickening sense that she knew them all, and they were all +barren of comfort. Even at school she had often wished for books with +_more_ in them; everything she learned there seemed like the ends of +long threads that snapped immediately. And now--without the indirect +charm of school-emulation--Télémaque was mere bran; so were the hard, +dry questions on Christian Doctrine; there was no flavor in them, no +strength. Sometimes Maggie thought she could have been contented with +absorbing fancies; if she could have had all Scott's novels and all +Byron's poems!--then, perhaps, she might have found happiness enough +to dull her sensibility to her actual daily life. And yet they were +hardly what she wanted. She could make dream-worlds of her own, but no +dream-world would satisfy her now. She wanted some explanation of this +hard, real life,--the unhappy-looking father, seated at the dull +breakfast-table; the childish, bewildered mother; the little sordid +tasks that filled the hours, or the more oppressive emptiness of +weary, joyless leisure; the need of some tender, demonstrative love; +the cruel sense that Tom didn't mind what she thought or felt, and +that they were no longer playfellows together; the privation of all +pleasant things that had come to _her_ more than to others,--she +wanted some key that would enable her to understand, and in +understanding, to endure, the heavy weight that had fallen on her +young heart. If she had been taught "real learning and wisdom, such as +great men knew," she thought she should have held the secrets of life; +if she had only books, that she might learn for herself what wise men +knew! Saints and martyrs had never interested Maggie so much as sages +and poets. She knew little of saints and martyrs, and had gathered, as +a general result of her teaching, that they were a temporary provision +against the spread of Catholicism, and had all died at Smithfield. + +In one of these meditations it occurred to her that she had forgotten +Tom's school-books, which had been sent home in his trunk. But she +found the stock unaccountably shrunk down to the few old ones which +had been well thumbed,--the Latin Dictionary and Grammar, a Delectus, +a torn Eutropius, the well-worn Virgil, Aldrich's Logic, and the +exasperating Euclid. Still, Latin, Euclid, and Logic would surely be a +considerable step in masculine wisdom,--in that knowledge which made +men contented, and even glad to live. Not that the yearning for +effectual wisdom was quite unmixed; a certain mirage would now and +then rise on the desert of the future, in which she seemed to see +herself honored for her surprising attainments. And so the poor child, +with her soul's hunger and her illusions of self-flattery, began to +nibble at this thick-rinded fruit of the tree of knowledge, filling +her vacant hours with Latin, geometry, and the forms of the syllogism, +and feeling a gleam of triumph now and then that her understanding was +quite equal to these peculiarly masculine studies. For a week or two +she went on resolutely enough, though with an occasional sinking of +heart, as if she had set out toward the Promised Land alone, and found +it a thirsty, trackless, uncertain journey. In the severity of her +early resolution, she would take Aldrich out into the fields, and then +look off her book toward the sky, where the lark was twinkling, or to +the reeds and bushes by the river, from which the waterfowl rustled +forth on its anxious, awkward flight,--with a startled sense that the +relation between Aldrich and this living world was extremely remote +for her. The discouragement deepened as the days went on, and the +eager heart gained faster and faster on the patient mind. Somehow, +when she sat at the window with her book, her eyes _would_ fix +themselves blankly on the outdoor sunshine; then they would fill with +tears, and sometimes, if her mother was not in the room, the studies +would all end in sobbing. She rebelled against her lot, she fainted +under its loneliness, and fits even of anger and hatred toward her +father and mother, who were so unlike what she would have them to be; +toward Tom, who checked her, and met her thought or feeling always by +some thwarting difference,--would flow out over her affections and +conscience like a lava stream, and frighten her with a sense that it +was not difficult for her to become a demon. Then her brain would be +busy with wild romances of a flight from home in search of something +less sordid and dreary; she would go to some great man--Walter Scott, +perhaps--and tell him how wretched and how clever she was, and he +would surely do something for her. But, in the middle of her vision, +her father would perhaps enter the room for the evening, and, +surprised that she sat still without noticing him, would say +complainingly, "Come, am I to fetch my slippers myself?" The voice +pierced through Maggie like a sword; there was another sadness besides +her own, and she had been thinking of turning her back on it and +forsaking it. + +This afternoon, the sight of Bob's cheerful freckled face had given +her discontent a new direction. She thought it was part of the +hardship of her life that there was laid upon her the burthen of +larger wants than others seemed to feel,--that she had to endure this +wide, hopeless yearning for that something, whatever it was, that was +greatest and best on this earth. She wished she could have been like +Bob, with his easily satisfied ignorance, or like Tom, who had +something to do on which he could fix his mind with a steady purpose, +and disregard everything else. Poor child! as she leaned her head +against the window-frame, with her hands clasped tighter and tighter, +and her foot beating the ground, she was as lonely in her trouble as +if she had been the only girl in the civilized world of that day who +had come out of her school-life with a soul untrained for inevitable +struggles, with no other part of her inherited share in the hard-won +treasures of thought which generations of painful toil have laid up +for the race of men, than shreds and patches of feeble literature and +false history, with much futile information about Saxon and other +kings of doubtful example, but unhappily quite without that knowledge +of the irreversible laws within and without her, which, governing the +habits, becomes morality, and developing the feelings of submission +and dependence, becomes religion,--as lonely in her trouble as if +every other girl besides herself had been cherished and watched over +by elder minds, not forgetful of their own early time, when need was +keen and impulse strong. + +At last Maggie's eyes glanced down on the books that lay on the +window-shelf, and she half forsook her reverie to turn over listlessly +the leaves of the "Portrait Gallery," but she soon pushed this aside +to examine the little row of books tied together with string. +"Beauties of the Spectator," "Rasselas," "Economy of Human Life," +"Gregory's Letters,"--she knew the sort of matter that was inside all +these; the "Christian Year,"--that seemed to be a hymnbook, and she +laid it down again; but _Thomas à Kempis?_--the name had come across +her in her reading, and she felt the satisfaction, which every one +knows, of getting some ideas to attach to a name that strays solitary +in the memory. She took up the little, old, clumsy book with some +curiosity; it had the corners turned down in many places, and some +hand, now forever quiet, had made at certain passages strong +pen-and-ink marks, long since browned by time. Maggie turned from leaf +to leaf, and read where the quiet hand pointed: "Know that the love of +thyself doth hurt thee more than anything in the world.... If thou +seekest this or that, and wouldst be here or there to enjoy thy own +will and pleasure, thou shalt never be quiet nor free from care; for +in everything somewhat will be wanting, and in every place there will +be some that will cross thee.... Both above and below, which way +soever thou dost turn thee, everywhere thou shalt find the Cross; and +everywhere of necessity thou must have patience, if thou wilt have +inward peace, and enjoy an everlasting crown.... If thou desirest to +mount unto this height, thou must set out courageously, and lay the +axe to the root, that thou mayest pluck up and destroy that hidden +inordinate inclination to thyself, and unto all private and earthly +good. On this sin, that a man inordinately loveth himself, almost all +dependeth, whatsoever is thoroughly to be overcome; which evil being +once overcome and subdued, there will presently ensue great peace and +tranquillity.... It is but little thou sufferest in comparison of them +that have suffered so much, were so strongly tempted, so grievously +afflicted, so many ways tried and exercised. Thou oughtest therefore +to call to mind the more heavy sufferings of others, that thou mayest +the easier bear thy little adversities. And if they seem not little +unto thee, beware lest thy impatience be the cause thereof.... Blessed +are those ears that receive the whispers of the divine voice, and +listen not to the whisperings of the world. Blessed are those ears +which hearken not unto the voice which soundeth outwardly, but unto +the Truth, which teacheth inwardly." + +A strange thrill of awe passed through Maggie while she read, as if +she had been wakened in the night by a strain of solemn music, telling +of beings whose souls had been astir while hers was in stupor. She +went on from one brown mark to another, where the quiet hand seemed to +point, hardly conscious that she was reading, seeming rather to listen +while a low voice said; + +"Why dost thou here gaze about, since this is not the place of thy +rest? In heaven ought to be thy dwelling, and all earthly things are +to be looked on as they forward thy journey thither. All things pass +away, and thou together with them. Beware thou cleavest not unto them, +lest thou be entangled and perish.... If a man should give all his +substance, yet it is as nothing. And if he should do great penances, +yet are they but little. And if he should attain to all knowledge, he +is yet far off. And if he should be of great virtue, and very fervent +devotion, yet is there much wanting; to wit, one thing, which is most +necessary for him. What is that? That having left all, he leave +himself, and go wholly out of himself, and retain nothing of +self-love.... I have often said unto thee, and now again I say the +same, Forsake thyself, resign thyself, and thou shalt enjoy much +inward peace.... Then shall all vain imaginations, evil perturbations, +and superfluous cares fly away; then shall immoderate fear leave thee, +and inordinate love shall die." + +Maggie drew a long breath and pushed her heavy hair back, as if to see +a sudden vision more clearly. Here, then, was a secret of life that +would enable her to renounce all other secrets; here was a sublime +height to be reached without the help of outward things; here was +insight, and strength, and conquest, to be won by means entirely +within her own soul, where a supreme Teacher was waiting to be heard. +It flashed through her like the suddenly apprehended solution of a +problem, that all the miseries of her young life had come from fixing +her heart on her own pleasure, as if that were the central necessity +of the universe; and for the first time she saw the possibility of +shifting the position from which she looked at the gratification of +her own desires,--of taking her stand out of herself, and looking at +her own life as an insignificant part of a divinely guided whole. She +read on and on in the old book, devouring eagerly the dialogues with +the invisible Teacher, the pattern of sorrow, the source of all +strength; returning to it after she had been called away, and reading +till the sun went down behind the willows. With all the hurry of an +imagination that could never rest in the present, she sat in the +deepening twilight forming plans of self-humiliation and entire +devotedness; and in the ardor of first discovery, renunciation seemed +to her the entrance into that satisfaction which she had so long been +craving in vain. She had not perceived--how could she until she had +lived longer?--the inmost truth of the old monk's out-pourings, that +renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly. Maggie +was still panting for happiness, and was in ecstasy because she had +found the key to it. She knew nothing of doctrines and systems, of +mysticism or quietism; but this voice out of the far-off middle ages +was the direct communication of a human soul's belief and experience, +and came to Maggie as an unquestioned message. + +I suppose that is the reason why the small old-fashioned book, for +which you need only pay sixpence at a book-stall, works miracles to +this day, turning bitter waters into sweetness; while expensive +sermons and treatises, newly issued, leave all things as they were +before. It was written down by a hand that waited for the heart's +prompting; it is the chronicle of a solitary, hidden anguish, +struggle, trust, and triumph, not written on velvet cushions to teach +endurance to those who are treading with bleeding feet on the stones. +And so it remains to all time a lasting record of human needs and +human consolations; the voice of a brother who, ages ago, felt and +suffered and renounced,--in the cloister, perhaps, with serge gown and +tonsured head, with much chanting and long fasts, and with a fashion +of speech different from ours,--but under the same silent far-off +heavens, and with the same passionate desires, the same strivings, the +same failures, the same weariness. + +In writing the history of unfashionable families, one is apt to fall +into a tone of emphasis which is very far from being the tone of good +society, where principles and beliefs are not only of an extremely +moderate kind, but are always presupposed, no subjects being eligible +but such as can be touched with a light and graceful irony. But then +good society has its claret and its velvet carpets, its +dinner-engagements six weeks deep, its opera and its faëry ball-rooms; +rides off its _ennui_ on thoroughbred horses; lounges at the club; has +to keep clear of crinoline vortices; gets its science done by Faraday, +and its religion by the superior clergy who are to be met in the best +houses,--how should it have time or need for belief and emphasis? But +good society, floated on gossamer wings of light irony, is of very +expensive production; requiring nothing less than a wide and arduous +national life condensed in unfragrant deafening factories, cramping +itself in mines, sweating at furnaces, grinding, hammering, weaving +under more or less oppression of carbonic acid, or else, spread over +sheepwalks, and scattered in lonely houses and huts on the clayey or +chalky corn-lands, where the rainy days look dreary. This wide +national life is based entirely on emphasis,--the emphasis of want, +which urges it into all the activities necessary for the maintenance +of good society and light irony; it spends its heavy years often in a +chill, uncarpeted fashion, amidst family discord unsoftened by long +corridors. Under such circumstances, there are many among its myriads +of souls who have absolutely needed an emphatic belief, life in this +unpleasurable shape demanding some solution even to unspeculative +minds,--just as you inquire into the stuffing of your couch when +anything galls you there, whereas eider-down and perfect French +springs excite no question. Some have an emphatic belief in alcohol, +and seek their _ekstasis_ or outside standing-ground in gin; but the +rest require something that good society calls "enthusiasm," something +that will present motives in an entire absence of high prizes; +something that will give patience and feed human love when the limbs +ache with weariness, and human looks are hard upon us; something, +clearly, that lies outside personal desires, that includes resignation +for ourselves and active love for what is not ourselves. Now and then +that sort of enthusiasm finds a far-echoing voice that comes from an +experience springing out of the deepest need; and it was by being +brought within the long lingering vibrations of such a voice that +Maggie, with her girl's face and unnoted sorrows, found an effort and +a hope that helped her through years of loneliness, making out a faith +for herself without the aid of established authorities and appointed +guides; for they were not at hand, and her need was pressing. From +what you know of her, you will not be surprised that she threw some +exaggeration and wilfulness, some pride and impetuosity, even into her +self-renunciation; her own life was still a drama for her, in which +she demanded of herself that her part should be played with intensity. +And so it came to pass that she often lost the spirit of humility by +being excessive in the outward act; she often strove after too high a +flight, and came down with her poor little half-fledged wings dabbled +in the mud. For example, she not only determined to work at plain +sewing, that she might contribute something toward the fund in the tin +box, but she went, in the first instance, in her zeal of +self-mortification, to ask for it at a linen shop in St. Ogg's, +instead of getting it in a more quiet and indirect way; and could see +nothing but what was entirely wrong and unkind, nay, persecuting, in +Tom's reproof of her for this unnecessary act. "I don't like _my_ +sister to do such things," said Tom, "_I'll_ take care that the debts +are paid, without your lowering yourself in that way." Surely there +was some tenderness and bravery mingled with the worldliness and +self-assertion of that little speech; but Maggie held it as dross, +overlooking the grains of gold, and took Tom's rebuke as one of her +outward crosses. Tom was very hard to her, she used to think, in her +long night-watchings,--to her who had always loved him so; and then +she strove to be contented with that hardness, and to require nothing. +That is the path we all like when we set out on our abandonment of +egoism,--the path of martyrdom and endurance, where the palm-branches +grow, rather than the steep highway of tolerance, just allowance, and +self-blame, where there are no leafy honors to be gathered and worn. + +The old books, Virgil, Euclid, and Aldrich--that wrinkled fruit of the +tree of knowledge--had been all laid by; for Maggie had turned her +back on the vain ambition to share the thoughts of the wise. In her +first ardor she flung away the books with a sort of triumph that she +had risen above the need of them; and if they had been her own, she +would have burned them, believing that she would never repent. She +read so eagerly and constantly in her three books, the Bible, Thomas à +Kempis, and the "Christian Year" (no longer rejected as a +"hymn-book"), that they filled her mind with a continual stream of +rhythmic memories; and she was too ardently learning to see all nature +and life in the light of her new faith, to need any other material for +her mind to work on, as she sat with her well-plied needle, making +shirts and other complicated stitchings, falsely called "plain,"--by +no means plain to Maggie, since wristband and sleeve and the like had +a capability of being sewed in wrong side outward in moments of mental +wandering. + +Hanging diligently over her sewing, Maggie was a sight any one might +have been pleased to look at. That new inward life of hers, +notwithstanding some volcanic upheavings of imprisoned passions, yet +shone out in her face with a tender soft light that mingled itself as +added loveliness with the gradually enriched color and outline of her +blossoming youth. Her mother felt the change in her with a sort of +puzzled wonder that Maggie should be "growing up so good"; it was +amazing that this once "contrairy" child was become so submissive, so +backward to assert her own will. Maggie used to look up from her work +and find her mother's eyes fixed upon her; they were watching and +waiting for the large young glance, as if her elder frame got some +needful warmth from it. The mother was getting fond of her tall, brown +girl,--the only bit of furniture now on which she could bestow her +anxiety and pride; and Maggie, in spite of her own ascetic wish to +have no personal adornment, was obliged to give way to her mother +about her hair, and submit to have the abundant black locks plaited +into a coronet on the summit of her head, after the pitiable fashion +of those antiquated times. + +"Let your mother have that bit o' pleasure, my dear," said Mrs. +Tulliver; "I'd trouble enough with your hair once." + +So Maggie, glad of anything that would soothe her mother, and cheer +their long day together, consented to the vain decoration, and showed +a queenly head above her old frocks, steadily refusing, however, to +look at herself in the glass. Mrs. Tulliver liked to call the father's +attention to Maggie's hair and other unexpected virtues, but he had a +brusk reply to give. + +"I knew well enough what she'd be, before now,--it's nothing new to +me. But it's a pity she isn't made o' commoner stuff; she'll be thrown +away, I doubt,--there'll be nobody to marry her as is fit for her." + +And Maggie's graces of mind and body fed his gloom. He sat patiently +enough while she read him a chapter, or said something timidly when +they were alone together about trouble being turned into a blessing. +He took it all as part of his daughter's goodness, which made his +misfortunes the sadder to him because they damaged her chance in life. +In a mind charged with an eager purpose and an unsatisfied +vindictiveness, there is no room for new feelings; Mr. Tulliver did +not want spiritual consolation--he wanted to shake off the degradation +of debt, and to have his revenge. + + + + +Book V + +_Wheat and Tares_ + + + +Chapter I + +In the Red Deeps + + +The family sitting-room was a long room with a window at each end; one +looking toward the croft and along the Ripple to the banks of the +Floss, the other into the mill-yard. Maggie was sitting with her work +against the latter window when she saw Mr. Wakem entering the yard, as +usual, on his fine black horse; but not alone, as usual. Some one was +with him,--a figure in a cloak, on a handsome pony. Maggie had hardly +time to feel that it was Philip come back, before they were in front +of the window, and he was raising his hat to her; while his father, +catching the movement by a side-glance, looked sharply round at them +both. + +Maggie hurried away from the window and carried her work upstairs; for +Mr. Wakem sometimes came in and inspected the books, and Maggie felt +that the meeting with Philip would be robbed of all pleasure in the +presence of the two fathers. Some day, perhaps, she could see him when +they could just shake hands, and she could tell him that she +remembered his goodness to Tom, and the things he had said to her in +the old days, though they could never be friends any more. It was not +at all agitating to Maggie to see Philip again; she retained her +childish gratitude and pity toward him, and remembered his cleverness; +and in the early weeks of her loneliness she had continually recalled +the image of him among the people who had been kind to her in life, +often wishing she had him for a brother and a teacher, as they had +fancied it might have been, in their talk together. But that sort of +wishing had been banished along with other dreams that savored of +seeking her own will; and she thought, besides, that Philip might be +altered by his life abroad,--he might have become worldly, and really +not care about her saying anything to him now. And yet his face was +wonderfully little altered,--it was only a larger, more manly copy of +the pale, small-featured boy's face, with the gray eyes, and the +boyish waving brown hair; there was the old deformity to awaken the +old pity; and after all her meditations, Maggie felt that she really +_should_ like to say a few words to him. He might still be melancholy, +as he always used to be, and like her to look at him kindly. She +wondered if he remembered how he used to like her eyes; with that +thought Maggie glanced toward the square looking-glass which was +condemned to hang with its face toward the wall, and she half started +from her seat to reach it down; but she checked herself and snatched +up her work, trying to repress the rising wishes by forcing her memory +to recall snatches of hymns, until she saw Philip and his father +returning along the road, and she could go down again. + +It was far on in June now, and Maggie was inclined to lengthen the +daily walk which was her one indulgence; but this day and the +following she was so busy with work which must be finished that she +never went beyond the gate, and satisfied her need of the open air by +sitting out of doors. One of her frequent walks, when she was not +obliged to go to St. Ogg's, was to a spot that lay beyond what was +called the "Hill,"--an insignificant rise of ground crowned by trees, +lying along the side of the road which ran by the gates of Dorlcote +Mill. Insignificant I call it, because in height it was hardly more +than a bank; but there may come moments when Nature makes a mere bank +a means toward a fateful result; and that is why I ask you to imagine +this high bank crowned with trees, making an uneven wall for some +quarter of a mile along the left side of Dorlcote Mill and the +pleasant fields behind it, bounded by the murmuring Ripple. Just where +this line of bank sloped down again to the level, a by-road turned off +and led to the other side of the rise, where it was broken into very +capricious hollows and mounds by the working of an exhausted +stone-quarry, so long exhausted that both mounds and hollows were now +clothed with brambles and trees, and here and there by a stretch of +grass which a few sheep kept close-nibbled. In her childish days +Maggie held this place, called the Red Deeps, in very great awe, and +needed all her confidence in Tom's bravery to reconcile her to an +excursion thither,--visions of robbers and fierce animals haunting +every hollow. But now it had the charm for her which any broken +ground, any mimic rock and ravine, have for the eyes that rest +habitually on the level; especially in summer, when she could sit on a +grassy hollow under the shadow of a branching ash, stooping aslant +from the steep above her, and listen to the hum of insects, like +tiniest bells on the garment of Silence, or see the sunlight piercing +the distant boughs, as if to chase and drive home the truant heavenly +blue of the wild hyacinths. In this June time, too, the dog-roses were +in their glory, and that was an additional reason why Maggie should +direct her walk to the Red Deeps, rather than to any other spot, on +the first day she was free to wander at her will,--a pleasure she +loved so well, that sometimes, in her ardors of renunciation, she +thought she ought to deny herself the frequent indulgence in it. + +You may see her now, as she walks down the favorite turning and enters +the Deeps by a narrow path through a group of Scotch firs, her tall +figure and old lavender gown visible through an hereditary black silk +shawl of some wide-meshed net-like material; and now she is sure of +being unseen she takes off her bonnet and ties it over her arm. One +would certainly suppose her to be farther on in life than her +seventeenth year--perhaps because of the slow resigned sadness of the +glance from which all search and unrest seem to have departed; perhaps +because her broad-chested figure has the mould of early womanhood. +Youth and health have withstood well the involuntary and voluntary +hardships of her lot, and the nights in which she has lain on the hard +floor for a penance have left no obvious trace; the eyes are liquid, +the brown cheek is firm and round, the full lips are red. With her +dark coloring and jet crown surmounting her tall figure, she seems to +have a sort of kinship with the grand Scotch firs, at which she is +looking up as if she loved them well. Yet one has a sense of +uneasiness in looking at her,--a sense of opposing elements, of which +a fierce collision is imminent; surely there is a hushed expression, +such as one often sees in older faces under borderless caps, out of +keeping with the resistant youth, which one expects to flash out in a +sudden, passionate glance, that will dissipate all the quietude, like +a damp fire leaping out again when all seemed safe. + +But Maggie herself was not uneasy at this moment. She was calmly +enjoying the free air, while she looked up at the old fir-trees, and +thought that those broken ends of branches were the records of past +storms, which had only made the red stems soar higher. But while her +eyes were still turned upward, she became conscious of a moving shadow +cast by the evening sun on the grassy path before her, and looked down +with a startled gesture to see Philip Wakem, who first raised his hat, +and then, blushing deeply, came forward to her and put out his hand. +Maggie, too, colored with surprise, which soon gave way to pleasure. +She put out her hand and looked down at the deformed figure before her +with frank eyes, filled for the moment with nothing but the memory of +her child's feelings,--a memory that was always strong in her. She was +the first to speak. + +"You startled me," she said, smiling faintly; "I never meet any one +here. How came you to be walking here? Did you come to meet _me?_" + +It was impossible not to perceive that Maggie felt herself a child +again. + +"Yes, I did," said Philip, still embarrassed; "I wished to see you +very much. I watched a long while yesterday on the bank near your +house to see if you would come out, but you never came. Then I watched +again to-day, and when I saw the way you took, I kept you in sight and +came down the bank, behind there. I hope you will not be displeased +with me." + +"No," said Maggie, with simple seriousness, walking on as if she meant +Philip to accompany her, "I'm very glad you came, for I wished very +much to have an opportunity of speaking to you. I've never forgotten +how good you were long ago to Tom, and me too; but I was not sure that +you would remember us so well. Tom and I have had a great deal of +trouble since then, and I think _that_ makes one think more of what +happened before the trouble came." + +"I can't believe that you have thought of me so much as I have thought +of you," said Philip, timidly. "Do you know, when I was away, I made a +picture of you as you looked that morning in the study when you said +you would not forget me." + +Philip drew a large miniature-case from his pocket, and opened it. +Maggie saw her old self leaning on a table, with her black locks +hanging down behind her ears, looking into space, with strange, dreamy +eyes. It was a water-color sketch, of real merit as a portrait. + +"Oh dear," said Maggie, smiling, and flushed with pleasure, "what a +queer little girl I was! I remember myself with my hair in that way, +in that pink frock. I really _was_ like a gypsy. I dare say I am now," +she added, after a little pause; "am I like what you expected me to +be?" + +The words might have been those of a coquette, but the full, bright +glance Maggie turned on Philip was not that of a coquette. She really +did hope he liked her face as it was now, but it was simply the rising +again of her innate delight in admiration and love. Philip met her +eyes and looked at her in silence for a long moment, before he said +quietly, "No, Maggie." + +The light died out a little from Maggie's face, and there was a slight +trembling of the lip. Her eyelids fell lower, but she did not turn +away her head, and Philip continued to look at her. Then he said +slowly: + +"You are very much more beautiful than I thought you would be." + +"Am I?" said Maggie, the pleasure returning in a deeper flush. She +turned her face away from him and took some steps, looking straight +before her in silence, as if she were adjusting her consciousness to +this new idea. Girls are so accustomed to think of dress as the main +ground of vanity, that, in abstaining from the looking-glass, Maggie +had thought more of abandoning all care for adornment than of +renouncing the contemplation of her face. Comparing herself with +elegant, wealthy young ladies, it had not occurred to her that she +could produce any effect with her person. Philip seemed to like the +silence well. He walked by her side, watching her face, as if that +sight left no room for any other wish. They had passed from among the +fir-trees, and had now come to a green hollow almost surrounded by an +amphitheatre of the pale pink dog-roses. But as the light about them +had brightened, Maggie's face had lost its glow. + +She stood still when they were in the hollows, and looking at Philip +again, she said in a serious, sad voice: + +"I wish we could have been friends,--I mean, if it would have been +good and right for us. But that is the trial I have to bear in +everything; I may not keep anything I used to love when I was little. +The old books went; and Tom is different, and my father. It is like +death. I must part with everything I cared for when I was a child. And +I must part with you; we must never take any notice of each other +again. That was what I wanted to speak to you for. I wanted to let you +know that Tom and I can't do as we like about such things, and that if +I behave as if I had forgotten all about you, it is not out of envy or +pride--or--or any bad feeling." + +Maggie spoke with more and more sorrowful gentleness as she went on, +and her eyes began to fill with tears. The deepening expression of +pain on Philip's face gave him a stronger resemblance to his boyish +self, and made the deformity appeal more strongly to her pity. + +"I know; I see all that you mean," he said, in a voice that had become +feebler from discouragement; "I know what there is to keep us apart on +both sides. But it is not right, Maggie,--don't you be angry with me, +I am so used to call you Maggie in my thoughts,--it is not right to +sacrifice everything to other people's unreasonable feelings. I would +give up a great deal for _my_ father; but I would not give up a +friendship or--or an attachment of any sort, in obedience to any wish +of his that I didn't recognize as right." + +"I don't know," said Maggie, musingly. "Often, when I have been angry +and discontented, it has seemed to me that I was not bound to give up +anything; and I have gone on thinking till it has seemed to me that I +could think away all my duty. But no good has ever come of that; it +was an evil state of mind. I'm quite sure that whatever I might do, I +should wish in the end that I had gone without anything for myself, +rather than have made my father's life harder to him." + +"But would it make his life harder if we were to see each other +sometimes?" said Philip. He was going to say something else, but +checked himself. + +"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't like it. Don't ask me why, or anything about +it," said Maggie, in a distressed tone. "My father feels so strongly +about some things. He is not at all happy." + +"No more am I," said Philip, impetuously; "I am not happy." + +"Why?" said Maggie, gently. "At least--I ought not to ask--but I'm +very, very sorry." + +Philip turned to walk on, as if he had not patience to stand still any +longer, and they went out of the hollow, winding amongst the trees and +bushes in silence. After that last word of Philip's, Maggie could not +bear to insist immediately on their parting. + +"I've been a great deal happier," she said at last, timidly, "since I +have given up thinking about what is easy and pleasant, and being +discontented because I couldn't have my own will. Our life is +determined for us; and it makes the mind very free when we give up +wishing, and only think of bearing what is laid upon us, and doing +what is given us to do." + +"But I can't give up wishing," said Philip, impatiently. "It seems to +me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly +alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and +we _must_ hunger after them. How can we ever be satisfied without them +until our feelings are deadened? I delight in fine pictures; I long to +be able to paint such. I strive and strive, and can't produce what I +want. That is pain to me, and always _will_ be pain, until my +faculties lose their keenness, like aged eyes. Then there are many +other things I long for,"--here Philip hesitated a little, and then +said,--"things that other men have, and that will always be denied me. +My life will have nothing great or beautiful in it; I would rather not +have lived." + +"Oh, Philip," said Maggie, "I wish you didn't feel so." But her heart +began to beat with something of Philip's discontent. + +"Well, then," said he, turning quickly round and fixing his gray eyes +entreatingly on her face, "I should be contented to live, if you would +let me see you sometimes." Then, checked by a fear which her face +suggested, he looked away again and said more calmly, "I have no +friend to whom I can tell everything, no one who cares enough about +me; and if I could only see you now and then, and you would let me +talk to you a little, and show me that you cared for me, and that we +may always be friends in heart, and help each other, then I might come +to be glad of life." + +"But how can I see you, Philip?" said Maggie, falteringly. (Could she +really do him good? It would be very hard to say "good-by" this day, +and not speak to him again. Here was a new interest to vary the days; +it was so much easier to renounce the interest before it came.) + +"If you would let me see you here sometimes,--walk with you here,--I +would be contented if it were only once or twice in a month. _That_ +could injure no one's happiness, and it would sweeten my life. +Besides," Philip went on, with all the inventive astuteness of love at +one-and-twenty, "if there is any enmity between those who belong to +us, we ought all the more to try and quench it by our friendship; I +mean, that by our influence on both sides we might bring about a +healing of the wounds that have been made in the past, if I could know +everything about them. And I don't believe there is any enmity in my +own father's mind; I think he has proved the contrary." + +Maggie shook her head slowly, and was silent, under conflicting +thoughts. It seemed to her inclination, that to see Philip now and +then, and keep up the bond of friendship with him, was something not +only innocent, but good; perhaps she might really help him to find +contentment as she had found it. The voice that said this made sweet +music to Maggie; but athwart it there came an urgent, monotonous +warning from another voice which she had been learning to obey,--the +warning that such interviews implied secrecy; implied doing something +she would dread to be discovered in, something that, if discovered, +must cause anger and pain; and that the admission of anything so near +doubleness would act as a spiritual blight. Yet the music would swell +out again, like chimes borne onward by a recurrent breeze, persuading +her that the wrong lay all in the faults and weaknesses of others, and +that there was such a thing as futile sacrifice for one to the injury +of another. It was very cruel for Philip that he should be shrunk +from, because of an unjustifiable vindictiveness toward his +father,--poor Philip, whom some people would shrink from only because +he was deformed. The idea that he might become her lover or that her +meeting him could cause disapproval in that light, had not occurred to +her; and Philip saw the absence of this idea clearly enough, saw it +with a certain pang, although it made her consent to his request the +less unlikely. There was bitterness to him in the perception that +Maggie was almost as frank and unconstrained toward him as when she +was a child. + +"I can't say either yes or no," she said at last, turning round and +walking toward the way she come; "I must wait, lest I should decide +wrongly. I must seek for guidance." + +"May I come again, then, to-morrow, or the next day, or next week?" + +"I think I had better write," said Maggie, faltering again. "I have to +go to St. Ogg's sometimes, and I can put the letter in the post." + +"Oh no," said Philip eagerly; "that would not be so well. My father +might see the letter--and--he has not any enmity, I believe, but he +views things differently from me; he thinks a great deal about wealth +and position. Pray let me come here once more. _Tell_ me when it shall +be; or if you can't tell me, I will come as often as I can till I do +see you." + +"I think it must be so, then," said Maggie, "for I can't be quite +certain of coming here any particular evening." + +Maggie felt a great relief in adjourning the decision. She was free +now to enjoy the minutes of companionship; she almost thought she +might linger a little; the next time they met she should have to pain +Philip by telling him her determination. + +"I can't help thinking," she said, looking smilingly at him, after a +few moments of silence, "how strange it is that we should have met and +talked to each other, just as if it had been only yesterday when we +parted at Lorton. And yet we must both be very much altered in those +five years,--I think it is five years. How was it you seemed to have a +sort of feeling that I was the same Maggie? I was not quite so sure +that you would be the same; I know you are so clever, and you must +have seen and learnt so much to fill your mind; I was not quite sure +you would care about me now." + +"I have never had any doubt that you would be the same, whenever I +might see you," said Philip,--"I mean, the same in everything that made +me like you better than any one else. I don't want to explain that; I +don't think any of the strongest effects our natures are susceptible +of can ever be explained. We can neither detect the process by which +they are arrived at, nor the mode in which they act on us. The +greatest of painters only once painted a mysteriously divine child; he +couldn't have told how he did it, and we can't tell why we feel it to +be divine. I think there are stores laid up in our human nature that +our understandings can make no complete inventory of. Certain strains +of music affect me so strangely; I can never hear them without their +changing my whole attitude of mind for a time, and if the effect would +last, I might be capable of heroisms." + +"Ah! I know what you mean about music; _I_ feel so," said Maggie, +clasping her hands with her old impetuosity. "At least," she added, in +a saddened tone, "I used to feel so when I had any music; I never have +any now except the organ at church." + +"And you long for it, Maggie?" said Philip, looking at her with +affectionate pity. "Ah, you can have very little that is beautiful in +your life. Have you many books? You were so fond of them when you were +a little girl." + +They were come back to the hollow, round which the dog-roses grew, and +they both paused under the charm of the faëry evening light, reflected +from the pale pink clusters. + +"No, I have given up books," said Maggie, quietly, "except a very, +very few." + +Philip had already taken from his pocket a small volume, and was +looking at the back as he said: + +"Ah, this is the second volume, I see, else you might have liked to +take it home with you. I put it in my pocket because I am studying a +scene for a picture." + +Maggie had looked at the back too, and saw the title; it revived an +old impression with overmastering force. + +"'The Pirate,'" she said, taking the book from Philip's hands. "Oh, I +began that once; I read to where Minna is walking with Cleveland, and +I could never get to read the rest. I went on with it in my own head, +and I made several endings; but they were all unhappy. I could never +make a happy ending out of that beginning. Poor Minna! I wonder what +is the real end. For a long while I couldn't get my mind away from the +Shetland Isles,--I used to feel the wind blowing on me from the rough +sea." + +Maggie spoke rapidly, with glistening eyes. + +"Take that volume home with you, Maggie," said Philip, watching her +with delight. "I don't want it now. I shall make a picture of you +instead,--you, among the Scotch firs and the slanting shadows." + +Maggie had not heard a word he had said; she was absorbed in a page at +which she had opened. But suddenly she closed the book, and gave it +back to Philip, shaking her head with a backward movement, as if to +say "avaunt" to floating visions. + +"Do keep it, Maggie," said Philip, entreatingly; "it will give you +pleasure." + +"No, thank you," said Maggie, putting it aside with her hand and +walking on. "It would make me in love with this world again, as I used +to be; it would make me long to see and know many things; it would +make me long for a full life." + +"But you will not always be shut up in your present lot; why should +you starve your mind in that way? It is narrow asceticism; I don't +like to see you persisting in it, Maggie. Poetry and art and knowledge +are sacred and pure." + +"But not for me, not for me," said Maggie, walking more hurriedly; +"because I should want too much. I must wait; this life will not last +long." + +"Don't hurry away from me without saying 'good-by,' Maggie," said +Philip, as they reached the group of Scotch firs, and she continued +still to walk along without speaking. "I must not go any farther, I +think, must I?" + +"Oh no, I forgot; good-by," said Maggie, pausing, and putting out her +hand to him. The action brought her feeling back in a strong current +to Philip; and after they had stood looking at each other in silence +for a few moments, with their hands clasped, she said, withdrawing her +hand: + +"I'm very grateful to you for thinking of me all those years. It is +very sweet to have people love us. What a wonderful, beautiful thing +it seems that God should have made your heart so that you could care +about a queer little girl whom you only knew for a few weeks! I +remember saying to you that I thought you cared for me more than Tom +did." + +"Ah, Maggie," said Philip, almost fretfully, "you would never love me +so well as you love your brother." + +"Perhaps not," said Maggie, simply; "but then, you know, the first +thing I ever remember in my life is standing with Tom by the side of +the Floss, while he held my hand; everything before that is dark to +me. But I shall never forget you, though we must keep apart." + +"Don't say so, Maggie," said Philip. "If I kept that little girl in my +mind for five years, didn't I earn some part in her? She ought not to +take herself quite away from me." + +"Not if I were free," said Maggie; "but I am not, I must submit." She +hesitated a moment, and then added, "And I wanted to say to you, that +you had better not take more notice of my brother than just bowing to +him. He once told me not to speak to you again, and he doesn't change +his mind--Oh dear, the sun is set. I am too long away. Good-by." She +gave him her hand once more. + +"I shall come here as often as I can till I see you again, Maggie. +Have some feeling for _me_ as well as for others." + +"Yes, yes, I have," said Maggie, hurrying away, and quickly +disappearing behind the last fir-tree; though Philip's gaze after her +remained immovable for minutes as if he saw her still. + +Maggie went home, with an inward conflict already begun; Philip went +home to do nothing but remember and hope. You can hardly help blaming +him severely. He was four or five years older than Maggie, and had a +full consciousness of his feeling toward her to aid him in foreseeing +the character his contemplated interviews with her would bear in the +opinion of a third person. But you must not suppose that he was +capable of a gross selfishness, or that he could have been satisfied +without persuading himself that he was seeking to infuse some +happiness into Maggie's life,--seeking this even more than any direct +ends for himself. He could give her sympathy; he could give her help. +There was not the slightest promise of love toward him in her manner; +it was nothing more than the sweet girlish tenderness she had shown +him when she was twelve. Perhaps she would never love him; perhaps no +woman ever _could_ love him. Well, then, he would endure that; he +should at least have the happiness of seeing her, of feeling some +nearness to her. And he clutched passionately the possibility that she +_might_ love him; perhaps the feeling would grow, if she could come to +associate him with that watchful tenderness which her nature would be +so keenly alive to. If any woman could love him, surely Maggie was +that woman; there was such wealth of love in her, and there was no one +to claim it all. Then, the pity of it, that a mind like hers should be +withering in its very youth, like a young forest-tree, for want of the +light and space it was formed to flourish in! Could he not hinder +that, by persuading her out of her system of privation? He would be +her guardian angel; he would do anything, bear anything, for her +sake--except not seeing her. + + + +Chapter II + +Aunt Glegg Learns the Breadth of Bob's Thumb + + +While Maggie's life-struggles had lain almost entirely within her own +soul, one shadowy army fighting another, and the slain shadows forever +rising again, Tom was engaged in a dustier, noisier warfare, grappling +with more substantial obstacles, and gaining more definite conquests. +So it has been since the days of Hecuba, and of Hector, Tamer of +horses; inside the gates, the women with streaming hair and uplifted +hands offering prayers, watching the world's combat from afar, filling +their long, empty days with memories and fears; outside, the men, in +fierce struggle with things divine and human, quenching memory in the +stronger light of purpose, losing the sense of dread and even of +wounds in the hurrying ardor of action. + +From what you have seen of Tom, I think he is not a youth of whom you +would prophesy failure in anything he had thoroughly wished; the +wagers are likely to be on his side, notwithstanding his small success +in the classics. For Tom had never desired success in this field of +enterprise; and for getting a fine flourishing growth of stupidity +there is nothing like pouring out on a mind a good amount of subjects +in which it feels no interest. But now Tom's strong will bound +together his integrity, his pride, his family regrets, and his +personal ambition, and made them one force, concentrating his efforts +and surmounting discouragements. His uncle Deane, who watched him +closely, soon began to conceive hopes of him, and to be rather proud +that he had brought into the employment of the firm a nephew who +appeared to be made of such good commercial stuff. The real kindness +of placing him in the warehouse first was soon evident to Tom, in the +hints his uncle began to throw out, that after a time he might perhaps +be trusted to travel at certain seasons, and buy in for the firm +various vulgar commodities with which I need not shock refined ears in +this place; and it was doubtless with a view to this result that Mr. +Deane, when he expected to take his wine alone, would tell Tom to step +in and sit with him an hour, and would pass that hour in much +lecturing and catechising concerning articles of export and import, +with an occasional excursus of more indirect utility on the relative +advantages to the merchants of St. Ogg's of having goods brought in +their own and in foreign bottoms,--a subject on which Mr. Deane, as a +ship-owner, naturally threw off a few sparks when he got warmed with +talk and wine. + +Already, in the second year, Tom's salary was raised; but all, except +the price of his dinner and clothes, went home into the tin box; and +he shunned comradeship, lest it should lead him into expenses in spite +of himself. Not that Tom was moulded on the spoony type of the +Industrious Apprentice; he had a very strong appetite for +pleasure,--would have liked to be a Tamer of horses and to make a +distinguished figure in all neighboring eyes, dispensing treats and +benefits to others with well-judged liberality, and being pronounced +one of the finest young fellows of those parts; nay, he determined to +achieve these things sooner or later; but his practical shrewdness +told him that the means no such achievements could only lie for him in +present abstinence and self-denial; there were certain milestones to +be passed, and one of the first was the payment of his father's debts. +Having made up his mind on that point, he strode along without +swerving, contracting some rather saturnine sternness, as a young man +is likely to do who has a premature call upon him for self-reliance. +Tom felt intensely that common cause with his father which springs +from family pride, and was bent on being irreproachable as a son; but +his growing experience caused him to pass much silent criticism on the +rashness and imprudence of his father's past conduct; their +dispositions were not in sympathy, and Tom's face showed little +radiance during his few home hours. Maggie had an awe of him, against +which she struggled as something unfair to her consciousness of wider +thoughts and deeper motives; but it was of no use to struggle. A +character at unity with itself--that performs what it intends, subdues +every counteracting impulse, and has no visions beyond the distinctly +possible--is strong by its very negations. + +You may imagine that Tom's more and more obvious unlikeness to his +father was well fitted to conciliate the maternal aunts and uncles; +and Mr. Deane's favorable reports and predictions to Mr. Glegg +concerning Tom's qualifications for business began to be discussed +amongst them with various acceptance. He was likely, it appeared, to +do the family credit without causing it any expense and trouble. Mrs. +Pullet had always thought it strange if Tom's excellent complexion, so +entirely that of the Dodsons, did not argue a certainty that he would +turn out well; his juvenile errors of running down the peacock, and +general disrespect to his aunts, only indicating a tinge of Tulliver +blood which he had doubtless outgrown. Mr. Glegg, who had contracted a +cautious liking for Tom ever since his spirited and sensible behavior +when the execution was in the house, was now warming into a resolution +to further his prospects actively,--some time, when an opportunity +offered of doing so in a prudent manner, without ultimate loss; but +Mrs. Glegg observed that she was not given to speak without book, as +some people were; that those who said least were most likely to find +their words made good; and that when the right moment came, it would +be seen who could do something better than talk. Uncle Pullet, after +silent meditation for a period of several lozenges, came distinctly to +the conclusion, that when a young man was likely to do well, it was +better not to meddle with him. + +Tom, meanwhile, had shown no disposition to rely on any one but +himself, though, with a natural sensitiveness toward all indications +of favorable opinion, he was glad to see his uncle Glegg look in on +him sometimes in a friendly way during business hours, and glad to be +invited to dine at his house, though he usually preferred declining on +the ground that he was not sure of being punctual. But about a year +ago, something had occurred which induced Tom to test his uncle +Glegg's friendly disposition. + +Bob Jakin, who rarely returned from one of his rounds without seeing +Tom and Maggie, awaited him on the bridge as he was coming home from +St. Ogg's one evening, that they might have a little private talk. He +took the liberty of asking if Mr. Tom had ever thought of making money +by trading a bit on his own account. Trading, how? Tom wished to know. +Why, by sending out a bit of a cargo to foreign ports; because Bob had +a particular friend who had offered to do a little business for him in +that way in Laceham goods, and would be glad to serve Mr. Tom on the +same footing. Tom was interested at once, and begged for full +explanation, wondering he had not thought of this plan before. + +He was so well pleased with the prospect of a speculation that might +change the slow process of addition into multiplication, that he at +once determined to mention the matter to his father, and get his +consent to appropriate some of the savings in the tin box to the +purchase of a small cargo. He would rather not have consulted his +father, but he had just paid his last quarter's money into the tin +box, and there was no other resource. All the savings were there; for +Mr. Tulliver would not consent to put the money out at interest lest +he should lose it. Since he had speculated in the purchase of some +corn, and had lost by it, he could not be easy without keeping the +money under his eye. + +Tom approached the subject carefully, as he was seated on the hearth +with his father that evening, and Mr. Tulliver listened, leaning +forward in his arm-chair and looking up in Tom's face with a sceptical +glance. His first impulse was to give a positive refusal, but he was +in some awe of Tom's wishes, and since he had the sense of being an +"unlucky" father, he had lost some of his old peremptoriness and +determination to be master. He took the key of the bureau from his +pocket, got out the key of the large chest, and fetched down the tin +box,--slowly, as if he were trying to defer the moment of a painful +parting. Then he seated himself against the table, and opened the box +with that little padlock-key which he fingered in his waistcoat pocket +in all vacant moments. There they were, the dingy bank-notes and the +bright sovereigns, and he counted them out on the table--only a +hundred and sixteen pounds in two years, after all the pinching. + +"How much do you want, then?" he said, speaking as if the words burnt +his lips. + +"Suppose I begin with the thirty-six pounds, father?" said Tom. + +Mr. Tulliver separated this sum from the rest, and keeping his hand +over it, said: + +"It's as much as I can save out o' my pay in a year." + +"Yes, father; it is such slow work, saving out of the little money we +get. And in this way we might double our savings." + +"Ay, my lad," said the father, keeping his hand on the money, "but you +might lose it,--you might lose a year o' my life,--and I haven't got +many." + +Tom was silent. + +"And you know I wouldn't pay a dividend with the first hundred, +because I wanted to see it all in a lump,--and when I see it, I'm sure +on't. If you trust to luck, it's sure to be against me. It's Old +Harry's got the luck in his hands; and if I lose one year, I shall +never pick it up again; death 'ull o'ertake me." + +Mr. Tulliver's voice trembled, and Tom was silent for a few minutes +before he said: + +"I'll give it up, father, since you object to it so strongly." + +But, unwilling to abandon the scheme altogether, he determined to ask +his uncle Glegg to venture twenty pounds, on condition of receiving +five per cent. of the profits. That was really a very small thing to +ask. So when Bob called the next day at the wharf to know the +decision, Tom proposed that they should go together to his uncle +Glegg's to open the business; for his diffident pride clung to him, +and made him feel that Bobs' tongue would relieve him from some +embarrassment. + +Mr. Glegg, at the pleasant hour of four in the afternoon of a hot +August day, was naturally counting his wall-fruit to assure himself +that the sum total had not varied since yesterday. To him entered Tom, +in what appeared to Mr. Glegg very questionable companionship,--that +of a man with a pack on his back,--for Bob was equipped for a new +journey,--and of a huge brindled bull-terrier, who walked with a slow, +swaying movement from side to side, and glanced from under his +eye-lids with a surly indifference which might after all be a cover to +the most offensive designs. + +Mr. Glegg's spectacles, which had been assisting him in counting the +fruit, made these suspicious details alarmingly evident to him. + +"Heigh! heigh! keep that dog back, will you?" he shouted, snatching up +a stake and holding it before him as a shield when the visitors were +within three yards of him. + +"Get out wi' you, Mumps," said Bob, with a kick. "He's as quiet as a +lamb, sir,"--an observation which Mumps corroborated by a low growl as +he retreated behind his master's legs. + +"Why, what ever does this mean, Tom?" said Mr. Glegg. "Have you +brought information about the scoundrels as cut my trees?" If Bob came +in the character of "information," Mr. Glegg saw reasons for +tolerating some irregularity. + +"No, sir," said Tom; "I came to speak to you about a little matter of +business of my own." + +"Ay--well; but what has this dog got to do with it?" said the old +gentleman, getting mild again. + +"It's my dog, sir," said the ready Bob. "An' it's me as put Mr. Tom up +to the bit o' business; for Mr. Tom's been a friend o' mine iver since +I was a little chap; fust thing iver I did was frightenin' the birds +for th' old master. An' if a bit o' luck turns up, I'm allays thinkin' +if I can let Mr. Tom have a pull at it. An' it's a downright roarin' +shame, as when he's got the chance o' making a bit o' money wi' +sending goods out,--ten or twelve per zent clear, when freight an' +commission's paid,--as he shouldn't lay hold o' the chance for want o' +money. An' when there's the Laceham goods,--lors! they're made o' +purpose for folks as want to send out a little carguy; light, an' take +up no room,--you may pack twenty pound so as you can't see the +passill; an' they're manifacturs as please fools, so I reckon they +aren't like to want a market. An' I'd go to Laceham an' buy in the +goods for Mr. Tom along wi' my own. An' there's the shupercargo o' the +bit of a vessel as is goin' to take 'em out. I know him partic'lar; +he's a solid man, an' got a family i' the town here. Salt, his name +is,--an' a briny chap he is too,--an' if you don't believe me, I can +take you to him." + +Uncle Glegg stood open-mouthed with astonishment at this unembarrassed +loquacity, with which his understanding could hardly keep pace. He +looked at Bob, first over his spectacles, then through them, then over +them again; while Tom, doubtful of his uncle's impression, began to +wish he had not brought this singular Aaron, or mouthpiece. Bob's talk +appeared less seemly, now some one besides himself was listening to +it. + +"You seem to be a knowing fellow," said Mr. Glegg, at last. + +"Ay, sir, you say true," returned Bob, nodding his head aside; "I +think my head's all alive inside like an old cheese, for I'm so full +o' plans, one knocks another over. If I hadn't Mumps to talk to, I +should get top-heavy an' tumble in a fit. I suppose it's because I +niver went to school much. That's what I jaw my old mother for. I +says, 'You should ha' sent me to school a bit more,' I says, 'an' then +I could ha' read i' the books like fun, an' kep' my head cool an' +empty.' Lors, she's fine an' comfor'ble now, my old mother is; she +ates her baked meat an' taters as often as she likes. For I'm gettin' +so full o' money, I must hev a wife to spend it for me. But it's +botherin,' a wife is,--and Mumps mightn't like her." + +Uncle Glegg, who regarded himself as a jocose man since he had retired +from business, was beginning to find Bob amusing, but he had still a +disapproving observation to make, which kept his face serious. + +"Ah," he said, "I should think you're at a loss for ways o' spending +your money, else you wouldn't keep that big dog, to eat as much as two +Christians. It's shameful--shameful!" But he spoke more in sorrow than +in anger, and quickly added: + +"But, come now, let's hear more about this business, Tom. I suppose +you want a little sum to make a venture with. But where's all your own +money? You don't spend it all--eh?" + +"No, sir," said Tom, coloring; "but my father is unwilling to risk it, +and I don't like to press him. If I could get twenty or thirty pounds +to begin with, I could pay five per cent for it, and then I could +gradually make a little capital of my own, and do without a loan." + +"Ay--ay," said Mr. Glegg, in an approving tone; "that's not a bad +notion, and I won't say as I wouldn't be your man. But it 'ull be as +well for me to see this Salt, as you talk on. And then--here's this +friend o' yours offers to buy the goods for you. Perhaps you've got +somebody to stand surety for you if the money's put into your hands?" +added the cautious old gentleman, looking over his spectacles at Bob. + +"I don't think that's necessary, uncle," said Tom. "At least, I mean +it would not be necessary for me, because I know Bob well; but perhaps +it would be right for you to have some security." + +"You get your percentage out o' the purchase, I suppose?" said Mr. +Glegg, looking at Bob. + +"No, sir," said Bob, rather indignantly; "I didn't offer to get a +apple for Mr. Tom, o' purpose to hev a bite out of it myself. When I +play folks tricks, there'll be more fun in 'em nor that." + +"Well, but it's nothing but right you should have a small percentage," +said Mr. Glegg. "I've no opinion o' transactions where folks do things +for nothing. It allays looks bad." + +"Well, then," said Bob, whose keenness saw at once what was implied, +"I'll tell you what I get by't, an' it's money in my pocket in the +end,--I make myself look big, wi' makin' a bigger purchase. That's +what I'm thinking on. Lors! I'm a 'cute chap,--I am." + +"Mr. Glegg, Mr. Glegg!" said a severe voice from the open parlor +window, "pray are you coming in to tea, or are you going to stand +talking with packmen till you get murdered in the open daylight?" + +"Murdered?" said Mr. Glegg; "what's the woman talking of? Here's your +nephey Tom come about a bit o' business." + +"Murdered,--yes,--it isn't many 'sizes ago since a packman murdered a +young woman in a lone place, and stole her thimble, and threw her body +into a ditch." + +"Nay, nay," said Mr. Glegg, soothingly, "you're thinking o' the man +wi' no legs, as drove a dog-cart." + +"Well, it's the same thing, Mr. Glegg, only you're fond o' +contradicting what I say; and if my nephey's come about business, it +'ud be more fitting if you'd bring him into the house, and let his +aunt know about it, instead o' whispering in corners, in that +plotting, underminding way." + +"Well, well," said Mr. Glegg, "we'll come in now." + +"You needn't stay here," said the lady to Bob, in a loud voice, +adapted to the moral, not the physical, distance between them. "We +don't want anything. I don't deal wi' packmen. Mind you shut the gate +after you." + +"Stop a bit; not so fast," said Mr. Glegg; "I haven't done with this +young man yet. Come in, Tom; come in," he added, stepping in at the +French window. + +"Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., in a fatal tone, "if you're going to let +that man and his dog in on my carpet, before my very face, be so good +as to let me know. A wife's got a right to ask that, I hope." + +"Don't you be uneasy, mum," said Bob, touching his cap. He saw at once +that Mrs. Glegg was a bit of game worth running down, and longed to be +at the sport; "we'll stay out upo' the gravel here,--Mumps and me +will. Mumps knows his company,--he does. I might hish at him by th' +hour together, before he'd fly at a real gentlewoman like you. It's +wonderful how he knows which is the good-looking ladies; and's +partic'lar fond of 'em when they've good shapes. Lors!" added Bob, +laying down his pack on the gravel, "it's a thousand pities such a +lady as you shouldn't deal with a packman, i' stead o' goin' into +these newfangled shops, where there's half-a-dozen fine gents wi' +their chins propped up wi' a stiff stock, a-looking like bottles wi' +ornamental stoppers, an' all got to get their dinner out of a bit o' +calico; it stan's to reason you must pay three times the price you pay +a packman, as is the nat'ral way o' gettin' goods,--an' pays no rent, +an' isn't forced to throttle himself till the lies are squeezed out on +him, whether he will or no. But lors! mum, you know what it is better +nor I do,--_you_ can see through them shopmen, I'll be bound." + +"Yes, I reckon I can, and through the packmen too," observed Mrs. +Glegg, intending to imply that Bob's flattery had produced no effect +on _her;_ while her husband, standing behind her with his hands in his +pockets and legs apart, winked and smiled with conjugal delight at the +probability of his wife's being circumvented. + +"Ay, to be sure, mum," said Bob. "Why, you must ha' dealt wi' no end +o' packmen when you war a young lass--before the master here had the +luck to set eyes on you. I know where you lived, I do,--seen th' house +many a time,--close upon Squire Darleigh's,--a stone house wi' +steps----" + +"Ah, that it had," said Mrs. Glegg, pouring out the tea. "You know +something o' my family, then? Are you akin to that packman with a +squint in his eye, as used to bring th' Irish linen?" + +"Look you there now!" said Bob, evasively. "Didn't I know as you'd +remember the best bargains you've made in your life was made wi' +packmen? Why, you see even a squintin' packman's better nor a shopman +as can see straight. Lors! if I'd had the luck to call at the stone +house wi' my pack, as lies here,"--stooping and thumping the bundle +emphatically with his fist,--"an' th' handsome young lasses all +stannin' out on the stone steps, it ud' ha' been summat like openin' a +pack, that would. It's on'y the poor houses now as a packman calls on, +if it isn't for the sake o' the sarvant-maids. They're paltry times, +these are. Why, mum, look at the printed cottons now, an' what they +was when you wore 'em,--why, you wouldn't put such a thing on now, I +can see. It must be first-rate quality, the manifactur as you'd +buy,--summat as 'ud wear as well as your own faitures." + +"Yes, better quality nor any you're like to carry; you've got nothing +first-rate but brazenness, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Glegg, with a +triumphant sense of her insurmountable sagacity. "Mr. Glegg, are you +going ever to sit down to your tea? Tom, there's a cup for you." + +"You speak true there, mum," said Bob. "My pack isn't for ladies like +you. The time's gone by for that. Bargains picked up dirt cheap! A bit +o' damage here an' there, as can be cut out, or else niver seen i' the +wearin', but not fit to offer to rich folks as can pay for the look o' +things as nobody sees. I'm not the man as 'ud offer t' open my pack to +_you_, mum; no, no; I'm a imperent chap, as you say,--these times +makes folks imperent,--but I'm not up to the mark o' that." + +"Why, what goods do you carry in your pack?" said Mrs. Glegg. +"Fine-colored things, I suppose,--shawls an' that?" + +"All sorts, mum, all sorts," said Bob,--thumping his bundle; "but let +us say no more about that, if _you_ please. I'm here upo' Mr. Tom's +business, an' I'm not the man to take up the time wi' my own." + +"And pray, what _is_ this business as is to be kept from me?" said +Mrs. Glegg, who, solicited by a double curiosity, was obliged to let +the one-half wait. + +"A little plan o' nephey Tom's here," said good-natured Mr. Glegg; +"and not altogether a bad 'un, I think. A little plan for making +money; that's the right sort o' plan for young folks as have got their +fortin to make, eh, Jane?" + +"But I hope it isn't a plan where he expects iverything to be done for +him by his friends; that's what the young folks think of mostly +nowadays. And pray, what has this packman got to do wi' what goes on +in our family? Can't you speak for yourself, Tom, and let your aunt +know things, as a nephey should?" + +"This is Bob Jakin, aunt," said Tom, bridling the irritation that aunt +Glegg's voice always produced. "I've known him ever since we were +little boys. He's a very good fellow, and always ready to do me a +kindness. And he has had some experience in sending goods out,--a +small part of a cargo as a private speculation; and he thinks if I +could begin to do a little in the same way, I might make some money. A +large interest is got in that way." + +"Large int'rest?" said aunt Glegg, with eagerness; "and what do you +call large int'rest?" + +"Ten or twelve per cent, Bob says, after expenses are paid." + +"Then why wasn't I let to know o' such things before, Mr. Glegg?" said +Mrs. Glegg, turning to her husband, with a deep grating tone of +reproach. "Haven't you allays told me as there was no getting more nor +five per cent?" + +"Pooh, pooh, nonsense, my good woman," said Mr. Glegg. "You couldn't +go into trade, could you? You can't get more than five per cent with +security." + +"But I can turn a bit o' money for you, an' welcome, mum," said Bob, +"if you'd like to risk it,--not as there's any risk to speak on. But +if you'd a mind to lend a bit o' money to Mr. Tom, he'd pay you six or +seven per zent, an' get a trifle for himself as well; an' a +good-natur'd lady like you 'ud like the feel o' the money better if +your nephey took part on it." + +"What do you say, Mrs. G.?" said Mr. Glegg. "I've a notion, when I've +made a bit more inquiry, as I shall perhaps start Tom here with a bit +of a nest-egg,--he'll pay me int'rest, you know,--an' if you've got +some little sums lyin' idle twisted up in a stockin' toe, or that----" + +"Mr. Glegg, it's beyond iverything! You'll go and give information to +the tramps next, as they may come and rob me." + +"Well, well, as I was sayin', if you like to join me wi' twenty +pounds, you can--I'll make it fifty. That'll be a pretty good +nest-egg, eh, Tom?" + +"You're not counting on me, Mr. Glegg, I hope," said his wife. "You +could do fine things wi' my money, I don't doubt." + +"Very well," said Mr. Glegg, rather snappishly, "then we'll do without +you. I shall go with you to see this Salt," he added, turning to Bob. + +"And now, I suppose, you'll go all the other way, Mr. Glegg," said +Mrs. G., "and want to shut me out o' my own nephey's business. I never +said I wouldn't put money into it,--I don't say as it shall be twenty +pounds, though you're so ready to say it for me,--but he'll see some +day as his aunt's in the right not to risk the money she's saved for +him till it's proved as it won't be lost." + +"Ay, that's a pleasant sort o'risk, that is," said Mr. Glegg, +indiscreetly winking at Tom, who couldn't avoid smiling. But Bob +stemmed the injured lady's outburst. + +"Ay, mum," he said admiringly, "you know what's what--you do. An' it's +nothing but fair. _You_ see how the first bit of a job answers, an' +then you'll come down handsome. Lors, it's a fine thing to hev good +kin. I got my bit of a nest-egg, as the master calls it, all by my own +sharpness,--ten suvreigns it was,--wi' dousing the fire at Torry's +mill, an' it's growed an' growed by a bit an' a bit, till I'n got a +matter o' thirty pound to lay out, besides makin' my mother +comfor'ble. I should get more, on'y I'm such a soft wi' the women,--I +can't help lettin' 'em hev such good bargains. There's this bundle, +now," thumping it lustily, "any other chap 'ud make a pretty penny out +on it. But me!--lors, I shall sell 'em for pretty near what I paid for +'em." + +"Have you got a bit of good net, now?" said Mrs. Glegg, in a +patronizing tone, moving from the tea-table, and folding her napkin. + +"Eh, mum, not what you'd think it worth your while to look at. I'd +scorn to show it you. It 'ud be an insult to you." + +"But let me see," said Mrs. Glegg, still patronizing. "If they're +damaged goods, they're like enough to be a bit the better quality." + +"No, mum, I know my place," said Bob, lifting up his pack and +shouldering it. "I'm not going t' expose the lowness o' my trade to a +lady like you. Packs is come down i' the world; it 'ud cut you to th' +heart to see the difference. I'm at your sarvice, sir, when you've a +mind to go and see Salt." + +"All in good time," said Mr. Glegg, really unwilling to cut short the +dialogue. "Are you wanted at the wharf, Tom?" + +"No, sir; I left Stowe in my place." + +"Come, put down your pack, and let me see," said Mrs. Glegg, drawing a +chair to the window and seating herself with much dignity. + +"Don't you ask it, mum," said Bob, entreatingly. + +"Make no more words," said Mrs. Glegg, severely, "but do as I tell +you." + +"Eh mum, I'm loth, that I am," said Bob, slowly depositing his pack on +the step, and beginning to untie it with unwilling fingers. "But what +you order shall be done" (much fumbling in pauses between the +sentences). "It's not as you'll buy a single thing on me,--I'd be +sorry for you to do it,--for think o' them poor women up i' the +villages there, as niver stir a hundred yards from home,--it 'ud be a +pity for anybody to buy up their bargains. Lors, it's as good as a +junketing to 'em when they see me wi' my pack, an' I shall niver pick +up such bargains for 'em again. Least ways, I've no time now, for I'm +off to Laceham. See here now," Bob went on, becoming rapid again, and +holding up a scarlet woollen Kerchief with an embroidered wreath in +the corner; "here's a thing to make a lass's mouth water, an' on'y two +shillin'--an' why? Why, 'cause there's a bit of a moth-hole 'i this +plain end. Lors, I think the moths an' the mildew was sent by +Providence o' purpose to cheapen the goods a bit for the good-lookin' +women as han't got much money. If it hadn't been for the moths, now, +every hankicher on 'em 'ud ha' gone to the rich, handsome ladies, like +you, mum, at five shillin' apiece,--not a farthin' less; but what does +the moth do? Why, it nibbles off three shillin' o' the price i' no +time; an' then a packman like me can carry 't to the poor lasses as +live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for 'em. Lors, +it's as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher!" + +Bob held it at a distance for admiration, but Mrs. Glegg said sharply: + +"Yes, but nobody wants a fire this time o' year. Put these colored +things by; let me look at your nets, if you've got 'em." + +"Eh, mum, I told you how it 'ud be," said Bob, flinging aside the +colored things with an air of desperation. "I knowed it ud' turn +again' you to look at such paltry articles as I carry. Here's a piece +o' figured muslin now, what's the use o' you lookin' at it? You might +as well look at poor folks's victual, mum; it 'ud on'y take away your +appetite. There's a yard i' the middle on't as the pattern's all +missed,--lors, why, it's a muslin as the Princess Victoree might ha' +wore; but," added Bob, flinging it behind him on to the turf, as if to +save Mrs. Glegg's eyes, "it'll be bought up by the huckster's wife at +Fibb's End,--that's where _it'll_ go--ten shillin' for the whole +lot--ten yards, countin' the damaged un--five-an'-twenty shillin' 'ud +ha' been the price, not a penny less. But I'll say no more, mum; it's +nothing to you, a piece o' muslin like that; you can afford to pay +three times the money for a thing as isn't half so good. It's nets +_you_ talked on; well, I've got a piece as 'ull serve you to make fun +on----" + +"Bring me that muslin," said Mrs. Glegg. "It's a buff; I'm partial to +buff." + +"Eh, but a _damaged_ thing," said Bob, in a tone of deprecating +disgust. "You'd do nothing with it, mum, you'd give it to the cook, I +know you would, an' it 'ud be a pity,--she'd look too much like a lady +in it; it's unbecoming for servants." + +"Fetch it, and let me see you measure it," said Mrs. Glegg, +authoritatively. + +Bob obeyed with ostentatious reluctance. + +"See what there is over measure!" he said, holding forth the extra +half-yard, while Mrs. Glegg was busy examining the damaged yard, and +throwing her head back to see how far the fault would be lost on a +distant view. + +"I'll give you six shilling for it," she said, throwing it down with +the air of a person who mentions an ultimatum. + +"Didn't I tell you now, mum, as it 'ud hurt your feelings to look at +my pack? That damaged bit's turned your stomach now; I see it has," +said Bob, wrapping the muslin up with the utmost quickness, and +apparently about to fasten up his pack. "You're used to seein' a +different sort o' article carried by packmen, when you lived at the +stone house. Packs is come down i' the world; I told you that; _my_ +goods are for common folks. Mrs. Pepper 'ull give me ten shillin' for +that muslin, an' be sorry as I didn't ask her more. Such articles +answer i' the wearin',--they keep their color till the threads melt +away i' the wash-tub, an' that won't be while _I'm_ a young un." + +"Well, seven shilling," said Mrs. Glegg. + +"Put it out o' your mind, mum, now do," said Bob. "Here's a bit o' +net, then, for you to look at before I tie up my pack, just for you to +see what my trade's come to,--spotted and sprigged, you see, beautiful +but yallow,--'s been lyin' by an' got the wrong color. I could niver +ha' bought such net, if it hadn't been yallow. Lors, it's took me a +deal o' study to know the vally o' such articles; when I begun to +carry a pack, I was as ignirant as a pig; net or calico was all the +same to me. I thought them things the most vally as was the thickest. +I was took in dreadful, for I'm a straightforrard chap,--up to no +tricks, mum. I can only say my nose is my own, for if I went beyond, I +should lose myself pretty quick. An' I gev five-an'-eightpence for +that piece o' net,--if I was to tell y' anything else I should be +tellin' you fibs,--an' five-an'-eightpence I shall ask of it, not a +penny more, for it's a woman's article, an' I like to 'commodate the +women. Five-an'-eightpence for six yards,--as cheap as if it was only +the dirt on it as was paid for.'" + +"I don't mind having three yards of it,'" said Mrs. Glegg. + +"Why, there's but six altogether," said Bob. "No, mum, it isn't worth +your while; you can go to the shop to-morrow an' get the same pattern +ready whitened. It's on'y three times the money; what's that to a lady +like you?" He gave an emphatic tie to his bundle. + +"Come, lay me out that muslin," said Mrs. Glegg. "Here's eight +shilling for it." + +"You _will_ be jokin'," said Bob, looking up with a laughing face; "I +see'd you was a pleasant lady when I fust come to the winder." + +"Well, put it me out," said Mrs. Glegg, peremptorily. + +"But if I let you have it for ten shillin', mum, you'll be so good as +not tell nobody. I should be a laughin'-stock; the trade 'ud hoot me, +if they knowed it. I'm obliged to make believe as I ask more nor I do +for my goods, else they'd find out I was a flat. I'm glad you don't +insist upo' buyin' the net, for then I should ha' lost my two best +bargains for Mrs. Pepper o' Fibb's End, an' she's a rare customer." + +"Let me look at the net again," said Mrs. Glegg, yearning after the +cheap spots and sprigs, now they were vanishing. + +"Well, I can't deny _you_, mum," said Bob handing it out. + +"Eh!, see what a pattern now! Real Laceham goods. Now, this is the +sort o' article I'm recommendin' Mr. Tom to send out. Lors, it's a +fine thing for anybody as has got a bit o' money; these Laceham goods +'ud make it breed like maggits. If I was a lady wi' a bit o' +money!--why, I know one as put thirty pounds into them goods,--a lady +wi' a cork leg, but as sharp,--you wouldn't catch _her_ runnin' her +head into a sack; _she'd_ see her way clear out o' anything afore +she'd be in a hurry to start. Well, she let out thirty pound to a +young man in the drapering line, and he laid it out i' Laceham goods, +an' a shupercargo o' my acquinetance (not Salt) took 'em out, an' she +got her eight per zent fust go off; an' now you can't hold her but she +must be sendin' out carguies wi' every ship, till she's gettin' as +rich as a Jew. Bucks her name is, she doesn't live i' this town. Now +then, mum, if you'll please to give me the net----" + +"Here's fifteen shilling, then, for the two," said Mrs. Glegg. "But +it's a shameful price." + +"Nay, mum, you'll niver say that when you're upo' your knees i' church +i' five years' time. I'm makin' you a present o' th' articles; I am, +indeed. That eightpence shaves off my profits as clean as a razor. Now +then, sir," continued Bob, shouldering his pack, "if you please, I'll +be glad to go and see about makin' Mr. Tom's fortin. Eh, I wish I'd +got another twenty pound to lay out _my_sen; I shouldn't stay to say +my Catechism afore I knowed what to do wi't." + +"Stop a bit, Mr. Glegg," said the lady, as her husband took his hat, +"you never _will_ give me the chance o' speaking. You'll go away now, +and finish everything about this business, and come back and tell me +it's too late for me to speak. As if I wasn't my nephey's own aunt, +and the head o' the family on his mother's side! and laid by guineas, +all full weight, for him, as he'll know who to respect when I'm laid +in my coffin." + +"Well, Mrs. G., say what you mean," said Mr. G., hastily. + +"Well, then, I desire as nothing may be done without my knowing. I +don't say as I sha'n't venture twenty pounds, if you make out as +everything's right and safe. And if I do, Tom," concluded Mrs. Glegg, +turning impressively to her nephew, "I hope you'll allays bear it in +mind and be grateful for such an aunt. I mean you to pay me interest, +you know; I don't approve o' giving; we niver looked for that in _my_ +family." + +"Thank you, aunt," said Tom, rather proudly. "I prefer having the +money only lent to me." + +"Very well; that's the Dodson sperrit," said Mrs. Glegg, rising to get +her knitting with the sense that any further remark after this would +be bathos. + +Salt--that eminently "briny chap"--having been discovered in a cloud +of tobacco-smoke at the Anchor Tavern, Mr. Glegg commenced inquiries +which turned out satisfactorily enough to warrant the advance of the +"nest-egg," to which aunt Glegg contributed twenty pounds; and in this +modest beginning you see the ground of a fact which might otherwise +surprise you; namely, Tom's accumulation of a fund, unknown to his +father, that promised in no very long time to meet the more tardy +process of saving, and quite cover the deficit. When once his +attention had been turned to this source of gain, Tom determined to +make the most of it, and lost no opportunity of obtaining information +and extending his small enterprises. In not telling his father, he was +influenced by that strange mixture of opposite feelings which often +gives equal truth to those who blame an action and those who admire +it,--partly, it was that disinclination to confidence which is seen +between near kindred, that family repulsion which spoils the most +sacred relations of our lives; partly, it was the desire to surprise +his father with a great joy. He did not see that it would have been +better to soothe the interval with a new hope, and prevent the +delirium of a too sudden elation. + +At the time of Maggie's first meeting with Philip, Tom had already +nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of his own capital; and while they +were walking by the evening light in the Red Deeps, he, by the same +evening light, was riding into Laceham, proud of being on his first +journey on behalf of Guest & Co., and revolving in his mind all the +chances that by the end of another year he should have doubled his +gains, lifted off the obloquy of debt from his father's name, and +perhaps--for he should be twenty-one--have got a new start for +himself, on a higher platform of employment. Did he not desire it? He +was quite sure that he did. + + + +Chapter III + +The Wavering Balance + + +I said that Maggie went home that evening from the Red Deeps with a +mental conflict already begun. You have seen clearly enough, in her +interview with Philip, what that conflict was. Here suddenly was an +opening in the rocky wall which shut in the narrow valley of +humiliation, where all her prospect was the remote, unfathomed sky; +and some of the memory-haunting earthly delights were no longer out of +her reach. She might have books, converse, affection; she might hear +tidings of the world from which her mind had not yet lost its sense of +exile; and it would be a kindness to Philip too, who was +pitiable,--clearly not happy. And perhaps here was an opportunity +indicated for making her mind more worthy of its highest service; +perhaps the noblest, completest devoutness could hardly exist without +some width of knowledge; _must_ she always live in this resigned +imprisonment? It was so blameless, so good a thing that there should +be friendship between her and Philip; the motives that forbade it were +so unreasonable, so unchristian! But the severe monotonous warning +came again and again,--that she was losing the simplicity and +clearness of her life by admitting a ground of concealment; and that, +by forsaking the simple rule of renunciation, she was throwing herself +under the seductive guidance of illimitable wants. She thought she had +won strength to obey the warning before she allowed herself the next +week to turn her steps in the evening to the Red Deeps. But while she +was resolved to say an affectionate farewell to Philip, how she looked +forward to that evening walk in the still, fleckered shade of the +hollows, away from all that was harsh and unlovely; to the +affectionate, admiring looks that would meet her; to the sense of +comradeship that childish memories would give to wiser, older talk; to +the certainty that Philip would care to hear everything she said, +which no one else cared for! It was a half-hour that it would be very +hard to turn her back upon, with the sense that there would be no +other like it. Yet she said what she meant to say; she looked firm as +well as sad. + +"Philip, I have made up my mind; it is right that we should give each +other up, in everything but memory. I could not see you without +concealment--stay, I know what you are going to say,--it is other +people's wrong feelings that make concealment necessary; but +concealment is bad, however it may be caused. I feel that it would be +bad for me, for us both. And then, if our secret were discovered, +there would be nothing but misery,--dreadful anger; and then we must +part after all, and it would be harder, when we were used to seeing +each other." + +Philip's face had flushed, and there was a momentary eagerness of +expression, as if he had been about to resist this decision with all +his might. + +But he controlled himself, and said, with assumed calmness: "Well, +Maggie, if we must part, let us try and forget it for one half hour; +let us talk together a little while, for the last time." + +He took her hand, and Maggie felt no reason to withdraw it; his +quietness made her all the more sure she had given him great pain, and +she wanted to show him how unwillingly she had given it. They walked +together hand in hand in silence. + +"Let us sit down in the hollow," said Philip, "where we stood the last +time. See how the dog-roses have strewed the ground, and spread their +opal petals over it." + +They sat down at the roots of the slanting ash. + +"I've begun my picture of you among the Scotch firs, Maggie," said +Philip, "so you must let me study your face a little, while you +stay,--since I am not to see it again. Please turn your head this +way." + +This was said in an entreating voice, and it would have been very hard +of Maggie to refuse. The full, lustrous face, with the bright black +coronet, looked down like that of a divinity well pleased to be +worshipped, on the pale-hued, small-featured face that was turned up +to it. + +"I shall be sitting for my second portrait then," she said, smiling. +"Will it be larger than the other?" + +"Oh yes, much larger. It is an oil-painting. You will look like a tall +Hamadryad, dark and strong and noble, just issued from one of the +fir-trees, when the stems are casting their afternoon shadows on the +grass." + +"You seem to think more of painting than of anything now, Philip?" + +"Perhaps I do," said Philip, rather sadly; "but I think of too many +things,--sow all sorts of seeds, and get no great harvest from any one +of them. I'm cursed with susceptibility in every direction, and +effective faculty in none. I care for painting and music; I care for +classic literature, and mediæval literature, and modern literature; I +flutter all ways, and fly in none." + +"But surely that is a happiness to have so many tastes,--to enjoy so +many beautiful things, when they are within your reach," said Maggie, +musingly. "It always seemed to me a sort of clever stupidity only to +have one sort of talent,--almost like a carrier-pigeon." + +"It might be a happiness to have many tastes if I were like other +men," said Philip, bitterly. "I might get some power and distinction +by mere mediocrity, as they do; at least I should get those middling +satisfactions which make men contented to do without great ones. I +might think society at St. Ogg's agreeable then. But nothing could +make life worth the purchase-money of pain to me, but some faculty +that would lift me above the dead level of provincial existence. Yes, +there is one thing,--a passion answers as well as a faculty." + +Maggie did not hear the last words; she was struggling against the +consciousness that Philip's words had set her own discontent vibrating +again as it used to do. + +"I understand what you mean," she said, "though I know so much less +than you do. I used to think I could never bear life if it kept on +being the same every day, and I must always be doing things of no +consequence, and never know anything greater. But, dear Philip, I +think we are only like children that some one who is wiser is taking +care of. Is it not right to resign ourselves entirely, whatever may be +denied us? I have found great peace in that for the last two or three +years, even joy in subduing my own will." + +"Yes, Maggie," said Philip, vehemently; "and you are shutting yourself +up in a narrow, self-delusive fanaticism, which is only a way of +escaping pain by starving into dulness all the highest powers of your +nature. Joy and peace are not resignation; resignation is the willing +endurance of a pain that is not allayed, that you don't expect to be +allayed. Stupefaction is not resignation; and it is stupefaction to +remain in ignorance,--to shut up all the avenues by which the life of +your fellow-men might become known to you. I am not resigned; I am not +sure that life is long enough to learn that lesson. _You_ are not +resigned; you are only trying to stupefy yourself." + +Maggie's lips trembled; she felt there was some truth in what Philip +said, and yet there was a deeper consciousness that, for any immediate +application it had to her conduct, it was no better than falsity. Her +double impression corresponded to the double impulse of the speaker. +Philip seriously believed what he said, but he said it with vehemence +because it made an argument against the resolution that opposed his +wishes. But Maggie's face, made more childlike by the gathering tears, +touched him with a tenderer, less egotistic feeling. He took her hand +and said gently: + +"Don't let us think of such things in this short half-hour, Maggie. Let +us only care about being together. We shall be friends in spite of +separation. We shall always think of each other. I shall be glad to +live as long as you are alive, because I shall think there may always +come a time when I can--when you will let me help you in some way." + +"What a dear, good brother you would have been, Philip," said Maggie, +smiling through the haze of tears. "I think you would have made as +much fuss about me, and been as pleased for me to love you, as would +have satisfied even me. You would have loved me well enough to bear +with me, and forgive me everything. That was what I always longed that +Tom should do. I was never satisfied with a _little_ of anything. That +is why it is better for me to do without earthly happiness altogether. +I never felt that I had enough music,--I wanted more instruments +playing together; I wanted voices to be fuller and deeper. Do you ever +sing now, Philip?" she added abruptly, as if she had forgotten what +went before. + +"Yes," he said, "every day, almost. But my voice is only middling, +like everything else in me." + +"Oh, sing me something,--just one song. I _may_ listen to that before +I go,--something you used to sing at Lorton on a Saturday afternoon, +when we had the drawing-room all to ourselves, and I put my apron over +my head to listen." + +"_I_ know," said Philip; and Maggie buried her face in her hands while +he sang _sotto voce_, "Love in her eyes sits playing," and then said, +"That's it, isn't it?" + +"Oh no, I won't stay," said Maggie, starting up. "It will only haunt +me. Let us walk, Philip. I must go home." + +She moved away, so that he was obliged to rise and follow her. + +"Maggie," he said, in a tone of remonstrance, "don't persist in this +wilful, senseless privation. It makes me wretched to see you benumbing +and cramping your nature in this way. You were so full of life when +you were a child; I thought you would be a brilliant woman,--all wit +and bright imagination. And it flashes out in your face still, until +you draw that veil of dull quiescence over it." + +"Why do you speak so bitterly to me, Philip?" said Maggie. + +"Because I foresee it will not end well; you can never carry on this +self-torture." + +"I shall have strength given me," said Maggie, tremulously. + +"No, you will not, Maggie; no one has strength given to do what is +unnatural. It is mere cowardice to seek safety in negations. No +character becomes strong in that way. You will be thrown into the +world some day, and then every rational satisfaction of your nature +that you deny now will assault you like a savage appetite." + +Maggie started and paused, looking at Philip with alarm in her face. + +"Philip, how dare you shake me in this way? You are a tempter." + +"No, I am not; but love gives insight, Maggie, and insight often gives +foreboding. _Listen_ to me,--let _me_ supply you with books; do let me +see you sometimes,--be your brother and teacher, as you said at +Lorton. It is less wrong that you should see me than that you should +be committing this long suicide." + +Maggie felt unable to speak. She shook her head and walked on in +silence, till they came to the end of the Scotch firs, and she put out +her hand in sign of parting. + +"Do you banish me from this place forever, then, Maggie? Surely I may +come and walk in it sometimes? If I meet you by chance, there is no +concealment in that?" + +It is the moment when our resolution seems about to become +irrevocable--when the fatal iron gates are about to close upon +us--that tests our strength. Then, after hours of clear reasoning and +firm conviction, we snatch at any sophistry that will nullify our long +struggles, and bring us the defeat that we love better than victory. + +Maggie felt her heart leap at this subterfuge of Philip's, and there +passed over her face that almost imperceptible shock which accompanies +any relief. He saw it, and they parted in silence. + +Philip's sense of the situation was too complete for him not to be +visited with glancing fears lest he had been intervening too +presumptuously in the action of Maggie's conscience, perhaps for a +selfish end. But no!--he persuaded himself his end was not selfish. He +had little hope that Maggie would ever return the strong feeling he +had for her; and it must be better for Maggie's future life, when +these petty family obstacles to her freedom had disappeared, that the +present should not be entirely sacrificed, and that she should have +some opportunity of culture,--some interchange with a mind above the +vulgar level of those she was now condemned to live with. If we only +look far enough off for the consequence of our actions, we can always +find some point in the combination of results by which those actions +can be justified; by adopting the point of view of a Providence who +arranges results, or of a philosopher who traces them, we shall find +it possible to obtain perfect complacency in choosing to do what is +most agreeable to us in the present moment. And it was in this way +that Philip justified his subtle efforts to overcome Maggie's true +prompting against a concealment that would introduce doubleness into +her own mind, and might cause new misery to those who had the primary +natural claim on her. But there was a surplus of passion in him that +made him half independent of justifying motives. His longing to see +Maggie, and make an element in her life, had in it some of that savage +impulse to snatch an offered joy which springs from a life in which +the mental and bodily constitution have made pain predominate. He had +not his full share in the common good of men; he could not even pass +muster with the insignificant, but must be singled out for pity, and +excepted from what was a matter of course with others. Even to Maggie +he was an exception; it was clear that the thought of his being her +lover had never entered her mind. + +Do not think too hardly of Philip. Ugly and deformed people have great +need of unusual virtues, because they are likely to be extremely +uncomfortable without them; but the theory that unusual virtues spring +by a direct consequence out of personal disadvantages, as animals get +thicker wool in severe climates, is perhaps a little overstrained. The +temptations of beauty are much dwelt upon, but I fancy they only bear +the same relation to those of ugliness, as the temptation to excess at +a feast, where the delights are varied for eye and ear as well as +palate, bears to the temptations that assail the desperation of +hunger. Does not the Hunger Tower stand as the type of the utmost +trial to what is human in us? + +Philip had never been soothed by that mother's love which flows out to +us in the greater abundance because our need is greater, which clings +to us the more tenderly because we are the less likely to be winners +in the game of life; and the sense of his father's affection and +indulgence toward him was marred by the keener perception of his +father's faults. Kept aloof from all practical life as Philip had +been, and by nature half feminine in sensitiveness, he had some of the +woman's intolerant repulsion toward worldliness and the deliberate +pursuit of sensual enjoyment; and this one strong natural tie in his +life,--his relation as a son,--was like an aching limb to him. Perhaps +there is inevitably something morbid in a human being who is in any +way unfavorably excepted from ordinary conditions, until the good +force has had time to triumph; and it has rarely had time for that at +two-and-twenty. That force was present in Philip in much strength, but +the sun himself looks feeble through the morning mists. + + + +Chapter IV + +Another Love-Scene + + +Early in the following April, nearly a year after that dubious parting +you have just witnessed, you may, if you like, again see Maggie +entering the Red Deeps through the group of Scotch firs. But it is +early afternoon and not evening, and the edge of sharpness in the +spring air makes her draw her large shawl close about her and trip +along rather quickly; though she looks round, as usual, that she may +take in the sight of her beloved trees. There is a more eager, +inquiring look in her eyes than there was last June, and a smile is +hovering about her lips, as if some playful speech were awaiting the +right hearer. The hearer was not long in appearing. + +"Take back your _Corinne_," said Maggie, drawing a book from under her +shawl. "You were right in telling me she would do me no good; but you +were wrong in thinking I should wish to be like her." + +"Wouldn't you really like to be a tenth Muse, then, Maggie?" said +Philip looking up in her face as we look at a first parting in the +clouds that promises us a bright heaven once more. + +"Not at all," said Maggie, laughing. "The Muses were uncomfortable +goddesses, I think,--obliged always to carry rolls and musical +instruments about with them. If I carried a harp in this climate, you +know, I must have a green baize cover for it; and I should be sure to +leave it behind me by mistake." + +"You agree with me in not liking Corinne, then?" + +"I didn't finish the book," said Maggie. "As soon as I came to the +blond-haired young lady reading in the park, I shut it up, and +determined to read no further. I foresaw that that light-complexioned +girl would win away all the love from Corinne and make her miserable. +I'm determined to read no more books where the blond-haired women +carry away all the happiness. I should begin to have a prejudice +against them. If you could give me some story, now, where the dark +woman triumphs, it would restore the balance. I want to avenge Rebecca +and Flora MacIvor and Minna, and all the rest of the dark unhappy +ones. Since you are my tutor, you ought to preserve my mind from +prejudices; you are always arguing against prejudices." + +"Well, perhaps you will avenge the dark women in your own person, and +carry away all the love from your cousin Lucy. She is sure to have +some handsome young man of St. Ogg's at her feet now; and you have +only to shine upon him--your fair little cousin will be quite quenched +in your beams." + +"Philip, that is not pretty of you, to apply my nonsense to anything +real," said Maggie, looking hurt. "As if I, with my old gowns and want +of all accomplishments, could be a rival of dear little Lucy,--who +knows and does all sorts of charming things, and is ten times prettier +than I am,--even if I were odious and base enough to wish to be her +rival. Besides, I never go to aunt Deane's when any one is there; it +is only because dear Lucy is good, and loves me, that she comes to see +me, and will have me go to see her sometimes." + +"Maggie," said Philip, with surprise, "it is not like you to take +playfulness literally. You must have been in St. Ogg's this morning, +and brought away a slight infection of dulness." + +"Well," said Maggie, smiling, "if you meant that for a joke, it was a +poor one; but I thought it was a very good reproof. I thought you +wanted to remind me that I am vain, and wish every one to admire me +most. But it isn't for that that I'm jealous for the dark women,--not +because I'm dark myself; it's because I always care the most about the +unhappy people. If the blond girl were forsaken, I should like _her_ +best. I always take the side of the rejected lover in the stories." + +"Then you would never have the heart to reject one yourself, should +you, Maggie?" said Philip, flushing a little. + +"I don't know," said Maggie, hesitatingly. Then with a bright smile, +"I think perhaps I could if he were very conceited; and yet, if he got +extremely humiliated afterward, I should relent." + +"I've often wondered, Maggie," Philip said, with some effort, "whether +you wouldn't really be more likely to love a man that other women were +not likely to love." + +"That would depend on what they didn't like him for," said Maggie, +laughing. "He might be very disagreeable. He might look at me through +an eye-glass stuck in his eye, making a hideous face, as young Torry +does. I should think other women are not fond of that; but I never +felt any pity for young Torry. I've never any pity for conceited +people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them." + +"But suppose, Maggie,--suppose it was a man who was not conceited, who +felt he had nothing to be conceited about; who had been marked from +childhood for a peculiar kind of suffering, and to whom you were the +day-star of his life; who loved you, worshipped you, so entirely that +he felt it happiness enough for him if you would let him see you at +rare moments----" + +Philip paused with a pang of dread lest his confession should cut +short this very happiness,--a pang of the same dread that had kept his +love mute through long months. A rush of self-consciousness told him +that he was besotted to have said all this. Maggie's manner this +morning had been as unconstrained and indifferent as ever. + +But she was not looking indifferent now. Struck with the unusual +emotion in Philip's tone, she had turned quickly to look at him; and +as he went on speaking, a great change came over her face,--a flush +and slight spasm of the features, such as we see in people who hear +some news that will require them to readjust their conceptions of the +past. She was quite silent, and walking on toward the trunk of a +fallen tree, she sat down, as if she had no strength to spare for her +muscles. She was trembling. + +"Maggie," said Philip, getting more and more alarmed in every fresh +moment of silence, "I was a fool to say it; forget that I've said it. +I shall be contented if things can be as they were." + +The distress with which he spoke urged Maggie to say something. "I am +so surprised, Philip; I had not thought of it." And the effort to say +this brought the tears down too. + +"Has it made you hate me, Maggie?" said Philip, impetuously. "Do you +think I'm a presumptuous fool?" + +"Oh, Philip!" said Maggie, "how can you think I have such feelings? As +if I were not grateful for _any_ love. But--but I had never thought of +your being my lover. It seemed so far off--like a dream--only like one +of the stories one imagines--that I should ever have a lover." + +"Then can you bear to think of me as your lover, Maggie?" said Philip, +seating himself by her, and taking her hand, in the elation of a +sudden hope. "_Do_ you love me?" + +Maggie turned rather pale; this direct question seemed not easy to +answer. But her eyes met Philip's, which were in this moment liquid +and beautiful with beseeching love. She spoke with hesitation, yet +with sweet, simple, girlish tenderness. + +"I think I could hardly love any one better; there is nothing but what +I love you for." She paused a little while, and then added: "But it +will be better for us not to say any more about it, won't it, dear +Philip? You know we couldn't even be friends, if our friendship were +discovered. I have never felt that I was right in giving way about +seeing you, though it has been so precious to me in some ways; and now +the fear comes upon me strongly again, that it will lead to evil." + +"But no evil has come, Maggie; and if you had been guided by that fear +before, you would only have lived through another dreary, benumbing +year, instead of reviving into your real self." + +Maggie shook her head. "It has been very sweet, I know,--all the +talking together, and the books, and the feeling that I had the walk +to look forward to, when I could tell you the thoughts that had come +into my head while I was away from you. But it has made me restless; +it has made me think a great deal about the world; and I have +impatient thoughts again,--I get weary of my home; and then it cuts me +to the heart afterward, that I should ever have felt weary of my +father and mother. I think what you call being benumbed was +better--better for me--for then my selfish desires were benumbed." + +Philip had risen again, and was walking backward and forward +impatiently. + +"No, Maggie, you have wrong ideas of self-conquest, as I've often told +you. What you call self-conquest--binding and deafening yourself to +all but one train of impressions--is only the culture of monomania in +a nature like yours." + +He had spoken with some irritation, but now he sat down by her again +and took her hand. + +"Don't think of the past now, Maggie; think only of our love. If you +can really cling to me with all your heart, every obstacle will be +overcome in time; we need only wait. I can live on hope. Look at me, +Maggie; tell me again it is possible for you to love me. Don't look +away from me to that cloven tree; it is a bad omen." + +She turned her large dark glance upon him with a sad smile. + +"Come, Maggie, say one kind word, or else you were better to me at +Lorton. You asked me if I should like you to kiss me,--don't you +remember?--and you promised to kiss me when you met me again. You +never kept the promise." + +The recollection of that childish time came as a sweet relief to +Maggie. It made the present moment less strange to her. She kissed him +almost as simply and quietly as she had done when she was twelve years +old. Philip's eyes flashed with delight, but his next words were words +of discontent. + +"You don't seem happy enough, Maggie; you are forcing yourself to say +you love me, out of pity." + +"No, Philip," said Maggie, shaking her head, in her old childish way; +"I'm telling you the truth. It is all new and strange to me; but I +don't think I could love any one better than I love you. I should like +always to live with you--to make you happy. I have always been happy +when I have been with you. There is only one thing I will not do for +your sake; I will never do anything to wound my father. You must never +ask that from me." + +"No, Maggie, I will ask nothing; I will bear everything; I'll wait +another year only for a kiss, if you will only give me the first place +in your heart." + +"No," said Maggie, smiling, "I won't make you wait so long as that." +But then, looking serious again, she added, as she rose from her +seat,-- + +"But what would your own father say, Philip? Oh, it is quite +impossible we can ever be more than friends,--brother and sister in +secret, as we have been. Let us give up thinking of everything else." + +"No, Maggie, I can't give you up,--unless you are deceiving me; unless +you really only care for me as if I were your brother. Tell me the +truth." + +"Indeed I do, Philip. What happiness have I ever had so great as being +with you,--since I was a little girl,--the days Tom was good to me? +And your mind is a sort of world to me; you can tell me all I want to +know. I think I should never be tired of being with you." + +They were walking hand in hand, looking at each other; Maggie, indeed, +was hurrying along, for she felt it time to be gone. But the sense +that their parting was near made her more anxious lest she should have +unintentionally left some painful impression on Philip's mind. It was +one of those dangerous moments when speech is at once sincere and +deceptive; when feeling, rising high above its average depth, leaves +floodmarks which are never reached again. + +They stopped to part among the Scotch firs. + +"Then my life will be filled with hope, Maggie, and I shall be happier +than other men, in spite of all? We _do_ belong to each other--for +always--whether we are apart or together?" + +"Yes, Philip; I should like never to part; I should like to make your +life very happy." + +"I am waiting for something else. I wonder whether it will come." + +Maggie smiled, with glistening tears, and then stooped her tall head +to kiss the pale face that was full of pleading, timid love,--like a +woman's. + +She had a moment of real happiness then,--a moment of belief that, if +there were sacrifice in this love, it was all the richer and more +satisfying. + +She turned away and hurried home, feeling that in the hour since she +had trodden this road before, a new era had begun for her. The tissue +of vague dreams must now get narrower and narrower, and all the +threads of thought and emotion be gradually absorbed in the woof of +her actual daily life. + + + +Chapter V + +The Cloven Tree + + +Secrets are rarely betrayed or discovered according to any programme +our fear has sketched out. Fear is almost always haunted by terrible +dramatic scenes, which recur in spite of the best-argued probabilities +against them; and during a year that Maggie had had the burthen of +concealment on her mind, the possibility of discovery had continually +presented itself under the form of a sudden meeting with her father or +Tom when she was walking with Philip in the Red Deeps. She was aware +that this was not one of the most likely events; but it was the scene +that most completely symbolized her inward dread. Those slight +indirect suggestions which are dependent on apparently trivial +coincidences and incalculable states of mind, are the favorite +machinery of Fact, but are not the stuff in which Imagination is apt +to work. + +Certainly one of the persons about whom Maggie's fears were furthest +from troubling themselves was her aunt Pullet, on whom, seeing that +she did not live in St. Ogg's, and was neither sharp-eyed nor +sharp-tempered, it would surely have been quite whimsical of them to +fix rather than on aunt Glegg. And yet the channel of fatality--the +pathway of the lightning--was no other than aunt Pullet. She did not +live at St. Ogg's, but the road from Garum Firs lay by the Red Deeps, +at the end opposite that by which Maggie entered. + +The day after Maggie's last meeting with Philip, being a Sunday on +which Mr. Pullet was bound to appear in funeral hatband and scarf at +St. Ogg's church, Mrs. Pullet made this the occasion of dining with +sister Glegg, and taking tea with poor sister Tulliver. Sunday was the +one day in the week on which Tom was at home in the afternoon; and +today the brighter spirits he had been in of late had flowed over in +unusually cheerful open chat with his father, and in the invitation, +"Come, Magsie, you come too!" when he strolled out with his mother in +the garden to see the advancing cherry-blossoms. He had been better +pleased with Maggie since she had been less odd and ascetic; he was +even getting rather proud of her; several persons had remarked in his +hearing that his sister was a very fine girl. To-day there was a +peculiar brightness in her face, due in reality to an undercurrent of +excitement, which had as much doubt and pain as pleasure in it; but it +might pass for a sign of happiness. + +"You look very well, my dear," said aunt Pullet, shaking her head +sadly, as they sat round the tea-table. "I niver thought your girl 'ud +be so good-looking, Bessy. But you must wear pink, my dear; that blue +thing as your aunt Glegg gave you turns you into a crowflower. Jane +never _was_ tasty. Why don't you wear that gown o' mine?" + +"It is so pretty and so smart, aunt. I think it's too showy for +me,--at least for my other clothes, that I must wear with it. + +"To be sure, it 'ud be unbecoming if it wasn't well known you've got +them belonging to you as can afford to give you such things when +they've done with 'em themselves. It stands to reason I must give my +own niece clothes now and then,--such things as _I_ buy every year, +and never wear anything out. And as for Lucy, there's no giving to +her, for she's got everything o' the choicest; sister Deane may well +hold her head up,--though she looks dreadful yallow, poor thing--I +doubt this liver complaint 'ull carry her off. That's what this new +vicar, this Dr. Kenn, said in the funeral sermon to-day." + +"Ah, he's a wonderful preacher, by all account,--isn't he, Sophy?" +said Mrs. Tulliver. + +"Why, Lucy had got a collar on this blessed day," continued Mrs. +Pullet, with her eyes fixed in a ruminating manner, "as I don't say I +haven't got as good, but I must look out my best to match it." + +"Miss Lucy's called the bell o' St. Ogg's, they say; that's a cur'ous +word," observed Mr. Pullet, on whom the mysteries of etymology +sometimes fell with an oppressive weight. + +"Pooh!" said Mr. Tulliver, jealous for Maggie, "she's a small thing, +not much of a figure. But fine feathers make fine birds. I see nothing +to admire so much in those diminutive women; they look silly by the +side o' the men,--out o' proportion. When I chose my wife, I chose her +the right size,--neither too little nor too big." + +The poor wife, with her withered beauty, smiled complacently. + +"But the men aren't _all_ big," said uncle Pullet, not without some +self-reference; "a young fellow may be good-looking and yet not be a +six-foot, like Master Tom here. + +"Ah, it's poor talking about littleness and bigness,--anybody may +think it's a mercy they're straight," said aunt Pullet. "There's that +mismade son o' Lawyer Wakem's, I saw him at church to-day. Dear, dear! +to think o' the property he's like to have; and they say he's very +queer and lonely, doesn't like much company. I shouldn't wonder if he +goes out of his mind; for we never come along the road but he's +a-scrambling out o' the trees and brambles at the Red Deeps." + +This wide statement, by which Mrs. Pullet represented the fact that +she had twice seen Philip at the spot indicated, produced an effect on +Maggie which was all the stronger because Tom sate opposite her, and +she was intensely anxious to look indifferent. At Philip's name she +had blushed, and the blush deepened every instant from consciousness, +until the mention of the Red Deeps made her feel as if the whole +secret were betrayed, and she dared not even hold her tea-spoon lest +she should show how she trembled. She sat with her hands clasped under +the table, not daring to look round. Happily, her father was seated on +the same side with herself, beyond her uncle Pullet, and could not see +her face without stooping forward. Her mother's voice brought the +first relief, turning the conversation; for Mrs. Tulliver was always +alarmed when the name of Wakem was mentioned in her husband's +presence. Gradually Maggie recovered composure enough to look up; her +eyes met Tom's, but he turned away his head immediately; and she went +to bed that night wondering if he had gathered any suspicion from her +confusion. Perhaps not; perhaps he would think it was only her alarm +at her aunt's mention of Wakem before her father; that was the +interpretation her mother had put in it. To her father, Wakem was like +a disfiguring disease, of which he was obliged to endure the +consciousness, but was exasperated to have the existence recognized by +others; and no amount of sensitiveness in her about her father could +be surprising, Maggie thought. + +But Tom was too keen-sighted to rest satisfied with such an +interpretation; he had seen clearly enough that there was something +distinct from anxiety about her father in Maggie's excessive +confusion. In trying to recall all the details that could give shape +to his suspicions, he remembered only lately hearing his mother scold +Maggie for walking in the Red Deeps when the ground was wet, and +bringing home shoes clogged with red soil; still Tom, retaining all +his old repulsion for Philip's deformity, shrank from attributing to +his sister the probability of feeling more than a friendly interest in +such an unfortunate exception to the common run of men. Tom's was a +nature which had a sort of superstitious repugnance to everything +exceptional. A love for a deformed man would be odious in any woman, +in a sister intolerable. But if she had been carrying on any kind of +intercourse whatever with Philip, a stop must be put to it at once; +she was disobeying her father's strongest feelings and her brother's +express commands, besides compromising herself by secret meetings. He +left home the next morning in that watchful state of mind which turns +the most ordinary course of things into pregnant coincidences. + +That afternoon, about half-past three o'clock, Tom was standing on the +wharf, talking with Bob Jakin about the probability of the good ship +Adelaide coming in, in a day or two, with results highly important to +both of them. + +"Eh," said Bob, parenthetically, as he looked over the fields on the +other side of the river, "there goes that crooked young Wakem. I know +him or his shadder as far off as I can see 'em; I'm allays lighting on +him o' that side the river." + +A sudden thought seemed to have darted through Tom's mind. "I must go, +Bob," he said; "I've something to attend to," hurrying off to the +warehouse, where he left notice for some one to take his place; he was +called away home on peremptory business. + +The swiftest pace and the shortest road took him to the gate, and he +was pausing to open it deliberately, that he might walk into the house +with an appearance of perfect composure, when Maggie came out at the +front door in bonnet and shawl. His conjecture was fulfilled, and he +waited for her at the gate. She started violently when she saw him. + +"Tom, how is it you are come home? Is there anything the matter?" +Maggie spoke in a low, tremulous voice. + +"I'm come to walk with you to the Red Deeps, and meet Philip Wakem," +said Tom, the central fold in his brow, which had become habitual with +him, deepening as he spoke. + +Maggie stood helpless, pale and cold. By some means, then, Tom knew +everything. At last she said, "I'm not going," and turned round. + +"Yes, you are; but I want to speak to you first. Where is my father?" + +"Out on horseback." + +"And my mother?" + +"In the yard, I think, with the poultry." + +"I can go in, then, without her seeing me?" + +They walked in together, and Tom, entering the parlor, said to Maggie, +"Come in here." + +She obeyed, and he closed the door behind her. + +"Now, Maggie, tell me this instant everything that has passed between +you and Philip Wakem." + +"Does my father know anything?" said Maggie, still trembling. + +"No," said Tom indignantly. "But he _shall_ know, if you attempt to +use deceit toward me any further." + +"I don't wish to use deceit," said Maggie, flushing into resentment at +hearing this word applied to her conduct. + +"Tell me the whole truth, then." + +"Perhaps you know it." + +"Never mind whether I know it or not. Tell me exactly what has +happened, or my father shall know everything." + +"I tell it for my father's sake, then." + +"Yes, it becomes you to profess affection for your father, when you +have despised his strongest feelings." + +"You never do wrong, Tom," said Maggie, tauntingly. + +"Not if I know it," answered Tom, with proud sincerity. + +"But I have nothing to say to you beyond this: tell me what has passed +between you and Philip Wakem. When did you first meet him in the Red +Deeps?" + +"A year ago," said Maggie, quietly. Tom's severity gave her a certain +fund of defiance, and kept her sense of error in abeyance. "You need +ask me no more questions. We have been friendly a year. We have met +and walked together often. He has lent me books." + +"Is that all?" said Tom, looking straight at her with his frown. + +Maggie paused a moment; then, determined to make an end of Tom's right +to accuse her of deceit, she said haughtily: + +"No, not quite all. On Saturday he told me that he loved me. I didn't +think of it before then; I had only thought of him as an old friend." + +"And you _encouraged_ him?" said Tom, with an expression of disgust. + +"I told him that I loved him too." + +Tom was silent a few moments, looking on the ground and frowning, with +his hands in his pockets. At last he looked up and said coldly,-- + +"Now, then, Maggie, there are but two courses for you to take,--either +you vow solemnly to me, with your hand on my father's Bible, that you +will never have another meeting or speak another word in private with +Philip Wakem, or you refuse, and I tell my father everything; and this +month, when by my exertions he might be made happy once more, you will +cause him the blow of knowing that you are a disobedient, deceitful +daughter, who throws away her own respectability by clandestine +meetings with the son of a man that has helped to ruin her father. +Choose!" Tom ended with cold decision, going up to the large Bible, +drawing it forward, and opening it at the fly-leaf, where the writing +was. + +It was a crushing alternative to Maggie. + +"Tom," she said, urged out of pride into pleading, "don't ask me that. +I will promise you to give up all intercourse with Philip, if you will +let me see him once, or even only write to him and explain +everything,--to give it up as long as it would ever cause any pain to +my father. I feel something for Philip too. _He_ is not happy." + +"I don't wish to hear anything of your feelings; I have said exactly +what I mean. Choose, and quickly, lest my mother should come in." + +"If I give you my word, that will be as strong a bond to me as if I +laid my hand on the Bible. I don't require that to bind me." + +"Do what _I_ require," said Tom. "I can't trust you, Maggie. There is +no consistency in you. Put your hand on this Bible, and say, 'I +renounce all private speech and intercourse with Philip Wakem from +this time forth.' Else you will bring shame on us all, and grief on my +father; and what is the use of my exerting myself and giving up +everything else for the sake of paying my father's debts, if you are +to bring madness and vexation on him, just when he might be easy and +hold up his head once more?" + +"Oh, Tom, _will_ the debts be paid soon?" said Maggie, clasping her +hands, with a sudden flash of joy across her wretchedness. + +"If things turn out as I expect," said Tom. "But," he added, his voice +trembling with indignation, "while I have been contriving and working +that my father may have some peace of mind before he dies,--working +for the respectability of our family,--you have done all you can to +destroy both." + +Maggie felt a deep movement of compunction; for the moment, her mind +ceased to contend against what she felt to be cruel and unreasonable, +and in her self-blame she justified her brother. + +"Tom," she said in a low voice, "it was wrong of me; but I was so +lonely, and I was sorry for Philip. And I think enmity and hatred are +wicked." + +"Nonsense!" said Tom. "Your duty was clear enough. Say no more; but +promise, in the words I told you." + +"I _must_ speak to Philip once more." + +"You will go with me now and speak to him." + +"I give you my word not to meet him or write to him again without your +knowledge. That is the only thing I will say. I will put my hand on +the Bible if you like." + +"Say it, then." + +Maggie laid her hand on the page of manuscript and repeated the +promise. Tom closed the book, and said, "Now let us go." + +Not a word was spoken as they walked along. Maggie was suffering in +anticipation of what Philip was about to suffer, and dreading the +galling words that would fall on him from Tom's lips; but she felt it +was in vain to attempt anything but submission. Tom had his terrible +clutch on her conscience and her deepest dread; she writhed under the +demonstrable truth of the character he had given to her conduct, and +yet her whole soul rebelled against it as unfair from its +incompleteness. He, meanwhile, felt the impetus of his indignation +diverted toward Philip. He did not know how much of an old boyish +repulsion and of mere personal pride and animosity was concerned in +the bitter severity of the words by which he meant to do the duty of a +son and a brother. Tom was not given to inquire subtly into his own +motives any more than into other matters of an intangible kind; he was +quite sure that his own motives as well as actions were good, else he +would have had nothing to do with them. + +Maggie's only hope was that something might, for the first time, have +prevented Philip from coming. Then there would be delay,--then she +might get Tom's permission to write to him. Her heart beat with double +violence when they got under the Scotch firs. It was the last moment +of suspense, she thought; Philip always met her soon after she got +beyond them. But they passed across the more open green space, and +entered the narrow bushy path by the mound. Another turning, and they +came so close upon him that both Tom and Philip stopped suddenly +within a yard of each other. There was a moment's silence, in which +Philip darted a look of inquiry at Maggie's face. He saw an answer +there, in the pale, parted lips, and the terrified tension of the +large eyes. Her imagination, always rushing extravagantly beyond an +immediate impression, saw her tall, strong brother grasping the feeble +Philip bodily, crushing him and trampling on him. + +"Do you call this acting the part of a man and a gentleman, sir?" Tom +said, in a voice of harsh scorn, as soon as Philip's eyes were turned +on him again. + +"What do you mean?" answered Philip, haughtily. + +"Mean? Stand farther from me, lest I should lay hands on you, and I'll +tell you what I mean. I mean, taking advantage of a young girl's +foolishness and ignorance to get her to have secret meetings with you. +I mean, daring to trifle with the respectability of a family that has +a good and honest name to support." + +"I deny that," interrupted Philip, impetuously. "I could never trifle +with anything that affected your sister's happiness. She is dearer to +me than she is to you; I honor her more than you can ever honor her; I +would give up my life to her." + +"Don't talk high-flown nonsense to me, sir! Do you mean to pretend +that you didn't know it would be injurious to her to meet you here +week after week? Do you pretend you had any right to make professions +of love to her, even if you had been a fit husband for her, when +neither her father nor your father would ever consent to a marriage +between you? And _you_,--_you_ to try and worm yourself into the +affections of a handsome girl who is not eighteen, and has been shut +out from the world by her father's misfortunes! That's your crooked +notion of honor, is it? I call it base treachery; I call it taking +advantage of circumstances to win what's too good for you,--what you'd +never get by fair means." + +"It is manly of you to talk in this way to _me_," said Philip, +bitterly, his whole frame shaken by violent emotions. "Giants have an +immemorial right to stupidity and insolent abuse. You are incapable +even of understanding what I feel for your sister. I feel so much for +her that I could even desire to be at friendship with _you_." + +"I should be very sorry to understand your feelings," said Tom, with +scorching contempt. "What I wish is that you should understand +_me_,--that I shall take care of _my_ sister, and that if you dare to +make the least attempt to come near her, or to write to her, or to +keep the slightest hold on her mind, your puny, miserable body, that +ought to have put some modesty into your mind, shall not protect you. +I'll thrash you; I'll hold you up to public scorn. Who wouldn't laugh +at the idea of _your_ turning lover to a fine girl?" + +Tom and Maggie walked on in silence for some yards. He burst out, in a +convulsed voice. + +"Stay, Maggie!" said Philip, making a strong effort to speak. Then +looking at Tom, "You have dragged your sister here, I suppose, that +she may stand by while you threaten and insult me. These naturally +seemed to you the right means to influence me. But you are mistaken. +Let your sister speak. If she says she is bound to give me up, I shall +abide by her wishes to the slightest word." + +"It was for my father's sake, Philip," said Maggie, imploringly. "Tom +threatens to tell my father, and he couldn't bear it; I have promised, +I have vowed solemnly, that we will not have any intercourse without +my brother's knowledge." + +"It is enough, Maggie. _I_ shall not change; but I wish you to hold +yourself entirely free. But trust me; remember that I can never seek +for anything but good to what belongs to you." + +"Yes," said Tom, exasperated by this attitude of Philip's, "you can +talk of seeking good for her and what belongs to her now; did you seek +her good before?" + +"I did,--at some risk, perhaps. But I wished her to have a friend for +life,--who would cherish her, who would do her more justice than a +coarse and narrow-minded brother, that she has always lavished her +affections on." + +"Yes, my way of befriending her is different from yours; and I'll tell +you what is my way. I'll save her from disobeying and disgracing her +father; I'll save her from throwing herself away on you,--from making +herself a laughing-stock,--from being flouted by a man like _your_ +father, because she's not good enough for his son. You know well +enough what sort of justice and cherishing you were preparing for her. +I'm not to be imposed upon by fine words; I can see what actions mean. +Come away, Maggie." + +He seized Maggie's right wrist as he spoke, and she put out her left +hand. Philip clasped it an instant, with one eager look, and then +hurried away. + +Tom and Maggie walked on in silence for some yards. He was still +holding her wrist tightly, as if he were compelling a culprit from the +scene of action. At last Maggie, with a violent snatch, drew her hand +away, and her pent-up, long-gathered irritation burst into utterance. + +"Don't suppose that I think you are right, Tom, or that I bow to your +will. I despise the feelings you have shown in speaking to Philip; I +detest your insulting, unmanly allusions to his deformity. You have +been reproaching other people all your life; you have been always sure +you yourself are right. It is because you have not a mind large enough +to see that there is anything better than your own conduct and your +own petty aims." + +"Certainly," said Tom, coolly. "I don't see that your conduct is +better, or your aims either. If your conduct, and Philip Wakem's +conduct, has been right, why are you ashamed of its being known? +Answer me that. I know what I have aimed at in my conduct, and I've +succeeded; pray, what good has your conduct brought to you or any one +else?" + +"I don't want to defend myself," said Maggie, still with vehemence: "I +know I've been wrong,--often, continually. But yet, sometimes when I +have done wrong, it has been because I have feelings that you would be +the better for, if you had them. If _you_ were in fault ever, if you +had done anything very wrong, I should be sorry for the pain it +brought you; I should not want punishment to be heaped on you. But you +have always enjoyed punishing me; you have always been hard and cruel +to me; even when I was a little girl, and always loved you better than +any one else in the world, you would let me go crying to bed without +forgiving me. You have no pity; you have no sense of your own +imperfection and your own sins. It is a sin to be hard; it is not +fitting for a mortal, for a Christian. You are nothing but a Pharisee. +You thank God for nothing but your own virtues; you think they are +great enough to win you everything else. You have not even a vision of +feelings by the side of which your shining virtues are mere darkness!" + +"Well," said Tom, with cold scorn, "if your feelings are so much +better than mine, let me see you show them in some other way than by +conduct that's likely to disgrace us all,--than by ridiculous flights +first into one extreme and then into another. Pray, how have you shown +your love, that you talk of, either to me or my father? By disobeying +and deceiving us. I have a different way of showing my affection." + +"Because you are a man, Tom, and have power, and can do something in +the world." + +"Then, if you can do nothing, submit to those that can." + +"So I _will_ submit to what I acknowledge and feel to be right. I will +submit even to what is unreasonable from my father, but I will not +submit to it from you. You boast of your virtues as if they purchased +you a right to be cruel and unmanly, as you've been to-day. Don't +suppose I would give up Philip Wakem in obedience to you. The +deformity you insult would make me cling to him and care for him the +more." + +"Very well; that is your view of things." said Tom, more coldly than +ever; "you need say no more to show me what a wide distance there is +between us. Let us remember that in future, and be silent." + +Tom went back to St. Ogg's, to fulfill an appointment with his uncle +Deane, and receive directions about a journey on which he was to set +out the next morning. + +Maggie went up to her own room to pour out all that indignant +remonstrance, against which Tom's mind was close barred, in bitter +tears. Then, when the first burst of unsatisfied anger was gone by, +came the recollection of that quiet time before the pleasure which had +ended in to-day's misery had perturbed the clearness and simplicity of +her life. She used to think in that time that she had made great +conquests, and won a lasting stand on serene heights above worldly +temptations and conflict. And here she was down again in the thick of +a hot strife with her own and others' passions. Life was not so short, +then, and perfect rest was not so near as she had dreamed when she was +two years younger. There was more struggle for her, and perhaps more +falling. If she had felt that she was entirely wrong, and that Tom had +been entirely right, she could sooner have recovered more inward +harmony; but now her penitence and submission were constantly +obstructed by resentment that would present itself to her no otherwise +than as a just indignation. Her heart bled for Philip; she went on +recalling the insults that had been flung at him with so vivid a +conception of what he had felt under them, that it was almost like a +sharp bodily pain to her, making her beat the floor with her foot and +tighten her fingers on her palm. + +And yet, how was it that she was now and then conscious of a certain +dim background of relief in the forced separation from Philip? Surely +it was only because the sense of a deliverance from concealment was +welcome at any cost. + + + +Chapter VI + +The Hard-Won Triumph + + +Three weeks later, when Dorlcote Mill was at its prettiest moment in +all the year,--the great chestnuts in blossom, and the grass all deep +and daisied,--Tom Tulliver came home to it earlier than usual in the +evening, and as he passed over the bridge, he looked with the old +deep-rooted affection at the respectable red brick house, which always +seemed cheerful and inviting outside, let the rooms be as bare and the +hearts as sad as they might inside. There is a very pleasant light in +Tom's blue-gray eyes as he glances at the house-windows; that fold in +his brow never disappears, but it is not unbecoming; it seems to imply +a strength of will that may possibly be without harshness, when the +eyes and mouth have their gentlest expression. His firm step becomes +quicker, and the corners of his mouth rebel against the compression +which is meant to forbid a smile. + +The eyes in the parlor were not turned toward the bridge just then, +and the group there was sitting in unexpectant silence,--Mr. Tulliver +in his arm-chair, tired with a long ride, and ruminating with a worn +look, fixed chiefly on Maggie, who was bending over her sewing while +her mother was making the tea. + +They all looked up with surprise when they heard the well-known foot. + +"Why, what's up now, Tom?" said his father. "You're a bit earlier than +usual." + +"Oh, there was nothing more for me to do, so I came away. Well, +mother!" + +Tom went up to his mother and kissed her, a sign of unusual good-humor +with him. Hardly a word or look had passed between him and Maggie in +all the three weeks; but his usual incommunicativeness at home +prevented this from being noticeable to their parents. + +"Father," said Tom, when they had finished tea, "do you know exactly +how much money there is in the tin box?" + +"Only a hundred and ninety-three pound," said Mr. Tulliver. "You've +brought less o' late; but young fellows like to have their own way +with their money. Though I didn't do as I liked before _I_ was of +age." He spoke with rather timid discontent. + +"Are you quite sure that's the sum, father?" said Tom. "I wish you +would take the trouble to fetch the tin box down. I think you have +perhaps made a mistake." + +"How should I make a mistake?" said his father, sharply. "I've counted +it often enough; but I can fetch it, if you won't believe me." + +It was always an incident Mr. Tulliver liked, in his gloomy life, to +fetch the tin box and count the money. + +"Don't go out of the room, mother," said Tom, as he saw her moving +when his father was gone upstairs. + +"And isn't Maggie to go?" said Mrs. Tulliver; "because somebody must +take away the things." + +"Just as she likes," said Tom indifferently. + +That was a cutting word to Maggie. Her heart had leaped with the +sudden conviction that Tom was going to tell their father the debts +could be paid; and Tom would have let her be absent when that news was +told! But she carried away the tray and came back immediately. The +feeling of injury on her own behalf could not predominate at that +moment. + +Tom drew to the corner of the table near his father when the tin box +was set down and opened, and the red evening light falling on them +made conspicuous the worn, sour gloom of the dark-eyed father and the +suppressed joy in the face of the fair-complexioned son. The mother +and Maggie sat at the other end of the table, the one in blank +patience, the other in palpitating expectation. + +Mr. Tulliver counted out the money, setting it in order on the table, +and then said, glancing sharply at Tom: + +"There now! you see I was right enough." + +He paused, looking at the money with bitter despondency. + +"There's more nor three hundred wanting; it'll be a fine while before +_I_ can save that. Losing that forty-two pound wi' the corn was a sore +job. This world's been too many for me. It's took four year to lay +_this_ by; it's much if I'm above ground for another four year. I must +trusten to you to pay 'em," he went on, with a trembling voice, "if +you keep i' the same mind now you're coming o' age. But you're like +enough to bury me first." + +He looked up in Tom's face with a querulous desire for some assurance. + +"No, father," said Tom, speaking with energetic decision, though there +was tremor discernible in his voice too, "you will live to see the +debts all paid. You shall pay them with your own hand." + +His tone implied something more than mere hopefulness or resolution. A +slight electric shock seemed to pass through Mr. Tulliver, and he kept +his eyes fixed on Tom with a look of eager inquiry, while Maggie, +unable to restrain herself, rushed to her father's side and knelt down +by him. Tom was silent a little while before he went on. + +"A good while ago, my uncle Glegg lent me a little money to trade +with, and that has answered. I have three hundred and twenty pounds in +the bank." + +His mother's arms were round his neck as soon as the last words were +uttered, and she said, half crying: + +"Oh, my boy, I knew you'd make iverything right again, when you got a +man." + +But his father was silent; the flood of emotion hemmed in all power of +speech. Both Tom and Maggie were struck with fear lest the shock of +joy might even be fatal. But the blessed relief of tears came. The +broad chest heaved, the muscles of the face gave way, and the +gray-haired man burst into loud sobs. The fit of weeping gradually +subsided, and he sat quiet, recovering the regularity of his +breathing. At last he looked up at his wife and said, in a gentle +tone: + +"Bessy, you must come and kiss me now--the lad has made you amends. +You'll see a bit o' comfort again, belike." + +When she had kissed him, and he had held her hand a minute, his +thoughts went back to the money. + +"I wish you'd brought me the money to look at, Tom," he said, +fingering the sovereigns on the table; "I should ha' felt surer." + +"You shall see it to-morrow, father," said Tom. "My uncle Deane has +appointed the creditors to meet to-morrow at the Golden Lion, and he +has ordered a dinner for them at two o'clock. My uncle Glegg and he +will both be there. It was advertised in the 'Messenger' on Saturday." + +"Then Wakem knows on't!" said Mr. Tulliver, his eye kindling with +triumphant fire. "Ah!" he went on, with a long-drawn guttural +enunciation, taking out his snuff-box, the only luxury he had left +himself, and tapping it with something of his old air of defiance. +"I'll get from under _his_ thumb now, though I _must_ leave the old +mill. I thought I could ha' held out to die here--but I can't----we've +got a glass o' nothing in the house, have we, Bessy?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Tulliver, drawing out her much-reduced bunch of keys, +"there's some brandy sister Deane brought me when I was ill." + +"Get it me, then; get it me. I feel a bit weak." + +"Tom, my lad," he said, in a stronger voice, when he had taken some +brandy-and-water, "you shall make a speech to 'em. I'll tell 'em it's +you as got the best part o' the money. They'll see I'm honest at last, +and ha' got an honest son. Ah! Wakem 'ud be fine and glad to have a +son like mine,--a fine straight fellow,--i'stead o' that poor crooked +creatur! You'll prosper i' the world, my lad; you'll maybe see the day +when Wakem and his son 'ull be a round or two below you. You'll like +enough be ta'en into partnership, as your uncle Deane was before +you,--you're in the right way for't; and then there's nothing to +hinder your getting rich. And if ever you're rich enough--mind +this--try and get th' old mill again." + +Mr. Tulliver threw himself back in his chair; his mind, which had so +long been the home of nothing but bitter discontent and foreboding, +suddenly filled, by the magic of joy, with visions of good fortune. +But some subtle influence prevented him from foreseeing the good +fortune as happening to himself. + +"Shake hands wi' me, my lad," he said, suddenly putting out his hand. +"It's a great thing when a man can be proud as he's got a good son. +I've had _that_ luck." + +Tom never lived to taste another moment so delicious as that; and +Maggie couldn't help forgetting her own grievances. Tom _was_ good; +and in the sweet humility that springs in us all in moments of true +admiration and gratitude, she felt that the faults he had to pardon in +her had never been redeemed, as his faults were. She felt no jealousy +this evening that, for the first time, she seemed to be thrown into +the background in her father's mind. + +There was much more talk before bedtime. Mr. Tulliver naturally wanted +to hear all the particulars of Tom's trading adventures, and he +listened with growing excitement and delight. He was curious to know +what had been said on every occasion; if possible, what had been +thought; and Bob Jakin's part in the business threw him into peculiar +outbursts of sympathy with the triumphant knowingness of that +remarkable packman. Bob's juvenile history, so far as it had come +under Mr. Tulliver's knowledge, was recalled with that sense of +astonishing promise it displayed, which is observable in all +reminiscences of the childhood of great men. + +It was well that there was this interest of narrative to keep under +the vague but fierce sense of triumph over Wakem, which would +otherwise have been the channel his joy would have rushed into with +dangerous force. Even as it was, that feeling from time to time gave +threats of its ultimate mastery, in sudden bursts of irrelevant +exclamation. + +It was long before Mr. Tulliver got to sleep that night; and the +sleep, when it came, was filled with vivid dreams. At half-past five +o'clock in the morning, when Mrs. Tulliver was already rising, he +alarmed her by starting up with a sort of smothered shout, and looking +round in a bewildered way at the walls of the bedroom. + +"What's the matter, Mr. Tulliver?" said his wife. He looked at her, +still with a puzzled expression, and said at last: + +"Ah!--I was dreaming--did I make a noise?--I thought I'd got hold of +him." + + + +Chapter VII + +A Day of Reckoning + + +Mr. Tulliver was an essentially sober man,--able to take his glass and +not averse to it, but never exceeding the bounds of moderation. He had +naturally an active Hotspur temperament, which did not crave liquid +fire to set it aglow; his impetuosity was usually equal to an exciting +occasion without any such reinforcements; and his desire for the +brandy-and-water implied that the too sudden joy had fallen with a +dangerous shock on a frame depressed by four years of gloom and +unaccustomed hard fare. But that first doubtful tottering moment +passed, he seemed to gather strength with his gathering excitement; +and the next day, when he was seated at table with his creditors, his +eye kindling and his cheek flushed with the consciousness that he was +about to make an honorable figure once more, he looked more like the +proud, confident, warm-hearted, and warm-tempered Tulliver of old +times than might have seemed possible to any one who had met him a +week before, riding along as had been his wont for the last four years +since the sense of failure and debt had been upon him,--with his head +hanging down, casting brief, unwilling looks on those who forced +themselves on his notice. He made his speech, asserting his honest +principles with his old confident eagerness, alluding to the rascals +and the luck that had been against him, but that he had triumphed +over, to some extent, by hard efforts and the aid of a good son; and +winding up with the story of how Tom had got the best part of the +needful money. But the streak of irritation and hostile triumph seemed +to melt for a little while into purer fatherly pride and pleasure, +when, Tom's health having been proposed, and uncle Deane having taken +occasion to say a few words of eulogy on his general character and +conduct, Tom himself got up and made the single speech of his life. It +could hardly have been briefer. He thanked the gentlemen for the honor +they had done him. He was glad that he had been able to help his +father in proving his integrity and regaining his honest name; and, +for his own part, he hoped he should never undo that work and disgrace +that name. But the applause that followed was so great, and Tom looked +so gentlemanly as well as tall and straight, that Mr. Tulliver +remarked, in an explanatory manner, to his friends on his right and +left, that he had spent a deal of money on his son's education. + +The party broke up in very sober fashion at five o'clock. Tom remained +in St. Ogg's to attend to some business, and Mr. Tulliver mounted his +horse to go home, and describe the memorable things that had been said +and done, to "poor Bessy and the little wench." The air of excitement +that hung about him was but faintly due to good cheer or any stimulus +but the potent wine of triumphant joy. He did not choose any back +street to-day, but rode slowly, with uplifted head and free glances, +along the principal street all the way to the bridge. + +Why did he not happen to meet Wakem? The want of that coincidence +vexed him, and set his mind at work in an irritating way. Perhaps +Wakem was gone out of town to-day on purpose to avoid seeing or +hearing anything of an honorable action which might well cause him +some unpleasant twinges. If Wakem were to meet him then, Mr. Tulliver +would look straight at him, and the rascal would perhaps be forsaken a +little by his cool, domineering impudence. He would know by and by +that an honest man was not going to serve _him_ any longer, and lend +his honesty to fill a pocket already over-full of dishonest gains. +Perhaps the luck was beginning to turn; perhaps the Devil didn't +always hold the best cards in this world. + +Simmering in this way, Mr. Tulliver approached the yardgates of +Dorlcote Mill, near enough to see a well-known figure coming out of +them on a fine black horse. They met about fifty yards from the gates, +between the great chestnuts and elms and the high bank. + +"Tulliver," said Wakem, abruptly, in a haughtier tone than usual, +"what a fool's trick you did,--spreading those hard lumps on that Far +Close! I told you how it would be; but you men never learn to farm +with any method." + +"Oh!" said Tulliver, suddenly boiling up; "get somebody else to farm +for you, then, as'll ask _you_ to teach him." + +"You have been drinking, I suppose," said Wakem, really believing that +this was the meaning of Tulliver's flushed face and sparkling eyes. + +"No, I've not been drinking," said Tulliver; "I want no drinking to +help me make up my mind as I'll serve no longer under a scoundrel." + +"Very well! you may leave my premises to-morrow, then; hold your +insolent tongue and let me pass." (Tulliver was backing his horse +across the road to hem Wakem in.) + +"No, I _sha'n't_ let you pass," said Tulliver, getting fiercer. "I +shall tell you what I think of you first. You're too big a raskill to +get hanged--you're----" + +"Let me pass, you ignorant brute, or I'll ride over you." + +Mr. Tulliver, spurring his horse and raising his whip, made a rush +forward; and Wakem's horse, rearing and staggering backward, threw his +rider from the saddle and sent him sideways on the ground. Wakem had +had the presence of mind to loose the bridle at once, and as the horse +only staggered a few paces and then stood still, he might have risen +and remounted without more inconvenience than a bruise and a shake. +But before he could rise, Tulliver was off his horse too. The sight of +the long-hated predominant man down, and in his power, threw him into +a frenzy of triumphant vengeance, which seemed to give him +preternatural agility and strength. He rushed on Wakem, who was in the +act of trying to recover his feet, grasped him by the left arm so as +to press Wakem's whole weight on the right arm, which rested on the +ground, and flogged him fiercely across the back with his riding-whip. +Wakem shouted for help, but no help came, until a woman's scream was +heard, and the cry of "Father, father!" + +Suddenly, Wakem felt, something had arrested Mr. Tulliver's arm; for +the flogging ceased, and the grasp on his own arm was relaxed. + +"Get away with you--go!" said Tulliver, angrily. But it was not to +Wakem that he spoke. Slowly the lawyer rose, and, as he turned his +head, saw that Tulliver's arms were being held by a girl, rather by +the fear of hurting the girl that clung to him with all her young +might. + +"Oh, Luke--mother--come and help Mr. Wakem!" Maggie cried, as she +heard the longed-for footsteps. + +"Help me on to that low horse," said Wakem to Luke, "then I shall +perhaps manage; though--confound it--I think this arm is sprained." + +With some difficulty, Wakem was heaved on to Tulliver's horse. Then he +turned toward the miller and said, with white rage, "You'll suffer for +this, sir. Your daughter is a witness that you've assaulted me." + +"I don't care," said Mr. Tulliver, in a thick, fierce voice; "go and +show your back, and tell 'em I thrashed you. Tell 'em I've made things +a bit more even i' the world." + +"Ride my horse home with me," said Wakem to Luke. "By the Tofton +Ferry, not through the town." + +"Father, come in!" said Maggie, imploringly. Then, seeing that Wakem +had ridden off, and that no further violence was possible, she +slackened her hold and burst into hysteric sobs, while poor Mrs. +Tulliver stood by in silence, quivering with fear. But Maggie became +conscious that as she was slackening her hold her father was beginning +to grasp her and lean on her. The surprise checked her sobs. + +"I feel ill--faintish," he said. "Help me in, Bessy--I'm giddy--I've a +pain i' the head." + +He walked in slowly, propped by his wife and daughter and tottered +into his arm-chair. The almost purple flush had given way to paleness, +and his hand was cold. + +"Hadn't we better send for the doctor?" said Mrs. Tulliver. + +He seemed to be too faint and suffering to hear her; but presently, +when she said to Maggie, "Go and seek for somebody to fetch the +doctor," he looked up at her with full comprehension, and said, +"Doctor? No--no doctor. It's my head, that's all. Help me to bed." + +Sad ending to the day that had risen on them all like a beginning of +better times! But mingled seed must bear a mingled crop. + +In half an hour after his father had lain down Tom came home. Bob +Jakin was with him, come to congratulate "the old master," not without +some excusable pride that he had had his share in bringing about Mr. +Tom's good luck; and Tom had thought his father would like nothing +better, as a finish to the day, than a talk with Bob. But now Tom +could only spend the evening in gloomy expectation of the unpleasant +consequences that must follow on this mad outbreak of his father's +long-smothered hate. After the painful news had been told, he sat in +silence; he had not spirit or inclination to tell his mother and +sister anything about the dinner; they hardly cared to ask it. +Apparently the mingled thread in the web of their life was so +curiously twisted together that there could be no joy without a sorrow +coming close upon it. Tom was dejected by the thought that his +exemplary effort must always be baffled by the wrong-doing of others; +Maggie was living through, over and over again, the agony of the +moment in which she had rushed to throw herself on her father's arm, +with a vague, shuddering foreboding of wretched scenes to come. Not +one of the three felt any particular alarm about Mr. Tulliver's +health; the symptoms did not recall his former dangerous attack, and +it seemed only a necessary consequence that his violent passion and +effort of strength, after many hours of unusual excitement, should +have made him feel ill. Rest would probably cure him. + +Tom, tired out by his active day, fell asleep soon, and slept soundly; +it seemed to him as if he had only just come to bed, when he waked to +see his mother standing by him in the gray light of early morning. + +"My boy, you must get up this minute; I've sent for the doctor, and +your father wants you and Maggie to come to him." + +"Is he worse, mother?" + +"He's been very ill all night with his head, but he doesn't say it's +worse; he only said suddenly, 'Bessy, fetch the boy and girl. Tell 'em +to make haste.'" + +Maggie and Tom threw on their clothes hastily in the chill gray light, +and reached their father's room almost at the same moment. He was +watching for them with an expression of pain on his brow, but with +sharpened, anxious consciousness in his eyes. Mrs. Tulliver stood at +the foot of the bed, frightened and trembling, looking worn and aged +from disturbed rest. Maggie was at the bedside first, but her father's +glance was toward Tom, who came and stood next to her. + +"Tom, my lad, it's come upon me as I sha'n't get up again. This +world's been too many for me, my lad, but you've done what you could +to make things a bit even. Shake hands wi' me again, my lad, before I +go away from you." + +The father and son clasped hands and looked at each other an instant. +Then Tom said, trying to speak firmly,-- + +"Have you any wish, father--that I can fulfil, when----" + +"Ay, my lad--you'll try and get the old mill back." + +"Yes, father." + +"And there's your mother--you'll try and make her amends, all you can, +for my bad luck--and there's the little wench----" + +The father turned his eyes on Maggie with a still more eager look, +while she, with a bursting heart, sank on her knees, to be closer to +the dear, time-worn face which had been present with her through long +years, as the sign of her deepest love and hardest trial. + +"You must take care of her, Tom--don't you fret, my wench--there'll +come somebody as'll love you and take your part--and you must be good +to her, my lad. I was good to _my_ sister. Kiss me, Maggie.--Come, +Bessy.--You'll manage to pay for a brick grave, Tom, so as your mother +and me can lie together." + +He looked away from them all when he had said this, and lay silent for +some minutes, while they stood watching him, not daring to move. The +morning light was growing clearer for them, and they could see the +heaviness gathering in his face, and the dulness in his eyes. But at +last he looked toward Tom and said,-- + +"I had my turn--I beat him. That was nothing but fair. I never wanted +anything but what was fair." + +"But, father, dear father," said Maggie, an unspeakable anxiety +predominating over her grief, "you forgive him--you forgive every one +now?" + +He did not move his eyes to look at her, but he said,-- + +"No, my wench. I don't forgive him. What's forgiving to do? I can't +love a raskill----" + +His voice had become thicker; but he wanted to say more, and moved his +lips again and again, struggling in vain to speak. At length the words +forced their way. + +"Does God forgive raskills?--but if He does, He won't be hard wi' me." + +His hands moved uneasily, as if he wanted them to remove some +obstruction that weighed upon him. Two or three times there fell from +him some broken words,-- + +"This world's--too many--honest man--puzzling----" + +Soon they merged into mere mutterings; the eyes had ceased to discern; +and then came the final silence. + +But not of death. For an hour or more the chest heaved, the loud, hard +breathing continued, getting gradually slower, as the cold dews +gathered on the brow. + +At last there was total stillness, and poor Tulliver's dimly lighted +soul had forever ceased to be vexed with the painful riddle of this +world. + +Help was come now; Luke and his wife were there, and Mr. Turnbull had +arrived, too late for everything but to say, "This is death." + +Tom and Maggie went downstairs together into the room where their +father's place was empty. Their eyes turned to the same spot, and +Maggie spoke,-- + +"Tom, forgive me--let us always love each other"; and they clung and +wept together. + + + + +Book VI + +_The Great Temptation_ + + + +Chapter I + +A Duet in Paradise + + +The well-furnished drawing-room, with the open grand piano, and the +pleasant outlook down a sloping garden to a boat-house by the side of +the Floss, is Mr. Deane's. The neat little lady in mourning, whose +light-brown ringlets are falling over the colored embroidery with +which her fingers are busy, is of course Lucy Deane; and the fine +young man who is leaning down from his chair to snap the scissors in +the extremely abbreviated face of the "King Charles" lying on the +young lady's feet is no other than Mr. Stephen Guest, whose diamond +ring, attar of roses, and air of _nonchalant_ leisure, at twelve +o'clock in the day, are the graceful and odoriferous result of the +largest oil-mill and the most extensive wharf in St. Ogg's. There is +an apparent triviality in the action with the scissors, but your +discernment perceives at once that there is a design in it which makes +it eminently worthy of a large-headed, long-limbed young man; for you +see that Lucy wants the scissors, and is compelled, reluctant as she +may be, to shake her ringlets back, raise her soft hazel eyes, smile +playfully down on the face that is so very nearly on a level with her +knee, and holding out her little shell-pink palm, to say,-- + +"My scissors, please, if you can renounce the great pleasure of +persecuting my poor Minny." + +The foolish scissors have slipped too far over the knuckles, it seems, +and Hercules holds out his entrapped fingers hopelessly. + +"Confound the scissors! The oval lies the wrong way. Please draw them +off for me." + +"Draw them off with your other hand," says Miss Lucy, roguishly. + +"Oh, but that's my left hand; I'm not left-handed." + +Lucy laughs, and the scissors are drawn off with gentle touches from +tiny tips, which naturally dispose Mr. Stephen for a repetition _da +capo_. Accordingly, he watches for the release of the scissors, that +he may get them into his possession again. + +"No, no," said Lucy, sticking them in her band, "you shall not have my +scissors again,--you have strained them already. Now don't set Minny +growling again. Sit up and behave properly, and then I will tell you +some news." + +"What is that?" said Stephen, throwing himself back and hanging his +right arm over the corner of his chair. He might have been sitting for +his portrait, which would have represented a rather striking young man +of five-and-twenty, with a square forehead, short dark-brown hair, +standing erect, with a slight wave at the end, like a thick crop of +corn, and a half-ardent, half-sarcastic glance from under his +well-marked horizontal eyebrows. "Is it very important news?" + +"Yes, very. Guess." + +"You are going to change Minny's diet, and give him three ratafias +soaked in a dessert-spoonful of cream daily?" + +"Quite wrong." + +"Well, then, Dr. Kenn has been preaching against buckram, and you +ladies have all been sending him a roundrobin, saying, 'This is a hard +doctrine; who can bear it?'" + +"For shame!" said Lucy, adjusting her little mouth gravely. "It is +rather dull of you not to guess my news, because it is about something +I mentioned to you not very long ago." + +"But you have mentioned many things to me not long ago. Does your +feminine tyranny require that when you say the thing you mean is one +of several things, I should know it immediately by that mark?" + +"Yes, I know you think I am silly." + +"I think you are perfectly charming." + +"And my silliness is part of my charm?" + +"I didn't say _that_." + +"But I know you like women to be rather insipid. Philip Wakem betrayed +you; he said so one day when you were not here." + +"Oh, I know Phil is fierce on that point; he makes it quite a personal +matter. I think he must be love-sick for some unknown lady,--some +exalted Beatrice whom he met abroad." + +"By the by," said Lucy, pausing in her work, "it has just occurred to +me that I never found out whether my cousin Maggie will object to see +Philip, as her brother does. Tom will not enter a room where Philip +is, if he knows it; perhaps Maggie may be the same, and then we +sha'n't be able to sing our glees, shall we?" + +"What! is your cousin coming to stay with you?" said Stephen, with a +look of slight annoyance. + +"Yes; that was my news, which you have forgotten. She's going to leave +her situation, where she has been nearly two years, poor thing,--ever +since her father's death; and she will stay with me a month or +two,--many months, I hope." + +"And am I bound to be pleased at that news?" + +"Oh no, not at all," said Lucy, with a little air of pique. "_I_ am +pleased, but that, of course, is no reason why _you_ should be +pleased. There is no girl in the world I love so well as my cousin +Maggie." + +"And you will be inseparable I suppose, when she comes. There will be +no possibility of a _tête-à-tête_ with you any more, unless you can +find an admirer for her, who will pair off with her occasionally. What +is the ground of dislike to Philip? He might have been a resource." + +"It is a family quarrel with Philip's father. There were very painful +circumstances, I believe. I never quite understood them, or knew them +all. My uncle Tulliver was unfortunate and lost all his property, and +I think he considered Mr. Wakem was somehow the cause of it. Mr. Wakem +bought Dorlcote Mill, my uncle's old place, where he always lived. You +must remember my uncle Tulliver, don't you?" + +"No," said Stephen, with rather supercilious indifference. "I've +always known the name, and I dare say I knew the man by sight, apart +from his name. I know half the names and faces in the neighborhood in +that detached, disjointed way." + +"He was a very hot-tempered man. I remember, when I was a little girl +and used to go to see my cousins, he often frightened me by talking as +if he were angry. Papa told me there was a dreadful quarrel, the very +day before my uncle's death, between him and Mr. Wakem, but it was +hushed up. That was when you were in London. Papa says my uncle was +quite mistaken in many ways; his mind had become embittered. But Tom +and Maggie must naturally feel it very painful to be reminded of these +things. They have had so much, so very much trouble. Maggie was at +school with me six years ago, when she was fetched away because of her +father's misfortunes, and she has hardly had any pleasure since, I +think. She has been in a dreary situation in a school since uncle's +death, because she is determined to be independent, and not live with +aunt Pullet; and I could hardly wish her to come to me then, because +dear mamma was ill, and everything was so sad. That is why I want her +to come to me now, and have a long, long holiday." + +"Very sweet and angelic of you," said Stephen, looking at her with an +admiring smile; "and all the more so if she has the conversational +qualities of her mother." + +"Poor aunty! You are cruel to ridicule her. She is very valuable to +_me_, I know. She manages the house beautifully,--much better than any +stranger would,--and she was a great comfort to me in mamma's +illness." + +"Yes, but in point of companionship one would prefer that she should +be represented by her brandy-cherries and cream-cakes. I think with a +shudder that her daughter will always be present in person, and have +no agreeable proxies of that kind,--a fat, blond girl, with round blue +eyes, who will stare at us silently." + +"Oh yes!" exclaimed Lucy, laughing wickedly, and clapping her hands, +"that is just my cousin Maggie. You must have seen her!" + +"No, indeed; I'm only guessing what Mrs. Tulliver's daughter must be; +and then if she is to banish Philip, our only apology for a tenor, +that will be an additional bore." + +"But I hope that may not be. I think I will ask you to call on Philip +and tell him Maggie is coming to-morrow. He is quite aware of Tom's +feeling, and always keeps out of his way; so he will understand, if +you tell him, that I asked you to warn him not to come until I write +to ask him." + +"I think you had better write a pretty note for me to take; Phil is so +sensitive, you know, the least thing might frighten him off coming at +all, and we had hard work to get him. I can never induce him to come +to the park; he doesn't like my sisters, I think. It is only your +faëry touch that can lay his ruffled feathers." + +Stephen mastered the little hand that was straying toward the table, +and touched it lightly with his lips. Little Lucy felt very proud and +happy. She and Stephen were in that stage of courtship which makes the +most exquisite moment of youth, the freshest blossom-time of +passion,--when each is sure of the other's love, but no formal +declaration has been made, and all is mutual divination, exalting the +most trivial word, the lightest gesture, into thrills delicate and +delicious as wafted jasmine scent. The explicitness of an engagement +wears off this finest edge of susceptibility; it is jasmine gathered +and presented in a large bouquet. + +"But it is really odd that you should have hit so exactly on Maggie's +appearance and manners," said the cunning Lucy, moving to reach her +desk, "because she might have been like her brother, you know; and Tom +has not round eyes; and he is as far as possible from staring at +people." + +"Oh, I suppose he is like the father; he seems to be as proud as +Lucifer. Not a brilliant companion, though, I should think." + +"I like Tom. He gave me my Minny when I lost Lolo; and papa is very +fond of him: he says Tom has excellent principles. It was through him +that his father was able to pay all his debts before he died." + +"Oh, ah; I've heard about that. I heard your father and mine talking +about it a little while ago, after dinner, in one of their +interminable discussions about business. They think of doing something +for young Tulliver; he saved them from a considerable loss by riding +home in some marvellous way, like Turpin, to bring them news about the +stoppage of a bank, or something of that sort. But I was rather drowsy +at the time." + +Stephen rose from his seat, and sauntered to the piano, humming in +falsetto, "Graceful Consort," as he turned over the volume of "The +Creation," which stood open on the desk. + +"Come and sing this," he said, when he saw Lucy rising. + +"What, 'Graceful Consort'? I don't think it suits your voice." + +"Never mind; it exactly suits my feeling, which, Philip will have it, +is the grand element of good singing. I notice men with indifferent +voices are usually of that opinion." + +"Philip burst into one of his invectives against 'The Creation' the +other day," said Lucy, seating herself at the piano. "He says it has a +sort of sugared complacency and flattering make-believe in it, as if +it were written for the birthday _fête_ of a German Grand-Duke." + +"Oh, pooh! He is the fallen Adam with a soured temper. We are Adam and +Eve unfallen, in Paradise. Now, then,--the recitative, for the sake of +the moral. You will sing the whole duty of woman,--'And from obedience +grows my pride and happiness.'" + +"Oh no, I shall not respect an Adam who drags the _tempo_, as you +will," said Lucy, beginning to play the duet. + +Surely the only courtship unshaken by doubts and fears must be that in +which the lovers can sing together. The sense of mutual fitness that +springs from the two deep notes fulfilling expectation just at the +right moment between the notes of the silvery soprano, from the +perfect accord of descending thirds and fifths, from the preconcerted +loving chase of a fugue, is likely enough to supersede any immediate +demand for less impassioned forms of agreement. The contralto will not +care to catechise the bass; the tenor will foresee no embarrassing +dearth of remark in evenings spent with the lovely soprano. In the +provinces, too, where music was so scarce in that remote time, how +could the musical people avoid falling in love with each other? Even +political principle must have been in danger of relaxation under such +circumstances; and the violin, faithful to rotten boroughs, must have +been tempted to fraternize in a demoralizing way with a reforming +violoncello. In that case, the linnet-throated soprano and the +full-toned bass singing,-- + + "With thee delight is ever new, + With thee is life incessant bliss," + +believed what they sang all the more _because_ they sang it. + +"Now for Raphael's great song," said Lucy, when they had finished the +duet. "You do the 'heavy beasts' to perfection." + +"That sounds complimentary," said Stephen, looking at his watch. "By +Jove, it's nearly half-past one! Well, I can just sing this." + +Stephen delivered with admirable ease the deep notes representing the +tread of the heavy beasts; but when a singer has an audience of two, +there is room for divided sentiments. Minny's mistress was charmed; +but Minny, who had intrenched himself, trembling, in his basket as +soon as the music began, found this thunder so little to his taste +that he leaped out and scampered under the remotest _chiffonnier_, as +the most eligible place in which a small dog could await the crack of +doom. + +"Adieu, 'graceful consort,'" said Stephen, buttoning his coat across +when he had done singing, and smiling down from his tall height, with +the air of rather a patronizing lover, at the little lady on the +music-stool. "My bliss is not incessant, for I must gallop home. I +promised to be there at lunch." + +"You will not be able to call on Philip, then? It is of no +consequence; I have said everything in my note." + +"You will be engaged with your cousin to-morrow, I suppose?" + +"Yes, we are going to have a little family-party. My cousin Tom will +dine with us; and poor aunty will have her two children together for +the first time. It will be very pretty; I think a great deal about +it." + +"But I may come the next day?" + +"Oh yes! Come and be introduced to my cousin Maggie; though you can +hardly be said not to have seen her, you have described her so well." + +"Good-bye, then." And there was that slight pressure of the hands, and +momentary meeting of the eyes, which will often leave a little lady +with a slight flush and smile on her face that do not subside +immediately when the door is closed, and with an inclination to walk +up and down the room rather than to seat herself quietly at her +embroidery, or other rational and improving occupation. At least this +was the effect on Lucy; and you will not, I hope, consider it an +indication of vanity predominating over more tender impulses, that she +just glanced in the chimney-glass as her walk brought her near it. The +desire to know that one has not looked an absolute fright during a few +hours of conversation may be construed as lying within the bounds of a +laudable benevolent consideration for others. And Lucy had so much of +this benevolence in her nature that I am inclined to think her small +egoisms were impregnated with it, just as there are people not +altogether unknown to you whose small benevolences have a predominant +and somewhat rank odor of egoism. Even now, that she is walking up and +down with a little triumphant flutter of her girlish heart at the +sense that she is loved by the person of chief consequence in her +small world, you may see in her hazel eyes an ever-present sunny +benignity, in which the momentary harmless flashes of personal vanity +are quite lost; and if she is happy in thinking of her lover, it is +because the thought of him mingles readily with all the gentle +affections and good-natured offices with which she fills her peaceful +days. Even now, her mind, with that instantaneous alternation which +makes two currents of feeling or imagination seem simultaneous, is +glancing continually from Stephen to the preparations she has only +half finished in Maggie's room. Cousin Maggie should be treated as +well as the grandest lady-visitor,--nay, better, for she should have +Lucy's best prints and drawings in her bedroom, and the very finest +bouquet of spring flowers on her table. Maggie would enjoy all that, +she was so found of pretty things! And there was poor aunt Tulliver, +that no one made any account of, she was to be surprised with the +present of a cap of superlative quality, and to have her health drunk +in a gratifying manner, for which Lucy was going to lay a plot with +her father this evening. Clearly, she had not time to indulge in long +reveries about her own happy love-affairs. With this thought she +walked toward the door, but paused there. + +"What's the matter, then, Minny?" she said, stooping in answer to some +whimpering of that small quadruped, and lifting his glossy head +against her pink cheek. "Did you think I was going without you? Come, +then, let us go and see Sinbad." + +Sinbad was Lucy's chestnut horse, that she always fed with her own +hand when he was turned out in the paddock. She was fond of feeding +dependent creatures, and knew the private tastes of all the animals +about the house, delighting in the little rippling sounds of her +canaries when their beaks were busy with fresh seed, and in the small +nibbling pleasures of certain animals which, lest she should appear +too trivial, I will here call "the more familiar rodents." + +Was not Stephen Guest right in his decided opinion that this slim +maiden of eighteen was quite the sort of wife a man would not be +likely to repent of marrying,--a woman who was loving and thoughtful +for other women, not giving them Judas-kisses with eyes askance on +their welcome defects, but with real care and vision for their +half-hidden pains and mortifications, with long ruminating enjoyment +of little pleasures prepared for them? Perhaps the emphasis of his +admiration did not fall precisely on this rarest quality in her; +perhaps he approved his own choice of her chiefly because she did not +strike him as a remarkable rarity. A man likes his wife to be pretty; +well, Lucy was pretty, but not to a maddening extent. A man likes his +wife to be accomplished, gentle, affectionate, and not stupid; and +Lucy had all these qualifications. Stephen was not surprised to find +himself in love with her, and was conscious of excellent judgment in +preferring her to Miss Leyburn, the daughter of the county member, +although Lucy was only the daughter of his father's subordinate +partner; besides, he had had to defy and overcome a slight +unwillingness and disappointment in his father and sisters,--a +circumstance which gives a young man an agreeable consciousness of his +own dignity. Stephen was aware that he had sense and independence +enough to choose the wife who was likely to make him happy, unbiassed +by any indirect considerations. He meant to choose Lucy; she was a +little darling, and exactly the sort of woman he had always admired. + + + +Chapter II + +First Impressions + + +"He is very clever, Maggie," said Lucy. She was kneeling on a +footstool at Maggie's feet, after placing that dark lady in the large +crimson-velvet chair. "I feel sure you will like him. I hope you +will." + +"I shall be very difficult to please," said Maggie, smiling, and +holding up one of Lucy's long curls, that the sunlight might shine +through it. "A gentleman who thinks he is good enough for Lucy must +expect to be sharply criticised." + +"Indeed, he's a great deal too good for me. And sometimes, when he is +away, I almost think it can't really be that he loves me. But I can +never doubt it when he is with me, though I couldn't bear any one but +you to know that I feel in that way, Maggie." + +"Oh, then, if I disapprove of him you can give him up, since you are +not engaged," said Maggie, with playful gravity. + +"I would rather not be engaged. When people are engaged, they begin to +think of being married soon," said Lucy, too thoroughly preoccupied to +notice Maggie's joke; "and I should like everything to go on for a +long while just as it is. Sometimes I am quite frightened lest Stephen +should say that he has spoken to papa; and from something that fell +from papa the other day, I feel sure he and Mr. Guest are expecting +that. And Stephen's sisters are very civil to me now. At first, I +think they didn't like his paying me attention; and that was natural. +It _does_ seem out of keeping that I should ever live in a great place +like the Park House, such a little insignificant thing as I am." + +"But people are not expected to be large in proportion to the houses +they live in, like snails," said Maggie, laughing. "Pray, are Mr. +Guest's sisters giantesses?" + +"Oh no; and not handsome,--that is, not very," said Lucy, +half-penitent at this uncharitable remark. "But _he_ is--at least he +is generally considered very handsome." + +"Though you are unable to share that opinion?" + +"Oh, I don't know," said Lucy, blushing pink over brow and neck. "It +is a bad plan to raise expectation; you will perhaps be disappointed. +But I have prepared a charming surprise for _him;_ I shall have a +glorious laugh against him. I shall not tell you what it is, though." + +Lucy rose from her knees and went to a little distance, holding her +pretty head on one side, as if she had been arranging Maggie for a +portrait, and wished to judge of the general effect. + +"Stand up a moment, Maggie." + +"What is your pleasure now?" said Maggie, smiling languidly as she +rose from her chair and looked down on her slight, aerial cousin, +whose figure was quite subordinate to her faultless drapery of silk +and crape. + +Lucy kept her contemplative attitude a moment or two in silence, and +then said,-- + +"I can't think what witchery it is in you, Maggie, that makes you look +best in shabby clothes; though you really must have a new dress now. +But do you know, last night I was trying to fancy you in a handsome, +fashionable dress, and do what I would, that old limp merino would +come back as the only right thing for you. I wonder if Marie +Antoinette looked all the grander when her gown was darned at the +elbows. Now, if _I_ were to put anything shabby on, I should be quite +unnoticeable. I should be a mere rag." + +"Oh, quite," said Maggie, with mock gravity. "You would be liable to +be swept out of the room with the cobwebs and carpet-dust, and to find +yourself under the grate, like Cinderella. Mayn't I sit down now?" + +"Yes, now you may," said Lucy, laughing. Then, with an air of serious +reflection, unfastening her large jet brooch, "But you must change +brooches, Maggie; that little butterfly looks silly on you." + +"But won't that mar the charming effect of my consistent shabbiness?" +said Maggie, seating herself submissively, while Lucy knelt again and +unfastened the contemptible butterfly. "I wish my mother were of your +opinion, for she was fretting last night because this is my best +frock. I've been saving my money to pay for some lessons; I shall +never get a better situation without more accomplishments." + +Maggie gave a little sigh. + +"Now, don't put on that sad look again," said Lucy, pinning the large +brooch below Maggie's fine throat. "You're forgetting that you've left +that dreary schoolroom behind you, and have no little girls' clothes +to mend." + +"Yes," said Maggie. "It is with me as I used to think it would be with +the poor uneasy white bear I saw at the show. I thought he must have +got so stupid with the habit of turning backward and forward in that +narrow space that he would keep doing it if they set him free. One +gets a bad habit of being unhappy." + +"But I shall put you under a discipline of pleasure that will make you +lose that bad habit," said Lucy, sticking the black butterfly absently +in her own collar, while her eyes met Maggie's affectionately. + +"You dear, tiny thing," said Maggie, in one of her bursts of loving +admiration, "you enjoy other people's happiness so much, I believe you +would do without any of your own. I wish I were like you." + +"I've never been tried in that way," said Lucy. "I've always been so +happy. I don't know whether I could bear much trouble; I never had any +but poor mamma's death. You _have_ been tried, Maggie; and I'm sure +you feel for other people quite as much as I do." + +"No, Lucy," said Maggie, shaking her head slowly, "I don't enjoy their +happiness as you do, else I should be more contented. I do feel for +them when they are in trouble; I don't think I could ever bear to make +any one _un_happy; and yet I often hate myself, because I get angry +sometimes at the sight of happy people. I think I get worse as I get +older, more selfish. That seems very dreadful." + +"Now, Maggie!" said Lucy, in a tone of remonstrance, "I don't believe +a word of that. It is all a gloomy fancy, just because you are +depressed by a dull, wearisome life." + +"Well, perhaps it is," said Maggie, resolutely clearing away the +clouds from her face with a bright smile, and throwing herself +backward in her chair. "Perhaps it comes from the school diet,--watery +rice-pudding spiced with Pinnock. Let us hope it will give way before +my mother's custards and this charming Geoffrey Crayon." + +Maggie took up the "Sketch Book," which lay by her on the table. + +"Do I look fit to be seen with this little brooch?" said Lucy, going +to survey the effect in the chimney-glass. + +"Oh no, Mr. Guest will be obliged to go out of the room again if he +sees you in it. Pray make haste and put another on." + +Lucy hurried out of the room, but Maggie did not take the opportunity +of opening her book; she let it fall on her knees, while her eyes +wandered to the window, where she could see the sunshine falling on +the rich clumps of spring flowers and on the long hedge of laurels, +and beyond, the silvery breadth of the dear old Floss, that at this +distance seemed to be sleeping in a morning holiday. The sweet fresh +garden-scent came through the open window, and the birds were busy +flitting and alighting, gurgling and singing. Yet Maggie's eyes began +to fill with tears. The sight of the old scenes had made the rush of +memories so painful that even yesterday she had only been able to +rejoice in her mother's restored comfort and Tom's brotherly +friendliness as we rejoice in good news of friends at a distance, +rather than in the presence of a happiness which we share. Memory and +imagination urged upon her a sense of privation too keen to let her +taste what was offered in the transient present. Her future, she +thought, was likely to be worse than her past, for after her years of +contented renunciation, she had slipped back into desire and longing; +she found joyless days of distasteful occupation harder and harder; +she found the image of the intense and varied life she yearned for, +and despaired of, becoming more and more importunate. The sound of the +opening door roused her, and hastily wiping away her tears, she began +to turn over the leaves of her book. + +"There is one pleasure, I know, Maggie, that your deepest dismalness +will never resist," said Lucy, beginning to speak as soon as she +entered the room. "That is music, and I mean you to have quite a +riotous feast of it. I mean you to get up your playing again, which +used to be so much better than mine, when we were at Laceham." + +"You would have laughed to see me playing the little girls' tunes over +and over to them, when I took them to practise," said Maggie, "just +for the sake of fingering the dear keys again. But I don't know +whether I could play anything more difficult now than 'Begone, dull +care!'" + +"I know what a wild state of joy you used to be in when the glee-men +came round," said Lucy, taking up her embroidery; "and we might have +all those old glees that you used to love so, if I were certain that +you don't feel exactly as Tom does about some things." + +"I should have thought there was nothing you might be more certain +of," said Maggie, smiling. + +"I ought rather to have said, one particular thing. Because if you +feel just as he does about that, we shall want our third voice. St. +Ogg's is so miserably provided with musical gentlemen. There are +really only Stephen and Philip Wakem who have any knowledge of music, +so as to be able to sing a part." + +Lucy had looked up from her work as she uttered the last sentence, and +saw that there was a change in Maggie's face. + +"Does it hurt you to hear the name mentioned, Maggie? If it does, I +will not speak of him again. I know Tom will not see him if he can +avoid it." + +"I don't feel at all as Tom does on that subject," said Maggie, rising +and going to the window as if she wanted to see more of the landscape. +"I've always liked Philip Wakem ever since I was a little girl, and +saw him at Lorton. He was so good when Tom hurt his foot." + +"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Lucy. "Then you won't mind his coming +sometimes, and we can have much more music than we could without him. +I'm very fond of poor Philip, only I wish he were not so morbid about +his deformity. I suppose it _is_ his deformity that makes him so sad, +and sometimes bitter. It is certainly very piteous to see his poor +little crooked body and pale face among great, strong people." + +"But, Lucy----" said Maggie, trying to arrest the prattling stream. + +"Ah, there is the door-bell. That must be Stephen," Lucy went on, not +noticing Maggie's faint effort to speak. "One of the things I most +admire in Stephen is that he makes a greater friend of Philip than any +one." + +It was too late for Maggie to speak now; the drawingroom door was +opening, and Minny was already growling in a small way at the entrance +of a tall gentleman, who went up to Lucy and took her hand with a +half-polite, half-tender glance and tone of inquiry, which seemed to +indicate that he was unconscious of any other presence. + +"Let me introduce you to my cousin, Miss Tulliver," said Lucy, turning +with wicked enjoyment toward Maggie, who now approached from the +farther window. "This is Mr. Stephen Guest." + +For one instant Stephen could not conceal his astonishment at the +sight of this tall, dark-eyed nymph with her jet-black coronet of +hair; the next, Maggie felt herself, for the first time in her life, +receiving the tribute of a very deep blush and a very deep bow from a +person toward whom she herself was conscious of timidity. + +This new experience was very agreeable to her, so agreeable that it +almost effaced her previous emotion about Philip. There was a new +brightness in her eyes, and a very becoming flush on her cheek, as she +seated herself. + +"I hope you perceive what a striking likeness you drew the day before +yesterday," said Lucy, with a pretty laugh of triumph. She enjoyed her +lover's confusion; the advantage was usually on his side. + +"This designing cousin of yours quite deceived me, Miss Tulliver," +said Stephen, seating himself by Lucy, and stooping to play with +Minny, only looking at Maggie furtively. "She said you had light hair +and blue eyes." + +"Nay, it was you who said so," remonstrated Lucy. "I only refrained +from destroying your confidence in your own second-sight." + +"I wish I could always err in the same way," said Stephen, "and find +reality so much more beautiful than my preconceptions." + +"Now you have proved yourself equal to the occasion," said Maggie, +"and said what it was incumbent on you to say under the +circumstances." + +She flashed a slightly defiant look at him; it was clear to her that +he had been drawing a satirical portrait of her beforehand. Lucy had +said he was inclined to be satirical, and Maggie had mentally supplied +the addition, "and rather conceited." + +"An alarming amount of devil there," was Stephen's first thought. The +second, when she had bent over her work, was, "I wish she would look +at me again." The next was to answer,-- + +"I suppose all phrases of mere compliment have their turn to be true. +A man is occasionally grateful when he says 'Thank you.' It's rather +hard upon him that he must use the same words with which all the world +declines a disagreeable invitation, don't you think so, Miss +Tulliver?" + +"No," said Maggie, looking at him with her direct glance; "if we use +common words on a great occasion, they are the more striking, because +they are felt at once to have a particular meaning, like old banners, +or every-day clothes, hung up in a sacred place." + +"Then my compliment ought to be eloquent," said Stephen, really not +quite knowing what he said while Maggie looked at him, "seeing that +the words were so far beneath the occasion." + +"No compliment can be eloquent, except as an expression of +indifference," said Maggie, flushing a little. + +Lucy was rather alarmed; she thought Stephen and Maggie were not going +to like each other. She had always feared lest Maggie should appear +too old and clever to please that critical gentleman. "Why, dear +Maggie," she interposed, "you have always pretended that you are too +fond of being admired; and now, I think, you are angry because some +one ventures to admire you." + +"Not at all," said Maggie; "I like too well to feel that I am admired, +but compliments never make me feel that." + +"I will never pay you a compliment again, Miss Tulliver," said +Stephen. + +"Thank you; that will be a proof of respect." + +Poor Maggie! She was so unused to society that she could take nothing +as a matter of course, and had never in her life spoken from the lips +merely, so that she must necessarily appear absurd to more experienced +ladies, from the excessive feeling she was apt to throw into very +trivial incidents. But she was even conscious herself of a little +absurdity in this instance. It was true she had a theoretic objection +to compliments, and had once said impatiently to Philip that she +didn't see why women were to be told with a simper that they were +beautiful, any more than old men were to be told that they were +venerable; still, to be so irritated by a common practice in the case +of a stranger like Mr. Stephen Guest, and to care about his having +spoken slightingly of her before he had seen her, was certainly +unreasonable, and as soon as she was silent she began to be ashamed of +herself. It did not occur to her that her irritation was due to the +pleasanter emotion which preceded it, just as when we are satisfied +with a sense of glowing warmth an innocent drop of cold water may fall +upon us as a sudden smart. + +Stephen was too well bred not to seem unaware that the previous +conversation could have been felt embarrassing, and at once began to +talk of impersonal matters, asking Lucy if she knew when the bazaar +was at length to take place, so that there might be some hope of +seeing her rain the influence of her eyes on objects more grateful +than those worsted flowers that were growing under her fingers. + +"Some day next month, I believe," said Lucy. "But your sisters are +doing more for it than I am; they are to have the largest stall." + +"Ah yes; but they carry on their manufactures in their own +sitting-room, where I don't intrude on them. I see you are not +addicted to the fashionable vice of fancy-work, Miss Tulliver," said +Stephen, looking at Maggie's plain hemming. + +"No," said Maggie, "I can do nothing more difficult or more elegant +than shirt-making." + +"And your plain sewing is so beautiful, Maggie," said Lucy, "that I +think I shall beg a few specimens of you to show as fancy-work. Your +exquisite sewing is quite a mystery to me, you used to dislike that +sort of work so much in old days." + +"It is a mystery easily explained, dear," said Maggie, looking up +quietly. "Plain sewing was the only thing I could get money by, so I +was obliged to try and do it well." + +Lucy, good and simple as she was, could not help blushing a little. +She did not quite like that Stephen should know that; Maggie need not +have mentioned it. Perhaps there was some pride in the confession,-- +the pride of poverty that will not be ashamed of itself. But if Maggie +had been the queen of coquettes she could hardly have invented a means +of giving greater piquancy to her beauty in Stephen's eyes; I am not +sure that the quiet admission of plain sewing and poverty would have +done alone, but assisted by the beauty, they made Maggie more unlike +other women even than she had seemed at first. + +"But I can knit, Lucy," Maggie went on, "if that will be of any use +for your bazaar." + +"Oh yes, of infinite use. I shall set you to work with scarlet wool +to-morrow. But your sister is the most enviable person," continued +Lucy, turning to Stephen, "to have the talent of modelling. She is +doing a wonderful bust of Dr. Kenn entirely from memory." + +"Why, if she can remember to put the eyes very near together, and the +corners of the mouth very far apart, the likeness can hardly fail to +be striking in St. Ogg's." + +"Now that is very wicked of you," said Lucy, looking rather hurt. "I +didn't think you would speak disrespectfully of Dr. Kenn." + +"I say anything disrespectful of Dr. Kenn? Heaven forbid! But I am not +bound to respect a libellous bust of him. I think Kenn one of the +finest fellows in the world. I don't care much about the tall +candlesticks he has put on the communion-table, and I shouldn't like +to spoil my temper by getting up to early prayers every morning. But +he's the only man I ever knew personally who seems to me to have +anything of the real apostle in him,--a man who has eight hundred +a-year and is contented with deal furniture and boiled beef because he +gives away two-thirds of his income. That was a very fine thing of +him,--taking into his house that poor lad Grattan, who shot his mother +by accident. He sacrifices more time than a less busy man could spare, +to save the poor fellow from getting into a morbid state of mind about +it. He takes the lad out with him constantly, I see." + +"That is beautiful," said Maggie, who had let her work fall, and was +listening with keen interest. "I never knew any one who did such things." + +"And one admires that sort of action in Kenn all the more," said +Stephen, "because his manners in general are rather cold and severe. +There's nothing sugary and maudlin about him." + +"Oh, I think he's a perfect character!" said Lucy, with pretty +enthusiasm. + +"No; there I can't agree with you," said Stephen, shaking his head +with sarcastic gravity. + +"Now, what fault can you point out in him?" + +"He's an Anglican." + +"Well, those are the right views, I think," said Lucy, gravely. + +"That settles the question in the abstract," said Stephen, "but not +from a parliamentary point of view. He has set the Dissenters and the +Church people by the ears; and a rising senator like myself, of whose +services the country is very much in need, will find it inconvenient +when he puts up for the honor of representing St. Ogg's in +Parliament." + +"Do you really think of that?" said Lucy, her eyes brightening with a +proud pleasure that made her neglect the argumentative interests of +Anglicanism. + +"Decidedly, whenever old Mr. Leyburn's public spirit and gout induce +him to give way. My father's heart is set on it; and gifts like mine, +you know"--here Stephen drew himself up, and rubbed his large white +hands over his hair with playful self-admiration--"gifts like mine +involve great responsibilities. Don't you think so, Miss Tulliver?" + +"Yes," said Maggie, smiling, but not looking up; "so much fluency and +self-possession should not be wasted entirely on private occasions." + +"Ah, I see how much penetration you have," said Stephen. "You have +discovered already that I am talkative and impudent. Now superficial +people never discern that, owing to my manner, I suppose." + +"She doesn't look at me when I talk of myself," he thought, while his +listeners were laughing. "I must try other subjects." + +Did Lucy intend to be present at the meeting of the Book Club next +week? was the next question. Then followed the recommendation to +choose Southey's "Life of Cowper," unless she were inclined to be +philosophical, and startle the ladies of St. Ogg's by voting for one +of the Bridgewater Treatises. Of course Lucy wished to know what these +alarmingly learned books were; and as it is always pleasant to improve +the minds of ladies by talking to them at ease on subjects of which +they know nothing, Stephen became quite brilliant in an account of +Buckland's Treatise, which he had just been reading. He was rewarded +by seeing Maggie let her work fall, and gradually get so absorbed in +his wonderful geological story that she sat looking at him, leaning +forward with crossed arms, and with an entire absence of +self-consciousness, as if he had been the snuffiest of old professors, +and she a downy-lipped alumna. He was so fascinated by the clear, +large gaze that at last he forgot to look away from it occasionally +toward Lucy; but she, sweet child, was only rejoicing that Stephen was +proving to Maggie how clever he was, and that they would certainly be +good friends after all. + +"I will bring you the book, shall I, Miss Tulliver?" said Stephen, +when he found the stream of his recollections running rather shallow. +"There are many illustrations in it that you will like to see." + +"Oh, thank you," said Maggie, blushing with returning +self-consciousness at this direct address, and taking up her work +again. + +"No, no," Lucy interposed. "I must forbid your plunging Maggie in +books. I shall never get her away from them; and I want her to have +delicious do-nothing days, filled with boating and chatting and riding +and driving; that is the holiday she needs." + +"Apropos!" said Stephen, looking at his watch. "Shall we go out for a +row on the river now? The tide will suit for us to the Tofton way, and +we can walk back." + +That was a delightful proposition to Maggie, for it was years since +she had been on the river. When she was gone to put on her bonnet, +Lucy lingered to give an order to the servant, and took the +opportunity of telling Stephen that Maggie had no objection to seeing +Philip, so that it was a pity she had sent that note the day before +yesterday. But she would write another to-morrow and invite him. + +"I'll call and beat him up to-morrow," said Stephen, "and bring him +with me in the evening, shall I? My sisters will want to call on you +when I tell them your cousin is with you. I must leave the field clear +for them in the morning." + +"Oh yes, pray bring him," said Lucy. "And you _will_ like Maggie, +sha'n't you?" she added, in a beseeching tone. "Isn't she a dear, +noble-looking creature?" + +"Too tall," said Stephen, smiling down upon her, "and a little too +fiery. She is not my type of woman, you know." + +Gentlemen, you are aware, are apt to impart these imprudent +confidences to ladies concerning their unfavorable opinion of sister +fair ones. That is why so many women have the advantage of knowing +that they are secretly repulsive to men who have self-denyingly made +ardent love to them. And hardly anything could be more distinctively +characteristic of Lucy than that she both implicitly believed what +Stephen said, and was determined that Maggie should not know it. But +you, who have a higher logic than the verbal to guide you, have +already foreseen, as the direct sequence to that unfavorable opinion +of Stephen's, that he walked down to the boathouse calculating, by the +aid of a vivid imagination, that Maggie must give him her hand at +least twice in consequence of this pleasant boating plan, and that a +gentleman who wishes ladies to look at him is advantageously situated +when he is rowing them in a boat. What then? Had he fallen in love +with this surprising daughter of Mrs. Tulliver at first sight? +Certainly not. Such passions are never heard of in real life. Besides, +he was in love already, and half-engaged to the dearest little +creature in the world; and he was not a man to make a fool of himself +in any way. But when one is five-and-twenty, one has not chalk-stones +at one's finger-ends that the touch of a handsome girl should be +entirely indifferent. It was perfectly natural and safe to admire +beauty and enjoy looking at it,--at least under such circumstances as +the present. And there was really something very interesting about +this girl, with her poverty and troubles; it was gratifying to see the +friendship between the two cousins. Generally, Stephen admitted, he +was not fond of women who had any peculiarity of character, but here +the peculiarity seemed really of a superior kind, and provided one is +not obliged to marry such women, why, they certainly make a variety in +social intercourse. + +Maggie did not fulfil Stephen's hope by looking at him during the +first quarter of an hour; her eyes were too full of the old banks that +she knew so well. She felt lonely, cut off from Philip,--the only +person who had ever seemed to love her devotedly, as she had always +longed to be loved. But presently the rhythmic movement of the oars +attracted her, and she thought she should like to learn how to row. +This roused her from her reverie, and she asked if she might take an +oar. It appeared that she required much teaching, and she became +ambitious. The exercise brought the warm blood into her cheeks, and +made her inclined to take her lesson merrily. + +"I shall not be satisfied until I can manage both oars, and row you +and Lucy," she said, looking very bright as she stepped out of the +boat. Maggie, we know, was apt to forget the thing she was doing, and +she had chosen an inopportune moment for her remark; her foot slipped, +but happily Mr. Stephen Guest held her hand, and kept her up with a +firm grasp. + +"You have not hurt yourself at all, I hope?" he said, bending to look +in her face with anxiety. It was very charming to be taken care of in +that kind, graceful manner by some one taller and stronger than one's +self. Maggie had never felt just in the same way before. + +When they reached home again, they found uncle and aunt Pullet seated +with Mrs. Tulliver in the drawing-room, and Stephen hurried away, +asking leave to come again in the evening. + +"And pray bring with you the volume of Purcell that you took away," +said Lucy. "I want Maggie to hear your best songs." + +Aunt Pullet, under the certainty that Maggie would be invited to go +out with Lucy, probably to Park House, was much shocked at the +shabbiness of her clothes, which when witnessed by the higher society +of St. Ogg's, would be a discredit to the family, that demanded a +strong and prompt remedy; and the consultation as to what would be +most suitable to this end from among the superfluities of Mrs. +Pullet's wardrobe was one that Lucy as well as Mrs. Tulliver entered +into with some zeal. Maggie must really have an evening dress as soon +as possible, and she was about the same height as aunt Pullet. + +"But she's so much broader across the shoulders than I am, it's very +ill-convenient," said Mrs. Pullet, "else she might wear that beautiful +black brocade o' mine without any alteration; and her arms are beyond +everything," added Mrs. Pullet, sorrowfully, as she lifted Maggie's +large round arm, "She'd never get my sleeves on." + +"Oh, never mind that, aunt; send us the dress," said Lucy. "I don't +mean Maggie to have long sleeves, and I have abundance of black lace +for trimming. Her arms will look beautiful." + +"Maggie's arms _are_ a pretty shape," said Mrs. Tulliver. "They're +like mine used to be, only mine was never brown; I wish she'd had +_our_ family skin." + +"Nonsense, aunty!" said Lucy, patting her aunt Tulliver's shoulder, +"you don't understand those things. A painter would think Maggie's +complexion beautiful." + +"Maybe, my dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, submissively. "You know better +than I do. Only when I was young a brown skin wasn't thought well on +among respectable folks." + +"No," said uncle Pullet, who took intense interest in the ladies' +conversation as he sucked his lozenges. "Though there was a song about +the 'Nut-brown Maid' too; I think she was crazy,--crazy Kate,--but I +can't justly remember." + +"Oh dear, dear!" said Maggie, laughing, but impatient; "I think that +will be the end of _my_ brown skin, if it is always to be talked about +so much." + + + +Chapter III + +Confidential Moments + + +When Maggie went up to her bedroom that night, it appeared that she +was not at all inclined to undress. She set down her candle on the +first table that presented itself, and began to walk up and down her +room, which was a large one, with a firm, regular, and rather rapid +step, which showed that the exercise was the instinctive vent of +strong excitement. Her eyes and cheeks had an almost feverish +brilliancy; her head was thrown backward, and her hands were clasped +with the palms outward, and with that tension of the arms which is apt +to accompany mental absorption. + +Had anything remarkable happened? + +Nothing that you are not likely to consider in the highest degree +unimportant. She had been hearing some fine music sung by a fine bass +voice,--but then it was sung in a provincial, amateur fashion, such as +would have left a critical ear much to desire. And she was conscious +of having been looked at a great deal, in rather a furtive manner, +from beneath a pair of well-marked horizontal eyebrows, with a glance +that seemed somehow to have caught the vibratory influence of the +voice. Such things could have had no perceptible effect on a +thoroughly well-educated young lady, with a perfectly balanced mind, +who had had all the advantages of fortune, training, and refined +society. But if Maggie had been that young lady, you would probably +have known nothing about her: her life would have had so few +vicissitudes that it could hardly have been written; for the happiest +women, like the happiest nations, have no history. + +In poor Maggie's highly-strung, hungry nature,--just come away from a +third-rate schoolroom, with all its jarring sounds and petty round of +tasks,--these apparently trivial causes had the effect of rousing and +exalting her imagination in a way that was mysterious to herself. It +was not that she thought distinctly of Mr. Stephen Guest, or dwelt on +the indications that he looked at her with admiration; it was rather +that she felt the half-remote presence of a world of love and beauty +and delight, made up of vague, mingled images from all the poetry and +romance she had ever read, or had ever woven in her dreamy reveries. +Her mind glanced back once or twice to the time when she had courted +privation, when she had thought all longing, all impatience was +subdued; but that condition seemed irrecoverably gone, and she +recoiled from the remembrance of it. No prayer, no striving now, would +bring back that negative peace; the battle of her life, it seemed, was +not to be decided in that short and easy way,--by perfect renunciation +at the very threshold of her youth. + +The music was vibrating in her still,--Purcell's music, with its wild +passion and fancy,--and she could not stay in the recollection of that +bare, lonely past. She was in her brighter aerial world again, when a +little tap came at the door; of course it was her cousin, who entered +in ample white dressing-gown. + +"Why, Maggie, you naughty child, haven't you begun to undress?" said +Lucy, in astonishment. "I promised not to come and talk to you, +because I thought you must be tired. But here you are, looking as if +you were ready to dress for a ball. Come, come, get on your +dressing-gown and unplait your hair." + +"Well, _you_ are not very forward," retorted Maggie, hastily reaching +her own pink cotton gown, and looking at Lucy's light-brown hair +brushed back in curly disorder. + +"Oh, I have not much to do. I shall sit down and talk to you till I +see you are really on the way to bed." + +While Maggie stood and unplaited her long black hair over her pink +drapery, Lucy sat down near the toilette-table, watching her with +affectionate eyes, and head a little aside, like a pretty spaniel. If +it appears to you at all incredible that young ladies should be led on +to talk confidentially in a situation of this kind, I will beg you to +remember that human life furnishes many exceptional cases. + +"You really _have_ enjoyed the music to-night, haven't you Maggie?" + +"Oh yes, that is what prevented me from feeling sleepy. I think I +should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of +music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my +brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with +music. At other times one is conscious of carrying a weight." + +"And Stephen has a splendid voice, hasn't he?" + +"Well, perhaps we are neither of us judges of that," said Maggie, +laughing, as she seated herself and tossed her long hair back. "You +are not impartial, and _I_ think any barrel-organ splendid." + +"But tell me what you think of him, now. Tell me exactly; good and bad +too." + +"Oh, I think you should humiliate him a little. A lover should not be +so much at ease, and so self-confident. He ought to tremble more." + +"Nonsense, Maggie! As if any one could tremble at me! You think he is +conceited, I see that. But you don't dislike him, do you?" + +"Dislike him! No. Am I in the habit of seeing such charming people, +that I should be very difficult to please? Besides, how could I +dislike any one that promised to make you happy, my dear thing!" +Maggie pinched Lucy's dimpled chin. + +"We shall have more music to-morrow evening," said Lucy, looking happy +already, "for Stephen will bring Philip Wakem with him." + +"Oh, Lucy, I can't see him," said Maggie, turning pale. "At least, I +could not see him without Tom's leave." + +"Is Tom such a tyrant as that?" said Lucy, surprised. "I'll take the +responsibility, then,--tell him it was my fault." + +"But, dear," said Maggie, falteringly, "I promised Tom very solemnly, +before my father's death,--I promised him I would not speak to Philip +without his knowledge and consent. And I have a great dread of opening +the subject with Tom,--of getting into a quarrel with him again." + +"But I never heard of anything so strange and unreasonable. What harm +can poor Philip have done? May I speak to Tom about it?" + +"Oh no, pray don't, dear," said Maggie. "I'll go to him myself +to-morrow, and tell him that you wish Philip to come. I've thought +before of asking him to absolve me from my promise, but I've not had +the courage to determine on it." + +They were both silent for some moments, and then Lucy said,-- + +"Maggie, you have secrets from me, and I have none from you." + +Maggie looked meditatively away from Lucy. Then she turned to her and +said, "I _should_ like to tell you about Philip. But, Lucy, you must +not betray that you know it to any one--least of all to Philip +himself, or to Mr. Stephen Guest." + +The narrative lasted long, for Maggie had never before known the +relief of such an outpouring; she had never before told Lucy anything +of her inmost life; and the sweet face bent toward her with +sympathetic interest, and the little hand pressing hers, encouraged +her to speak on. On two points only she was not expansive. She did not +betray fully what still rankled in her mind as Tom's great +offence,--the insults he had heaped on Philip. Angry as the +remembrance still made her, she could not bear that any one else +should know it at all, both for Tom's sake and Philip's. And she could +not bear to tell Lucy of the last scene between her father and Wakem, +though it was this scene which she had ever since felt to be a new +barrier between herself and Philip. She merely said, she saw now that +Tom was, on the whole, right in regarding any prospect of love and +marriage between her and Philip as put out of the question by the +relation of the two families. Of course Philip's father would never +consent. + +"There, Lucy, you have had my story," said Maggie, smiling, with the +tears in her eyes. "You see I am like Sir Andrew Aguecheek. _I_ was +adored once." + +"Ah, now I see how it is you know Shakespeare and everything, and have +learned so much since you left school; which always seemed to me +witchcraft before,--part of your general uncanniness," said Lucy. + +She mused a little with her eyes downward, and then added, looking at +Maggie, "It is very beautiful that you should love Philip; I never +thought such a happiness would befall him. And in my opinion, you +ought not to give him up. There are obstacles now; but they may be +done away with in time." + +Maggie shook her head. + +"Yes, yes," persisted Lucy; "I can't help being hopeful about it. +There is something romantic in it,--out of the common way,--just what +everything that happens to you ought to be. And Philip will adore you +like a husband in a fairy tale. Oh, I shall puzzle my small brain to +contrive some plot that will bring everybody into the right mind, so +that you may marry Philip when I marry--somebody else. Wouldn't that +be a pretty ending to all my poor, poor Maggie's troubles?" + +Maggie tried to smile, but shivered, as if she felt a sudden chill. + +"Ah, dear, you are cold," said Lucy. "You must go to bed; and so must +I. I dare not think what time it is." + +They kissed each other, and Lucy went away, possessed of a confidence +which had a strong influence over her subsequent impressions. Maggie +had been thoroughly sincere; her nature had never found it easy to be +otherwise. But confidences are sometimes blinding, even when they are +sincere. + + + +Chapter IV + +Brother and Sister + + +Maggie was obliged to go to Tom's lodgings in the middle of the day, +when he would be coming in to dinner, else she would not have found +him at home. He was not lodging with entire strangers. Our friend Bob +Jakin had, with Mumps's tacit consent, taken not only a wife about +eight months ago, but also one of those queer old houses, pierced with +surprising passages, by the water-side, where, as he observed, his +wife and mother could keep themselves out of mischief by letting out +two "pleasure-boats," in which he had invested some of his savings, +and by taking in a lodger for the parlor and spare bedroom. Under +these circumstances, what could be better for the interests of all +parties, sanitary considerations apart, than that the lodger should be +Mr. Tom? + +It was Bob's wife who opened the door to Maggie. She was a tiny woman, +with the general physiognomy of a Dutch doll, looking, in comparison +with Bob's mother, who filled up the passage in the rear, very much +like one of those human figures which the artist finds conveniently +standing near a colossal statue to show the proportions. The tiny +woman curtsied and looked up at Maggie with some awe as soon as she +had opened the door; but the words, "Is my brother at home?" which +Maggie uttered smilingly, made her turn round with sudden excitement, +and say,-- + +"Eh, mother, mother--tell Bob!--it's Miss Maggie! Come in, Miss, for +goodness do," she went on, opening a side door, and endeavoring to +flatten her person against the wall to make the utmost space for the +visitor. + +Sad recollections crowded on Maggie as she entered the small parlor, +which was now all that poor Tom had to call by the name of +"home,"--that name which had once, so many years ago, meant for both +of them the same sum of dear familiar objects. But everything was not +strange to her in this new room; the first thing her eyes dwelt on was +the large old Bible, and the sight was not likely to disperse the old +memories. She stood without speaking. + +"If you please to take the privilege o' sitting down, Miss," said Mrs. +Jakin, rubbing her apron over a perfectly clean chair, and then +lifting up the corner of that garment and holding it to her face with +an air of embarrassment, as she looked wonderingly at Maggie. + +"Bob is at home, then?" said Maggie, recovering herself, and smiling +at the bashful Dutch doll. + +"Yes, Miss; but I think he must be washing and dressing himself; I'll +go and see," said Mrs. Jakin, disappearing. + +But she presently came back walking with new courage a little way +behind her husband, who showed the brilliancy of his blue eyes and +regular white teeth in the doorway, bowing respectfully. + +"How do you do, Bob?" said Maggie, coming forward and putting out her +hand to him; "I always meant to pay your wife a visit, and I shall +come another day on purpose for that, if she will let me. But I was +obliged to come to-day to speak to my brother." + +"He'll be in before long, Miss. He's doin' finely, Mr. Tom is; he'll +be one o' the first men hereabouts,--you'll see that." + +"Well, Bob, I'm sure he'll be indebted to you, whatever he becomes; he +said so himself only the other night, when he was talking of you." + +"Eh, Miss, that's his way o' takin' it. But I think the more on't when +he says a thing, because his tongue doesn't overshoot him as mine +does. Lors! I'm no better nor a tilted bottle, I ar'n't,--I can't stop +mysen when once I begin. But you look rarely, Miss; it does me good to +see you. What do you say now, Prissy?"--here Bob turned to his +wife,--"Isn't it all come true as I said? Though there isn't many +sorts o' goods as I can't over-praise when I set my tongue to't." + +Mrs. Bob's small nose seemed to be following the example of her eyes +in turning up reverentially toward Maggie, but she was able now to +smile and curtsey, and say, "I'd looked forrard like aenything to +seein' you, Miss, for my husband's tongue's been runnin' on you, like +as if he was light-headed, iver since first he come a-courtin' on me." + +"Well, well," said Bob, looking rather silly. "Go an' see after the +taters, else Mr. Tom 'ull have to wait for 'em." + +"I hope Mumps is friendly with Mrs. Jakin, Bob," said Maggie, smiling. +"I remember you used to say he wouldn't like your marrying." + +"Eh, Miss," said Bob, "he made up his mind to't when he see'd what a +little un she was. He pretends not to see her mostly, or else to think +as she isn't full-growed. But about Mr. Tom, Miss," said Bob, speaking +lower and looking serious, "he's as close as a iron biler, he is; but +I'm a 'cutish chap, an' when I've left off carrying my pack, an' am at +a loose end, I've got more brains nor I know what to do wi', an' I'm +forced to busy myself wi' other folks's insides. An' it worrets me as +Mr. Tom'll sit by himself so glumpish, a-knittin' his brow, an' +a-lookin' at the fire of a night. He should be a bit livelier now, a +fine young fellow like him. My wife says, when she goes in sometimes, +an' he takes no notice of her, he sits lookin' into the fire, and +frownin' as if he was watchin' folks at work in it." + +"He thinks so much about business," said Maggie. + +"Ay," said Bob, speaking lower; "but do you think it's nothin' else, +Miss? He's close, Mr. Tom is; but I'm a 'cute chap, I am, an' I +thought tow'rt last Christmas as I'd found out a soft place in him. It +was about a little black spaniel--a rare bit o' breed--as he made a +fuss to get. But since then summat's come over him, as he's set his +teeth again' things more nor iver, for all he's had such good luck. +An' I wanted to tell _you_, Miss, 'cause I thought you might work it +out of him a bit, now you're come. He's a deal too lonely, and doesn't +go into company enough." + +"I'm afraid I have very little power over him, Bob," said Maggie, a +good deal moved by Bob's suggestion. It was a totally new idea to her +mind that Tom could have his love troubles. Poor fellow!--and in love +with Lucy too! But it was perhaps a mere fancy of Bob's too officious +brain. The present of the dog meant nothing more than cousinship and +gratitude. But Bob had already said, "Here's Mr. Tom," and the outer +door was opening. + +"There is no time to spare, Tom," said Maggie, as soon as Bob left the +room. "I must tell you at once what I came about, else I shall be +hindering you from taking your dinner." + +Tom stood with his back against the chimney-piece, and Maggie was +seated opposite the light. He noticed that she was tremulous, and he +had a presentiment of the subject she was going to speak about. The +presentiment made his voice colder and harder as he said, "What is +it?" + +This tone roused a spirit of resistance in Maggie, and she put her +request in quite a different form from the one she had predetermined +on. She rose from her seat, and looking straight at Tom, said,-- + +"I want you to absolve me from my promise about Philip Wakem. Or +rather, I promised you not to see him without telling you. I am come +to tell you that I wish to see him." + +"Very well," said Tom, still more coldly. + +But Maggie had hardly finished speaking in that chill, defiant manner, +before she repented, and felt the dread of alienation from her +brother. + +"Not for myself, dear Tom. Don't be angry. I shouldn't have asked it, +only that Philip, you know, is a friend of Lucy's and she wishes him +to come, has invited him to come this evening; and I told her I +couldn't see him without telling you. I shall only see him in the +presence of other people. There will never be anything secret between +us again." + +Tom looked away from Maggie, knitting his brow more strongly for a +little while. Then he turned to her and said, slowly and +emphatically,-- + +"You know what is my feeling on that subject, Maggie. There is no need +for my repeating anything I said a year ago. While my father was +living, I felt bound to use the utmost power over you, to prevent you +from disgracing him as well as yourself, and all of us. But now I must +leave you to your own choice. You wish to be independent; you told me +so after my father's death. My opinion is not changed. If you think of +Philip Wakem as a lover again, you must give up me." + +"I don't wish it, dear Tom, at least as things are; I see that it +would lead to misery. But I shall soon go away to another situation, +and I should like to be friends with him again while I am here. Lucy +wishes it." + +The severity of Tom's face relaxed a little. + +"I shouldn't mind your seeing him occasionally at my uncle's--I don't +want you to make a fuss on the subject. But I have no confidence in +you, Maggie. You would be led away to do anything." + +That was a cruel word. Maggie's lip began to tremble. + +"Why will you say that, Tom? It is very hard of you. Have I not done +and borne everything as well as I could? And I kept my word to +you--when--when----My life has not been a happy one, any more than +yours." + +She was obliged to be childish; the tears would come. When Maggie was +not angry, she was as dependent on kind or cold words as a daisy on +the sunshine or the cloud; the need of being loved would always subdue +her, as, in old days, it subdued her in the worm-eaten attic. The +brother's goodness came uppermost at this appeal, but it could only +show itself in Tom's fashion. He put his hand gently on her arm, and +said, in the tone of a kind pedagogue,-- + +"Now listen to me, Maggie. I'll tell you what I mean. You're always in +extremes; you have no judgment and self-command; and yet you think you +know best, and will not submit to be guided. You know I didn't wish +you to take a situation. My aunt Pullet was willing to give you a good +home, and you might have lived respectably amongst your relations, +until I could have provided a home for you with my mother. And that is +what I should like to do. I wished my sister to be a lady, and I +always have taken care of you, as my father desired, until you were +well married. But your ideas and mine never accord, and you will not +give way. Yet you might have sense enough to see that a brother, who +goes out into the world and mixes with men, necessarily knows better +what is right and respectable for his sister than she can know +herself. You think I am not kind; but my kindness can only be directed +by what I believe to be good for you." + +"Yes, I know, dear Tom," said Maggie, still half-sobbing, but trying +to control her tears. "I know you would do a great deal for me; I know +how you work, and don't spare yourself. I am grateful to you. But, +indeed, you can't quite judge for me; our natures are very different. +You don't know how differently things affect me from what they do +you." + +"Yes, I _do_ know; I know it too well. I know how differently you must +feel about all that affects our family, and your own dignity as a +young woman, before you could think of receiving secret addresses from +Philip Wakem. If it was not disgusting to me in every other way, I +should object to my sister's name being associated for a moment with +that of a young man whose father must hate the very thought of us all, +and would spurn you. With any one but you, I should think it quite +certain that what you witnessed just before my father's death would +secure you from ever thinking again of Philip Wakem as a lover. But I +don't feel certain of it with you; I never feel certain about anything +with _you_. At one time you take pleasure in a sort of perverse +self-denial, and at another you have not resolution to resist a thing +that you know to be wrong." + +There was a terrible cutting truth in Tom's words,--that hard rind of +truth which is discerned by unimaginative, unsympathetic minds. Maggie +always writhed under this judgment of Tom's; she rebelled and was +humiliated in the same moment; it seemed as if he held a glass before +her to show her her own folly and weakness, as if he were a prophetic +voice predicting her future fallings; and yet, all the while, she +judged him in return; she said inwardly that he was narrow and unjust, +that he was below feeling those mental needs which were often the +source of the wrong-doing or absurdity that made her life a planless +riddle to him. + +She did not answer directly; her heart was too full, and she sat down, +leaning her arm on the table. It was no use trying to make Tom feel +that she was near to him. He always repelled her. Her feeling under +his words was complicated by the allusion to the last scene between +her father and Wakem; and at length that painful, solemn memory +surmounted the immediate grievance. No! She did not think of such +things with frivolous indifference, and Tom must not accuse her of +that. She looked up at him with a grave, earnest gaze and said,-- + +"I can't make you think better of me, Tom, by anything I can say. But +I am not so shut out from all your feelings as you believe me to be. I +see as well as you do that from our position with regard to Philip's +father--not on other grounds--it would be unreasonable, it would be +wrong, for us to entertain the idea of marriage; and I have given up +thinking of him as a lover. I am telling you the truth, and you have +no right to disbelieve me; I have kept my word to you, and you have +never detected me in a falsehood. I should not only not encourage, I +should carefully avoid, any intercourse with Philip on any other +footing than of quiet friendship. You may think that I am unable to +keep my resolutions; but at least you ought not to treat me with hard +contempt on the ground of faults that I have not committed yet." + +"Well, Maggie," said Tom, softening under this appeal, "I don't want +to overstrain matters. I think, all things considered, it will be best +for you to see Philip Wakem, if Lucy wishes him to come to the house. +I believe what you say,--at least you believe it yourself, I know; I +can only warn you. I wish to be as good a brother to you as you will +let me." + +There was a little tremor in Tom's voice as he uttered the last words, +and Maggie's ready affection came back with as sudden a glow as when +they were children, and bit their cake together as a sacrament of +conciliation. She rose and laid her hand on Tom's shoulder. + +"Dear Tom, I know you mean to be good. I know you have had a great +deal to bear, and have done a great deal. I should like to be a +comfort to you, not to vex you. You don't think I'm altogether +naughty, now, do you?" + +Tom smiled at the eager face; his smiles were very pleasant to see +when they did come, for the gray eyes could be tender underneath the +frown. + +"No, Maggie." + +"I may turn out better than you expect." + +"I hope you will." + +"And may I come some day and make tea for you, and see this extremely +small wife of Bob's again?" + +"Yes; but trot away now, for I've no more time to spare," said Tom, +looking at his watch. + +"Not to give me a kiss?" + +Tom bent to kiss her cheek, and then said,-- + +"There! Be a good girl. I've got a great deal to think of to-day. I'm +going to have a long consultation with my uncle Deane this afternoon." + +"You'll come to aunt Glegg's to-morrow? We're going all to dine early, +that we may go there to tea. You _must_ come; Lucy told me to say so." + +"Oh, pooh! I've plenty else to do," said Tom, pulling his bell +violently, and bringing down the small bell-rope. + +"I'm frightened; I shall run away," said Maggie, making a laughing +retreat; while Tom, with masculine philosophy, flung the bell-rope to +the farther end of the room; not very far either,--a touch of human +experience which I flatter myself will come home to the bosoms of not +a few substantial or distinguished men who were once at an early stage +of their rise in the world, and were cherishing very large hopes in +very small lodgings. + + + +Chapter V + +Showing That Tom Had Opened the Oyster + + +"And now we've settled this Newcastle business, Tom," said Mr. Deane, +that same afternoon, as they were seated in the private room at the +Bank together, "there's another matter I want to talk to you about. +Since you're likely to have rather a smoky, unpleasant time of it at +Newcastle for the next few weeks, you'll want a good prospect of some +sort to keep up your spirits." + +Tom waited less nervously than he had done on a former occasion in +this apartment, while his uncle took out his snuff-box and gratified +each nostril with deliberate impartiality. + +"You see, Tom," said Mr. Deane at last, throwing himself backward, +"the world goes on at a smarter pace now than it did when I was a +young fellow. Why, sir, forty years ago, when I was much such a +strapping youngster as you, a man expected to pull between the shafts +the best part of his life, before he got the whip in his hand. The +looms went slowish, and fashions didn't alter quite so fast; I'd a +best suit that lasted me six years. Everything was on a lower scale, +sir,--in point of expenditure, I mean. It's this steam, you see, that +has made the difference; it drives on every wheel double pace, and the +wheel of fortune along with 'em, as our Mr. Stephen Guest said at the +anniversary dinner (he hits these things off wonderfully, considering +he's seen nothing of business). I don't find fault with the change, as +some people do. Trade, sir, opens a man's eyes; and if the population +is to get thicker upon the ground, as it's doing, the world must use +its wits at inventions of one sort or other. I know I've done my share +as an ordinary man of business. Somebody has said it's a fine thing to +make two ears of corn grow where only one grew before; but, sir, it's +a fine thing, too, to further the exchange of commodities, and bring +the grains of corn to the mouths that are hungry. And that's our line +of business; and I consider it as honorable a position as a man can +hold, to be connected with it." + +Tom knew that the affair his uncle had to speak of was not urgent; Mr. +Deane was too shrewd and practical a man to allow either his +reminiscences or his snuff to impede the progress of trade. Indeed, +for the last month or two, there had been hints thrown out to Tom +which enabled him to guess that he was going to hear some proposition +for his own benefit. With the beginning of the last speech he had +stretched out his legs, thrust his hands in his pockets, and prepared +himself for some introductory diffuseness, tending to show that Mr. +Deane had succeeded by his own merit, and that what he had to say to +young men in general was, that if they didn't succeed too it was +because of their own demerit. He was rather surprised, then, when his +uncle put a direct question to him. + +"Let me see,--it's going on for seven years now since you applied to +me for a situation, eh, Tom?" + +"Yes, sir; I'm three-and-twenty now," said Tom. + +"Ah, it's as well not to say that, though; for you'd pass for a good +deal older, and age tells well in business. I remember your coming +very well; I remember I saw there was some pluck in you, and that was +what made me give you encouragement. And I'm happy to say I was right; +I'm not often deceived. I was naturally a little shy at pushing my +nephew, but I'm happy to say you've done me credit, sir; and if I'd +had a son o' my own, I shouldn't have been sorry to see him like you." + +Mr. Deane tapped his box and opened it again, repeating in a tone of +some feeling, "No, I shouldn't have been sorry to see him like you." + +"I'm very glad I've given you satisfaction, sir; I've done my best," +said Tom, in his proud, independent way. + +"Yes, Tom, you've given me satisfaction. I don't speak of your conduct +as a son; though that weighs with me in my opinion of you. But what I +have to do with, as a partner in our firm, is the qualities you've +shown as a man o' business. Ours is a fine business,--a splendid +concern, sir,--and there's no reason why it shouldn't go on growing; +there's a growing capital, and growing outlets for it; but there's +another thing that's wanted for the prosperity of every concern, large +or small, and that's men to conduct it,--men of the right habits; none +o' your flashy fellows, but such as are to be depended on. Now this is +what Mr. Guest and I see clear enough. Three years ago we took Gell +into the concern; we gave him a share in the oil-mill. And why? Why, +because Gell was a fellow whose services were worth a premium. So it +will always be, sir. So it was with me. And though Gell is pretty near +ten years older than you, there are other points in your favor." + +Tom was getting a little nervous as Mr. Deane went on speaking; he was +conscious of something he had in his mind to say, which might not be +agreeable to his uncle, simply because it was a new suggestion rather +than an acceptance of the proposition he foresaw. + +"It stands to reason," Mr. Deane went on, when he had finished his new +pinch, "that your being my nephew weighs in your favor; but I don't +deny that if you'd been no relation of mine at all, your conduct in +that affair of Pelley's bank would have led Mr. Guest and myself to +make some acknowledgment of the service you've been to us; and, backed +by your general conduct and business ability, it has made us determine +on giving you a share in the business,--a share which we shall be glad +to increase as the years go on. We think that'll be better, on all +grounds, than raising your salary. It'll give you more importance, and +prepare you better for taking some of the anxiety off my shoulders by +and by. I'm equal to a good deal o' work at present, thank God; but +I'm getting older,--there's no denying that. I told Mr. Guest I would +open the subject to you; and when you come back from this northern +business, we can go into particulars. This is a great stride for a +young fellow of three-and-twenty, but I'm bound to say you've deserved +it." + +"I'm very grateful to Mr. Guest and you, sir; of course I feel the +most indebted to _you_, who first took me into the business, and have +taken a good deal of pains with me since." + +Tom spoke with a slight tremor, and paused after he had said this. + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Deane. "I don't spare pains when I see they'll be +of any use. I gave myself some trouble with Gell, else he wouldn't +have been what he is." + +"But there's one thing I should like to mention to you uncle. I've +never spoken to you of it before. If you remember, at the time my +father's property was sold, there was some thought of your firm buying +the Mill; I know you thought it would be a very good investment, +especially if steam were applied." + +"To be sure, to be sure. But Wakem outbid us; he'd made up his mind to +that. He's rather fond of carrying everything over other people's +heads." + +"Perhaps it's of no use my mentioning it at present," Tom went on, +"but I wish you to know what I have in my mind about the Mill. I've a +strong feeling about it. It was my father's dying wish that I should +try and get it back again whenever I could; it was in his family for +five generations. I promised my father; and besides that, I'm attached +to the place. I shall never like any other so well. And if it should +ever suit your views to buy it for the firm, I should have a better +chance of fulfilling my father's wish. I shouldn't have liked to +mention the thing to you, only you've been kind enough to say my +services have been of some value. And I'd give up a much greater +chance in life for the sake of having the Mill again,--I mean having +it in my own hands, and gradually working off the price." + +Mr. Deane had listened attentively, and now looked thoughtful. + +"I see, I see," he said, after a while; "the thing would be possible +if there were any chance of Wakem's parting with the property. But +that I _don't_ see. He's put that young Jetsome in the place; and he +had his reasons when he bought it, I'll be bound." + +"He's a loose fish, that young Jetsome," said Tom. "He's taking to +drinking, and they say he's letting the business go down. Luke told me +about it,--our old miller. He says he sha'n't stay unless there's an +alteration. I was thinking, if things went on that way, Wakem might be +more willing to part with the Mill. Luke says he's getting very sour +about the way things are going on." + +"Well, I'll turn it over, Tom. I must inquire into the matter, and go +into it with Mr. Guest. But, you see, it's rather striking out a new +branch, and putting you to that, instead of keeping you where you are, +which was what we'd wanted." + +"I should be able to manage more than the Mill when things were once +set properly going, sir. I want to have plenty of work. There's +nothing else I care about much." + +There was something rather sad in that speech from a young man of +three-and-twenty, even in uncle Deane's business-loving ears. + +"Pooh, pooh! you'll be having a wife to care about one of these days, +if you get on at this pace in the world. But as to this Mill, we +mustn't reckon on our chickens too early. However, I promise you to +bear it in mind, and when you come back we'll talk of it again. I am +going to dinner now. Come and breakfast with us to-morrow morning, and +say good-bye to your mother and sister before you start." + + + +Chapter VI + +Illustrating the Laws of Attraction + +It is evident to you now that Maggie had arrived at a moment in her +life which must be considered by all prudent persons as a great +opportunity for a young woman. Launched into the higher society of St. +Ogg's, with a striking person, which had the advantage of being quite +unfamiliar to the majority of beholders, and with such moderate +assistance of costume as you have seen foreshadowed in Lucy's anxious +colloquy with aunt Pullet, Maggie was certainly at a new +starting-point in life. At Lucy's first evening party, young Torry +fatigued his facial muscles more than usual in order that "the +dark-eyed girl there in the corner" might see him in all the +additional style conferred by his eyeglass; and several young ladies +went home intending to have short sleeves with black lace, and to +plait their hair in a broad coronet at the back of their head,--"That +cousin of Miss Deane's looked so very well." In fact, poor Maggie, +with all her inward consciousness of a painful past and her +presentiment of a troublous future, was on the way to become an object +of some envy,--a topic of discussion in the newly established +billiard-room, and between fair friends who had no secrets from each +other on the subject of trimmings. The Miss Guests, who associated +chiefly on terms of condescension with the families of St. Ogg's, and +were the glass of fashion there, took some exception to Maggie's +manners. She had a way of not assenting at once to the observations +current in good society, and of saying that she didn't know whether +those observations were true or not, which gave her an air of +_gaucherie_, and impeded the even flow of conversation; but it is a +fact capable of an amiable interpretation that ladies are not the +worst disposed toward a new acquaintance of their own sex because she +has points of inferiority. And Maggie was so entirely without those +pretty airs of coquetry which have the traditional reputation of +driving gentlemen to despair that she won some feminine pity for being +so ineffective in spite of her beauty. She had not had many +advantages, poor thing! and it must be admitted there was no +pretension about her; her abruptness and unevenness of manner were +plainly the result of her secluded and lowly circumstances. It was +only a wonder that there was no tinge of vulgarity about her, +considering what the rest of poor Lucy's relations were--an allusion +which always made the Miss Guests shudder a little. It was not +agreeable to think of any connection by marriage with such people as +the Gleggs and the Pullets; but it was of no use to contradict Stephen +when once he had set his mind on anything, and certainly there was no +possible objection to Lucy in herself,--no one could help liking her. +She would naturally desire that the Miss Guests should behave kindly +to this cousin of whom she was so fond, and Stephen would make a great +fuss if they were deficient in civility. Under these circumstances the +invitations to Park House were not wanting; and elsewhere, also, Miss +Deane was too popular and too distinguished a member of society in St. +Ogg's for any attention toward her to be neglected. + +Thus Maggie was introduced for the first time to the young lady's +life, and knew what it was to get up in the morning without any +imperative reason for doing one thing more than another. This new +sense of leisure and unchecked enjoyment amidst the soft-breathing +airs and garden-scents of advancing spring--amidst the new abundance +of music, and lingering strolls in the sunshine, and the delicious +dreaminess of gliding on the river--could hardly be without some +intoxicating effect on her, after her years of privation; and even in +the first week Maggie began to be less haunted by her sad memories and +anticipations. Life was certainly very pleasant just now; it was +becoming very pleasant to dress in the evening, and to feel that she +was one of the beautiful things of this spring-time. And there were +admiring eyes always awaiting her now; she was no longer an unheeded +person, liable to be chid, from whom attention was continually +claimed, and on whom no one felt bound to confer any. It was pleasant, +too, when Stephen and Lucy were gone out riding, to sit down at the +piano alone, and find that the old fitness between her fingers and the +keys remained, and revived, like a sympathetic kinship not to be worn +out by separation; to get the tunes she had heard the evening before, +and repeat them again and again until she had found out a way of +producing them so as to make them a more pregnant, passionate language +to her. The mere concord of octaves was a delight to Maggie, and she +would often take up a book of studies rather than any melody, that she +might taste more keenly by abstraction the more primitive sensation of +intervals. Not that her enjoyment of music was of the kind that +indicates a great specific talent; it was rather that her sensibility +to the supreme excitement of music was only one form of that +passionate sensibility which belonged to her whole nature, and made +her faults and virtues all merge in each other; made her affections +sometimes an impatient demand, but also prevented her vanity from +taking the form of mere feminine coquetry and device, and gave it the +poetry of ambition. But you have known Maggie a long while, and need +to be told, not her characteristics, but her history, which is a thing +hardly to be predicted even from the completest knowledge of +characteristics. For the tragedy of our lives is not created entirely +from within. "Character," says Novalis, in one of his questionable +aphorisms,--"character is destiny." But not the whole of our destiny. +Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, was speculative and irresolute, and we have +a great tragedy in consequence. But if his father had lived to a good +old age, and his uncle had died an early death, we can conceive +Hamlet's having married Ophelia, and got through life with a +reputation of sanity, notwithstanding many soliloquies, and some moody +sarcasms toward the fair daughter of Polonius, to say nothing of the +frankest incivility to his father-in-law. + +Maggie's destiny, then, is at present hidden, and we must wait for it +to reveal itself like the course of an unmapped river; we only know +that the river is full and rapid, and that for all rivers there is the +same final home. Under the charm of her new pleasures, Maggie herself +was ceasing to think, with her eager prefiguring imagination, of her +future lot; and her anxiety about her first interview with Philip was +losing its predominance; perhaps, unconsciously to herself, she was +not sorry that the interview had been deferred. + +For Philip had not come the evening he was expected, and Mr. Stephen +Guest brought word that he was gone to the coast,--probably, he +thought, on a sketching expedition; but it was not certain when he +would return. It was just like Philip, to go off in that way without +telling any one. It was not until the twelfth day that he returned, to +find both Lucy's notes awaiting him; he had left before he knew of +Maggie's arrival. + +Perhaps one had need be nineteen again to be quite convinced of the +feelings that were crowded for Maggie into those twelve days; of the +length to which they were stretched for her by the novelty of her +experience in them, and the varying attitudes of her mind. The early +days of an acquaintance almost always have this importance for us, and +fill up a larger space in our memory than longer subsequent periods, +which have been less filled with discovery and new impressions. There +were not many hours in those ten days in which Mr. Stephen Guest was +not seated by Lucy's side, or standing near her at the piano, or +accompanying her on some outdoor excursion; his attentions were +clearly becoming more assiduous, and that was what every one had +expected. Lucy was very happy, all the happier because Stephen's +society seemed to have become much more interesting and amusing since +Maggie had been there. Playful discussions--sometimes serious +ones--were going forward, in which both Stephen and Maggie revealed +themselves, to the admiration of the gentle, unobtrusive Lucy; and it +more than once crossed her mind what a charming quartet they should +have through life when Maggie married Philip. Is it an inexplicable +thing that a girl should enjoy her lover's society the more for the +presence of a third person, and be without the slightest spasm of +jealousy that the third person had the conversation habitually +directed to her? Not when that girl is as tranquil-hearted as Lucy, +thoroughly possessed with a belief that she knows the state of her +companions' affections, and not prone to the feelings which shake such +a belief in the absence of positive evidence against it. Besides, it +was Lucy by whom Stephen sat, to whom he gave his arm, to whom he +appealed as the person sure to agree with him; and every day there was +the same tender politeness toward her, the same consciousness of her +wants and care to supply them. Was there really the same? It seemed to +Lucy that there was more; and it was no wonder that the real +significance of the change escaped her. It was a subtle act of +conscience in Stephen that even he himself was not aware of. His +personal attentions to Maggie were comparatively slight, and there had +even sprung up an apparent distance between them, that prevented the +renewal of that faint resemblance to gallantry into which he had +fallen the first day in the boat. If Stephen came in when Lucy was out +of the room, if Lucy left them together, they never spoke to each +other; Stephen, perhaps, seemed to be examining books or music, and +Maggie bent her head assiduously over her work. Each was oppressively +conscious of the other's presence, even to the finger-ends. Yet each +looked and longed for the same thing to happen the next day. Neither +of them had begun to reflect on the matter, or silently to ask, "To +what does all this tend?" Maggie only felt that life was revealing +something quite new to her; and she was absorbed in the direct, +immediate experience, without any energy left for taking account of it +and reasoning about it. Stephen wilfully abstained from +self-questioning, and would not admit to himself that he felt an +influence which was to have any determining effect on his conduct. And +when Lucy came into the room again, they were once more unconstrained; +Maggie could contradict Stephen, and laugh at him, and he could +recommend to her consideration the example of that most charming +heroine, Miss Sophia Western, who had a great "respect for the +understandings of men." Maggie could look at Stephen, which, for some +reason or other she always avoided when they were alone; and he could +even ask her to play his accompaniment for him, since Lucy's fingers +were so busy with that bazaar-work, and lecture her on hurrying the +tempo, which was certainly Maggie's weak point. + +One day--it was the day of Philip's return--Lucy had formed a sudden +engagement to spend the evening with Mrs. Kenn, whose delicate state +of health, threatening to become confirmed illness through an attack +of bronchitis, obliged her to resign her functions at the coming +bazaar into the hands of other ladies, of whom she wished Lucy to be +one. The engagement had been formed in Stephen's presence, and he had +heard Lucy promise to dine early and call at six o'clock for Miss +Torry, who brought Mrs. Kenn's request. + +"Here is another of the moral results of this idiotic bazaar," Stephen +burst forth, as soon as Miss Torry had left the room,--"taking young +ladies from the duties of the domestic hearth into scenes of +dissipation among urn-rugs and embroidered reticules! I should like to +know what is the proper function of women, if it is not to make +reasons for husbands to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for +bachelors to go out. If this goes on much longer, the bonds of society +will be dissolved." + +"Well, it will not go on much longer," said Lucy, laughing, "for the +bazaar is to take place on Monday week." + +"Thank Heaven!" said Stephen. "Kenn himself said the other day that he +didn't like this plan of making vanity do the work of charity; but +just as the British public is not reasonable enough to bear direct +taxation, so St. Ogg's has not got force of motive enough to build and +endow schools without calling in the force of folly." + +"Did he say so?" said little Lucy, her hazel eyes opening wide with +anxiety. "I never heard him say anything of that kind; I thought he +approved of what we were doing." + +"I'm sure he approves _you_," said Stephen, smiling at her +affectionately; "your conduct in going out to-night looks vicious, I +own, but I know there is benevolence at the bottom of it." + +"Oh, you think too well of me," said Lucy, shaking her head, with a +pretty blush, and there the subject ended. But it was tacitly +understood that Stephen would not come in the evening; and on the +strength of that tacit understanding he made his morning visit the +longer, not saying good-bye until after four. + +Maggie was seated in the drawing-room, alone, shortly after dinner, +with Minny on her lap, having left her uncle to his wine and his nap, +and her mother to the compromise between knitting and nodding, which, +when there was no company, she always carried on in the dining-room +till tea-time. Maggie was stooping to caress the tiny silken pet, and +comforting him for his mistress's absence, when the sound of a +footstep on the gravel made her look up, and she saw Mr. Stephen Guest +walking up the garden, as if he had come straight from the river. It +was very unusual to see him so soon after dinner! He often complained +that their dinner-hour was late at Park House. Nevertheless, there he +was, in his black dress; he had evidently been home, and must have +come again by the river. Maggie felt her cheeks glowing and her heart +beating; it was natural she should be nervous, for she was not +accustomed to receive visitors alone. He had seen her look up through +the open window, and raised his hat as he walked toward it, to enter +that way instead of by the door. He blushed too, and certainly looked +as foolish as a young man of some wit and self-possession can be +expected to look, as he walked in with a roll of music in his hand, +and said, with an air of hesitating improvisation,-- + +"You are surprised to see me again, Miss Tulliver; I ought to +apologize for coming upon you by surprise, but I wanted to come into +the town, and I got our man to row me; so I thought I would bring +these things from the 'Maid of Artois' for your cousin; I forgot them +this morning. Will you give them to her?" + +"Yes," said Maggie, who had risen confusedly with Minny in her arms, +and now, not quite knowing what else to do, sat down again. + +Stephen laid down his hat, with the music, which rolled on the floor, +and sat down in the chair close by her. He had never done so before, +and both he and Maggie were quite aware that it was an entirely new +position. + +"Well, you pampered minion!" said Stephen, leaning to pull the long +curly ears that drooped over Maggie's arm. It was not a suggestive +remark, and as the speaker did not follow it up by further +development, it naturally left the conversation at a standstill. It +seemed to Stephen like some action in a dream that he was obliged to +do, and wonder at himself all the while,--to go on stroking Minny's +head. Yet it was very pleasant; he only wished he dared look at +Maggie, and that she would look at him,--let him have one long look +into those deep, strange eyes of hers, and then he would be satisfied +and quite reasonable after that. He thought it was becoming a sort of +monomania with him, to want that long look from Maggie; and he was +racking his invention continually to find out some means by which he +could have it without its appearing singular and entailing subsequent +embarrassment. As for Maggie, she had no distinct thought, only the +sense of a presence like that of a closely hovering broad-winged bird +in the darkness, for she was unable to look up, and saw nothing but +Minny's black wavy coat. + +But this must end some time, perhaps it ended very soon, and only +_seemed_ long, as a minute's dream does. Stephen at last sat upright +sideways in his chair, leaning one hand and arm over the back and +looking at Maggie. What should he say? + +"We shall have a splendid sunset, I think; sha'n't you go out and see +it?" + +"I don't know," said Maggie. Then courageously raising her eyes and +looking out of the window, "if I'm not playing cribbage with my +uncle." + +A pause; during which Minny is stroked again, but has sufficient +insight not to be grateful for it, to growl rather. + +"Do you like sitting alone?" + +A rather arch look came over Maggie's face, and, just glancing at +Stephen, she said, "Would it be quite civil to say 'yes'?" + +"It _was_ rather a dangerous question for an intruder to ask," said +Stephen, delighted with that glance, and getting determined to stay +for another. "But you will have more than half an hour to yourself +after I am gone," he added, taking out his watch. "I know Mr. Deane +never comes in till half-past seven." + +Another pause, during which Maggie looked steadily out of the window, +till by a great effort she moved her head to look down at Minny's back +again, and said,-- + +"I wish Lucy had not been obliged to go out. We lose our music." + +"We shall have a new voice to-morrow night," said Stephen. "Will you +tell your cousin that our friend Philip Wakem is come back? I saw him +as I went home." + +Maggie gave a little start,--it seemed hardly more than a vibration +that passed from head to foot in an instant. But the new images +summoned by Philip's name dispersed half the oppressive spell she had +been under. She rose from her chair with a sudden resolution, and +laying Minny on his cushion, went to reach Lucy's large work-basket +from its corner. Stephen was vexed and disappointed; he thought +perhaps Maggie didn't like the name of Wakem to be mentioned to her in +that abrupt way, for he now recalled what Lucy had told him of the +family quarrel. It was of no use to stay any longer. Maggie was +seating herself at the table with her work, and looking chill and +proud; and he--he looked like a simpleton for having come. A +gratuitous, entirely superfluous visit of that sort was sure to make a +man disagreeable and ridiculous. Of course it was palpable to Maggie's +thinking that he had dined hastily in his own room for the sake of +setting off again and finding her alone. + +A boyish state of mind for an accomplished young gentleman of +five-and-twenty, not without legal knowledge! But a reference to +history, perhaps, may make it not incredible. + +At this moment Maggie's ball of knitting-wool rolled along the ground, +and she started up to reach it. Stephen rose too, and picking up the +ball, met her with a vexed, complaining look that gave his eyes quite +a new expression to Maggie, whose own eyes met them as he presented +the ball to her. + +"Good-bye," said Stephen, in a tone that had the same beseeching +discontent as his eyes. He dared not put out his hand; he thrust both +hands into his tail-pockets as he spoke. Maggie thought she had +perhaps been rude. + +"Won't you stay?" she said timidly, not looking away, for that would +have seemed rude again. + +"No, thank you," said Stephen, looking still into the half-unwilling, +half-fascinated eyes, as a thirsty man looks toward the track of the +distant brook. "The boat is waiting for me. You'll tell your cousin?" + +"Yes." + +"That I brought the music, I mean?" + +"Yes." + +"And that Philip is come back?" + +"Yes." (Maggie did not notice Philip's name this time.) + +"Won't you come out a little way into the garden?" said Stephen, in a +still gentler tone; but the next moment he was vexed that she did not +say "No," for she moved away now toward the open window, and he was +obliged to take his hat and walk by her side. But he thought of +something to make him amends. + +"Do take my arm," he said, in a low tone, as if it were a secret. + +There is something strangely winning to most women in that offer of +the firm arm; the help is not wanted physically at that moment, but +the sense of help, the presence of strength that is outside them and +yet theirs, meets a continual want of the imagination. Either on that +ground or some other, Maggie took the arm. And they walked together +round the grassplot and under the drooping green of the laburnums, in +the same dim, dreamy state as they had been in a quarter of an hour +before; only that Stephen had had the look he longed for, without yet +perceiving in himself the symptoms of returning reasonableness, and +Maggie had darting thoughts across the dimness,--how came he to be +there? Why had she come out? Not a word was spoken. If it had been, +each would have been less intensely conscious of the other. + +"Take care of this step," said Stephen at last. + +"Oh, I will go in now," said Maggie, feeling that the step had come +like a rescue. "Good-evening." + +In an instant she had withdrawn her arm, and was running back to the +house. She did not reflect that this sudden action would only add to +the embarrassing recollections of the last half-hour. She had no +thought left for that. She only threw herself into the low arm-chair, +and burst into tears. + +"Oh, Philip, Philip, I wish we were together again--so quietly--in the +Red Deeps." + +Stephen looked after her a moment, then went on to the boat, and was +soon landed at the wharf. He spent the evening in the billiard-room, +smoking one cigar after another, and losing "lives" at pool. But he +would not leave off. He was determined not to think,--not to admit any +more distinct remembrance than was urged upon him by the perpetual +presence of Maggie. He was looking at her, and she was on his arm. + +But there came the necessity of walking home in the cool starlight, +and with it the necessity of cursing his own folly, and bitterly +determining that he would never trust himself alone with Maggie again. +It was all madness; he was in love, thoroughly attached to Lucy, and +engaged,--engaged as strongly as an honorable man need be. He wished +he had never seen this Maggie Tulliver, to be thrown into a fever by +her in this way; she would make a sweet, strange, troublesome, +adorable wife to some man or other, but he would never have chosen her +himself. Did she feel as he did? He hoped she did--not. He ought not +to have gone. He would master himself in future. He would make himself +disagreeable to her, quarrel with her perhaps. Quarrel with her? Was +it possible to quarrel with a creature who had such eyes,--defying and +deprecating, contradicting and clinging, imperious and beseeching,-- +full of delicious opposites? To see such a creature subdued by love +for one would be a lot worth having--to another man. + +There was a muttered exclamation which ended this inward soliloquy, as +Stephen threw away the end of his last cigar, and thrusting his hands +into his pockets, stalked along at a quieter pace through the +shrubbery. It was not of a benedictory kind. + + + +Chapter VII + +Philip Re-enters + + +The next morning was very wet,--the sort of morning on which male +neighbors who have no imperative occupation at home are likely to pay +their fair friends an illimitable visit. The rain, which has been +endurable enough for the walk or ride one way, is sure to become so +heavy, and at the same time so certain to clear up by and by, that +nothing but an open quarrel can abbreviate the visit; latent +detestation will not do at all. And if people happen to be lovers, +what can be so delightful, in England, as a rainy morning? English +sunshine is dubious; bonnets are never quite secure; and if you sit +down on the grass, it may lead to catarrhs. But the rain is to be +depended on. You gallop through it in a mackintosh, and presently find +yourself in the seat you like best,--a little above or a little below +the one on which your goddess sits (it is the same thing to the +metaphysical mind, and that is the reason why women are at once +worshipped and looked down upon), with a satisfactory confidence that +there will be no lady-callers. + +"Stephen will come earlier this morning, I know," said Lucy; "he +always does when it's rainy." + +Maggie made no answer. She was angry with Stephen; she began to think +she should dislike him; and if it had not been for the rain, she would +have gone to her aunt Glegg's this morning, and so have avoided him +altogether. As it was, she must find some reason for remaining out of +the room with her mother. + +But Stephen did not come earlier, and there was another visitor--a +nearer neighbor--who preceded him. When Philip entered the room, he +was going merely to bow to Maggie, feeling that their acquaintance was +a secret which he was bound not to betray; but when she advanced +toward him and put out her hand, he guessed at once that Lucy had been +taken into her confidence. It was a moment of some agitation to both, +though Philip had spent many hours in preparing for it; but like all +persons who have passed through life with little expectation of +sympathy, he seldom lost his self-control, and shrank with the most +sensitive pride from any noticeable betrayal of emotion. A little +extra paleness, a little tension of the nostril when he spoke, and the +voice pitched in rather a higher key, that to strangers would seem +expressive of cold indifference, were all the signs Philip usually +gave of an inward drama that was not without its fierceness. But +Maggie, who had little more power of concealing the impressions made +upon her than if she had been constructed of musical strings, felt her +eyes getting larger with tears as they took each other's hands in +silence. They were not painful tears; they had rather something of the +same origin as the tears women and children shed when they have found +some protection to cling to and look back on the threatened danger. +For Philip, who a little while ago was associated continually in +Maggie's mind with the sense that Tom might reproach her with some +justice, had now, in this short space, become a sort of outward +conscience to her, that she might fly to for rescue and strength. Her +tranquil, tender affection for Philip, with its root deep down in her +childhood, and its memories of long quiet talk confirming by distinct +successive impressions the first instinctive bias,--the fact that in +him the appeal was more strongly to her pity and womanly devotedness +than to her vanity or other egoistic excitability of her +nature,--seemed now to make a sort of sacred place, a sanctuary where +she could find refuge from an alluring influence which the best part +of herself must resist; which must bring horrible tumult within, +wretchedness without. This new sense of her relation to Philip +nullified the anxious scruples she would otherwise have felt, lest she +should overstep the limit of intercourse with him that Tom would +sanction; and she put out her hand to him, and felt the tears in her +eyes without any consciousness of an inward check. The scene was just +what Lucy expected, and her kind heart delighted in bringing Philip +and Maggie together again; though, even with all _her_ regard for +Philip, she could not resist the impression that her cousin Tom had +some excuse for feeling shocked at the physical incongruity between +the two,--a prosaic person like cousin Tom, who didn't like poetry and +fairy tales. But she began to speak as soon as possible, to set them +at ease. + +"This was very good and virtuous of you," she said, in her pretty +treble, like the low conversational notes of little birds, "to come so +soon after your arrival. And as it is, I think I will pardon you for +running away in an inopportune manner, and giving your friends no +notice. Come and sit down here," she went on, placing the chair that +would suit him best, "and you shall find yourself treated mercifully." + +"You will never govern well, Miss Deane," said Philip, as he seated +himself, "because no one will ever believe in your severity. People +will always encourage themselves in misdemeanors by the certainty that +you will be indulgent." + +Lucy gave some playful contradiction, but Philip did not hear what it +was, for he had naturally turned toward Maggie, and she was looking at +him with that open, affectionate scrutiny which we give to a friend +from whom we have been long separated. What a moment their parting had +been! And Philip felt as if he were only in the morrow of it. He felt +this so keenly,--with such intense, detailed remembrance, with such +passionate revival of all that had been said and looked in their last +conversation,--that with that jealousy and distrust which in diffident +natures is almost inevitably linked with a strong feeling, he thought +he read in Maggie's glance and manner the evidence of a change. The +very fact that he feared and half expected it would be sure to make +this thought rush in, in the absence of positive proof to the +contrary. + +"I am having a great holiday, am I not?" said Maggie. "Lucy is like a +fairy godmother; she has turned me from a drudge into a princess in no +time. I do nothing but indulge myself all day long, and she always +finds out what I want before I know it myself." + +"I am sure she is the happier for having you, then," said Philip. "You +must be better than a whole menagerie of pets to her. And you look +well. You are benefiting by the change." + +Artificial conversation of this sort went on a little while, till +Lucy, determined to put an end to it, exclaimed, with a good imitation +of annoyance, that she had forgotten something, and was quickly out of +the room. + +In a moment Maggie and Philip leaned forward, and the hands were +clasped again, with a look of sad contentment, like that of friends +who meet in the memory of recent sorrow. + +"I told my brother I wished to see you, Philip; I asked him to release +me from my promise, and he consented." + +Maggie, in her impulsiveness, wanted Philip to know at once the +position they must hold toward each other; but she checked herself. +The things that had happened since he had spoken of his love for her +were so painful that she shrank from being the first to allude to them. +It seemed almost like an injury toward Philip even to mention her +brother,--her brother, who had insulted him. But he was thinking too +entirely of her to be sensitive on any other point at that moment. + +"Then we can at least be friends, Maggie? There is nothing to hinder +that now?" + +"Will not your father object?" said Maggie, withdrawing her hand. + +"I should not give you up on any ground but your own wish, Maggie," +said Philip, coloring. "There are points on which I should always +resist my father, as I used to tell you. _That_ is one." + +"Then there is nothing to hinder our being friends, Philip,--seeing +each other and talking to each other while I am here; I shall soon go +away again. I mean to go very soon, to a new situation." + +"Is that inevitable, Maggie?" + +"Yes; I must not stay here long. It would unfit me for the life I must +begin again at last. I can't live in dependence,--I can't live with my +brother, though he is very good to me. He would like to provide for +me; but that would be intolerable to me." + +Philip was silent a few moments, and then said, in that high, feeble +voice which with him indicated the resolute suppression of emotion,-- + +"Is there no other alternative, Maggie? Is that life, away from those +who love you, the only one you will allow yourself to look forward +to?" + +"Yes, Philip," she said, looking at him pleadingly, as if she +entreated him to believe that she was compelled to this course. "At +least, as things are; I don't know what may be in years to come. But I +begin to think there can never come much happiness to me from loving; +I have always had so much pain mingled with it. I wish I could make +myself a world outside it, as men do." + +"Now you are returning to your old thought in a new form, Maggie,--the +thought I used to combat," said Philip, with a slight tinge of +bitterness. "You want to find out a mode of renunciation that will be +an escape from pain. I tell you again, there is no such escape +possible except by perverting or mutilating one's nature. What would +become of me, if I tried to escape from pain? Scorn and cynicism would +be my only opium; unless I could fall into some kind of conceited +madness, and fancy myself a favorite of Heaven because I am not a +favorite with men." + +The bitterness had taken on some impetuosity as Philip went on +speaking; the words were evidently an outlet for some immediate +feeling of his own, as well as an answer to Maggie. There was a pain +pressing on him at that moment. He shrank with proud delicacy from the +faintest allusion to the words of love, of plighted love that had +passed between them. It would have seemed to him like reminding Maggie +of a promise; it would have had for him something of the baseness of +compulsion. He could not dwell on the fact that he himself had not +changed; for that too would have had the air of an appeal. His love +for Maggie was stamped, even more than the rest of his experience, +with the exaggerated sense that he was an exception,--that she, that +every one, saw him in the light of an exception. + +But Maggie was conscience-stricken. + +"Yes, Philip," she said, with her childish contrition when he used to +chide her, "you are right, I know. I do always think too much of my +own feelings, and not enough of others',--not enough of yours. I had +need have you always to find fault with me and teach me; so many +things have come true that you used to tell me." + +Maggie was resting her elbow on the table, leaning her head on her +hand and looking at Philip with half-penitent dependent affection, as +she said this; while he was returning her gaze with an expression +that, to her consciousness, gradually became less vague,--became +charged with a specific recollection. Had his mind flown back to +something that _she_ now remembered,--something about a lover of +Lucy's? It was a thought that made her shudder; it gave new +definiteness to her present position, and to the tendency of what had +happened the evening before. She moved her arm from the table, urged +to change her position by that positive physical oppression at the +heart that sometimes accompanies a sudden mental pang. + +"What is the matter, Maggie? Has something happened?" Philip said, in +inexpressible anxiety, his imagination being only too ready to weave +everything that was fatal to them both. + +"No, nothing," said Maggie, rousing her latent will. Philip must not +have that odious thought in his mind; she would banish it from her +own. "Nothing," she repeated, "except in my own mind. You used to say +I should feel the effect of my starved life, as you called it; and I +do. I am too eager in my enjoyment of music and all luxuries, now they +are come to me." + +She took up her work and occupied herself resolutely, while Philip +watched her, really in doubt whether she had anything more than this +general allusion in her mind. It was quite in Maggie's character to be +agitated by vague self-reproach. But soon there came a violent +well-known ring at the door-bell resounding through the house. + +"Oh, what a startling announcement!" said Maggie, quite mistress of +herself, though not without some inward flutter. "I wonder where Lucy +is." + +Lucy had not been deaf to the signal, and after an interval long +enough for a few solicitous but not hurried inquiries, she herself +ushered Stephen in. + +"Well, old fellow," he said, going straight up to Philip and shaking +him heartily by the hand, bowing to Maggie in passing, "it's glorious +to have you back again; only I wish you'd conduct yourself a little +less like a sparrow with a residence on the house-top, and not go in +and out constantly without letting the servants know. This is about +the twentieth time I've had to scamper up those countless stairs to +that painting-room of yours, all to no purpose, because your people +thought you were at home. Such incidents embitter friendship." + +"I've so few visitors, it seems hardly worth while to leave notice of +my exit and entrances," said Philip, feeling rather oppressed just +then by Stephen's bright strong presence and strong voice. + +"Are you quite well this morning, Miss Tulliver?" said Stephen, +turning to Maggie with stiff politeness, and putting out his hand with +the air of fulfilling a social duty. + +Maggie gave the tips of her fingers, and said, "Quite well, thank +you," in a tone of proud indifference. Philip's eyes were watching +them keenly; but Lucy was used to seeing variations in their manner to +each other, and only thought with regret that there was some natural +antipathy which every now and then surmounted their mutual good-will. +"Maggie is not the sort of woman Stephen admires, and she is irritated +by something in him which she interprets as conceit," was the silent +observation that accounted for everything to guileless Lucy. Stephen +and Maggie had no sooner completed this studied greeting than each +felt hurt by the other's coldness. And Stephen, while rattling on in +questions to Philip about his recent sketching expedition, was +thinking all the more about Maggie because he was not drawing her into +the conversation as he had invariably done before. "Maggie and Philip +are not looking happy," thought Lucy; "this first interview has been +saddening to them." + +"I think we people who have not been galloping," she said to Stephen, +"are all a little damped by the rain. Let us have some music. We ought +to take advantage of having Philip and you together. Give us the duet +in 'Masaniello'; Maggie has not heard that, and I know it will suit +her." + +"Come, then," said Stephen, going toward the piano, and giving a +foretaste of the tune in his deep "brum-brum," very pleasant to hear. + +"You, please, Philip,--you play the accompaniment," said Lucy, "and +then I can go on with my work. You _will_ like to play, sha'n't you?" +she added, with a pretty, inquiring look, anxious, as usual, lest she +should have proposed what was not pleasant to another; but with +yearnings toward her unfinished embroidery. + +Philip had brightened at the proposition, for there is no feeling, +perhaps, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find +relief in music,--that does not make a man sing or play the better; +and Philip had an abundance of pent-up feeling at this moment, as +complex as any trio or quartet that was ever meant to express love and +jealousy and resignation and fierce suspicion, all at the same time. + +"Oh, yes," he said, seating himself at the piano, "it is a way of +eking out one's imperfect life and being three people at once,--to +sing and make the piano sing, and hear them both all the while,--or +else to sing and paint." + +"Ah, there you are an enviable fellow. I can do nothing with my +hands," said Stephen. "That has generally been observed in men of +great administrative capacity, I believe,--a tendency to predominance +of the reflective powers in me! Haven't you observed that, Miss +Tulliver?" + +Stephen had fallen by mistake into his habit of playful appeal to +Maggie, and she could not repress the answering flush and epigram. + +"I _have_ observed a tendency to predominance," she said, smiling; and +Philip at that moment devoutly hoped that she found the tendency +disagreeable. + +"Come, come," said Lucy; "music, music! We will discuss each other's +qualities another time." + +Maggie always tried in vain to go on with her work when music began. +She tried harder than ever to-day; for the thought that Stephen knew +how much she cared for his singing was one that no longer roused a +merely playful resistance; and she knew, too, that it was his habit +always to stand so that he could look at her. But it was of no use; +she soon threw her work down, and all her intentions were lost in the +vague state of emotion produced by the inspiring duet,--emotion that +seemed to make her at once strong and weak; strong for all enjoyment, +weak for all resistance. When the strain passed into the minor, she +half started from her seat with the sudden thrill of that change. Poor +Maggie! She looked very beautiful when her soul was being played on in +this way by the inexorable power of sound. You might have seen the +slightest perceptible quivering through her whole frame as she leaned +a little forward, clasping her hands as if to steady herself; while +her eyes dilated and brightened into that wide-open, childish +expression of wondering delight which always came back in her happiest +moments. Lucy, who at other times had always been at the piano when +Maggie was looking in this way, could not resist the impulse to steal +up to her and kiss her. Philip, too, caught a glimpse of her now and +then round the open book on the desk, and felt that he had never +before seen her under so strong an influence. + +"More, more!" said Lucy, when the duet had been encored. "Something +spirited again. Maggie always says she likes a great rush of sound." + +"It must be 'Let us take the road,' then," said Stephen,--"so suitable +for a wet morning. But are you prepared to abandon the most sacred +duties of life, and come and sing with us?" + +"Oh, yes," said Lucy, laughing. "If you will look out the 'Beggar's +Opera' from the large canterbury. It has a dingy cover." + +"That is a great clue, considering there are about a score covers here +of rival dinginess," said Stephen, drawing out the canterbury. + +"Oh, play something the while, Philip," said Lucy, noticing that his +fingers were wandering over the keys. "What is that you are falling +into?--something delicious that I don't know." + +"Don't you know that?" said Philip, bringing out the tune more +definitely. "It's from the 'Sonnambula'--'Ah! perchè non posso +odiarti.' I don't know the opera, but it appears the tenor is telling +the heroine that he shall always love her though she may forsake him. +You've heard me sing it to the English words, 'I love thee still.'" + +It was not quite unintentionally that Philip had wandered into this +song, which might be an indirect expression to Maggie of what he could +not prevail on himself to say to her directly. Her ears had been open +to what he was saying, and when he began to sing, she understood the +plaintive passion of the music. That pleading tenor had no very fine +qualities as a voice, but it was not quite new to her; it had sung to +her by snatches, in a subdued way, among the grassy walks and hollows, +and underneath the leaning ash-tree in the Red Deeps. There seemed to +be some reproach in the words; did Philip mean that? She wished she +had assured him more distinctly in their conversation that she desired +not to renew the hope of love between them, _only_ because it clashed +with her inevitable circumstances. She was touched, not thrilled by +the song; it suggested distinct memories and thoughts, and brought +quiet regret in the place of excitement. + +"That's the way with you tenors," said Stephen, who was waiting with +music in his hand while Philip finished the song. "You demoralize the +fair sex by warbling your sentimental love and constancy under all +sorts of vile treatment. Nothing short of having your heads served up +in a dish like that mediæval tenor or troubadour, would prevent you +from expressing your entire resignation. I must administer an +antidote, while Miss Deane prepares to tear herself away from her +bobbins." + +Stephen rolled out, with saucy energy,-- + + "Shall I, wasting in despair, + Die because a woman's fair?" + +and seemed to make all the air in the room alive with a new influence. +Lucy, always proud of what Stephen did, went toward the piano with +laughing, admiring looks at him; and Maggie, in spite of her +resistance to the spirit of the song and to the singer, was taken hold +of and shaken by the invisible influence,--was borne along by a wave +too strong for her. + +But, angrily resolved not to betray herself, she seized her work, and +went on making false stitches and pricking her fingers with much +perseverance, not looking up or taking notice of what was going +forward, until all the three voices united in "Let us take the road." + +I am afraid there would have been a subtle, stealing gratification in +her mind if she had known how entirely this saucy, defiant Stephen was +occupied with her; how he was passing rapidly from a determination to +treat her with ostentatious indifference to an irritating desire for +some sign of inclination from her,--some interchange of subdued word +or look with her. It was not long before he found an opportunity, when +they had passed to the music of "The Tempest." Maggie, feeling the +need of a footstool, was walking across the room to get one, when +Stephen, who was not singing just then, and was conscious of all her +movements, guessed her want, and flew to anticipate her, lifting the +footstool with an entreating look at her, which made it impossible not +to return a glance of gratitude. And then, to have the footstool +placed carefully by a too self-confident personage,--not _any_ +self-confident personage, but one in particular, who suddenly looks +humble and anxious, and lingers, bending still, to ask if there is not +some draught in that position between the window and the fireplace, +and if he may not be allowed to move the work-table for her,--these +things will summon a little of the too ready, traitorous tenderness +into a woman's eyes, compelled as she is in her girlish time to learn +her life-lessons in very trivial language. And to Maggie such things +had not been every-day incidents, but were a new element in her life, +and found her keen appetite for homage quite fresh. That tone of +gentle solicitude obliged her to look at the face that was bent toward +her, and to say, "No, thank you"; and nothing could prevent that +mutual glance from being delicious to both, as it had been the evening +before. + +It was but an ordinary act of politeness in Stephen; it had hardly +taken two minutes; and Lucy, who was singing, scarcely noticed it. But +to Philip's mind, filled already with a vague anxiety that was likely +to find a definite ground for itself in any trivial incident, this +sudden eagerness in Stephen, and the change in Maggie's face, which +was plainly reflecting a beam from his, seemed so strong a contrast +with the previous overwrought signs of indifference, as to be charged +with painful meaning. Stephen's voice, pouring in again, jarred upon +his nervous susceptibility as if it had been the clang of sheet-iron, +and he felt inclined to make the piano shriek in utter discord. He had +really seen no communicable ground for suspecting any ususual feeling +between Stephen and Maggie; his own reason told him so, and he wanted +to go home at once that he might reflect coolly on these false images, +till he had convinced himself of their nullity. But then, again, he +wanted to stay as long as Stephen stayed,--always to be present when +Stephen was present with Maggie. It seemed to poor Philip so natural, +nay, inevitable, that any man who was near Maggie should fall in love +with her! There was no promise of happiness for her if she were +beguiled into loving Stephen Guest; and this thought emboldened Philip +to view his own love for her in the light of a less unequal offering. +He was beginning to play very falsely under this deafening inward +tumult, and Lucy was looking at him in astonishment, when Mrs. +Tulliver's entrance to summon them to lunch came as an excuse for +abruptly breaking off the music. + +"Ah, Mr. Philip!" said Mr. Deane, when they entered the dining-room, +"I've not seen you for a long while. Your father's not at home, I +think, is he? I went after him to the office the other day, and they +said he was out of town." + +"He's been to Mudport on business for several days," said Philip; "but +he's come back now." + +"As fond of his farming hobby as ever, eh?" + +"I believe so," said Philip, rather wondering at this sudden interest +in his father's pursuits. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Deane, "he's got some land in his own hands on this +side the river as well as the other, I think?" + +"Yes, he has." + +"Ah!" continued Mr. Deane, as he dispensed the pigeonpie, "he must +find farming a heavy item,--an expensive hobby. I never had a hobby +myself, never would give in to that. And the worst of all hobbies are +those that people think they can get money at. They shoot their money +down like corn out of a sack then." + +Lucy felt a little nervous under her father's apparently gratuitous +criticism of Mr. Wakem's expenditure. But it ceased there, and Mr. +Deane became unusually silent and meditative during his luncheon. +Lucy, accustomed to watch all indications in her father, and having +reasons, which had recently become strong, for an extra interest in +what referred to the Wakems, felt an unusual curiosity to know what had +prompted her father's questions. His subsequent silence made her +suspect there had been some special reason for them in his mind. + +With this idea in her head, she resorted to her usual plan when she +wanted to tell or ask her father anything particular: she found a +reason for her aunt Tulliver to leaving the dining-room after dinner, +and seated herself on a small stool at her father's knee. Mr. Deane, +under those circumstances, considered that he tasted some of the most +agreeable moments his merits had purchased him in life, +notwithstanding that Lucy, disliking to have her hair powdered with +snuff, usually began by mastering his snuff-box on such occasions. + +"You don't want to go to sleep yet, papa, _do_ you?" she said, as she +brought up her stool and opened the large fingers that clutched the +snuff-box. + +"Not yet," said Mr. Deane, glancing at the reward of merit in the +decanter. "But what do _you_ want?" he added, pinching the dimpled +chin fondly,--"to coax some more sovereigns out of my pocket for your +bazaar? Eh?" + +"No, I have no base motives at all to-day. I only want to talk, not to +beg. I want to know what made you ask Philip Wakem about his father's +farming to-day, papa? It seemed rather odd, because you never hardly +say anything to him about his father; and why should you care about +Mr. Wakem's losing money by his hobby?" + +"Something to do with business," said Mr. Deane, waving his hands, as +if to repel intrusion into that mystery. + +"But, papa, you always say Mr. Wakem has brought Philip up like a +girl; how came you to think you should get any business knowledge out +of him? Those abrupt questions sounded rather oddly. Philip thought +them queer." + +"Nonsense, child!" said Mr. Deane, willing to justify his social +demeanor, with which he had taken some pains in his upward progress. +"There's a report that Wakem's mill and farm on the other side of the +river--Dorlcote Mill, your uncle Tulliver's, you know--isn't answering +so well as it did. I wanted to see if your friend Philip would let +anything out about his father's being tired of farming." + +"Why? Would you buy the mill, papa, if he would part with it?" said +Lucy, eagerly. "Oh, tell me everything; here, you shall have your +snuff-box if you'll tell me. Because Maggie says all their hearts are +set on Tom's getting back the mill some time. It was one of the last +things her father said to Tom, that he must get back the mill." + +"Hush, you little puss," said Mr. Deane, availing himself of the +restored snuff-box. "You must not say a word about this thing; do you +hear? There's very little chance of their getting the mill or of +anybody's getting it out of Wakem's hands. And if he knew that we +wanted it with a view to the Tulliver's getting it again, he'd be the +less likely to part with it. It's natural, after what happened. He +behaved well enough to Tulliver before; but a horsewhipping is not +likely to be paid for with sugar-plums." + +"Now, papa," said Lucy, with a little air of solemnity, "will you +trust me? You must not ask me all my reasons for what I'm going to +say, but I have very strong reasons. And I'm very cautious; I am, +indeed." + +"Well, let us hear." + +"Why, I believe, if you will let me take Philip Wakem into our +confidence,--let me tell him all about your wish to buy, and what it's +for; that my cousins wish to have it, and why they wish to have it,--I +believe Philip would help to bring it about. I know he would desire to +do it." + +"I don't see how that can be, child," said Mr. Deane, looking puzzled. +"Why should _he_ care?"--then, with a sudden penetrating look at his +daughter, "You don't think the poor lad's fond of you, and so you can +make him do what you like?" (Mr. Deane felt quite safe about his +daughter's affections.) + +"No, papa; he cares very little about me,--not so much as I care about +him. But I have a reason for being quite sure of what I say. Don't you +ask me. And if you ever guess, don't tell me. Only give me leave to do +as I think fit about it." + +Lucy rose from her stool to seat herself on her father's knee, and +kissed him with that last request. + +"Are you sure you won't do mischief, now?" he said, looking at her +with delight. + +"Yes, papa, quite sure. I'm very wise; I've got all your business +talents. Didn't you admire my accompt-book, now, when I showed it +you?" + +"Well, well, if this youngster will keep his counsel, there won't be +much harm done. And to tell the truth, I think there's not much chance +for us any other way. Now, let me go off to sleep." + + + +Chapter VIII + +Wakem in a New Light + + +Before three days had passed after the conversation you have just +overheard between Lucy and her father she had contrived to have a +private interview with Philip during a visit of Maggie's to her aunt +Glegg. For a day and a night Philip turned over in his mind with +restless agitation all that Lucy had told him in that interview, till +he had thoroughly resolved on a course of action. He thought he saw +before him now a possibility of altering his position with respect to +Maggie, and removing at least one obstacle between them. He laid his +plan and calculated all his moves with the fervid deliberation of a +chess-player in the days of his first ardor, and was amazed himself at +his sudden genius as a tactician. His plan was as bold as it was +thoroughly calculated. Having watched for a moment when his father had +nothing more urgent on his hands than the newspaper, he went behind +him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said,-- + +"Father, will you come up into my sanctum, and look at my new +sketches? I've arranged them now." + +"I'm getting terrible stiff in the joints, Phil, for climbing those +stairs of yours," said Wakem, looking kindly at his son as he laid +down his paper. "But come along, then." + +"This is a nice place for you, isn't it, Phil?--a capital light that +from the roof, eh?" was, as usual, the first thing he said on entering +the painting-room. He liked to remind himself and his son too that his +fatherly indulgence had provided the accommodation. He had been a good +father. Emily would have nothing to reproach him with there, if she +came back again from her grave. + +"Come, come," he said, putting his double eye-glass over his nose, and +seating himself to take a general view while he rested, "you've got a +famous show here. Upon my word, I don't see that your things aren't as +good as that London artist's--what's his name--that Leyburn gave so +much money for." + +Philip shook his head and smiled. He had seated himself on his +painting-stool, and had taken a lead pencil in his hand, with which he +was making strong marks to counteract the sense of tremulousness. He +watched his father get up, and walk slowly round, good-naturedly +dwelling on the pictures much longer than his amount of genuine taste +for landscape would have prompted, till he stopped before a stand on +which two pictures were placed,--one much larger than the other, the +smaller one in a leather case. + +"Bless me! what have you here?" said Wakem, startled by a sudden +transition from landscape to portrait. "I thought you'd left off +figures. Who are these?" + +"They are the same person," said Philip, with calm promptness, "at +different ages." + +"And what person?" said Wakem, sharply fixing his eyes with a growing +look of suspicion on the larger picture. + +"Miss Tulliver. The small one is something like what she was when I +was at school with her brother at King's Lorton; the larger one is not +quite so good a likeness of what she was when I came from abroad." + +Wakem turned round fiercely, with a flushed face, letting his +eye-glass fall, and looking at his son with a savage expression for a +moment, as if he was ready to strike that daring feebleness from the +stool. But he threw himself into the armchair again, and thrust his +hands into his trouser-pockets, still looking angrily at his son, +however. Philip did not return the look, but sat quietly watching the +point of his pencil. + +"And do you mean to say, then, that you have had any acquaintance with +her since you came from abroad?" said Wakem, at last, with that vain +effort which rage always makes to throw as much punishment as it +desires to inflict into words and tones, since blows are forbidden. + +"Yes; I saw a great deal of her for a whole year before her father's +death. We met often in that thicket--the Red Deeps--near Dorlcote +Mill. I love her dearly; I shall never love any other woman. I have +thought of her ever since she was a little girl." + +"Go on, sir! And you have corresponded with her all this while?" + +"No. I never told her I loved her till just before we parted, and she +promised her brother not to see me again or to correspond with me. I +am not sure that she loves me or would consent to marry me. But if she +would consent,--if she _did_ love me well enough,--I should marry +her." + +"And this is the return you make me for all the indulgences I've +heaped on you?" said Wakem, getting white, and beginning to tremble +under an enraged sense of impotence before Philip's calm defiance and +concentration of purpose. + +"No, father," said Philip, looking up at him for the first time; "I +don't regard it as a return. You have been an indulgent father to me; +but I have always felt that it was because you had an affectionate +wish to give me as much happiness as my unfortunate lot would admit, +not that it was a debt you expected me to pay by sacrificing all my +chances of happiness to satisfy feelings of yours which I can never +share." + +"I think most sons would share their father's feelings in this case," +said Wakem, bitterly. "The girl's father was an ignorant mad brute, +who was within an inch of murdering me. The whole town knows it. And +the brother is just as insolent, only in a cooler way. He forbade her +seeing you, you say; he'll break every bone in your body, for your +greater happiness, if you don't take care. But you seem to have made +up your mind; you have counted the consequences, I suppose. Of course +you are independent of me; you can marry this girl to-morrow, if you +like; you are a man of five-and-twenty,--you can go your way, and I +can go mine. We need have no more to do with each other." + +Wakem rose and walked toward the door, but something held him back, +and instead of leaving the room, he walked up and down it. Philip was +slow to reply, and when he spoke, his tone had a more incisive +quietness and clearness than ever. + +"No; I can't marry Miss Tulliver, even if she would have me, if I have +only my own resources to maintain her with. I have been brought up to +no profession. I can't offer her poverty as well as deformity." + +"Ah, _there_ is a reason for your clinging to me, doubtless," said +Wakem, still bitterly, though Philip's last words had given him a +pang; they had stirred a feeling which had been a habit for a quarter +of a century. He threw himself into the chair again. + +"I expected all this," said Philip. "I know these scenes are often +happening between father and son. If I were like other men of my age, +I might answer your angry words by still angrier; we might part; I +should marry the woman I love, and have a chance of being as happy as +the rest. But if it will be a satisfaction to you to annihilate the +very object of everything you've done for me, you have an advantage +over most fathers; you can completely deprive me of the only thing +that would make my life worth having." + +Philip paused, but his father was silent. + +"You know best what satisfaction you would have, beyond that of +gratifying a ridiculous rancor worthy only of wandering savages." + +"Ridiculous rancor!" Wakem burst out. "What do you mean? Damn it! is a +man to be horsewhipped by a boor and love him for it? Besides, there's +that cold, proud devil of a son, who said a word to me I shall not +forget when we had the settling. He would be as pleasant a mark for a +bullet as I know, if he were worth the expense." + +"I don't mean your resentment toward them," said Philip, who had his +reasons for some sympathy with this view of Tom, "though a feeling of +revenge is not worth much, that you should care to keep it. I mean +your extending the enmity to a helpless girl, who has too much sense +and goodness to share their narrow prejudices. _She_ has never entered +into the family quarrels." + +"What does that signify? We don't ask what a woman does; we ask whom +she belongs to. It's altogether a degrading thing to you, to think of +marrying old Tulliver's daughter." + +For the first time in the dialogue, Philip lost some of his +self-control, and colored with anger. + +"Miss Tulliver," he said, with bitter incisiveness, "has the only +grounds of rank that anything but vulgar folly can suppose to belong +to the middle class; she is thoroughly refined, and her friends, +whatever else they may be, are respected for irreproachable honor and +integrity. All St. Ogg's, I fancy, would pronounce her to be more than +my equal." + +Wakem darted a glance of fierce question at his son; but Philip was +not looking at him, and with a certain penitent consciousness went on, +in a few moments, as if in amplification of his last words,-- + +"Find a single person in St. Ogg's who will not tell you that a +beautiful creature like her would be throwing herself away on a +pitiable object like me." + +"Not she!" said Wakem, rising again, and forgetting everything else in +a burst of resentful pride, half fatherly, half personal. "It would be +a deuced fine match for her. It's all stuff about an accidental +deformity, when a girl's really attached to a man." + +"But girls are not apt to get attached under those circumstances," +said Philip. + +"Well, then," said Wakem, rather brutally, trying to recover his +previous position, "if she doesn't care for you, you might have spared +yourself the trouble of talking to me about her, and you might have +spared me the trouble of refusing my consent to what was never likely +to happen." + +Wakem strode to the door, and without looking round again, banged it +after him. + +Philip was not without confidence that his father would be ultimately +wrought upon as he had expected, by what had passed; but the scene had +jarred upon his nerves, which were as sensitive as a woman's. He +determined not to go down to dinner; he couldn't meet his father again +that day. It was Wakem's habit, when he had no company at home, to go +out in the evening, often as early as half-past seven; and as it was +far on in the afternoon now, Philip locked up his room and went out +for a long ramble, thinking he would not return until his father was +out of the house again. He got into a boat, and went down the river to +a favorite village, where he dined, and lingered till it was late +enough for him to return. He had never had any sort of quarrel with +his father before, and had a sickening fear that this contest, just +begun, might go on for weeks; and what might not happen in that time? +He would not allow himself to define what that involuntary question +meant. But if he could once be in the position of Maggie's accepted, +acknowledged lover, there would be less room for vague dread. He went +up to his painting-room again, and threw himself with a sense of +fatigue into the armchair, looking round absently at the views of +water and rock that were ranged around, till he fell into a doze, in +which he fancied Maggie was slipping down a glistening, green, slimy +channel of a waterfall, and he was looking on helpless, till he was +awakened by what seemed a sudden, awful crash. + +It was the opening of the door, and he could hardly have dozed more +than a few moments, for there was no perceptible change in the evening +light. It was his father who entered; and when Philip moved to vacate +the chair for him, he said,-- + +"Sit still. I'd rather walk about." + +He stalked up and down the room once or twice, and then, standing +opposite Philip with his hands thrust in his side pockets, he said, as +if continuing a conversation that had not been broken off,-- + +"But this girl seems to have been fond of you, Phil, else she wouldn't +have met you in that way." + +Philip's heart was beating rapidly, and a transient flush passed over +his face like a gleam. It was not quite easy to speak at once. + +"She liked me at King's Lorton, when she was a little girl, because I +used to sit with her brother a great deal when he had hurt his foot. +She had kept that in her memory, and thought of me as a friend of a +long while ago. She didn't think of me as a lover when she met me." + +"Well, but you made love to her at last. What did she say then?" said +Wakem, walking about again. + +"She said she _did_ love me then." + +"Confound it, then; what else do you want? Is she a jilt?" + +"She was very young then," said Philip, hesitatingly. "I'm afraid she +hardly knew what she felt. I'm afraid our long separation, and the +idea that events must always divide us, may have made a difference." + +"But she's in the town. I've seen her at church. Haven't you spoken to +her since you came back?" + +"Yes, at Mr. Deane's. But I couldn't renew my proposals to her on +several grounds. One obstacle would be removed if you would give your +consent,--if you would be willing to think of her as a daughter-in-law." + +Wakem was silent a little while, pausing before Maggie's picture. + +"She's not the sort of woman your mother was, though, Phil," he said, +at last. "I saw her at church,--she's handsomer than this,--deuced +fine eyes and fine figure, I saw; but rather dangerous and +unmanageable, eh?" + +"She's very tender and affectionate, and so simple,--without the airs +and petty contrivances other women have." + +"Ah?" said Wakem. Then looking round at his son, "But your mother +looked gentler; she had that brown wavy hair and gray eyes, like +yours. You can't remember her very well. It was a thousand pities I'd +no likeness of her." + +"Then, shouldn't you be glad for me to have the same sort of +happiness, father, to sweeten my life for me? There can never be +another tie so strong to you as that which began eight-and-twenty +years ago, when you married my mother, and you have been tightening it +ever since." + +"Ah, Phil, you're the only fellow that knows the best of me," said +Wakem, giving his hand to his son. "We must keep together if we can. +And now, what am I to do? You must come downstairs and tell me. Am I +to go and call on this dark-eyed damsel?" + +The barrier once thrown down in this way, Philip could talk freely to +his father of their entire relation with the Tullivers,--of the desire +to get the mill and land back into the family, and of its transfer to +Guest & Co. as an intermediate step. He could venture now to be +persuasive and urgent, and his father yielded with more readiness than +he had calculated on. + +"_I_ don't care about the mill," he said at last, with a sort of angry +compliance. "I've had an infernal deal of bother lately about the +mill. Let them pay me for my improvements, that's all. But there's one +thing you needn't ask me. I shall have no direct transactions with +young Tulliver. If you like to swallow him for his sister's sake, you +may; but I've no sauce that will make him go down." + +I leave you to imagine the agreeable feelings with which Philip went +to Mr. Deane the next day, to say that Mr. Wakem was ready to open the +negotiations, and Lucy's pretty triumph as she appealed to her father +whether she had not proved her great business abilities. Mr. Deane was +rather puzzled, and suspected that there had been something "going on" +among the young people to which he wanted a clew. But to men of Mr. +Deane's stamp, what goes on among the young people is as extraneous to +the real business of life as what goes on among the birds and +butterflies, until it can be shown to have a malign bearing on +monetary affairs. And in this case the bearing appeared to be entirely +propitious. + + + +Chapter IX + +Charity in Full-Dress + + +The culmination of Maggie's career as an admired member of society in +St. Ogg's was certainly the day of the bazaar, when her simple noble +beauty, clad in a white muslin of some soft-floating kind, which I +suspect must have come from the stores of aunt Pullet's wardrobe, +appeared with marked distinction among the more adorned and +conventional women around her. We perhaps never detect how much of our +social demeanor is made up of artificial airs until we see a person +who is at once beautiful and simple; without the beauty, we are apt to +call simplicity awkwardness. The Miss Guests were much too well-bred +to have any of the grimaces and affected tones that belong to +pretentious vulgarity; but their stall being next to the one where +Maggie sat, it seemed newly obvious to-day that Miss Guest held her +chin too high, and that Miss Laura spoke and moved continually with a +view to effect. + +All well-dressed St. Ogg's and its neighborhood were there; and it +would have been worth while to come even from a distance, to see the +fine old hall, with its open roof and carved oaken rafters, and great +oaken folding-doors, and light shed down from a height on the +many-colored show beneath; a very quaint place, with broad faded +stripes painted on the walls, and here and there a show of heraldic +animals of a bristly, long-snouted character, the cherished emblems of +a noble family once the seigniors of this now civic hall. A grand +arch, cut in the upper wall at one end, surmounted an oaken orchestra, +with an open room behind it, where hothouse plants and stalls for +refreshments were disposed; an agreeable resort for gentlemen disposed +to loiter, and yet to exchange the occasional crush down below for a +more commodious point of view. In fact, the perfect fitness of this +ancient building for an admirable modern purpose, that made charity +truly elegant, and led through vanity up to the supply of a deficit, +was so striking that hardly a person entered the room without +exchanging the remark more than once. Near the great arch over the +orchestra was the stone oriel with painted glass, which was one of the +venerable inconsistencies of the old hall; and it was close by this +that Lucy had her stall, for the convenience of certain large plain +articles which she had taken charge of for Mrs. Kenn. Maggie had +begged to sit at the open end of the stall, and to have the sale of +these articles rather than of bead-mats and other elaborate products +of which she had but a dim understanding. But it soon appeared that +the gentlemen's dressing-gowns, which were among her commodities, were +objects of such general attention and inquiry, and excited so +troublesome a curiosity as to their lining and comparative merits, +together with a determination to test them by trying on, as to make +her post a very conspicuous one. The ladies who had commodities of +their own to sell, and did not want dressing-gowns, saw at once the +frivolity and bad taste of this masculine preference for goods which +any tailor could furnish; and it is possible that the emphatic notice +of various kinds which was drawn toward Miss Tulliver on this public +occasion, threw a very strong and unmistakable light on her subsequent +conduct in many minds then present. Not that anger, on account of +spurned beauty can dwell in the celestial breasts of charitable +ladies, but rather that the errors of persons who have once been much +admired necessarily take a deeper tinge from the mere force of +contrast; and also, that to-day Maggie's conspicuous position, for the +first time, made evident certain characteristics which were +subsequently felt to have an explanatory bearing. There was something +rather bold in Miss Tulliver's direct gaze, and something undefinably +coarse in the style of her beauty, which placed her, in the opinion of +all feminine judges, far below her cousin Miss Deane; for the ladies +of St. Ogg's had now completely ceded to Lucy their hypothetic claims +on the admiration of Mr. Stephen Guest. + +As for dear little Lucy herself, her late benevolent triumph about the +Mill, and all the affectionate projects she was cherishing for Maggie +and Philip, helped to give her the highest spirits to-day, and she +felt nothing but pleasure in the evidence of Maggie's attractiveness. +It is true, she was looking very charming herself, and Stephen was +paying her the utmost attention on this public occasion; jealously +buying up the articles he had seen under her fingers in the process of +making, and gayly helping her to cajole the male customers into the +purchase of the most effeminate futilities. He chose to lay aside his +hat and wear a scarlet fez of her embroidering; but by superficial +observers this was necessarily liable to be interpreted less as a +compliment to Lucy than as a mark of coxcombry. "Guest is a great +coxcomb," young Torry observed; "but then he is a privileged person in +St. Ogg's--he carries all before him; if another fellow did such +things, everybody would say he made a fool of himself." + +And Stephen purchased absolutely nothing from Maggie, until Lucy said, +in rather a vexed undertone,-- + +"See, now; all the things of Maggie's knitting will be gone, and you +will not have bought one. There are those deliciously soft warm things +for the wrists,--do buy them." + +"Oh no," said Stephen, "they must be intended for imaginative persons, +who can chill themselves on this warm day by thinking of the frosty +Caucasus. Stern reason is my forte, you know. You must get Philip to +buy those. By the way, why doesn't he come?" + +"He never likes going where there are many people, though I enjoined +him to come. He said he would buy up any of my goods that the rest of +the world rejected. But now, do go and buy something of Maggie." + +"No, no; see, she has got a customer; there is old Wakem himself just +coming up." + +Lucy's eyes turned with anxious interest toward Maggie to see how she +went through this first interview, since a sadly memorable time, with +a man toward whom she must have so strange a mixture of feelings; but +she was pleased to notice that Wakem had tact enough to enter at once +into talk about the bazaar wares, and appear interested in purchasing, +smiling now and then kindly at Maggie, and not calling on her to speak +much, as if he observed that she was rather pale and tremulous. + +"Why, Wakem is making himself particularly amiable to your cousin," +said Stephen, in an undertone to Lucy; "is it pure magnanimity? You +talked of a family quarrel." + +"Oh, that will soon be quite healed, I hope," said Lucy, becoming a +little indiscreet in her satisfaction, and speaking with an air of +significance. But Stephen did not appear to notice this, and as some +lady-purchasers came up, he lounged on toward Maggie's end, handling +trifles and standing aloof until Wakem, who had taken out his purse, +had finished his transactions. + +"My son came with me," he overheard Wakem saying, "but he has vanished +into some other part of the building, and has left all these +charitable gallantries to me. I hope you'll reproach him for his +shabby conduct." + +She returned his smile and bow without speaking, and he turned away, +only then observing Stephen and nodding to him. Maggie, conscious that +Stephen was still there, busied herself with counting money, and +avoided looking up. She had been well pleased that he had devoted +himself to Lucy to-day, and had not come near her. They had begun the +morning with an indifferent salutation, and both had rejoiced in being +aloof from each other, like a patient who has actually done without +his opium, in spite of former failures in resolution. And during the +last few days they had even been making up their minds to failures, +looking to the outward events that must soon come to separate them, as +a reason for dispensing with self-conquest in detail. + +Stephen moved step by step as if he were being unwillingly dragged, +until he had got round the open end of the stall, and was half hidden +by a screen of draperies. Maggie went on counting her money till she +suddenly heard a deep gentle voice saying, "Aren't you very tried? Do +let me bring you something,--some fruit or jelly, mayn't I?" + +The unexpected tones shook her like a sudden accidental vibration of a +harp close by her. + +"Oh no, thank you," she said faintly, and only half looking up for an +instant. + +"You look so pale," Stephen insisted, in a more entreating tone. "I'm +sure you're exhausted. I must disobey you, and bring something." + +"No, indeed, I couldn't take it." + +"Are you angry with me? What have I done? _Do_ look at me." + +"Pray, go away," said Maggie, looking at him helplessly, her eyes +glancing immediately from him to the opposite corner of the orchestra, +which was half hidden by the folds of the old faded green curtain. +Maggie had no sooner uttered this entreaty than she was wretched at +the admission it implied; but Stephen turned away at once, and +following her upward glance, he saw Philip Wakem sealed in the +half-hidden corner, so that he could command little more than that +angle of the hall in which Maggie sat. An entirely new though occurred +to Stephen, and linking itself with what he had observed of Wakem's +manner, and with Lucy's reply to his observation, it convinced him +that there had been some former relation between Philip and Maggie +beyond that childish one of which he had heard. More than one impulse +made him immediately leave the hall and go upstairs to the +refreshment-room, where, walking up to Philip, he sat down behind him, +and put his hand on his shoulder. + +"Are you studying for a portrait, Phil," he said, "or for a sketch of +that oriel window? By George, it makes a capital bit from this dark +corner, with the curtain just marking it off." + +"I have been studying expression," said Philip, curtly. + +"What! Miss Tulliver's? It's rather of the savage-moody order to-day, +I think,--something of the fallen princess serving behind a counter. +Her cousin sent me to her with a civil offer to get her some +refreshment, but I have been snubbed, as usual. There's natural +antipathy between us, I suppose; I have seldom the honor to please +her." + +"What a hypocrite you are!" said Philip, flushing angrily. + +"What! because experience must have told me that I'm universally +pleasing? I admit the law, but there's some disturbing force here." + +"I am going," said Philip, rising abruptly. + +"So am I--to get a breath of fresh air; this place gets oppressive. I +think I have done suit and service long enough." + +The two friends walked downstairs together without speaking. Philip +turned through the outer door into the court-yard; but Stephen, +saying, "Oh, by the by, I must call in here," went on along the +passage to one of the rooms at the other end of the building, which +were appropriated to the town library. He had the room all to himself, +and a man requires nothing less than this when he wants to dash his +cap on the table, throw himself astride a chair, and stare at a high +brick wall with a frown which would not have been beneath the occasion +if he had been slaying "the giant Python." The conduct that issues +from a moral conflict has often so close a resemblance to vice that +the distinction escapes all outward judgments founded on a mere +comparison of actions. It is clear to you, I hope, that Stephen was +not a hypocrite,--capable of deliberate doubleness for a selfish end; +and yet his fluctuations between the indulgence of a feeling and the +systematic concealment of it might have made a good case in support of +Philip's accusation. + +Meanwhile, Maggie sat at her stall cold and trembling, with that +painful sensation in the eyes which comes from resolutely repressed +tears. Was her life to be always like this,--always bringing some new +source of inward strife? She heard confusedly the busy, indifferent +voices around her, and wished her mind could flow into that easy +babbling current. It was at this moment that Dr. Kenn, who had quite +lately come into the hall, and was now walking down the middle with +his hands behind him, taking a general view, fixed his eyes on Maggie +for the first time, and was struck with the expression of pain on her +beautiful face. She was sitting quite still, for the stream of +customers had lessened at this late hour in the afternoon; the +gentlemen had chiefly chosen the middle of the day, and Maggie's stall +was looking rather bare. This, with her absent, pained expression, +finished the contrast between her and her companions, who were all +bright, eager, and busy. He was strongly arrested. Her face had +naturally drawn his attention as a new and striking one at church, and +he had been introduced to her during a short call on business at Mr. +Deane's, but he had never spoken more than three words to her. He +walked toward her now, and Maggie, perceiving some one approaching, +roused herself to look up and be prepared to speak. She felt a +childlike, instinctive relief from the sense of uneasiness in this +exertion, when she saw it was Dr. Kenn's face that was looking at her; +that plain, middle-aged face, with a grave, penetrating kindness in +it, seeming to tell of a human being who had reached a firm, safe +strand, but was looking with helpful pity toward the strugglers still +tossed by the waves, had an effect on Maggie at this moment which was +afterward remembered by her as if it had been a promise. The +middle-aged, who have lived through their strongest emotions, but are +yet in the time when memory is still half passionate and not merely +contemplative, should surely be a sort of natural priesthood, whom +life has disciplined and consecrated to be the refuge and rescue of +early stumblers and victims of self-despair. Most of us, at some +moment in our young lives, would have welcomed a priest of that +natural order in any sort of canonicals or uncanonicals, but had to +scramble upward into all the difficulties of nineteen entirely without +such aid, as Maggie did. + +"You find your office rather a fatiguing one, I fear, Miss Tulliver," +said Dr. Kenn. + +"It is, rather," said Maggie, simply, not being accustomed to simpler +amiable denials of obvious facts. + +"But I can tell Mrs. Kenn that you have disposed of her goods very +quickly," he added; "she will be very much obliged to you." + +"Oh, I have done nothing; the gentlemen came very fast to buy the +dressing-gowns and embroidered waistcoats, but I think any of the +other ladies would have sold more; I didn't know what to say about +them." + +Dr. Kenn smiled. "I hope I'm going to have you as a permanent +parishioner now, Miss Tulliver; am I? You have been at a distance from +us hitherto." + +"I have been a teacher in a school, and I'm going into another +situation of the same kind very soon." + +"Ah? I was hoping you would remain among your friends, who are all in +this neighborhood, I believe." + +"Oh, _I must go_," said Maggie, earnestly, looking at Dr. Kenn with an +expression of reliance, as if she had told him her history in those +three words. It was one of those moments of implicit revelation which +will sometimes happen even between people who meet quite +transiently,--on a mile's journey, perhaps, or when resting by the +wayside. There is always this possibility of a word or look from a +stranger to keep alive the sense of human brotherhood. + +Dr. Kenn's ear and eye took in all the signs that this brief +confidence of Maggie's was charged with meaning. + +"I understand," he said; "you feel it right to go. But that will not +prevent our meeting again, I hope; it will not prevent my knowing you +better, if I can be of any service to you." + +He put out his hand and pressed hers kindly before he turned away. + +"She has some trouble or other at heart," he thought. "Poor child! she +looks as if she might turn out to be one of + + 'The souls by nature pitched too high, + By suffering plunged too low.' + +"There's something wonderfully honest in those beautiful eyes." + +It may be surprising that Maggie, among whose many imperfections an +excessive delight in admiration and acknowledged supremacy were not +absent now, any more than when she was instructing the gypsies with a +view toward achieving a royal position among them, was not more elated +on a day when she had had the tribute of so many looks and smiles, +together with that satisfactory consciousness which had necessarily +come from being taken before Lucy's chevalglass, and made to look at +the full length of her tall beauty, crowned by the night of her massy +hair. Maggie had smiled at herself then, and for the moment had +forgotten everything in the sense of her own beauty. If that state of +mind could have lasted, her choice would have been to have Stephen +Guest at her feet, offering her a life filled with all luxuries, with +daily incense of adoration near and distant, and with all +possibilities of culture at her command. But there were things in her +stronger than vanity,--passion and affection, and long, deep memories +of early discipline and effort, of early claims on her love and pity; +and the stream of vanity was soon swept along and mingled +imperceptibly with that wider current which was at its highest force +today, under the double urgency of the events and inward impulses +brought by the last week. + +Philip had not spoken to her himself about the removal of obstacles +between them on his father's side,--he shrank from that; but he had +told everything to Lucy, with the hope that Maggie, being informed +through her, might give him some encouraging sign that their being +brought thus much nearer to each other was a happiness to her. The +rush of conflicting feelings was too great for Maggie to say much when +Lucy, with a face breathing playful joy, like one of Correggio's +cherubs, poured forth her triumphant revelation; and Lucy could hardly +be surprised that she could do little more than cry with gladness at +the thought of her father's wish being fulfilled, and of Tom's getting +the Mill again in reward for all his hard striving. The details of +preparation for the bazaar had then come to usurp Lucy's attention for +the next few days, and nothing had been said by the cousins on +subjects that were likely to rouse deeper feelings. Philip had been to +the house more than once, but Maggie had had no private conversation +with him, and thus she had been left to fight her inward battle +without interference. + +But when the bazaar was fairly ended, and the cousins were alone +again, resting together at home, Lucy said,-- + +"You must give up going to stay with your aunt Moss the day after +to-morrow, Maggie; write a note to her, and tell her you have put it +off at my request, and I'll send the man with it. She won't be +displeased; you'll have plenty of time to go by-and-by; and I don't +want you to go out of the way just now." + +"Yes, indeed I must go, dear; I can't put it off. I wouldn't leave +aunt Gritty out for the world. And I shall have very little time, for +I'm going away to a new situation on the 25th of June." + +"Maggie!" said Lucy, almost white with astonishment. + +"I didn't tell you, dear," said Maggie, making a great effort to +command herself, "because you've been so busy. But some time ago I +wrote to our old governess, Miss Firniss, to ask her to let me know if +she met with any situation that I could fill, and the other day I had +a letter from her telling me that I could take three orphan pupils of +hers to the coast during the holidays, and then make trial of a +situation with her as teacher. I wrote yesterday to accept the offer." + +Lucy felt so hurt that for some moments she was unable to speak. + +"Maggie," she said at last, "how could you be so unkind to me--not to +tell me--to take _such_ a step--and now!" She hesitated a little, and +then added, "And Philip? I thought everything was going to be so +happy. Oh, Maggie, what is the reason? Give it up; let me write. There +is nothing now to keep you and Philip apart." + +"Yes," said Maggie, faintly. "There is Tom's feeling. He said I must +give him up if I married Philip. And I know he will not change--at +least not for a long while--unless something happened to soften him." + +"But I will talk to him; he's coming back this week. And this good +news about the Mill will soften him. And I'll talk to him about +Philip. Tom's always very compliant to me; I don't think he's so +obstinate." + +"But I must go," said Maggie, in a distressed voice. "I must leave +some time to pack. Don't press me to stay, dear Lucy." + +Lucy was silent for two or three minutes, looking away and ruminating. +At length she knelt down by her cousin, and looking up in her face +with anxious seriousness, said,-- + +"Maggie, is it that you don't love Philip well enough to marry him? +Tell me--trust me." + +Maggie held Lucy's hands tightly in silence a little while. Her own +hands were quite cold. But when she spoke, her voice was quite clear +and distinct. + +"Yes, Lucy, I would choose to marry him. I think it would be the best +and highest lot for me,--to make his life happy. He loved me first. No +one else could be quite what he is to me. But I can't divide myself +from my brother for life. I must go away, and wait. Pray don't speak +to me again about it." + +Lucy obeyed in pain and wonder. The next word she said was,-- + +"Well, dear Maggie, at least you will go to the dance at Park House +to-morrow, and have some music and brightness, before you go to pay +these dull dutiful visits. Ah! here come aunty and the tea." + + + +Chapter X + +The Spell Seems Broken + + +The suite of rooms opening into each other at Park House looked duly +brilliant with lights and flowers and the personal splendors of +sixteen couples, with attendant parents and guardians. The focus of +brilliancy was the long drawing-room, where the dancing went forward, +under the inspiration of the grand piano; the library, into which it +opened at one end, had the more sober illumination of maturity, with +caps and cards; and at the other end the pretty sitting-room, with a +conservatory attached, was left as an occasional cool retreat. Lucy, +who had laid aside her black for the first time, and had her pretty +slimness set off by an abundant dress of white crape, was the +acknowledged queen of the occasion; for this was one of the Miss +Guests' thoroughly condescending parties, including no member of any +aristocracy higher than that of St. Ogg's, and stretching to the +extreme limits of commercial and professional gentility. + +Maggie at first refused to dance, saying that she had forgotten all +the figures--it was so many years since she had danced at school; and +she was glad to have that excuse, for it is ill dancing with a heavy +heart. But at length the music wrought in her young limbs, and the +longing came; even though it was the horrible young Torry, who walked +up a second time to try and persuade her. She warned him that she +could not dance anything but a country-dance; but he, of course, was +willing to wait for that high felicity, meaning only to be +complimentary when he assured her at several intervals that it was a +"great bore" that she couldn't waltz, he would have liked so much to +waltz with her. But at last it was the turn of the good old-fashioned +dance which has the least of vanity and the most of merriment in it, +and Maggie quite forgot her troublous life in a childlike enjoyment of +that half-rustic rhythm which seems to banish pretentious etiquette. +She felt quite charitably toward young Torry, as his hand bore her +along and held her up in the dance; her eyes and cheeks had that fire +of young joy in them which will flame out if it can find the least +breath to fan it; and her simple black dress, with its bit of black +lace, seemed like the dim setting of a jewel. + +Stephen had not yet asked her to dance; had not yet paid her more than +a passing civility. Since yesterday, that inward vision of her which +perpetually made part of his consciousness, had been half screened by +the image of Philip Wakem, which came across it like a blot; there was +some attachment between her and Philip; at least there was an +attachment on his side, which made her feel in some bondage. Here, +then, Stephen told himself, was another claim of honor which called on +him to resist the attraction that was continually threatening to +overpower him. He told himself so; and yet he had once or twice felt a +certain savage resistance, and at another moment a shuddering +repugnance, to this intrusion of Philip's image, which almost made it +a new incitement to rush toward Maggie and claim her for himself. +Nevertheless, he had done what he meant to do this evening,--he had +kept aloof from her; he had hardly looked at her; and he had been +gayly assiduous to Lucy. But now his eyes were devouring Maggie; he +felt inclined to kick young Torry out of the dance, and take his +place. Then he wanted the dance to end that he might get rid of his +partner. The possibility that he too should dance with Maggie, and +have her hand in his so long, was beginning to possess him like a +thirst. But even now their hands were meeting in the dance,--were +meeting still to the very end of it, though they were far off each +other. + +Stephen hardly knew what happened, or in what automatic way he got +through the duties of politeness in the interval, until he was free +and saw Maggie seated alone again, at the farther end of the room. He +made his way toward her round the couples that were forming for the +waltz; and when Maggie became conscious that she was the person he +sought, she felt, in spite of all the thoughts that had gone before, a +glowing gladness at heart. Her eyes and cheeks were still brightened +with her childlike enthusiasm in the dance; her whole frame was set to +joy and tenderness; even the coming pain could not seem bitter,--she +was ready to welcome it as a part of life, for life at this moment +seemed a keen, vibrating consciousness poised above pleasure or pain. +This one, this last night, she might expand unrestrainedly in the +warmth of the present, without those chill, eating thoughts of the +past and the future. + +"They're going to waltz again," said Stephen, bending to speak to her, +with that glance and tone of subdued tenderness which young dreams +create to themselves in the summer woods when low, cooing voices fill +the air. Such glances and tones bring the breath of poetry with them +into a room that is half stifling with glaring gas and hard +flirtation. + +"They are going to waltz again. It is rather dizzy work to look on, +and the room is very warm; shall we walk about a little?" + +He took her hand and placed it within his arm, and they walked on into +the sitting-room, where the tables were strewn with engravings for the +accommodation of visitors who would not want to look at them. But no +visitors were here at this moment. They passed on into the +conservatory. + +"How strange and unreal the trees and flowers look with the lights +among them!" said Maggie, in a low voice. "They look as if they +belonged to an enchanted land, and would never fade away; I could +fancy they were all made of jewels." + +She was looking at the tier of geraniums as she spoke, and Stephen +made no answer; but he was looking at her; and does not a supreme poet +blend light and sound into one, calling darkness mute, and light +eloquent? Something strangely powerful there was in the light of +Stephen's long gaze, for it made Maggie's face turn toward it and look +upward at it, slowly, like a flower at the ascending brightness. And +they walked unsteadily on, without feeling that they were walking; +without feeling anything but that long, grave, mutual gaze which has +the solemnity belonging to all deep human passion. The hovering +thought that they must and would renounce each other made this moment +of mute confession more intense in its rapture. + +But they had reached the end of the conservatory, and were obliged to +pause and turn. The change of movement brought a new consciousness to +Maggie; she blushed deeply, turned away her head, and drew her arm +from Stephen's, going up to some flowers to smell them. Stephen stood +motionless, and still pale. + +"Oh, may I get this rose?" said Maggie, making a great effort to say +something, and dissipate the burning sense of irretrievable +confession. "I think I am quite wicked with roses; I like to gather +them and smell them till they have no scent left." + +Stephen was mute; he was incapable of putting a sentence together, and +Maggie bent her arm a little upward toward the large half-opened rose +that had attracted her. Who has not felt the beauty of a woman's arm? +The unspeakable suggestions of tenderness that lie in the dimpled +elbow, and all the varied gently lessening curves, down to the +delicate wrist, with its tiniest, almost imperceptible nicks in the +firm softness. A woman's arm touched the soul of a great sculptor two +thousand years ago, so that he wrought an image of it for the +Parthenon which moves us still as it clasps lovingly the timeworn +marble of a headless trunk. Maggie's was such an arm as that, and it +had the warm tints of life. + +A mad impulse seized on Stephen; he darted toward the arm, and +showered kisses on it, clasping the wrist. + +But the next moment Maggie snatched it from him, and glared at him +like a wounded war-goddess, quivering with rage and humiliation. + +"How dare you?" She spoke in a deeply shaken, half-smothered voice. +"What right have I given you to insult me?" + +She darted from him into the adjoining room, and threw herself on the +sofa, panting and trembling. + +A horrible punishment was come upon her for the sin of allowing a +moment's happiness that was treachery to Lucy, to Philip, to her own +better soul. That momentary happiness had been smitten with a blight, +a leprosy; Stephen thought more lightly of _her_ than he did of Lucy. + +As for Stephen, he leaned back against the framework of the +conservatory, dizzy with the conflict of passions,--love, rage, and +confused despair; despair at his want of self-mastery, and despair +that he had offended Maggie. + +The last feeling surmounted every other; to be by her side again and +entreat forgiveness was the only thing that had the force of a motive +for him, and she had not been seated more than a few minutes when he +came and stood humbly before her. But Maggie's bitter rage was +unspent. + +"Leave me to myself, if you please," she said, with impetuous +haughtiness, "and for the future avoid me." + +Stephen turned away, and walked backward and forward at the other end +of the room. There was the dire necessity of going back into the +dancing-room again, and he was beginning to be conscious of that. They +had been absent so short a time, that when he went in again the waltz +was not ended. + +Maggie, too, was not long before she re-entered. All the pride of her +nature was stung into activity; the hateful weakness which had dragged +her within reach of this wound to her self-respect had at least +wrought its own cure. The thoughts and temptations of the last month +should all be flung away into an unvisited chamber of memory. There +was nothing to allure her now; duty would be easy, and all the old +calm purposes would reign peacefully once more. She re-entered the +drawing-room still with some excited brightness in her face, but with +a sense of proud self-command that defied anything to agitate her. She +refused to dance again, but she talked quite readily and calmly with +every one who addressed her. And when they got home that night, she +kissed Lucy with a free heart, almost exulting in this scorching +moment, which had delivered her from the possibility of another word +or look that would have the stamp of treachery toward that gentle, +unsuspicious sister. + +The next morning Maggie did not set off to Basset quite so soon as she +had expected. Her mother was to accompany her in the carriage, and +household business could not be dispatched hastily by Mrs. Tulliver. +So Maggie, who had been in a hurry to prepare herself, had to sit +waiting, equipped for the drive, in the garden. Lucy was busy in the +house wrapping up some bazaar presents for the younger ones at Basset, +and when there was a loud ring at the door-bell, Maggie felt some +alarm lest Lucy should bring out Stephen to her; it was sure to be +Stephen. + +But presently the visitor came out into the garden alone, and seated +himself by her on the garden-chair. It was not Stephen. + +"We can just catch the tips of the Scotch firs, Maggie, from this +seat," said Philip. + +They had taken each other's hands in silence, but Maggie had looked at +him with a more complete revival of the old childlike affectionate +smile than he had seen before, and he felt encouraged. + +"Yes," she said, "I often look at them, and wish I could see the low +sunlight on the stems again. But I have never been that way but +once,--to the churchyard with my mother." + +"I have been there, I go there, continually," said Philip. "I have +nothing but the past to live upon." + +A keen remembrance and keen pity impelled Maggie to put her hand in +Philip's. They had so often walked hand in hand! + +"I remember all the spots," she said,--"just where you told me of +particular things, beautiful stories that I had never heard of +before." + +"You will go there again soon, won't you, Maggie?" said Philip, +getting timid. "The Mill will soon be your brother's home again." + +"Yes; but I shall not be there," said Maggie. "I shall only hear of +that happiness. I am going away again; Lucy has not told you, +perhaps?" + +"Then the future will never join on to the past again, Maggie? That +book is quite closed?" + +The gray eyes that had so often looked up at her with entreating +worship, looked up at her now, with a last struggling ray of hope in +them, and Maggie met them with her large sincere gaze. + +"That book never will be closed, Philip," she said, with grave +sadness; "I desire no future that will break the ties of the past. But +the tie to my brother is one of the strongest. I can do nothing +willingly that will divide me always from him." + +"Is that the only reason that would keep us apart forever, Maggie?" +said Philip, with a desperate determination to have a definite answer. + +"The only reason," said Maggie, with calm decision. And she believed +it. At that moment she felt as if the enchanted cup had been dashed to +the ground. The reactionary excitement that gave her a proud +self-mastery had not subsided, and she looked at the future with a +sense of calm choice. + +They sat hand in hand without looking at each other or speaking for a +few minutes; in Maggie's mind the first scenes of love and parting +were more present than the actual moment, and she was looking at +Philip in the Red Deeps. + +Philip felt that he ought to have been thoroughly happy in that answer +of hers; she was as open and transparent as a rock-pool. Why was he +not thoroughly happy? Jealousy is never satisfied with anything short +of an omniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart. + + + +Chapter XI + +In the Lane + + +Maggie had been four days at her aunt Moss's giving the early June +sunshine quite a new brightness in the care-dimmed eyes of that +affectionate woman, and making an epoch for her cousins great and +small, who were learning her words and actions by heart, as if she had +been a transient avatar of perfect wisdom and beauty. + +She was standing on the causeway with her aunt and a group of cousins +feeding the chickens, at that quiet moment in the life of the +farmyards before the afternoon milking-time. The great buildings round +the hollow yard were as dreary and tumbledown as ever, but over the +old garden-wall the straggling rose-bushes were beginning to toss +their summer weight, and the gray wood and old bricks of the house, on +its higher level, had a look of sleepy age in the broad afternoon +sunlight, that suited the quiescent time. Maggie, with her bonnet over +her arm, was smiling down at the hatch of small fluffy chickens, when +her aunt exclaimed,-- + +"Goodness me! who is that gentleman coming in at the gate?" + +It was a gentleman on a tall bay horse; and the flanks and neck of the +horse were streaked black with fast riding. Maggie felt a beating at +head and heart, horrible as the sudden leaping to life of a savage +enemy who had feigned death. + +"Who is it, my dear?" said Mrs. Moss, seeing in Maggie's face the +evidence that she knew. + +"It is Mr. Stephen Guest," said Maggie, rather faintly. "My cousin +Lucy's--a gentleman who is very intimate at my cousin's." + +Stephen was already close to them, had jumped off his horse, and now +raised his hat as he advanced. + +"Hold the horse, Willy," said Mrs. Moss to the twelve-year-old boy. + +"No, thank you," said Stephen, pulling at the horse's impatiently +tossing head. "I must be going again immediately. I have a message to +deliver to you, Miss Tulliver, on private business. May I take the +liberty of asking you to walk a few yards with me?" + +He had a half-jaded, half-irritated look, such as a man gets when he +has been dogged by some care or annoyance that makes his bed and his +dinner of little use to him. He spoke almost abruptly, as if his +errand were too pressing for him to trouble himself about what would +be thought by Mrs. Moss of his visit and request. Good Mrs. Moss, +rather nervous in the presence of this apparently haughty gentleman, +was inwardly wondering whether she would be doing right or wrong to +invite him again to leave his horse and walk in, when Maggie, feeling +all the embarrassment of the situation, and unable to say anything, +put on her bonnet, and turned to walk toward the gate. + +Stephen turned too, and walked by her side, leading his horse. + +Not a word was spoken till they were out in the lane, and had walked +four or five yards, when Maggie, who had been looking straight before +her all the while, turned again to walk back, saying, with haughty +resentment,-- + +"There is no need for me to go any farther. I don't know whether you +consider it gentlemanly and delicate conduct to place me in a position +that forced me to come out with you, or whether you wished to insult +me still further by thrusting an interview upon me in this way." + +"Of course you are angry with me for coming," said Stephen, bitterly. +"Of course it is of no consequence what a man has to suffer; it is +only your woman's dignity that you care about." + +Maggie gave a slight start, such as might have come from the slightest +possible electric shock. + +"As if it were not enough that I'm entangled in this way; that I'm mad +with love for you; that I resist the strongest passion a man can feel, +because I try to be true to other claims; but you must treat me as if +I were a coarse brute, who would willingly offend you. And when, if I +had my own choice, I should ask you to take my hand and my fortune and +my whole life, and do what you liked with them! I know I forgot +myself. I took an unwarrantable liberty. I hate myself for having done +it. But I repented immediately; I've been repenting ever since. You +ought not to think it unpardonable; a man who loves with his whole +soul, as I do you, is liable to be mastered by his feelings for a +moment; but you know--you must believe--that the worst pain I could +have is to have pained you; that I would give the world to recall the +error." + +Maggie dared not speak, dared not turn her head. The strength that had +come from resentment was all gone, and her lips were quivering +visibly. She could not trust herself to utter the full forgiveness +that rose in answer to that confession. + +They were come nearly in front of the gate again, and she paused, +trembling. + +"You must not say these things; I must not hear them," she said, +looking down in misery, as Stephen came in front of her, to prevent +her from going farther toward the gate. "I'm very sorry for any pain +you have to go through; but it is of no use to speak." + +"Yes, it _is_ of use," said Stephen, impetuously. "It would be of use +if you would treat me with some sort of pity and consideration, +instead of doing me vile injustice in your mind. I could bear +everything more quietly if I knew you didn't hate me for an insolent +coxcomb. Look at me; see what a hunted devil I am; I've been riding +thirty miles every day to get away from the thought of you." + +Maggie did not--dared not--look. She had already seen the harassed +face. But she said gently,-- + +"I don't think any evil of you." + +"Then, dearest, look at me," said Stephen, in deepest, tenderest tones +of entreaty. "Don't go away from me yet. Give me a moment's happiness; +make me feel you've forgiven me." + +"Yes, I do forgive you," said Maggie, shaken by those tones, and all +the more frightened at herself. "But pray let me go in again. Pray go +away." + +A great tear fell from under her lowered eyelids. + +"I can't go away from you; I can't leave you," said Stephen, with +still more passionate pleading. "I shall come back again if you send +me away with this coldness; I can't answer for myself. But if you will +go with me only a little way I can live on that. You see plainly +enough that your anger has only made me ten times more unreasonable." + +Maggie turned. But Tancred, the bay horse, began to make such spirited +remonstrances against this frequent change of direction, that Stephen, +catching sight of Willy Moss peeping through the gate, called out, +"Here! just come and hold my horse for five minutes." + +"Oh, no," said Maggie, hurriedly, "my aunt will think it so strange." + +"Never mind," Stephen answered impatiently; "they don't know the +people at St. Ogg's. Lead him up and down just here for five minutes," +he added to Willy, who was now close to them; and then he turned to +Maggie's side, and they walked on. It was clear that she _must_ go on +now. + +"Take my arm," said Stephen, entreatingly; and she took it, feeling +all the while as if she were sliding downward in a nightmare. + +"There is no end to this misery," she began, struggling to repel the +influence by speech. "It is wicked--base--ever allowing a word or look +that Lucy--that others might not have seen. Think of Lucy." + +"I do think of her--bless her. If I didn't----" Stephen had laid his +hand on Maggie's that rested on his arm, and they both felt it +difficult to speak. + +"And I have other ties," Maggie went on, at last, with a desperate +effort, "even if Lucy did not exist." + +"You are engaged to Philip Wakem?" said Stephen, hastily. "Is it so?" + +"I consider myself engaged to him; I don't mean to marry any one +else." + +Stephen was silent again until they had turned out of the sun into a +side lane, all grassy and sheltered. Then he burst out impetuously,-- + +"It is unnatural, it is horrible. Maggie, if you loved me as I love +you, we should throw everything else to the winds for the sake of +belonging to each other. We should break all these mistaken ties that +were made in blindness, and determine to marry each other." + +"I would rather die than fall into that temptation," said Maggie, with +deep, slow distinctness, all the gathered spiritual force of painful +years coming to her aid in this extremity. She drew her arm from his +as she spoke. + +"Tell me, then, that you don't care for me," he said, almost +violently. "Tell me that you love some one else better." + +It darted through Maggie's mind that here was a mode of releasing +herself from outward struggle,--to tell Stephen that her whole heart +was Philip's. But her lips would not utter that, and she was silent. + +"If you do love me, dearest," said Stephen, gently, taking her hand +again and laying it within his arm, "it is better--it is right that we +should marry each other. We can't help the pain it will give. It is +come upon us without our seeking; it is natural; it has taken hold of +me in spite of every effort I have made to resist it. God knows, I've +been trying to be faithful to tacit engagements, and I've only made +things worse; I'd better have given way at first." + +Maggie was silent. If it were _not_ wrong--if she were once convinced +of that, and need no longer beat and struggle against this current, +soft and yet strong as the summer stream! + +"Say 'yes,' dearest," said Stephen, leaning to look entreatingly in +her face. "What could we care about in the whole world beside, if we +belonged to each other?" + +Her breath was on his face, his lips were very near hers, but there +was a great dread dwelling in his love for her. + +Her lips and eyelids quivered; she opened her eyes full on his for an +instant, like a lovely wild animal timid and struggling under +caresses, and then turned sharp round toward home again. + +"And after all," he went on, in an impatient tone, trying to defeat +his own scruples as well as hers, "I am breaking no positive +engagement; if Lucy's affections had been withdrawn from me and given +to some one else, I should have felt no right to assert a claim on +her. If you are not absolutely pledged to Philip, we are neither of us +bound." + +"You don't believe that; it is not your real feeling," said Maggie, +earnestly. "You feel, as I do, that the real tie lies in the feelings +and expectations we have raised in other minds. Else all pledges might +be broken, when there was no outward penalty. There would be no such +thing as faithfulness." + +Stephen was silent; he could not pursue that argument; the opposite +conviction had wrought in him too strongly through his previous time +of struggle. But it soon presented itself in a new form. + +"The pledge _can't_ be fulfilled," he said, with impetuous insistence. +"It is unnatural; we can only pretend to give ourselves to any one +else. There is wrong in that too; there may be misery in it for _them_ +as well as for us. Maggie, you must see that; you do see that." + +He was looking eagerly at her face for the least sign of compliance; +his large, firm, gentle grasp was on her hand. She was silent for a +few moments, with her eyes fixed on the ground; then she drew a deep +breath, and said, looking up at him with solemn sadness,-- + +"Oh, it is difficult,--life is very difficult! It seems right to me +sometimes that we should follow our strongest feeling; but then, such +feelings continually come across the ties that all our former life has +made for us,--the ties that have made others dependent on us,--and +would cut them in two. If life were quite easy and simple, as it might +have been in Paradise, and we could always see that one being first +toward whom--I mean, if life did not make duties for us before love +comes, love would be a sign that two people ought to belong to each +other. But I see--I feel it is not so now; there are things we must +renounce in life; some of us must resign love. Many things are +difficult and dark to me; but I see one thing quite clearly,--that I +must not, cannot, seek my own happiness by sacrificing others. Love is +natural; but surely pity and faithfulness and memory are natural too. +And they would live in me still, and punish me if I did not obey them. +I should be haunted by the suffering I had caused. Our love would be +poisoned. Don't urge me; help me,--help me, _because_ I love you." + +Maggie had become more and more earnest as she went on; her face had +become flushed, and her eyes fuller and fuller of appealing love. +Stephen had the fibre of nobleness in him that vibrated to her appeal; +but in the same moment--how could it be otherwise?--that pleading +beauty gained new power over him. + +"Dearest," he said, in scarcely more than a whisper, while his arm +stole round her, "I'll do, I'll bear anything you wish. But--one +kiss--one--the last--before we part." + +One kiss, and then a long look, until Maggie said tremulously, "Let me +go,--let me make haste back." + +She hurried along, and not another word was spoken. Stephen stood +still and beckoned when they came within sight of Willy and the horse, +and Maggie went on through the gate. Mrs. Moss was standing alone at +the door of the old porch; she had sent all the cousins in, with kind +thoughtfulness. It might be a joyful thing that Maggie had a rich and +handsome lover, but she would naturally feel embarrassed at coming in +again; and it might _not_ be joyful. In either case Mrs. Moss waited +anxiously to receive Maggie by herself. The speaking face told plainly +enough that, if there was joy, it was of a very agitating, dubious +sort. + +"Sit down here a bit, my dear." She drew Maggie into the porch, and +sat down on the bench by her; there was no privacy in the house. + +"Oh, aunt Gritty, I'm very wretched! I wish I could have died when I +was fifteen. It seemed so easy to give things up then; it is so hard +now." + +The poor child threw her arms round her aunt's neck, and fell into +long, deep sobs. + + + +Chapter XII + +A Family Party + + +Maggie left her good aunt Gritty at the end of the week, and went to +Garum Firs to pay her visit to aunt Pullet according to agreement. In +the mean time very unexpected things had happened, and there was to be +a family party at Garum to discuss and celebrate a change in the +fortunes of the Tullivers, which was likely finally to carry away the +shadow of their demerits like the last limb of an eclipse, and cause +their hitherto obscured virtues to shine forth in full-rounded +splendor. It is pleasant to know that a new ministry just come into +office are not the only fellow-men who enjoy a period of high +appreciation and full-blown eulogy; in many respectable families +throughout this realm, relatives becoming creditable meet with a +similar cordiality of recognition, which in its fine freedom from the +coercion of any antecedents, suggests the hopeful possibility that we +may some day without any notice find ourselves in full millennium, +with cockatrices who have ceased to bite, and wolves that no longer +show their teeth with any but the blandest intentions. + +Lucy came so early as to have the start even of aunt Glegg; for she +longed to have some undisturbed talk with Maggie about the wonderful +news. It seemed, did it not? said Lucy, with her prettiest air of +wisdom, as if everything, even other people's misfortunes (poor +creatures!) were conspiring now to make poor dear aunt Tulliver, and +cousin Tom, and naughty Maggie too, if she were not obstinately bent +on the contrary, as happy as they deserved to be after all their +troubles. To think that the very day--the _very day_--after Tom had +come back from Newcastle, that unfortunate young Jetsome, whom Mr. +Wakem had placed at the Mill, had been pitched off his horse in a +drunken fit, and was lying at St. Ogg's in a dangerous state, so that +Wakem had signified his wish that the new purchasers should enter on +the premises at once! + +It was very dreadful for that unhappy young man, but it did seem as if +the misfortune had happened then, rather than at any other time, in +order that cousin Tom might all the sooner have the fit reward of his +exemplary conduct,--papa thought so very highly of him. Aunt Tulliver +must certainly go to the Mill now, and keep house for Tom; that was +rather a loss to Lucy in the matter of household comfort; but then, to +think of poor aunty being in her old place again, and gradually +getting comforts about her there! + +On this last point Lucy had her cunning projects, and when she and +Maggie had made their dangerous way down the bright stairs into the +handsome parlor, where the very sunbeams seemed cleaner than +elsewhere, she directed her manœuvres, as any other great tactician +would have done, against the weaker side of the enemy. + +"Aunt Pullet," she said, seating herself on the sofa, and caressingly +adjusting that lady's floating cap-string, "I want you to make up your +mind what linen and things you will give Tom toward housekeeping; +because you are always so generous,--you give such nice things, you +know; and if you set the example, aunt Glegg will follow." + +"That she never can, my dear," said Mrs. Pullet, with unusual vigor, +"for she hasn't got the linen to follow suit wi' mine, I can tell you. +She'd niver the taste, not if she'd spend the money. Big checks and +live things, like stags and foxes, all her table-linen is,--not a spot +nor a diamond among 'em. But it's poor work dividing one's linen +before one dies,--I niver thought to ha' done that, Bessy," Mrs. +Pullet continued, shaking her head and looking at her sister Tulliver, +"when you and me chose the double diamont, the first flax iver we'd +spun, and the Lord knows where yours is gone." + +"I'd no choice, I'm sure, sister," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, accustomed +to consider herself in the light of an accused person. "I'm sure it +was no wish o' mine, iver, as I should lie awake o' nights thinking o' +my best bleached linen all over the country." + +"Take a peppermint, Mrs. Tulliver," said uncle Pullet, feeling that he +was offering a cheap and wholesome form of comfort, which he was +recommending by example. + +"Oh, but, aunt Pullet," said Lucy, "you've so much beautiful linen. +And suppose you had had daughters! Then you must have divided it when +they were married." + +"Well, I don't say as I won't do it," said Mrs. Pullet, "for now Tom's +so lucky, it's nothing but right his friends should look on him and +help him. There's the tablecloths I bought at your sale, Bessy; it was +nothing but good natur' o' me to buy 'em, for they've been lying in +the chest ever since. But I'm not going to give Maggie any more o' my +Indy muslin and things, if she's to go into service again, when she +might stay and keep me company, and do my sewing for me, if she wasn't +wanted at her brother's." + +"Going into service" was the expression by which the Dodson mind +represented to itself the position of teacher or governess; and +Maggie's return to that menial condition, now circumstances offered +her more eligible prospects, was likely to be a sore point with all +her relatives, besides Lucy. Maggie in her crude form, with her hair +down her back, and altogether in a state of dubious promise, was a +most undesirable niece; but now she was capable of being at once +ornamental and useful. The subject was revived in aunt and uncle +Glegg's presence, over the tea and muffins. + +"Hegh, hegh!" said Mr. Glegg, good-naturedly patting Maggie on the +back, "nonsense, nonsense! Don't let us hear of you taking a place +again, Maggie. Why, you must ha' picked up half-a-dozen sweethearts at +the bazaar; isn't there one of 'em the right sort of article? Come, +now?" + +"Mr. Glegg," said his wife, with that shade of increased politeness in +her severity which she always put on with her crisper fronts, "you'll +excuse me, but you're far too light for a man of your years. It's +respect and duty to her aunts, and the rest of her kin as are so good +to her, should have kept my niece from fixing about going away again +without consulting us; not sweethearts, if I'm to use such a word, +though it was never heared in _my_ family." + +"Why, what did they call us, when we went to see 'em, then, eh, +neighbor Pullet? They thought us sweet enough then," said Mr. Glegg, +winking pleasantly; while Mr. Pullet, at the suggestion of sweetness, +took a little more sugar. + +"Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., "if you're going to be undelicate, let me +know." + +"La, Jane, your husband's only joking," said Mrs. Pullet; "let him +joke while he's got health and strength. There's poor Mr. Tilt got his +mouth drawn all o' one side, and couldn't laugh if he was to try." + +"I'll trouble you for the muffineer, then, Mr. Glegg," said Mrs. G., +"if I may be so bold to interrupt your joking. Though it's other +people must see the joke in a niece's putting a slight on her mother's +eldest sister, as is the head o' the family; and only coming in and +out on short visits, all the time she's been in the town, and then +settling to go away without my knowledge,--as I'd laid caps out on +purpose for her to make 'em up for me,--and me as have divided my +money so equal----" + +"Sister," Mrs. Tulliver broke in anxiously, "I'm sure Maggie never +thought o' going away without staying at your house as well as the +others. Not as it's my wish she should go away at all, but quite +contrairy. I'm sure I'm innocent. I've said over and over again, 'My +dear, you've no call to go away.' But there's ten days or a fortnight +Maggie'll have before she's fixed to go; she can stay at your house +just as well, and I'll step in when I can, and so will Lucy." + +"Bessy," said Mrs. Glegg, "if you'd exercise a little more thought, +you might know I should hardly think it was worth while to unpin a +bed, and go to all that trouble now, just at the end o' the time, when +our house isn't above a quarter of an hour's walk from Mr. Deane's. +She can come the first thing in the morning, and go back the last at +night, and be thankful she's got a good aunt so close to her to come +and sit with. I know _I_ should, when I was her age." + +"La, Jane," said Mrs. Pullet, "it 'ud do your beds good to have +somebody to sleep in 'em. There's that striped room smells dreadful +mouldy, and the glass mildewed like anything. I'm sure I thought I +should be struck with death when you took me in." + +"Oh, there is Tom!" exclaimed Lucy, clapping her hands. "He's come on +Sindbad, as I told him. I was afraid he was not going to keep his +promise." + +Maggie jumped up to kiss Tom as he entered, with strong feeling, at +this first meeting since the prospect of returning to the Mill had +been opened to him; and she kept his hand, leading him to the chair by +her side. To have no cloud between herself and Tom was still a +perpetual yearning in her, that had its root deeper than all change. +He smiled at her very kindly this evening, and said, "Well, Magsie, +how's aunt Moss?" + +"Come, come, sir," said Mr. Glegg putting out his hand. "Why, you're +such a big man, you carry all before you, it, seems. You're come into +your luck a good deal earlier than us old folks did; but I wish you +joy, I wish you joy. You'll get the Mill all for your own again some +day, I'll be bound. You won't stop half-way up the hill." + +"But I hope he'll bear in mind as it's his mother's family as he owes +it to," said Mrs. Glegg. "If he hadn't had them to take after, he'd +ha' been poorly off. There was never any failures, nor lawing, nor +wastefulness in our family, nor dying without wills----" + +"No, nor sudden deaths," said aunt Pullet; "allays the doctor called +in. But Tom had the Dodson skin; I said that from the first. And I +don't know what _you_ mean to do, sister Glegg, but I mean to give him +a tablecloth of all my three biggest sizes but one, besides sheets. I +don't say what more I shall do; but _that_ I shall do, and if I should +die to-morrow, Mr. Pullet, you'll bear it in mind,--though you'll be +blundering with the keys, and never remember as that on the third +shelf o' the left-hand wardrobe, behind the night-caps with the broad +ties,--not the narrow-frilled uns,--is the key of the drawer in the +Blue Room, where the key o' the Blue Closet is. You'll make a mistake, +and I shall niver be worthy to know it. You've a memory for my pills +and draughts, wonderful,--I'll allays say that of you,--but you're +lost among the keys." This gloomy prospect of the confusion that would +ensue on her decease was very affecting to Mrs. Pullet. + +"You carry it too far, Sophy,--that locking in and out," said Mrs. +Glegg, in a tone of some disgust at this folly. "You go beyond your +own family. There's nobody can say I don't lock up; but I do what's +reasonable, and no more. And as for the linen, I shall look out what's +serviceable, to make a present of to my nephey; I've got cloth as has +never been whitened, better worth having than other people's fine +holland; and I hope he'll lie down in it and think of his aunt." + +Tom thanked Mrs. Glegg, but evaded any promise to meditate nightly on +her virtues; and Mrs. Glegg effected a diversion for him by asking +about Mr. Deane's intentions concerning steam. + +Lucy had had her far-sighted views in begging Tom to come on Sindbad. +It appeared, when it was time to go home, that the man-servant was to +ride the horse, and cousin Tom was to drive home his mother and Lucy. +"You must sit by yourself, aunty," said that contriving young lady, +"because I must sit by Tom; I've a great deal to say to him." + +In the eagerness of her affectionate anxiety for Maggie, Lucy could +not persuade herself to defer a conversation about her with Tom, who, +she thought, with such a cup of joy before him as this rapid +fulfilment of his wish about the Mill, must become pliant and +flexible. Her nature supplied her with no key to Tom's; and she was +puzzled as well as pained to notice the unpleasant change on his +countenance when she gave him the history of the way in which Philip +had used his influence with his father. She had counted on this +revelation as a great stroke of policy, which was to turn Tom's heart +toward Philip at once, and, besides that, prove that the elder Wakem +was ready to receive Maggie with all the honors of a daughter-in-law. +Nothing was wanted, then, but for dear Tom, who always had that +pleasant smile when he looked at cousin Lucy, to turn completely +round, say the opposite of what he had always said before, and declare +that he, for his part, was delighted that all the old grievances +should be healed, and that Maggie should have Philip with all suitable +despatch; in cousin Lucy's opinion nothing could be easier. + +But to minds strongly marked by the positive and negative qualities +that create severity,--strength of will, conscious rectitude of +purpose, narrowness of imagination and intellect, great power of +self-control, and a disposition to exert control over others,--prejudices +come as the natural food of tendencies which can get no sustenance +out of that complex, fragmentary, doubt-provoking knowledge which +we call truth. Let a prejudice be bequeathed, carried in the air, +adopted by hearsay, caught in through the eye,--however it may come, +these minds will give it a habitation; it is something to assert +strongly and bravely, something to fill up the void of spontaneous +ideas, something to impose on others with the authority of conscious +right; it is at once a staff and a baton. Every prejudice that will +answer these purposes is self-evident. Our good, upright Tom Tulliver's +mind was of this class; his inward criticism of his father's faults +did not prevent him from adopting his father's prejudice; it was a +prejudice against a man of lax principle and lax life, and it was a +meeting-point for all the disappointed feelings of family and personal +pride. Other feelings added their force to produce Tom's bitter +repugnance to Philip, and to Maggie's union with him; and +notwithstanding Lucy's power over her strong-willed cousin, she got +nothing but a cold refusal ever to sanction such a marriage; "but of +course Maggie could do as she liked,--she had declared her +determination to be independent. For Tom's part, he held himself bound +by his duty to his father's memory, and by every manly feeling, never +to consent to any relation with the Wakems." + +Thus, all that Lucy had effected by her zealous mediation was to fill +Tom's mind with the expectation that Maggie's perverse resolve to go +into a situation again would presently metamorphose itself, as her +resolves were apt to do, into something equally perverse, but entirely +different,--a marriage with Philip Wakem. + + + +Chapter XIII + +Borne Along by the Tide + + +In less than a week Maggie was at St. Ogg's again,--outwardly in much +the same position as when her visit there had just begun. It was easy +for her to fill her mornings apart from Lucy without any obvious +effort; for she had her promised visits to pay to her aunt Glegg, and +it was natural that she should give her mother more than usual of her +companionship in these last weeks, especially as there were +preparations to be thought of for Tom's housekeeping. But Lucy would +hear of no pretext for her remaining away in the evenings; she must +always come from aunt Glegg's before dinner,--"else what shall I have +of you?" said Lucy, with a tearful pout that could not be resisted. + +And Mr. Stephen Guest had unaccountably taken to dining at Mr. Deane's +as often as possible, instead of avoiding that, as he used to do. At +first he began his mornings with a resolution that he would not dine +there, not even go in the evening, till Maggie was away. He had even +devised a plan of starting off on a journey in this agreeable June +weather; the headaches which he had constantly been alleging as a +ground for stupidity and silence were a sufficient ostensible motive. +But the journey was not taken, and by the fourth morning no distinct +resolution was formed about the evenings; they were only foreseen as +times when Maggie would still be present for a little while,--when one +more touch, one more glance, might be snatched. For why not? There was +nothing to conceal between them; they knew, they had confessed their +love, and they had renounced each other; they were going to part. +Honor and conscience were going to divide them; Maggie, with that +appeal from her inmost soul, had decided it; but surely they might +cast a lingering look at each other across the gulf, before they +turned away never to look again till that strange light had forever +faded out of their eyes. + +Maggie, all this time, moved about with a quiescence and even torpor +of manner, so contrasted with her usual fitful brightness and ardor, +that Lucy would have had to seek some other cause for such a change, +if she had not been convinced that the position in which Maggie stood +between Philip and her brother, and the prospect of her self-imposed +wearisome banishment, were quite enough to account for a large amount +of depression. But under this torpor there was a fierce battle of +emotions, such as Maggie in all her life of struggle had never known +or foreboded; it seemed to her as if all the worst evil in her had +lain in ambush till now, and had suddenly started up full-armed, with +hideous, overpowering strength! There were moments in which a cruel +selfishness seemed to be getting possession of her; why should not +Lucy, why should not Philip, suffer? _She_ had had to suffer through +many years of her life; and who had renounced anything for her? And +when something like that fulness of existence--love, wealth, ease, +refinement, all that her nature craved--was brought within her reach, +why was she to forego it, that another might have it,--another, who +perhaps needed it less? But amidst all this new passionate tumult +there were the old voices making themselves heard with rising power, +till, from time to time, the tumult seemed quelled. _Was_ that +existence which tempted her the full existence she dreamed? Where, +then, would be all the memories of early striving; all the deep pity +for another's pain, which had been nurtured in her through years of +affection and hardship; all the divine presentiment of something +higher than mere personal enjoyment, which had made the sacredness of +life? She might as well hope to enjoy walking by maiming her feet, as +hope to enjoy an existence in which she set out by maiming the faith +and sympathy that were the best organs of her soul. And then, if pain +were so hard to _her_, what was it to others? "Ah, God! preserve me +from inflicting--give me strength to bear it." How had she sunk into +this struggle with a temptation that she would once have thought +herself as secure from as from deliberate crime? When was that first +hateful moment in which she had been conscious of a feeling that +clashed with her truth, affection, and gratitude, and had not shaken +it from her with horror, as if it had been a loathsome thing? And yet, +since this strange, sweet, subduing influence did not, should not, +conquer her,--since it was to remain simply her own suffering,--her +mind was meeting Stephen's in that thought of his, that they might +still snatch moments of mute confession before the parting came. For +was not he suffering too? She saw it daily--saw it in the sickened +look of fatigue with which, as soon as he was not compelled to exert +himself, he relapsed into indifference toward everything but the +possibility of watching her. Could she refuse sometimes to answer that +beseeching look which she felt to be following her like a low murmur +of love and pain? She refused it less and less, till at last the +evening for them both was sometimes made of a moment's mutual gaze; +they thought of it till it came, and when it had come, they thought of +nothing else. + +One other thing Stephen seemed now and then to care for, and that was +to sing; it was a way of speaking to Maggie. Perhaps he was not +distinctly conscious that he was impelled to it by a secret +longing--running counter to all his self-confessed resolves--to deepen +the hold he had on her. Watch your own speech, and notice how it is +guided by your less conscious purposes, and you will understand that +contradiction in Stephen. + +Philip Wakem was a less frequent visitor, but he came occasionally in +the evening, and it happened that he was there when Lucy said, as they +sat out on the lawn, near sunset,-- + +"Now Maggie's tale of visits to aunt Glegg is completed, I mean that +we shall go out boating every day until she goes. She has not had half +enough boating because of these tiresome visits, and she likes it +better than anything. Don't you, Maggie?" + +"Better than any sort of locomotion, I hope you mean," said Philip, +smiling at Maggie, who was lolling backward in a low garden-chair; +"else she will be selling her soul to that ghostly boatman who haunts +the Floss, only for the sake of being drifted in a boat forever." + +"Should you like to be her boatman?" said Lucy. "Because, if you +would, you can come with us and take an oar. If the Floss were but a +quiet lake instead of a river, we should be independent of any +gentleman, for Maggie can row splendidly. As it is, we are reduced to +ask services of knights and squires, who do not seem to offer them +with great alacrity." + +She looked playful reproach at Stephen, who was sauntering up and +down, and was just singing in pianissimo falsetto,-- + + "The thirst that from the soul doth rise + Doth ask a drink divine." + +He took no notice, but still kept aloof; he had done so frequently +during Philip's recent visits. + +"You don't seem inclined for boating," said Lucy, when he came to sit +down by her on the bench. "Doesn't rowing suit you now?" + +"Oh, I hate a large party in a boat," he said, almost irritably. "I'll +come when you have no one else." + +Lucy colored, fearing that Philip would be hurt; it was quite a new +thing for Stephen to speak in that way; but he had certainly not been +well of late. Philip colored too, but less from a feeling of personal +offence than from a vague suspicion that Stephen's moodiness had some +relation to Maggie, who had started up from her chair as he spoke, and +had walked toward the hedge of laurels to look at the descending +sunlight on the river. + +"As Miss Deane didn't know she was excluding others by inviting me," +said Philip, "I am bound to resign." + +"No, indeed, you shall not," said Lucy, much vexed. "I particularly +wish for your company to-morrow. The tide will suit at half-past ten; +it will be a delicious time for a couple of hours to row to Luckreth +and walk back, before the sun gets too hot. And how can you object to +four people in a boat?" she added, looking at Stephen. + +"I don't object to the people, but the number," said Stephen, who had +recovered himself, and was rather ashamed of his rudeness. "If I voted +for a fourth at all, of course it would be you, Phil. But we won't +divide the pleasure of escorting the ladies; we'll take it +alternately. I'll go the next day." + +This incident had the effect of drawing Philip's attention with +freshened solicitude toward Stephen and Maggie; but when they +re-entered the house, music was proposed, and Mrs. Tulliver and Mr. +Deane being occupied with cribbage, Maggie sat apart near the table +where the books and work were placed, doing nothing, however, but +listening abstractedly to the music. Stephen presently turned to a +duet which he insisted that Lucy and Philip should sing; he had often +done the same thing before; but this evening Philip thought he divined +some double intention in every word and look of Stephen's, and watched +him keenly, angry with himself all the while for this clinging +suspicion. For had not Maggie virtually denied any ground for his +doubts on her side? And she was truth itself; it was impossible not to +believe her word and glance when they had last spoken together in the +garden. Stephen might be strongly fascinated by her (what was more +natural?), but Philip felt himself rather base for intruding on what +must be his friend's painful secret. Still he watched. Stephen, moving +away from the piano, sauntered slowly toward the table near which +Maggie sat, and turned over the newspapers, apparently in mere +idleness. Then he seated himself with his back to the piano, dragging +a newspaper under his elbow, and thrusting his hand through his hair, +as if he had been attracted by some bit of local news in the "Laceham +Courier." He was in reality looking at Maggie who had not taken the +slightest notice of his approach. She had always additional strength +of resistance when Philip was present, just as we can restrain our +speech better in a spot that we feel to be hallowed. But at last she +heard the word "dearest" uttered in the softest tone of pained +entreaty, like that of a patient who asks for something that ought to +have been given without asking. She had never heard that word since +the moments in the lane at Basset, when it had come from Stephen again +and again, almost as involuntarily as if it had been an inarticulate +cry. Philip could hear no word, but he had moved to the opposite side +of the piano, and could see Maggie start and blush, raise her eyes an +instant toward Stephen's face, but immediately look apprehensively +toward himself. It was not evident to her that Philip had observed +her; but a pang of shame, under the sense of this concealment, made +her move from her chair and walk to her mother's side to watch the +game at cribbage. + +Philip went home soon after in a state of hideous doubt mingled with +wretched certainty. It was impossible for him now to resist the +conviction that there was some mutual consciousness between Stephen +and Maggie; and for half the night his irritable, susceptible nerves +were pressed upon almost to frenzy by that one wretched fact; he could +attempt no explanation that would reconcile it with her words and +actions. When, at last, the need for belief in Maggie rose to its +habitual predominance, he was not long in imagining the truth,--she +was struggling, she was banishing herself; this was the clue to all he +had seen since his return. But athwart that belief there came other +possibilities that would not be driven out of sight. His imagination +wrought out the whole story; Stephen was madly in love with her; he +must have told her so; she had rejected him, and was hurrying away. +But would he give her up, knowing--Philip felt the fact with +heart-crushing despair--that she was made half helpless by her feeling +toward him? + +When the morning came, Philip was too ill to think of keeping his +engagement to go in the boat. In his present agitation he could decide +on nothing; he could only alternate between contradictory intentions. +First, he thought he must have an interview with Maggie, and entreat +her to confide in him; then, again, he distrusted his own +interference. Had he not been thrusting himself on Maggie all along? +She had uttered words long ago in her young ignorance; it was enough +to make her hate him that these should be continually present with her +as a bond. And had he any right to ask her for a revelation of +feelings which she had evidently intended to withhold from him? He +would not trust himself to see her, till he had assured himself that +he could act from pure anxiety for her, and not from egoistic +irritation. He wrote a brief note to Stephen, and sent it early by the +servant, saying that he was not well enough to fulfil his engagement +to Miss Deane. Would Stephen take his excuse, and fill his place? + +Lucy had arranged a charming plan, which had made her quite content +with Stephen's refusal to go in the boat. She discovered that her +father was to drive to Lindum this morning at ten; Lindum was the very +place she wanted to go to, to make purchases,--important purchases, +which must by no means be put off to another opportunity; and aunt +Tulliver must go too, because she was concerned in some of the +purchases. + +"You will have your row in the boat just the same, you know," she said +to Maggie when they went out of the breakfast-room and upstairs +together; "Philip will be here it half-past ten, and it is a delicious +morning. Now don't say a word against it, you dear dolorous thing. +What is the use of my being a fairy godmother, if you set your face +against all the wonders I work for you? Don't think of awful cousin +Tom; you may disobey him a little." + +Maggie did not persist in objecting. She was almost glad of the plan, +for perhaps it would bring her some strength and calmness to be alone +with Philip again; it was like revisiting the scene of a quieter life, +in which the very struggles were repose, compared with the daily +tumult of the present. She prepared herself for the boat and at +half-past ten sat waiting in the drawing-room. + +The ring of the door-bell was punctual, and she was thinking with +half-sad, affectionate pleasure of the surprise Philip would have in +finding that he was to be with her alone, when she distinguished a +firm, rapid step across the hall, that was certainly not Philip's; the +door opened, and Stephen Guest entered. + +In the first moment they were both too much agitated to speak; for +Stephen had learned from the servant that the others were gone out. +Maggie had started up and sat down again, with her heart beating +violently; and Stephen, throwing down his cap and gloves, came and sat +by her in silence. She thought Philip would be coming soon; and with +great effort--for she trembled visibly--she rose to go to a distant +chair. + +"He is not coming," said Stephen, in a low tone. "I am going in the +boat." + +"Oh, we can't go," said Maggie, sinking into her chair again. "Lucy +did not expect--she would be hurt. Why is not Philip come?" + +"He is not well; he asked me to come instead." + +"Lucy is gone to Lindum," said Maggie, taking off her bonnet with +hurried, trembling fingers. "We must not go." + +"Very well," said Stephen, dreamily, looking at her, as he rested his +arm on the back of his chair. "Then we'll stay here." + +He was looking into her deep, deep eyes, far off and mysterious at the +starlit blackness, and yet very near, and timidly loving. Maggie sat +perfectly still--perhaps for moments, perhaps for minutes--until the +helpless trembling had ceased, and there was a warm glow on her check. + +"The man is waiting; he has taken the cushions," she said. "Will you +go and tell him?" + +"What shall I tell him?" said Stephen, almost in a whisper. He was +looking at the lips now. + +Maggie made no answer. + +"Let us go," Stephen murmured entreatingly, rising, and taking her +hand to raise her too. "We shall not be long together." + +And they went. Maggie felt that she was being led down the garden +among the roses, being helped with firm, tender care into the boat, +having the cushion and cloak arranged for her feet, and her parasol +opened for her (which she had forgotten), all by this stronger +presence that seemed to bear her along without any act of her own +will, like the added self which comes with the sudden exalting +influence of a strong tonic, and she felt nothing else. Memory was +excluded. + +They glided rapidly along, Stephen rowing, helped by the +backward-flowing tide, past the Tofton trees and houses; on between +the silent sunny fields and pastures, which seemed filled with a +natural joy that had no reproach for theirs. The breath of the young, +unwearied day, the delicious rhythmic dip of the oars, the fragmentary +song of a passing bird heard now and then, as if it were only the +overflowing of brimful gladness, the sweet solitude of a twofold +consciousness that was mingled into one by that grave, untiring gaze +which need not be averted,--what else could there be in their minds +for the first hour? Some low, subdued, languid exclamation of love +came from Stephen from time to time, as he went on rowing idly, half +automatically; otherwise they spoke no word; for what could words have +been but an inlet to thought? and thought did not belong to that +enchanted haze in which they were enveloped,--it belonged to the past +and the future that lay outside the haze. Maggie was only dimly +conscious of the banks, as they passed them, and dwelt with no +recognition on the villages; she knew there were several to be passed +before they reached Luckreth, where they always stopped and left the +boat. At all times she was so liable to fits of absence, that she was +likely enough to let her waymarks pass unnoticed. + +But at last Stephen, who had been rowing more and more idly, ceased to +row, laid down the oars, folded his arms, and looked down on the water +as if watching the pace at which the boat glided without his help. +This sudden change roused Maggie. She looked at the far-stretching +fields, at the banks close by, and felt that they were entirely +strange to her. A terrible alarm took possession of her. + +"Oh, have we passed Luckreth, where we were to stop?" she exclaimed, +looking back to see if the place were out of sight. No village was to +be seen. She turned around again, with a look of distressed +questioning at Stephen. + +He went on watching the water, and said, in a strange, dreamy, absent +tone, "Yes, a long way." + +"Oh, what shall I do?" cried Maggie, in an agony. "We shall not get +home for hours, and Lucy? O God, help me!" + +She clasped her hands and broke into a sob, like a frightened child; +she thought of nothing but of meeting Lucy, and seeing her look of +pained surprise and doubt, perhaps of just upbraiding. + +Stephen moved and sat near her, and gently drew down the clasped +hands. + +"Maggie," he said, in a deep tone of slow decision, "let us never go +home again, till no one can part us,--till we are married." + +The unusual tone, the startling words, arrested Maggie's sob, and she +sat quite still, wondering; as if Stephen might have seen some +possibilities that would alter everything, and annul the wretched +facts. + +"See, Maggie, how everything has come without our seeking,--in spite +of all our efforts. We never thought of being alone together again; it +has all been done by others. See how the tide is carrying us out, away +from all those unnatural bonds that we have been trying to make faster +round us, and trying in vain. It will carry us on to Torby, and we can +land there, and get some carriage, and hurry on to York and then to +Scotland,--and never pause a moment till we are bound to each other, +so that only death can part us. It is the only right thing, dearest; +it is the only way of escaping from this wretched entanglement. +Everything has concurred to point it out to us. We have contrived +nothing, we have thought of nothing ourselves." + +Stephen spoke with deep, earnest pleading. Maggie listened, passing +from her startled wonderment to the yearning after that belief that +the tide was doing it all, that she might glide along with the swift, +silent stream, and not struggle any more. But across that stealing +influence came the terrible shadow of past thoughts; and the sudden +horror lest now, at last, the moment of fatal intoxication was close +upon her, called up feelings of angry resistance toward Stephen. + +"Let me go!" she said, in an agitated tone, flashing an indignant look +at him, and trying to get her hands free. "You have wanted to deprive +me of any choice. You knew we were come too far; you have dared to +take advantage of my thoughtlessness. It is unmanly to bring me into +such a position." + +Stung by this reproach, he released her hands, moved back to his +former place, and folded his arms, in a sort of desperation at the +difficulty Maggie's words had made present to him. If she would not +consent to go on, he must curse himself for the embarrassment he had +led her into. But the reproach was the unendurable thing; the one +thing worse than parting with her was, that she should feel he had +acted unworthily toward her. At last he said, in a tone of suppressed +rage,-- + +"I didn't notice that we had passed Luckreth till we had got to the +next village; and then it came into my mind that we would go on. I +can't justify it; I ought to have told you. It is enough to make you +hate me, since you don't love me well enough to make everything else +indifferent to you, as I do you. Shall I stop the boat and try to get +you out here? I'll tell Lucy that I was mad, and that you hate me; and +you shall be clear of me forever. No one can blame you, because I have +behaved unpardonably to you." + +Maggie was paralyzed; it was easier to resist Stephen's pleading than +this picture he had called up of himself suffering while she was +vindicated; easier even to turn away from his look of tenderness than +from this look of angry misery, that seemed to place her in selfish +isolation from him. He had called up a state of feeling in which the +reasons which had acted on her conscience seemed to be transmitted +into mere self-regard. The indignant fire in her eyes was quenched, +and she began to look at him with timid distress. She had reproached +him for being hurried into irrevocable trespass,--she, who had been so +weak herself. + +"As if I shouldn't feel what happened to you--just the same," she +said, with reproach of another kind,--the reproach of love, asking for +more trust. This yielding to the idea of Stephen's suffering was more +fatal than the other yielding, because it was less distinguishable +from that sense of others' claims which was the moral basis of her +resistance. + +He felt all the relenting in her look and tone; it was heaven opening +again. He moved to her side, and took her hand, leaning his elbow on +the back of the boat, and saying nothing. He dreaded to utter another +word, he dreaded to make another movement, that might provoke another +reproach or denial from her. Life hung on her consent; everything else +was hopeless, confused, sickening misery. They glided along in this +way, both resting in that silence as in a haven, both dreading lest +their feelings should be divided again,--till they became aware that +the clouds had gathered, and that the slightest perceptible freshening +of the breeze was growing and growing, so that the whole character of +the day was altered. + +"You will be chill, Maggie, in this thin dress. Let me raise the cloak +over your shoulders. Get up an instant, dearest." + +Maggie obeyed; there was an unspeakable charm in being told what to +do, and having everything decided for her. She sat down again covered +with the cloak, and Stephen took to his oars again, making haste; for +they must try to get to Torby as fast as they could. Maggie was hardly +conscious of having said or done anything decisive. All yielding is +attended with a less vivid consciousness than resistance; it is the +partial sleep of thought; it is the submergence of our own personality +by another. Every influence tended to lull her into acquiescence. That +dreamy gliding in the boat which had lasted for four hours, and had +brought some weariness and exhaustion; the recoil of her fatigued +sensations from the impracticable difficulty of getting out of the +boat at this unknown distance from home, and walking for long +miles,--all helped to bring her into more complete subjection to that +strong, mysterious charm which made a last parting from Stephen seem +the death of all joy, and made the thought of wounding him like the +first touch of the torturing iron before which resolution shrank. And +then there was the present happiness of being with him, which was +enough to absorb all her languid energy. + +Presently Stephen observed a vessel coming after them. Several +vessels, among them the steamer to Mudport, had passed them with the +early tide, but for the last hour they had seen none. He looked more +and more eagerly at this vessel, as if a new thought had come into his +mind along with it, and then he looked at Maggie hesitatingly. + +"Maggie, dearest," he said at last, "if this vessel should be going to +Mudport, or to any convenient place on the coast northward, it would +be our best plan to get them to take us on board. You are fatigued, +and it may soon rain; it may be a wretched business, getting to Torby +in this boat. It's only a trading vessel, but I dare say you can be +made tolerably comfortable. We'll take the cushions out of the boat. +It is really our best plan. They'll be glad enough to take us. I've +got plenty of money about me. I can pay them well." + +Maggie's heart began to beat with reawakened alarm at this new +proposition; but she was silent,--one course seemed as difficult as +another. + +Stephen hailed the vessel. It was a Dutch vessel going to Mudport, the +English mate informed him, and, if this wind held, would be there in +less than two days. + +"We had got out too far with our boat," said Stephen. "I was trying to +make for Torby. But I'm afraid of the weather; and this lady--my +wife--will be exhausted with fatigue and hunger. Take us on +board--will you?--and haul up the boat. I'll pay you well." + +Maggie, now really faint and trembling with fear, was taken on board, +making an interesting object of contemplation to admiring Dutchmen. +The mate feared the lady would have a poor time of it on board, for +they had no accommodation for such entirely unlooked-for +passengers,--no private cabin larger than an old-fashioned church-pew. +But at least they had Dutch cleanliness, which makes all other +inconveniences tolerable; and the boat cushions were spread into a +couch for Maggie on the poop with all alacrity. But to pace up and +down the deck leaning on Stephen--being upheld by his strength--was +the first change that she needed; then came food, and then quiet +reclining on the cushions, with the sense that no new resolution +_could_ be taken that day. Everything must wait till to-morrow. +Stephen sat beside her with her hand in his; they could only speak to +each other in low tones; only look at each other now and then, for it +would take a long while to dull the curiosity of the five men on +board, and reduce these handsome young strangers to that minor degree +of interest which belongs, in a sailor's regard, to all objects nearer +than the horizon. But Stephen was triumphantly happy. Every other +thought or care was thrown into unmarked perspective by the certainty +that Maggie must be his. The leap had been taken now; he had been +tortured by scruples, he had fought fiercely with overmastering +inclination, he had hesitated; but repentance was impossible. He +murmured forth in fragmentary sentences his happiness, his adoration, +his tenderness, his belief that their life together must be heaven, +that her presence with him would give rapture to every common day; +that to satisfy her lightest wish was dearer to him than all other +bliss; that everything was easy for her sake, except to part with her; +and now they never _would_ part; he would belong to her forever, and +all that was his was hers,--had no value for him except as it was +hers. Such things, uttered in low, broken tones by the one voice that +has first stirred the fibre of young passion, have only a feeble +effect--on experienced minds at a distance from them. To poor Maggie +they were very near; they were like nectar held close to thirsty lips; +there was, there _must_ be, then, a life for mortals here below which +was not hard and chill,--in which affection would no longer be +self-sacrifice. Stephen's passionate words made the vision of such a +life more fully present to her than it had ever been before; and the +vision for the time excluded all realities,--all except the returning +sun-gleams which broke out on the waters as the evening approached, +and mingled with the visionary sunlight of promised happiness; all +except the hand that pressed hers, and the voice that spoke to her, +and the eyes that looked at her with grave, unspeakable love. + +There was to be no rain, after all; the clouds rolled off to the +horizon again, making the great purple rampart and long purple isles +of that wondrous land which reveals itself to us when the sun goes +down,--the land that the evening star watches over. Maggie was to +sleep all night on the poop; it was better than going below; and she +was covered with the warmest wrappings the ship could furnish. It was +still early, when the fatigues of the day brought on a drowsy longing +for perfect rest, and she laid down her head, looking at the faint, +dying flush in the west, where the one golden lamp was getting +brighter and brighter. Then she looked up at Stephen, who was still +seated by her, hanging over her as he leaned his arm against the +vessel's side. Behind all the delicious visions of these last hours, +which had flowed over her like a soft stream, and made her entirely +passive, there was the dim consciousness that the condition was a +transient one, and that the morrow must bring back the old life of +struggle; that there were thoughts which would presently avenge +themselves for this oblivion. But now nothing was distinct to her; she +was being lulled to sleep with that soft stream still flowing over +her, with those delicious visions melting and fading like the wondrous +aerial land of the west. + + + +Chapter XIV + +Waking + + +When Maggie was gone to sleep, Stephen, weary too with his +unaccustomed amount of rowing, and with the intense inward life of the +last twelve hours, but too restless to sleep, walked and lounged about +the deck with his cigar far on into midnight, not seeing the dark +water, hardly conscious there were stars, living only in the near and +distant future. At last fatigue conquered restlessness, and he rolled +himself up in a piece of tarpaulin on the deck near Maggie's feet. + +She had fallen asleep before nine, and had been sleeping for six hours +before the faintest hint of a midsummer daybreak was discernible. She +awoke from that vivid dreaming which makes the margin of our deeper +rest. She was in a boat on the wide water with Stephen, and in the +gathering darkness something like a star appeared, that grew and grew +till they saw it was the Virgin seated in St. Ogg's boat, and it came +nearer and nearer, till they saw the Virgin was Lucy and the boatman +was Philip,--no, not Philip, but her brother, who rowed past without +looking at her; and she rose to stretch out her arms and call to him, +and their own boat turned over with the movement, and they began to +sink, till with one spasm of dread she seemed to awake, and find she +was a child again in the parlor at evening twilight, and Tom was not +really angry. From the soothed sense of that false waking she passed +to the real waking,--to the plash of water against the vessel, and the +sound of a footstep on the deck, and the awful starlit sky. There was +a moment of utter bewilderment before her mind could get disentangled +from the confused web of dreams; but soon the whole terrible truth +urged itself upon her. Stephen was not by her now; she was alone with +her own memory and her own dread. The irrevocable wrong that must blot +her life had been committed; she had brought sorrow into the lives of +others,--into the lives that were knit up with hers by trust and love. +The feeling of a few short weeks had hurried her into the sins her +nature had most recoiled from,--breach of faith and cruel selfishness; +she had rent the ties that had given meaning to duty, and had made +herself an outlawed soul, with no guide but the wayward choice of her +own passion. And where would that lead her? Where had it led her now? +She had said she would rather die than fall into that temptation. She +felt it now,--now that the consequences of such a fall had come before +the outward act was completed. There was at least this fruit from all +her years of striving after the highest and best,--that her soul +though betrayed, beguiled, ensnared, could never deliberately consent +to a choice of the lower. And a choice of what? O God! not a choice of +joy, but of conscious cruelty and hardness; for could she ever cease +to see before her Lucy and Philip, with their murdered trust and +hopes? Her life with Stephen could have no sacredness; she must +forever sink and wander vaguely, driven by uncertain impulse; for she +had let go the clue of life,--that clue which once in the far-off +years her young need had clutched so strongly. She had renounced all +delights then, before she knew them, before they had come within her +reach. Philip had been right when he told her that she knew nothing of +renunciation; she had thought it was quiet ecstasy; she saw it face to +face now,--that sad, patient, loving strength which holds the clue of +life,--and saw that the thorns were forever pressing on its brow. The +yesterday, which could never be revoked,--if she could have changed it +now for any length of inward silent endurance, she would have bowed +beneath that cross with a sense of rest. + +Day break came and the reddening eastern light, while her past life +was grasping her in this way, with that tightening clutch which comes +in the last moments of possible rescue. She could see Stephen now +lying on the deck still fast asleep, and with the sight of him there +came a wave of anguish that found its way in a long-suppressed sob. +The worst bitterness of parting--the thought that urged the sharpest +inward cry for help--was the pain it must give to _him_. But +surmounting everything was the horror at her own possible failure, the +dread lest her conscience should be benumbed again, and not rise to +energy till it was too late. Too late! it was too late already not to +have caused misery; too late for everything, perhaps, but to rush away +from the last act of baseness,--the tasting of joys that were wrung +from crushed hearts. + +The sun was rising now, and Maggie started up with the sense that a +day of resistance was beginning for her. Her eyelashes were still wet +with tears, as, with her shawl over her head, she sat looking at the +slowly rounding sun. Something roused Stephen too, and getting up from +his hard bed, he came to sit beside her. The sharp instinct of anxious +love saw something to give him alarm in the very first glance. He had +a hovering dread of some resistance in Maggie's nature that he would +be unable to overcome. He had the uneasy consciousness that he had +robbed her of perfect freedom yesterday; there was too much native +honor in him, for him not to feel that, if her will should recoil, his +conduct would have been odious, and she would have a right to reproach +him. + +But Maggie did not feel that right; she was too conscious of fatal +weakness in herself, too full of the tenderness that comes with the +foreseen need for inflicting a wound. She let him take her hand when +he came to sit down beside her, and smiled at him, only with rather a +sad glance; she could say nothing to pain him till the moment of +possible parting was nearer. And so they drank their cup of coffee +together, and walked about the deck, and heard the captain's assurance +that they should be in at Mudport by five o'clock, each with an inward +burthen; but in him it was an undefined fear, which he trusted to the +coming hours to dissipate; in her it was a definite resolve on which +she was trying silently to tighten her hold. Stephen was continually, +through the morning, expressing his anxiety at the fatigue and +discomfort she was suffering, and alluded to landing and to the change +of motion and repose she would have in a carriage, wanting to assure +himself more completely by presupposing that everything would be as he +had arranged it. For a long while Maggie contented herself with +assuring him that she had had a good night's rest, and that she didn't +mind about being on the vessel,--it was not like being on the open +sea, it was only a little less pleasant than being in a boat on the +Floss. But a suppressed resolve will betray itself in the eyes, and +Stephen became more and more uneasy as the day advanced, under the +sense that Maggie had entirely lost her passiveness. He longed, but +did not dare, to speak of their marriage, of where they would go after +it, and the steps he would take to inform his father, and the rest, of +what had happened. He longed to assure himself of a tacit assent from +her. But each time he looked at her, he gathered a stronger dread of +the new, quiet sadness with which she met his eyes. And they were more +and more silent. + +"Here we are in sight of Mudport," he said at last. "Now, dearest," he +added, turning toward her with a look that was half beseeching, "the +worst part of your fatigue is over. On the land we can command +swiftness. In another hour and a half we shall be in a chaise +together, and that will seem rest to you after this." + +Maggie felt it was time to speak; it would only be unkind now to +assent by silence. She spoke in the lowest tone, as he had done, but +with distinct decision. + +"We shall not be together; we shall have parted." + +The blood rushed to Stephen's face. + +"We shall not," he said. "I'll die first." + +It was as he had dreaded--there was a struggle coming. But neither of +them dared to say another word till the boat was let down, and they +were taken to the landing-place. Here there was a cluster of gazers +and passengers awaiting the departure of the steamboat to St. Ogg's. +Maggie had a dim sense, when she had landed, and Stephen was hurrying +her along on his arm, that some one had advanced toward her from that +cluster as if he were coming to speak to her. But she was hurried +along, and was indifferent to everything but the coming trial. + +A porter guided them to the nearest inn and posting-house, and Stephen +gave the order for the chaise as they passed through the yard. Maggie +took no notice of this, and only said, "Ask them to show us into a +room where we can sit down." + +When they entered, Maggie did not sit down, and Stephen, whose face +had a desperate determination in it, was about to ring the bell, when +she said, in a firm voice,-- + +"I'm not going; we must part here." + +"Maggie," he said, turning round toward her, and speaking in the tones +of a man who feels a process of torture beginning, "do you mean to +kill me? What is the use of it now? The whole thing is done." + +"No, it is not done," said Maggie. "Too much is done,--more than we +can ever remove the trace of. But I will go no farther. Don't try to +prevail with me again. I couldn't choose yesterday." + +What was he to do? He dared not go near her; her anger might leap out, +and make a new barrier. He walked backward and forward in maddening +perplexity. + +"Maggie," he said at last, pausing before her, and speaking in a tone +of imploring wretchedness, "have some pity--hear me--forgive me for +what I did yesterday. I will obey you now; I will do nothing without +your full consent. But don't blight our lives forever by a rash +perversity that can answer no good purpose to any one, that can only +create new evils. Sit down, dearest; wait--think what you are going to +do. Don't treat me as if you couldn't trust me." + +He had chosen the most effective appeal; but Maggie's will was fixed +unswervingly on the coming wrench. She had made up her mind to suffer. + +"We must not wait," she said, in a low but distinct voice; "we must +part at once." + +"We _can't_ part, Maggie," said Stephen, more impetuously. "I can't +bear it. What is the use of inflicting that misery on me? The +blow--whatever it may have been--has been struck now. Will it help any +one else that you should drive me mad?" + +"I will not begin any future, even for you," said Maggie, tremulously, +"with a deliberate consent to what ought not to have been. What I told +you at Basset I feel now; I would rather have died than fall into this +temptation. It would have been better if we had parted forever then. +But we must part now." + +"We will _not_ part," Stephen burst out, instinctively placing his +back against the door, forgetting everything he had said a few moments +before; "I will not endure it. You'll make me desperate; I sha'n't +know what I do." + +Maggie trembled. She felt that the parting could not be effected +suddenly. She must rely on a slower appeal to Stephen's better self; +she must be prepared for a harder task than that of rushing away while +resolution was fresh. She sat down. Stephen, watching her with that +look of desperation which had come over him like a lurid light, +approached slowly from the door, seated himself close beside her, and +grasped her hand. Her heart beat like the heart of a frightened bird; +but this direct opposition helped her. She felt her determination +growing stronger. + +"Remember what you felt weeks ago," she began, with beseeching +earnestness; "remember what we both felt,--that we owed ourselves to +others, and must conquer every inclination which could make us false +to that debt. We have failed to keep our resolutions; but the wrong +remains the same." + +"No, it does _not_ remain the same," said Stephen. "We have proved +that it was impossible to keep our resolutions. We have proved that +the feeling which draws us toward each other is too strong to be +overcome. That natural law surmounts every other; we can't help what +it clashes with." + +"It is not so, Stephen; I'm quite sure that is wrong. I have tried to +think it again and again; but I see, if we judged in that way, there +would be a warrant for all treachery and cruelty; we should justify +breaking the most sacred ties that can ever be formed on earth. If the +past is not to bind us, where can duty lie? We should have no law but +the inclination of the moment." + +"But there are ties that can't be kept by mere resolution," said +Stephen, starting up and walking about again. "What is outward +faithfulness? Would they have thanked us for anything so hollow as +constancy without love?" + +Maggie did not answer immediately. She was undergoing an inward as +well as an outward contest. At last she said, with a passionate +assertion of her conviction, as much against herself as against him,-- + +"That seems right--at first; but when I look further, I'm sure it is +_not_ right. Faithfulness and constancy mean something else besides +doing what is easiest and pleasantest to ourselves. They mean +renouncing whatever is opposed to the reliance others have in +us,--whatever would cause misery to those whom the course of our lives +has made dependent on us. If we--if I had been better, nobler, those +claims would have been so strongly present with me,--I should have +felt them pressing on my heart so continually, just as they do now in +the moments when my conscience is awake,--that the opposite feeling +would never have grown in me, as it has done; it would have been +quenched at once, I should have prayed for help so earnestly, I should +have rushed away as we rush from hideous danger. I feel no excuse for +myself, none. I should never have failed toward Lucy and Philip as I +have done, if I had not been weak, selfish, and hard,--able to think +of their pain without a pain to myself that would have destroyed all +temptation. Oh, what is Lucy feeling now? She believed in me--she +loved me--she was so good to me. Think of her----" + +Maggie's voice was getting choked as she uttered these last words. + +"I _can't_ think of her," said Stephen, stamping as if with pain. "I +can think of nothing but you, Maggie. You demand of a man what is +impossible. I felt that once; but I can't go back to it now. And where +is the use of _your_ thinking of it, except to torture me? You can't +save them from pain now; you can only tear yourself from me, and make +my life worthless to me. And even if we could go back, and both fulfil +our engagements,--if that were possible now,--it would be hateful, +horrible, to think of your ever being Philip's wife,--of your ever +being the wife of a man you didn't love. We have both been rescued +from a mistake." + +A deep flush came over Maggie's face, and she couldn't speak. Stephen +saw this. He sat down again, taking her hand in his, and looking at +her with passionate entreaty. + +"Maggie! Dearest! If you love me, you are mine. Who can have so great +a claim on you as I have? My life is bound up in your love. There is +nothing in the past that can annul our right to each other; it is the +first time we have either of us loved with our whole heart and soul." + +Maggie was still silent for a little while, looking down. Stephen was +in a flutter of new hope; he was going to triumph. But she raised her +eyes and met his with a glance that was filled with the anguish of +regret, not with yielding. + +"No, not with my whole heart and soul, Stephen," she said with timid +resolution. "I have never consented to it with my whole mind. There +are memories, and affections, and longings after perfect goodness, +that have such a strong hold on me; they would never quit me for long; +they would come back and be pain to me--repentance. I couldn't live in +peace if I put the shadow of a wilful sin between myself and God. I +have caused sorrow already--I know--I feel it; but I have never +deliberately consented to it; I have never said, 'They shall suffer, +that I may have joy.' It has never been my will to marry you; if you +were to win consent from the momentary triumph of my feeling for you, +you would not have my whole soul. If I could wake back again into the +time before yesterday, I would choose to be true to my calmer +affections, and live without the joy of love." + +Stephen loosed her hand, and rising impatiently, walked up and down +the room in suppressed rage. + +"Good God!" he burst out at last, "what a miserable thing a woman's +love is to a man's! I could commit crimes for you,--and you can +balance and choose in that way. But you _don't_ love me; if you had a +tithe of the feeling for me that I have for you, it would be +impossible to you to think for a moment of sacrificing me. But it +weighs nothing with you that you are robbing me of _my_ life's +happiness." + +Maggie pressed her fingers together almost convulsively as she held +them clasped on her lap. A great terror was upon her, as if she were +ever and anon seeing where she stood by great flashes of lightning, +and then again stretched forth her hands in the darkness. + +"No, I don't sacrifice you--I couldn't sacrifice you," she said, as +soon as she could speak again; "but I can't believe in a good for you, +that I feel, that we both feel, is a wrong toward others. We can't +choose happiness either for ourselves or for another; we can't tell +where that will lie. We can only choose whether we will indulge +ourselves in the present moment, or whether we will renounce that, for +the sake of obeying the divine voice within us,--for the sake of being +true to all the motives that sanctify our lives. I know this belief is +hard; it has slipped away from me again and again; but I have felt +that if I let it go forever, I should have no light through the +darkness of this life." + +"But, Maggie," said Stephen, seating himself by her again, "is it +possible you don't see that what happened yesterday has altered the +whole position of things? What infatuation is it, what obstinate +prepossession, that blinds you to that? It is too late to say what we +might have done or what we ought to have done. Admitting the very +worst view of what has been done, it is a fact we must act on now; our +position is altered; the right course is no longer what it was before. +We must accept our own actions and start afresh from them. Suppose we +had been married yesterday? It is nearly the same thing. The effect on +others would not have been different. It would only have made this +difference to ourselves," Stephen added bitterly, "that you might have +acknowledged then that your tie to me was stronger than to others." + +Again a deep flush came over Maggie's face, and she was silent. +Stephen thought again that he was beginning to prevail,--he had never +yet believed that he should _not_ prevail; there are possibilities +which our minds shrink from too completely for us to fear them. + +"Dearest," he said, in his deepest, tenderest tone, leaning toward +her, and putting his arm round her, "you _are_ mine now,--the world +believes it; duty must spring out of that now. + +"In a few hours you will be legally mine, and those who had claims on +us will submit,--they will see that there was a force which declared +against their claims." + +Maggie's eyes opened wide in one terrified look at the face that was +close to hers, and she started up, pale again. + +"Oh, I can't do it," she said, in a voice almost of agony; "Stephen, +don't ask me--don't urge me. I can't argue any longer,--I don't know +what is wise; but my heart will not let me do it. I see,--I feel their +trouble now; it is as if it were branded on my mind. _I_ have +suffered, and had no one to pity me; and now I have made others +suffer. It would never leave me; it would embitter your love to me. I +_do_ care for Philip--in a different way; I remember all we said to +each other; I know how he thought of me as the one promise of his +life. He was given to me that I might make his lot less hard; and I +have forsaken him. And Lucy--she has been deceived; she who trusted me +more than any one. I cannot marry you; I cannot take a good for myself +that has been wrung out of their misery. It is not the force that +ought to rule us,--this that we feel for each other; it would rend me +away from all that my past life has made dear and holy to me. I can't +set out on a fresh life, and forget that; I must go back to it, and +cling to it, else I shall feel as if there were nothing firm beneath +my feet." + +"Good God, Maggie!" said Stephen, rising too and grasping her arm, +"you rave. How can you go back without marrying me? You don't know +what will be said, dearest. You see nothing as it really is." + +"Yes, I do. But they will believe me. I will confess everything. Lucy +will believe me--she will forgive you, and--and--oh, _some_ good will +come by clinging to the right. Dear, dear Stephen, let me go!--don't +drag me into deeper remorse. My whole soul has never consented; it +does not consent now." + +Stephen let go her arm, and sank back on his chair, half-stunned by +despairing rage. He was silent a few moments, not looking at her; +while her eyes were turned toward him yearningly, in alarm at this +sudden change. At last he said, still without looking at her,-- + +"Go, then,--leave me; don't torture me any longer,--I can't bear it." + +Involuntarily she leaned toward him and put out her hand to touch his. +But he shrank from it as if it had been burning iron, and said +again,-- + +"Leave me." + +Maggie was not conscious of a decision as she turned away from that +gloomy averted face, and walked out of the room; it was like an +automatic action that fulfils a forgotten intention. What came after? +A sense of stairs descended as if in a dream, of flagstones, of a +chaise and horses standing, then a street, and a turning into another +street where a stage-coach was standing, taking in passengers, and the +darting thought that that coach would take her away, perhaps toward +home. But she could ask nothing yet; she only got into the coach. + +Home--where her mother and brother were, Philip, Lucy, the scene of +her very cares and trials--was the haven toward which her mind tended; +the sanctuary where sacred relics lay, where she would be rescued from +more falling. The thought of Stephen was like a horrible throbbing +pain, which yet, as such pains do, seemed to urge all other thoughts +into activity. But among her thoughts, what others would say and think +of her conduct was hardly present. Love and deep pity and remorseful +anguish left no room for that. + +The coach was taking her to York, farther away from home; but she did +not learn that until she was set down in the old city at midnight. It +was no matter; she could sleep there, and start home the next day. She +had her purse in her pocket, with all her money in it,--a bank-note +and a sovereign; she had kept it in her pocket from forgetfulness, +after going out to make purchases the day before yesterday. + +Did she lie down in the gloomy bedroom of the old inn that night with +her will bent unwaveringly on the path of penitent sacrifice? The +great struggles of life are not so easy as that; the great problems of +life are not so clear. In the darkness of that night she saw Stephen's +face turned toward her in passionate, reproachful misery; she lived +through again all the tremulous delights of his presence with her that +made existence an easy floating in a stream of joy, instead of a quiet +resolved endurance and effort. The love she had renounced came back +upon her with a cruel charm; she felt herself opening her arms to +receive it once more; and then it seemed to slip away and fade and +vanish, leaving only the dying sound of a deep, thrilling voice that +said, "Gone, forever gone." + + + + +Book VII + +_The Final Rescue_ + + + +Chapter I + +The Return to the Mill + + +Between four and five o'clock on the afternoon of the fifth day from +that on which Stephen and Maggie had left St. Ogg's, Tom Tulliver was +standing on the gravel walk outside the old house at Dorlcote Mill. He +was master there now; he had half fulfilled his father's dying wish, +and by years of steady self-government and energetic work he had +brought himself near to the attainment of more than the old +respectability which had been the proud inheritance of the Dodsons and +Tullivers. + +But Tom's face, as he stood in the hot, still sunshine of that summer +afternoon, had no gladness, no triumph in it. His mouth wore its +bitterest expression, his severe brow its hardest and deepest fold, as +he drew down his hat farther over his eyes to shelter them from the +sun, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, began to walk up +and down the gravel. No news of his sister had been heard since Bob +Jakin had come back in the steamer from Mudport, and put an end to all +improbable suppositions of an accident on the water by stating that he +had seen her land from a vessel with Mr. Stephen Guest. Would the next +news be that she was married,--or what? Probably that she was not +married; Tom's mind was set to the expectation of the worst that could +happen,--not death, but disgrace. + +As he was walking with his back toward the entrance gate, and his face +toward the rushing mill-stream, a tall, dark-eyed figure, that we know +well, approached the gate, and paused to look at him with a +fast-beating heart. Her brother was the human being of whom she had +been most afraid from her childhood upward; afraid with that fear +which springs in us when we love one who is inexorable, unbending, +unmodifiable, with a mind that we can never mould ourselves upon, and +yet that we cannot endure to alienate from us. + +That deep-rooted fear was shaking Maggie now; but her mind was +unswervingly bent on returning to her brother, as the natural refuge +that had been given her. In her deep humiliation under the retrospect +of her own weakness,--in her anguish at the injury she had +inflicted,--she almost desired to endure the severity of Tom's +reproof, to submit in patient silence to that harsh, disapproving +judgment against which she had so often rebelled; it seemed no more +than just to her now,--who was weaker than she was? She craved that +outward help to her better purpose which would come from complete, +submissive confession; from being in the presence of those whose looks +and words would be a reflection of her own conscience. + +Maggie had been kept on her bed at York for a day with that +prostrating headache which was likely to follow on the terrible strain +of the previous day and night. There was an expression of physical +pain still about her brow and eyes, and her whole appearance, with her +dress so long unchanged, was worn and distressed. She lifted the latch +of the gate and walked in slowly. Tom did not hear the gate; he was +just then close upon the roaring dam; but he presently turned, and +lifting up his eyes, saw the figure whose worn look and loneliness +seemed to him a confirmation of his worst conjectures. He paused, +trembling and white with disgust and indignation. + +Maggie paused too, three yards before him. She felt the hatred in his +face, felt it rushing through her fibres; but she must speak. + +"Tom," she began faintly, "I am come back to you,--I am come back +home--for refuge--to tell you everything." + +"You will find no home with me," he answered, with tremulous rage. +"You have disgraced us all. You have disgraced my father's name. You +have been a curse to your best friends. You have been base, deceitful; +no motives are strong enough to restrain you. I wash my hands of you +forever. You don't belong to me." + +Their mother had come to the door now. She stood paralyzed by the +double shock of seeing Maggie and hearing Tom's words. + +"Tom," said Maggie, with more courage, "I am perhaps not so guilty as +you believe me to be. I never meant to give way to my feelings. I +struggled against them. I was carried too far in the boat to come back +on Tuesday. I came back as soon as I could." + +"I can't believe in you any more," said Tom, gradually passing from +the tremulous excitement of the first moment to cold inflexibility. +"You have been carrying on a clandestine relation with Stephen +Guest,--as you did before with another. He went to see you at my aunt +Moss's; you walked alone with him in the lanes; you must have behaved +as no modest girl would have done to her cousin's lover, else that +could never have happened. The people at Luckreth saw you pass; you +passed all the other places; you knew what you were doing. You have +been using Philip Wakem as a screen to deceive Lucy,--the kindest +friend you ever had. Go and see the return you have made her. She's +ill; unable to speak. My mother can't go near her, lest she should +remind her of you." + +Maggie was half stunned,--too heavily pressed upon by her anguish even +to discern any difference between her actual guilt and her brother's +accusations, still less to vindicate herself. + +"Tom," she said, crushing her hands together under her cloak, in the +effort to speak again, "whatever I have done, I repent it bitterly. I +want to make amends. I will endure anything. I want to be kept from +doing wrong again." + +"What _will_ keep you?" said Tom, with cruel bitterness. "Not +religion; not your natural feelings of gratitude and honor. And he--he +would deserve to be shot, if it were not----But you are ten times +worse than he is. I loathe your character and your conduct. You +struggled with your feelings, you say. Yes! _I_ have had feelings to +struggle with; but I conquered them. I have had a harder life than you +have had; but I have found _my_ comfort in doing my duty. But I will +sanction no such character as yours; the world shall know that _I_ +feel the difference between right and wrong. If you are in want, I +will provide for you; let my mother know. But you shall not come under +my roof. It is enough that I have to bear the thought of your +disgrace; the sight of you is hateful to me." + +Slowly Maggie was turning away with despair in her heart. But the poor +frightened mother's love leaped out now, stronger than all dread. + +"My child! I'll go with you. You've got a mother." + +Oh, the sweet rest of that embrace to the heart-stricken Maggie! More +helpful than all wisdom is one draught of simple human pity that will +not forsake us. + +Tom turned and walked into the house. + +"Come in, my child," Mrs. Tulliver whispered. "He'll let you stay and +sleep in my bed. He won't deny that if I ask him." + +"No, mother," said Maggie, in a low tone, like a moan. "I will never +go in." + +"Then wait for me outside. I'll get ready and come with you." + +When his mother appeared with her bonnet on, Tom came out to her in +the passage, and put money into her hands. + +"My house is yours, mother, always," he said. "You will come and let +me know everything you want; you will come back to me." + +Poor Mrs. Tulliver took the money, too frightened to say anything. The +only thing clear to her was the mother's instinct that she would go +with her unhappy child. + +Maggie was waiting outside the gate; she took her mother's hand and +they walked a little way in silence. + +"Mother," said Maggie, at last, "we will go to Luke's cottage. Luke +will take me in. He was very good to me when I was a little girl." + +"He's got no room for us, my dear, now; his wife's got so many +children. I don't know where to go, if it isn't to one o' your aunts; +and I hardly durst," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, quite destitute of +mental resources in this extremity. + +Maggie was silent a little while, and then said,-- + +"Let us go to Bob Jakin's, mother; his wife will have room for us, if +they have no other lodger." + +So they went on their way to St. Ogg's, to the old house by the +river-side. + +Bob himself was at home, with a heaviness at heart which resisted even +the new joy and pride of possessing a two-months'-old baby, quite the +liveliest of its age that had ever been born to prince or packman. He +would perhaps not so thoroughly have understood all the dubiousness of +Maggie's appearance with Mr. Stephen Guest on the quay at Mudport if +he had not witnessed the effect it produced on Tom when he went to +report it; and since then, the circumstances which in any case gave a +disastrous character to her elopement had passed beyond the more +polite circles of St. Ogg's, and had become matter of common talk, +accessible to the grooms and errand-boys. So that when he opened the +door and saw Maggie standing before him in her sorrow and weariness, +he had no questions to ask except one which he dared only ask +himself,--where was Mr. Stephen Guest? Bob, for his part, hoped he +might be in the warmest department of an asylum understood to exist in +the other world for gentlemen who are likely to be in fallen +circumstances there. + +The lodgings were vacant, and both Mrs. Jakin the larger and Mrs. +Jakin the less were commanded to make all things comfortable for "the +old Missis and the young Miss"; alas that she was still "Miss!" The +ingenious Bob was sorely perplexed as to how this result could have +come about; how Mr. Stephen Guest could have gone away from her, or +could have let her go away from him, when he had the chance of keeping +her with him. But he was silent, and would not allow his wife to ask +him a question; would not present himself in the room, lest it should +appear like intrusion and a wish to pry; having the same chivalry +toward dark-eyed Maggie as in the days when he had bought her the +memorable present of books. + +But after a day or two Mrs. Tulliver was gone to the Mill again for a +few hours to see to Tom's household matters. Maggie had wished this; +after the first violent outburst of feeling which came as soon as she +had no longer any active purpose to fulfil, she was less in need of +her mother's presence; she even desired to be alone with her grief. +But she had been solitary only a little while in the old sitting-room +that looked on the river, when there came a tap at the door, and +turning round her sad face as she said "Come in," she saw Bob enter, +with the baby in his arms and Mumps at his heels. + +"We'll go back, if it disturbs you, Miss," said Bob. + +"No," said Maggie, in a low voice, wishing she could smile. + +Bob, closing the door behind him, came and stood before her. + +"You see, we've got a little un, Miss, and I want'd you to look at it, +and take it in your arms, if you'd be so good. For we made free to +name it after you, and it 'ud be better for your takin' a bit o' +notice on it." + +Maggie could not speak, but she put out her arms to receive the tiny +baby, while Mumps snuffed at it anxiously, to ascertain that this +transference was all right. Maggie's heart had swelled at this action +and speech of Bob's; she knew well enough that it was a way he had +chosen to show his sympathy and respect. + +"Sit down, Bob," she said presently, and he sat down in silence, +finding his tongue unmanageable in quite a new fashion, refusing to +say what he wanted it to say. + +"Bob," she said, after a few moments, looking down at the baby, and +holding it anxiously, as if she feared it might slip from her mind and +her fingers, "I have a favor to ask of you." + +"Don't you speak so, Miss," said Bob, grasping the skin of Mumps's +neck; "if there's anything I can do for you, I should look upon it as +a day's earnings." + +"I want you to go to Dr. Kenn's, and ask to speak to him, and tell him +that I am here, and should be very grateful if he would come to me +while my mother is away. She will not come back till evening." + +"Eh, Miss, I'd do it in a minute,--it is but a step,--but Dr. Kenn's +wife lies dead; she's to be buried to-morrow; died the day I come from +Mudport. It's all the more pity she should ha' died just now, if you +want him. I hardly like to go a-nigh him yet." + +"Oh no, Bob," said Maggie, "we must let it be,--till after a few days, +perhaps, when you hear that he is going about again. But perhaps he +may be going out of town--to a distance," she added, with a new sense +of despondency at this idea. + +"Not he, Miss," said Bob. "_He'll_ none go away. He isn't one o' them +gentlefolks as go to cry at waterin'-places when their wives die; he's +got summat else to do. He looks fine and sharp after the parish, he +does. He christened the little un; an' he was _at_ me to know what I +did of a Sunday, as I didn't come to church. But I told him I was upo' +the travel three parts o' the Sundays,--an' then I'm so used to bein' +on my legs, I can't sit so long on end,--'an' lors, sir,' says I, 'a +packman can do wi' a small 'lowance o' church; it tastes strong,' says +I; 'there's no call to lay it on thick.' Eh, Miss, how good the little +un is wi' you! It's like as if it knowed you; it partly does, I'll be +bound,--like the birds know the mornin'." + +Bob's tongue was now evidently loosed from its unwonted bondage, and +might even be in danger of doing more work than was required of it. +But the subjects on which he longed to be informed were so steep and +difficult of approach, that his tongue was likely to run on along the +level rather than to carry him on that unbeaten road. He felt this, +and was silent again for a little while, ruminating much on the +possible forms in which he might put a question. At last he said, in a +more timid voice than usual,-- + +"Will you give me leave to ask you only one thing, Miss?" + +Maggie was rather startled, but she answered, "Yes, Bob, if it is +about myself--not about any one else." + +"Well, Miss, it's this. _Do_ you owe anybody a grudge?" + +"No, not any one," said Maggie, looking up at him inquiringly. "Why?" + +"Oh, lors, Miss," said Bob, pinching Mumps's neck harder than ever. "I +wish you did, an' tell me; I'd leather him till I couldn't see--I +would--an' the Justice might do what he liked to me arter." + +"Oh, Bob," said Maggie, smiling faintly, "you're a very good friend to +me. But I shouldn't like to punish any one, even if they'd done me +wrong; I've done wrong myself too often." + +This view of things was puzzling to Bob, and threw more obscurity than +ever over what could possibly have happened between Stephen and +Maggie. But further questions would have been too intrusive, even if +he could have framed them suitably, and he was obliged to carry baby +away again to an expectant mother. + +"Happen you'd like Mumps for company, Miss," he said when he had taken +the baby again. "He's rare company, Mumps is; he knows iverything, an' +makes no bother about it. If I tell him, he'll lie before you an' +watch you, as still,--just as he watches my pack. You'd better let me +leave him a bit; he'll get fond on you. Lors, it's a fine thing to hev +a dumb brute fond on you; it'll stick to you, an' make no jaw." + +"Yes, do leave him, please," said Maggie. "I think I should like to +have Mumps for a friend." + +"Mumps, lie down there," said Bob, pointing to a place in front of +Maggie, "and niver do you stir till you're spoke to." + +Mumps lay down at once, and made no sign of restlessness when his +master left the room. + + + +Chapter II + +St. Ogg's Passes Judgment + + +It was soon known throughout St. Ogg's that Miss Tulliver was come +back; she had not, then, eloped in order to be married to Mr. Stephen +Guest,--at all events, Mr. Stephen Guest had not married her; which +came to the same thing, so far as her culpability was concerned. We +judge others according to results; how else?--not knowing the process +by which results are arrived at. If Miss Tulliver, after a few months +of well-chosen travel, had returned as Mrs. Stephen Guest, with a +post-marital _trousseau_, and all the advantages possessed even by the +most unwelcome wife of an only son, public opinion, which at St. +Ogg's, as else where, always knew what to think, would have judged in +strict consistency with those results. Public opinion, in these cases, +is always of the feminine gender,--not the world, but the world's +wife; and she would have seen that two handsome young people--the +gentleman of quite the first family in St. Ogg's--having found +themselves in a false position, had been led into a course which, to +say the least of it, was highly injudicious, and productive of sad +pain and disappointment, especially to that sweet young thing, Miss +Deane. Mr. Stephen Guest had certainly not behaved well; but then, +young men were liable to those sudden infatuated attachments; and bad +as it might seem in Mrs. Stephen Guest to admit the faintest advances +from her cousin's lover (indeed it _had_ been said that she was +actually engaged to young Wakem,--old Wakem himself had mentioned it), +still, she was very young,--"and a deformed young man, you know!--and +young Guest so very fascinating; and, they say, he positively worships +her (to be sure, that can't last!), and he ran away with her in the +boat quite against her will, and what could she do? She couldn't come +back then; no one would have spoken to her; and how very well that +maize-colored satinette becomes her complexion! It seems as if the +folds in front were quite come in; several of her dresses are made +so,--they say he thinks nothing too handsome to buy for her. Poor Miss +Deane! She is very pitiable; but then there was no positive +engagement; and the air at the coast will do her good. After all, if +young Guest felt no more for her than _that_ it was better for her not +to marry him. What a wonderful marriage for a girl like Miss +Tulliver,--quite romantic? Why, young Guest will put up for the +borough at the next election. Nothing like commerce nowadays! That +young Wakem nearly went out of his mind; he always _was_ rather queer; +but he's gone abroad again to be out of the way,--quite the best thing +for a deformed young man. Miss Unit declares she will never visit Mr. +and Mrs. Stephen Guest,--such nonsense! pretending to be better than +other people. Society couldn't be carried on if we inquired into +private conduct in that way,--and Christianity tells us to think no +evil,--and my belief is, that Miss Unit had no cards sent her." + +But the results, we know, were not of a kind to warrant this +extenuation of the past. Maggie had returned without a _trousseau_, +without a husband,--in that degraded and outcast condition to which +error is well known to lead; and the world's wife, with that fine +instinct which is given her for the preservation of Society, saw at +once that Miss Tulliver's conduct had been of the most aggravated +kind. Could anything be more detestable? A girl so much indebted to +her friends--whose mother as well as herself had received so much +kindness from the Deanes--to lay the design of winning a young man's +affections away from her own cousin, who had behaved like a sister to +her! Winning his affections? That was not the phrase for such a girl +as Miss Tulliver; it would have been more correct to say that she had +been actuated by mere unwomanly boldness and unbridled passion. There +was always something questionable about her. That connection with +young Wakem, which, they said, had been carried on for years, looked +very ill,--disgusting, in fact! But with a girl of that disposition! +To the world's wife there had always been something in Miss Tulliver's +very _physique_ that a refined instinct felt to be prophetic of harm. +As for poor Mr. Stephen Guest, he was rather pitiable than otherwise; +a young man of five-and-twenty is not to be too severely judged in +these cases,--he is really very much at the mercy of a designing, bold +girl. And it was clear that he had given way in spite of himself: he +had shaken her off as soon as he could; indeed, their having parted so +soon looked very black indeed--_for her_. To be sure, he had written a +letter, laying all the blame on himself, and telling the story in a +romantic fashion so as to try and make her appear quite innocent; of +course he would do that! But the refined instinct of the world's wife +was not to be deceived; providentially!--else what would become of +Society? Why, her own brother had turned her from his door; he had +seen enough, you might be sure, before he would do that. A truly +respectable young man, Mr. Tom Tulliver; quite likely to rise in the +world! His sister's disgrace was naturally a heavy blow to him. It was +to be hoped that she would go out of the neighborhood,--to America, or +anywhere,--so as to purify the air of St. Ogg's from the stain of her +presence, extremely dangerous to daughters there! No good could happen +to her; it was only to be hoped she would repent, and that God would +have mercy on her: He had not the care of society on His hands, as the +world's wife had. + +It required nearly a fortnight for fine instinct to assure itself of +these inspirations; indeed, it was a whole week before Stephen's +letter came, telling his father the facts, and adding that he was gone +across to Holland,--had drawn upon the agent at Mudport for +money,--was incapable of any resolution at present. + +Maggie, all this while, was too entirely filled with a more agonizing +anxiety to spend any thought on the view that was being taken of her +conduct by the world of St. Ogg's; anxiety about Stephen, Lucy, +Philip, beat on her poor heart in a hard, driving, ceaseless storm of +mingled love, remorse, and pity. If she had thought of rejection and +injustice at all, it would have seemed to her that they had done their +worst; that she could hardly feel any stroke from them intolerable +since the words she had heard from her brother's lips. Across all her +anxiety for the loved and the injured, those words shot again and +again, like a horrible pang that would have brought misery and dread +even into a heaven of delights. The idea of ever recovering happiness +never glimmered in her mind for a moment; it seemed as if every +sensitive fibre in her were too entirely preoccupied by pain ever to +vibrate again to another influence. Life stretched before her as one +act of penitence; and all she craved, as she dwelt on her future lot, +was something to guarantee her from more falling; her own weakness +haunted her like a vision of hideous possibilities, that made no peace +conceivable except such as lay in the sense of a sure refuge. + +But she was not without practical intentions; the love of independence +was too strong an inheritance and a habit for her not to remember that +she must get her bread; and when other projects looked vague, she fell +back on that of returning to her plain sewing, and so getting enough +to pay for her lodging at Bob's. She meant to persuade her mother to +return to the Mill by and by, and live with Tom again; and somehow or +other she would maintain herself at St. Ogg's. Dr. Kenn would perhaps +help her and advise her. She remembered his parting words at the +bazaar. She remembered the momentary feeling of reliance that had +sprung in her when he was talking with her, and she waited with +yearning expectation for the opportunity of confiding everything to +him. Her mother called every day at Mr. Deane's to learn how Lucy was; +the report was always sad,--nothing had yet roused her from the feeble +passivity which had come on with the first shock. But of Philip, Mrs. +Tulliver had learned nothing; naturally, no one whom she met would +speak to her about what related to her daughter. But at last she +summoned courage to go and see sister Glegg, who of course would know +everything, and had been even to see Tom at the Mill in Mrs. +Tulliver's absence, though he had said nothing of what had passed on +the occasion. + +As soon as her mother was gone, Maggie put on her bonnet. She had +resolved on walking to the Rectory and asking to see Dr. Kenn; he was +in deep grief, but the grief of another does not jar upon us in such +circumstances. It was the first time she had been beyond the door +since her return; nevertheless her mind was so bent on the purpose of +her walk, that the unpleasantness of meeting people on the way, and +being stared at, did not occur to her. But she had no sooner passed +beyond the narrower streets which she had to thread from Bob's +dwelling, than she became aware of unusual glances cast at her; and +this consciousness made her hurry along nervously, afraid to look to +right or left. Presently, however, she came full on Mrs. and Miss +Turnbull, old acquaintances of her family; they both looked at her +strangely, and turned a little aside without speaking. All hard looks +were pain to Maggie, but her self-reproach was too strong for +resentment. No wonder they will not speak to me, she thought; they are +very fond of Lucy. But now she knew that she was about to pass a group +of gentlemen, who were standing at the door of the billiard-rooms, and +she could not help seeing young Torry step out a little with his glass +at his eye, and bow to her with that air of _nonchalance_ which he +might have bestowed on a friendly barmaid. + +Maggie's pride was too intense for her not to feel that sting, even in +the midst of her sorrow; and for the first time the thought took +strong hold of her that she would have other obloquy cast on her +besides that which was felt to be due to her breach of faith toward +Lucy. But she was at the Rectory now; there, perhaps, she would find +something else than retribution. Retribution may come from any voice; +the hardest, cruelest, most imbruted urchin at the street-corner can +inflict it; surely help and pity are rarer things, more needful for +the righteous to bestow. + +She was shown up at once, after being announced, into Dr. Kenn's +study, where he sat amongst piled-up books, for which he had little +appetite, leaning his cheek against the head of his youngest child, a +girl of three. The child was sent away with the servant, and when the +door was closed, Dr. Kenn said, placing a chair for Maggie,-- + +"I was coming to see you, Miss Tulliver; you have anticipated me; I am +glad you did." + +Maggie looked at him with her childlike directness as she had done at +the bazaar, and said, "I want to tell you everything." But her eyes +filled fast with tears as she said it, and all the pent-up excitement +of her humiliating walk would have its vent before she could say more. + +"Do tell me everything," Dr. Kenn said, with quiet kindness in his +grave, firm voice. "Think of me as one to whom a long experience has +been granted, which may enable him to help you." + +In rather broken sentences, and with some effort at first, but soon +with the greater ease that came from a sense of relief in the +confidence, Maggie told the brief story of a struggle that must be the +beginning of a long sorrow. Only the day before, Dr. Kenn had been +made acquainted with the contents of Stephen's letter, and he had +believed them at once, without the confirmation of Maggie's statement. +That involuntary plaint of hers, "_Oh, I must go_," had remained with +him as the sign that she was undergoing some inward conflict. + +Maggie dwelt the longest on the feeling which had made her come back +to her mother and brother, which made her cling to all the memories of +the past. When she had ended, Dr. Kenn was silent for some minutes; +there was a difficulty on his mind. He rose, and walked up and down +the hearth with his hands behind him. At last he seated himself again, +and said, looking at Maggie,-- + +"Your prompting to go to your nearest friends,--to remain where all +the ties of your life have been formed,--is a true prompting, to which +the Church in its original constitution and discipline responds, +opening its arms to the penitent, watching over its children to the +last; never abandoning them until they are hopelessly reprobate. And +the Church ought to represent the feeling of the community, so that +every parish should be a family knit together by Christian brotherhood +under a spiritual father. But the ideas of discipline and Christian +fraternity are entirely relaxed,--they can hardly be said to exist in +the public mind; they hardly survive except in the partial, +contradictory form they have taken in the narrow communities of +schismatics; and if I were not supported by the firm faith that the +Church must ultimately recover the full force of that constitution +which is alone fitted to human needs, I should often lose heart at +observing the want of fellowship and sense of mutual responsibility +among my own flock. At present everything seems tending toward the +relaxation of ties,--toward the substitution of wayward choice for the +adherence to obligation, which has its roots in the past. Your +conscience and your heart have given you true light on this point, +Miss Tulliver; and I have said all this that you may know what my wish +about you--what my advice to you--would be, if they sprang from my own +feeling and opinion unmodified by counteracting circumstances." + +Dr. Kenn paused a little while. There was an entire absence of +effusive benevolence in his manner; there was something almost cold in +the gravity of his look and voice. If Maggie had not known that his +benevolence was persevering in proportion to its reserve, she might +have been chilled and frightened. As it was, she listened expectantly, +quite sure that there would be some effective help in his words. He +went on. + +"Your inexperience of the world, Miss Tulliver, prevents you from +anticipating fully the very unjust conceptions that will probably be +formed concerning your conduct,--conceptions which will have a baneful +effect, even in spite of known evidence to disprove them." + +"Oh, I do,--I begin to see," said Maggie, unable to repress this +utterance of her recent pain. "I know I shall be insulted. I shall be +thought worse than I am." + +"You perhaps do not yet know," said Dr. Kenn, with a touch of more +personal pity, "that a letter is come which ought to satisfy every one +who has known anything of you, that you chose the steep and difficult +path of a return to the right, at the moment when that return was most +of all difficult." + +"Oh, where is he?" said poor Maggie, with a flush and tremor that no +presence could have hindered. + +"He is gone abroad; he has written of all that passed to his father. +He has vindicated you to the utmost; and I hope the communication of +that letter to your cousin will have a beneficial effect on her." + +Dr. Kenn waited for her to get calm again before he went on. + +"That letter, as I said, ought to suffice to prevent false impressions +concerning you. But I am bound to tell you, Miss Tulliver, that not +only the experience of my whole life, but my observation within the +last three days, makes me fear that there is hardly any evidence which +will save you from the painful effect of false imputations. The +persons who are the most incapable of a conscientious struggle such as +yours are precisely those who will be likely to shrink from you, +because they will not believe in your struggle. I fear your life here +will be attended not only with much pain, but with many obstructions. +For this reason--and for this only--I ask you to consider whether it +will not perhaps be better for you to take a situation at a distance, +according to your former intention. I will exert myself at once to +obtain one for you." + +"Oh, if I could but stop here!" said Maggie. "I have no heart to begin +a strange life again. I should have no stay. I should feel like a +lonely wanderer, cut off from the past. I have written to the lady who +offered me a situation to excuse myself. If I remained here, I could +perhaps atone in some way to Lucy--to others; I could convince them +that I'm sorry. And," she added, with some of the old proud fire +flashing out, "I will not go away because people say false things of +me. They shall learn to retract them. If I must go away at last, +because--because others wish it, I will not go now." + +"Well," said Dr. Kenn, after some consideration, "if you determine on +that, Miss Tulliver, you may rely on all the influence my position +gives me. I am bound to aid and countenance you by the very duties of +my office as a parish priest. I will add, that personally I have a +deep interest in your peace of mind and welfare." + +"The only thing I want is some occupation that will enable me to get +my bread and be independent," said Maggie. "I shall not want much. I +can go on lodging where I am." + +"I must think over the subject maturely," said Dr. Kenn, "and in a few +days I shall be better able to ascertain the general feeling. I shall +come to see you; I shall bear you constantly in mind." + +When Maggie had left him, Dr. Kenn stood ruminating with his hands +behind him, and his eyes fixed on the carpet, under a painful sense of +doubt and difficulty. The tone of Stephen's letter, which he had read, +and the actual relations of all the persons concerned, forced upon him +powerfully the idea of an ultimate marriage between Stephen and Maggie +as the least evil; and the impossibility of their proximity in St. +Ogg's on any other supposition, until after years of separation, threw +an insurmountable prospective difficulty over Maggie's stay there. On +the other hand, he entered with all the comprehension of a man who had +known spiritual conflict, and lived through years of devoted service +to his fellow-men, into that state of Maggie's heart and conscience +which made the consent to the marriage a desecration to her; her +conscience must not be tampered with; the principle on which she had +acted was a safer guide than any balancing of consequences. His +experience told him that intervention was too dubious a responsibility +to be lightly incurred; the possible issue either of an endeavor to +restore the former relations with Lucy and Philip, or of counselling +submission to this irruption of a new feeling, was hidden in a +darkness all the more impenetrable because each immediate step was +clogged with evil. + +The great problem of the shifting relation between passion and duty is +clear to no man who is capable of apprehending it; the question +whether the moment has come in which a man has fallen below the +possibility of a renunciation that will carry any efficacy, and must +accept the sway of a passion against which he had struggled as a +trespass, is one for which we have no master-key that will fit all +cases. The casuists have become a byword of reproach; but their +perverted spirit of minute discrimination was the shadow of a truth to +which eyes and hearts are too often fatally sealed,--the truth, that +moral judgments must remain false and hollow, unless they are checked +and enlightened by a perpetual reference to the special circumstances +that mark the individual lot. + +All people of broad, strong sense have an instinctive repugnance to +the men of maxims; because such people early discern that the +mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims, and +that to lace ourselves up in formulas of that sort is to repress all +the divine promptings and inspirations that spring from growing +insight and sympathy. And the man of maxims is the popular +representative of the minds that are guided in their moral judgment +solely by general rules, thinking that these will lead them to justice +by a ready-made patent method, without the trouble of exerting +patience, discrimination, impartiality,--without any care to assure +themselves whether they have the insight that comes from a hardly +earned estimate of temptation, or from a life vivid and intense enough +to have created a wide fellow-feeling with all that is human. + + + +Chapter III + +Showing That Old Acquaintances Are Capable of Surprising Us + + +When Maggie was at home again, her mother brought her news of an +unexpected line of conduct in aunt Glegg. As long as Maggie had not +been heard of, Mrs. Glegg had half closed her shutters and drawn down +her blinds. She felt assured that Maggie was drowned; that was far +more probable than that her niece and legatee should have done +anything to wound the family honor in the tenderest point. When at +last she learned from Tom that Maggie had come home, and gathered from +him what was her explanation of her absence, she burst forth in severe +reproof of Tom for admitting the worst of his sister until he was +compelled. If you were not to stand by your "kin" as long as there was +a shred of honor attributable to them, pray what were you to stand by? +Lightly to admit conduct in one of your own family that would force +you to alter your will, had never been the way of the Dodsons; and +though Mrs. Glegg had always augured ill of Maggie's future at a time +when other people were perhaps less clear-sighted, yet fair play was a +jewel, and it was not for her own friends to help to rob the girl of +her fair fame, and to cast her out from family shelter to the scorn of +the outer world, until she had become unequivocally a family disgrace. +The circumstances were unprecedented in Mrs. Glegg's experience; +nothing of that kind had happened among the Dodsons before; but it was +a case in which her hereditary rectitude and personal strength of +character found a common channel along with her fundamental ideas of +clanship, as they did in her lifelong regard to equity in money +matters. She quarrelled with Mr. Glegg, whose kindness, flowing +entirely into compassion for Lucy, made him as hard in his judgment of +Maggie as Mr. Deane himself was; and fuming against her sister +Tulliver because she did not at once come to her for advice and help, +shut herself up in her own room with Baxter's "Saints' Rest" from +morning till night, denying herself to all visitors, till Mr. Glegg +brought from Mr. Deane the news of Stephen's letter. Then Mrs. Glegg +felt that she had adequate fighting-ground; then she laid aside +Baxter, and was ready to meet all comers. While Mrs. Pullet could do +nothing but shake her head and cry, and wish that cousin Abbot had +died, or any number of funerals had happened rather than this, which +had never happened before, so that there was no knowing how to act, +and Mrs. Pullet could never enter St. Ogg's again, because +"acquaintances" knew of it all, Mrs. Glegg only hoped that Mrs. Wooll, +or any one else, would come to her with their false tales about her +own niece, and she would know what to say to that ill-advised person! + +Again she had a scene of remonstrance with Tom, all the more severe in +proportion to the greater strength of her present position. But Tom, +like other immovable things, seemed only the more rigidly fixed under +that attempt to shake him. Poor Tom! he judged by what he had been +able to see; and the judgment was painful enough to himself. He +thought he had the demonstration of facts observed through years by +his own eyes, which gave no warning of their imperfection, that +Maggie's nature was utterly untrustworthy, and too strongly marked +with evil tendencies to be safely treated with leniency. He would act +on that demonstration at any cost; but the thought of it made his days +bitter to him. Tom, like every one of us, was imprisoned within the +limits of his own nature, and his education had simply glided over +him, leaving a slight deposit of polish; if you are inclined to be +severe on his severity, remember that the responsibility of tolerance +lies with those who have the wider vision. There had arisen in Tom a +repulsion toward Maggie that derived its very intensity from their +early childish love in the time when they had clasped tiny fingers +together, and their later sense of nearness in a common duty and a +common sorrow; the sight of her, as he had told her, was hateful to +him. In this branch of the Dodson family aunt Glegg found a stronger +nature than her own; a nature in which family feeling had lost the +character of clanship by taking on a doubly deep dye of personal +pride. + +Mrs. Glegg allowed that Maggie ought to be punished,--she was not a +woman to deny that; she knew what conduct was,--but punished in +proportion to the misdeeds proved against her, not to those which were +cast upon her by people outside her own family who might wish to show +that their own kin were better. + +"Your aunt Glegg scolded me so as niver was, my dear," said poor Mrs. +Tulliver, when she came back to Maggie, "as I didn't go to her before; +she said it wasn't for her to come to me first. But she spoke like a +sister, too; _having_ she allays was, and hard to please,--oh +dear!--but she's said the kindest word as has ever been spoke by you +yet, my child. For she says, for all she's been so set again' having +one extry in the house, and making extry spoons and things, and +putting her about in her ways, you shall have a shelter in her house, +if you'll go to her dutiful, and she'll uphold you against folks as +say harm of you when they've no call. And I told her I thought you +couldn't bear to see anybody but me, you were so beat down with +trouble; but she said, '_I_ won't throw ill words at her; there's them +out o' th' family 'ull be ready enough to do that. But I'll give her +good advice; an' she must be humble.' It's wonderful o' Jane; for I'm +sure she used to throw everything I did wrong at me,--if it was the +raisin-wine as turned out bad, or the pies too hot, or whativer it +was." + +"Oh, mother," said poor Maggie, shrinking from the thought of all the +contact her bruised mind would have to bear, "tell her I'm very +grateful; I'll go to see her as soon as I can; but I can't see any one +just yet, except Dr. Kenn. I've been to him,--he will advise me, and +help me to get some occupation. I can't live with any one, or be +dependent on them, tell aunt Glegg; I must get my own bread. But did +you hear nothing of Philip--Philip Wakem? Have you never seen any one +that has mentioned him?" + +"No, my dear; but I've been to Lucy's, and I saw your uncle, and he +says they got her to listen to the letter, and she took notice o' Miss +Guest, and asked questions, and the doctor thinks she's on the turn to +be better. What a world this is,--what trouble, oh dear! The law was +the first beginning, and it's gone from bad to worse, all of a sudden, +just when the luck seemed on the turn?" This was the first lamentation +that Mrs. Tulliver had let slip to Maggie, but old habit had been +revived by the interview with sister Glegg. + +"My poor, poor mother!" Maggie burst out, cut to the heart with pity +and compunction, and throwing her arms round her mother's neck; "I was +always naughty and troublesome to you. And now you might have been +happy if it hadn't been for me." + +"Eh, my dear," said Mrs. Tulliver, leaning toward the warm young +cheek; "I must put up wi' my children,--I shall never have no more; +and if they bring me bad luck, I must be fond on it. There's nothing +else much to be fond on, for my furnitur' went long ago. And you'd got +to be very good once; I can't think how it's turned out the wrong way +so!" + +Still two or three more days passed, and Maggie heard nothing of +Philip; anxiety about him was becoming her predominant trouble, and +she summoned courage at last to inquire about him of Dr. Kenn, on his +next visit to her. He did not even know if Philip was at home. The +elder Wakem was made moody by an accumulation of annoyance; the +disappointment in this young Jetsome, to whom, apparently, he was a +good deal attached, had been followed close by the catastrophe to his +son's hopes after he had done violence to his own strong feeling by +conceding to them, and had incautiously mentioned this concession in +St. Ogg's; and he was almost fierce in his brusqueness when any one +asked him a question about his son. + +But Philip could hardly have been ill, or it would have been known +through the calling in of the medical man; it was probable that he was +gone out of the town for a little while. Maggie sickened under this +suspense, and her imagination began to live more and more persistently +in what Philip was enduring. What did he believe about her? + +At last Bob brought her a letter, without a postmark, directed in a +hand which she knew familiarly in the letters of her own name,--a hand +in which her name had been written long ago, in a pocket Shakespeare +which she possessed. Her mother was in the room, and Maggie, in +violent agitation, hurried upstairs that she might read the letter in +solitude. She read it with a throbbing brow. + + "Maggie,--I believe in you; I know you never meant to deceive me; I + know you tried to keep faith to me and to all. I believed this + before I had any other evidence of it than your own nature. The + night after I last parted from you I suffered torments. I had seen + what convinced me that you were not free; that there was another + whose presence had a power over you which mine never possessed; but + through all the suggestions--almost murderous suggestions--of rage + and jealousy, my mind made its way to believe in your truthfulness. + I was sure that you meant to cleave to me, as you had said; that + you had rejected him; that you struggled to renounce him, for + Lucy's sake and for mine. But I could see no issue that was not + fatal for _you;_ and that dread shut out the very thought of + resignation. I foresaw that he would not relinquish you, and I + believed then, as I believe now, that the strong attraction which + drew you together proceeded only from one side of your characters, + and belonged to that partial, divided action of our nature which + makes half the tragedy of the human lot. I have felt the vibration + of chords in your nature that I have continually felt the want of + in his. But perhaps I am wrong; perhaps I feel about you as the + artist does about the scene over which his soul has brooded with + love; he would tremble to see it confided to other hands; he would + never believe that it could bear for another all the meaning and + the beauty it bears for him. + + "I dared not trust myself to see you that morning; I was filled + with selfish passion; I was shattered by a night of conscious + delirium. I told you long ago that I had never been resigned even + to the mediocrity of my powers; how could I be resigned to the loss + of the one thing which had ever come to me on earth with the + promise of such deep joy as would give a new and blessed meaning to + the foregoing pain,--the promise of another self that would lift my + aching affection into the divine rapture of an ever-springing, + ever-satisfied want? + + "But the miseries of that night had prepared me for what came + before the next. It was no surprise to me. I was certain that he + had prevailed on you to sacrifice everything to him, and I waited + with equal certainty to hear of your marriage. I measured your love + and his by my own. But I was wrong, Maggie. There is something + stronger in you than your love for him. + + "I will not tell you what I went through in that interval. But even + in its utmost agony--even in those terrible throes that love must + suffer before it can be disembodied of selfish desire--my love for + you sufficed to withhold me from suicide, without the aid of any + other motive. In the midst of my egoism, I yet could not bear to + come like a death-shadow across the feast of your joy. I could not + bear to forsake the world in which you still lived and might need + me; it was part of the faith I had vowed to you,--to wait and + endure. Maggie, that is a proof of what I write now to assure you + of,--that no anguish I have had to bear on your account has been + too heavy a price to pay for the new life into which I have entered + in loving you. I want you to put aside all grief because of the + grief you have caused me. I was nurtured in the sense of privation; + I never expected happiness; and in knowing you, in loving you, I + have had, and still have, what reconciles me to life. You have been + to my affections what light, what color is to my eyes, what music + is to the inward ear, you have raised a dim unrest into a vivid + consciousness. The new life I have found in caring for your joy and + sorrow more than for what is directly my own, has transformed the + spirit of rebellious murmuring into that willing endurance which is + the birth of strong sympathy. I think nothing but such complete and + intense love could have initiated me into that enlarged life which + grows and grows by appropriating the life of others; for before, I + was always dragged back from it by ever-present painful + self-consciousness. I even think sometimes that this gift of + transferred life which has come to me in loving you, may be a new + power to me. + + "Then, dear one, in spite of all, you have been the blessing of my + life. Let no self-reproach weigh on you because of me. It is I who + should rather reproach myself for having urged my feelings upon + you, and hurried you into words that you have felt as fetters. You + meant to be true to those words; you _have_ been true. I can + measure your sacrifice by what I have known in only one half-hour + of your presence with me, when I dreamed that you might love me + best. But, Maggie, I have no just claim on you for more than + affectionate remembrance. + + "For some time I have shrunk from writing to you, because I have + shrunk even from the appearance of wishing to thrust myself before + you, and so repeating my original error. But you will not + misconstrue me. I know that we must keep apart for a long while; + cruel tongues would force us apart, if nothing else did. But I + shall not go away. The place where you are is the one where my mind + must live, wherever I might travel. And remember that I am + unchangeably yours,--yours not with selfish wishes, but with a + devotion that excludes such wishes. + + "God comfort you, my loving, large-souled Maggie. If every one else + has misconceived you, remember that you have never been doubted by + him whose heart recognized you ten years ago. + + "Do not believe any one who says I am ill, because I am not seen + out of doors. I have only had nervous headaches,--no worse than I + have sometimes had them before. But the overpowering heat inclines + me to be perfectly quiescent in the daytime. I am strong enough to + obey any word which shall tell me that I can serve you by word or + deed. + + "Yours to the last, + "_Philip Wakem_." + +As Maggie knelt by the bed sobbing, with that letter pressed under +her, her feelings again and again gathered themselves in a whispered +cry, always in the same words,-- + +"O God, is there any happiness in love that could make me forget +_their_ pain?" + + + +Chapter IV + +Maggie and Lucy + + +By the end of the week Dr. Kenn had made up his mind that there was +only one way in which he could secure to Maggie a suitable living at +St. Ogg's. Even with his twenty years' experience as a parish priest, +he was aghast at the obstinate continuance of imputations against her +in the face of evidence. Hitherto he had been rather more adored and +appealed to than was quite agreeable to him; but now, in attempting to +open the ears of women to reason, and their consciences to justice, on +behalf of Maggie Tulliver, he suddenly found himself as powerless as +he was aware he would have been if he had attempted to influence the +shape of bonnets. Dr. Kenn could not be contradicted; he was listened +to in silence; but when he left the room, a comparison of opinions +among his hearers yielded much the same result as before. Miss +Tulliver had undeniably acted in a blamable manner, even Dr. Kenn did +not deny that; how, then, could he think so lightly of her as to put +that favorable interpretation on everything she had done? Even on the +supposition that required the utmost stretch of belief,--namely, that +none of the things said about Miss Tulliver were true,--still, since +they _had_ been said about her, they had cast an odor round her which +must cause her to be shrunk from by every woman who had to take care +of her own reputation--and of Society. To have taken Maggie by the +hand and said, "I will not believe unproved evil of you; my lips shall +not utter it; my ears shall be closed against it; I, too, am an erring +mortal, liable to stumble, apt to come short of my most earnest +efforts; your lot has been harder than mine, your temptation greater; +let us help each other to stand and walk without more falling,"--to +have done this would have demanded courage, deep pity, self-knowledge, +generous trust; would have demanded a mind that tasted no piquancy in +evil-speaking, that felt no self-exaltation in condemning, that +cheated itself with no large words into the belief that life can have +any moral end, any high religion, which excludes the striving after +perfect truth, justice, and love toward the individual men and women +who come across our own path. The ladies of St. Ogg's were not +beguiled by any wide speculative conceptions; but they had their +favorite abstraction, called Society, which served to make their +consciences perfectly easy in doing what satisfied their own +egoism,--thinking and speaking the worst of Maggie Tulliver, and +turning their backs upon her. It was naturally disappointing to Dr. +Kenn, after two years of superfluous incense from his feminine +parishioners, to find them suddenly maintaining their views in +opposition to his; but then they maintained them in opposition to a +higher Authority, which they had venerated longer. That Authority had +furnished a very explicit answer to persons who might inquire where +their social duties began, and might be inclined to take wide views as +to the starting-point. The answer had not turned on the ultimate good +of Society, but on "a certain man" who was found in trouble by the +wayside. + +Not that St. Ogg's was empty of women with some tenderness of heart +and conscience; probably it had as fair a proportion of human goodness +in it as any other small trading town of that day. But until every +good man is brave, we must expect to find many good women timid,--too +timid even to believe in the correctness of their own best promptings, +when these would place them in a minority. And the men at St. Ogg's +were not all brave, by any means; some of them were even fond of +scandal, and to an extent that might have given their conversation an +effeminate character, if it had not been distinguished by masculine +jokes, and by an occasional shrug of the shoulders at the mutual +hatred of women. It was the general feeling of the masculine mind at +St. Ogg's that women were not to be interfered with in their treatment +of each other. + +And thus every direction in which Dr. Kenn had turned, in the hope of +procuring some kind recognition and some employment for Maggie, proved +a disappointment to him. Mrs. James Torry could not think of taking +Maggie as a nursery governess, even temporarily,--a young woman about +whom "such things had been said," and about whom "gentlemen joked"; +and Miss Kirke, who had a spinal complaint, and wanted a reader and +companion, felt quite sure that Maggie's mind must be of a quality +with which she, for her part, could not risk _any_ contact. Why did +not Miss Tulliver accept the shelter offered her by her aunt Glegg? It +did not become a girl like her to refuse it. Or else, why did she not +go out of the neighborhood, and get a situation where she was not +known? (It was not, apparently, of so much importance that she should +carry her dangerous tendencies into strange families unknown at St. +Ogg's.) She must be very bold and hardened to wish to stay in a parish +where she was so much stared at and whispered about. + +Dr. Kenn, having great natural firmness, began, in the presence of +this opposition, as every firm man would have done, to contract a +certain strength of determination over and above what would have been +called forth by the end in view. He himself wanted a daily governess +for his younger children; and though he had hesitated in the first +instance to offer this position to Maggie, the resolution to protest +with the utmost force of his personal and priestly character against +her being crushed and driven away by slander, was now decisive. Maggie +gratefully accepted an employment that gave her duties as well as a +support; her days would be filled now, and solitary evenings would be +a welcome rest. She no longer needed the sacrifice her mother made in +staying with her, and Mrs. Tulliver was persuaded to go back to the +Mill. + +But now it began to be discovered that Dr. Kenn, exemplary as he had +hitherto appeared, had his crotchets, possibly his weaknesses. The +masculine mind of St. Ogg's smiled pleasantly, and did not wonder that +Kenn liked to see a fine pair of eyes daily, or that he was inclined +to take so lenient a view of the past; the feminine mind, regarded at +that period as less powerful, took a more melancholy view of the case. +If Dr. Kenn should be beguiled into marrying that Miss Tulliver! It +was not safe to be too confident, even about the best of men; an +apostle had fallen, and wept bitterly afterwards; and though Peter's +denial was not a close precedent, his repentance was likely to be. + +Maggie had not taken her daily walks to the Rectory for many weeks, +before the dreadful possibility of her some time or other becoming the +Rector's wife had been talked of so often in confidence, that ladies +were beginning to discuss how they should behave to her in that +position. For Dr. Kenn, it had been understood, had sat in the +schoolroom half an hour one morning, when Miss Tulliver was giving her +lessons,--nay, he had sat there every morning; he had once walked home +with her,--he almost _always_ walked home with her,--and if not, he +went to see her in the evening. What an artful creature she was! What +a _mother_ for those children! It was enough to make poor Mrs. Kenn +turn in her grave, that they should be put under the care of this girl +only a few weeks after her death. Would he be so lost to propriety as +to marry her before the year was out? The masculine mind was +sarcastic, and thought _not_. + +The Miss Guests saw an alleviation to the sorrow of witnessing a folly +in their Rector; at least their brother would be safe; and their +knowledge of Stephen's tenacity was a constant ground of alarm to +them, lest he should come back and marry Maggie. They were not among +those who disbelieved their brother's letter; but they had no +confidence in Maggie's adherence to her renunciation of him; they +suspected that she had shrunk rather from the elopement than from the +marriage, and that she lingered in St. Ogg's, relying on his return to +her. They had always thought her disagreeable; they now thought her +artful and proud; having quite as good grounds for that judgment as +you and I probably have for many strong opinions of the same kind. +Formerly they had not altogether delighted in the contemplated match +with Lucy, but now their dread of a marriage between Stephen and +Maggie added its momentum to their genuine pity and indignation on +behalf of the gentle forsaken girl, in making them desire that he +should return to her. As soon as Lucy was able to leave home, she was +to seek relief from the oppressive heat of this August by going to the +coast with the Miss Guests; and it was in their plans that Stephen +should be induced to join them. On the very first hint of gossip +concerning Maggie and Dr. Kenn, the report was conveyed in Miss +Guest's letter to her brother. + +Maggie had frequent tidings through her mother, or aunt Glegg, or Dr. +Kenn, of Lucy's gradual progress toward recovery, and her thoughts +tended continually toward her uncle Deane's house; she hungered for an +interview with Lucy, if it were only for five minutes, to utter a word +of penitence, to be assured by Lucy's own eyes and lips that she did +not believe in the willing treachery of those whom she had loved and +trusted. But she knew that even if her uncle's indignation had not +closed his house against her, the agitation of such an interview would +have been forbidden to Lucy. Only to have seen her without speaking +would have been some relief; for Maggie was haunted by a face cruel in +its very gentleness; a face that had been turned on hers with glad, +sweet looks of trust and love from the twilight time of memory; +changed now to a sad and weary face by a first heart-stroke. And as +the days passed on, that pale image became more and more distinct; the +picture grew and grew into more speaking definiteness under the +avenging hand of remorse; the soft hazel eyes, in their look of pain, +were bent forever on Maggie, and pierced her the more because she +could see no anger in them. But Lucy was not yet able to go to church, +or any place where Maggie could see her; and even the hope of that +departed, when the news was told her by aunt Glegg, that Lucy was +really going away in a few days to Scarborough with the Miss Guests, +who had been heard to say that they expected their brother to meet +them there. + +Only those who have known what hardest inward conflict is, can know +what Maggie felt as she sat in her loneliness the evening after +hearing that news from Mrs. Glegg,--only those who have known what it +is to dread their own selfish desires as the watching mother would +dread the sleeping-potion that was to still her own pain. + +She sat without candle in the twilight, with the window wide open +toward the river; the sense of oppressive heat adding itself +undistinguishably to the burthen of her lot. Seated on a chair against +the window, with her arm on the windowsill she was looking blankly at +the flowing river, swift with the backward-rushing tide, struggling to +see still the sweet face in its unreproaching sadness, that seemed now +from moment to moment to sink away and be hidden behind a form that +thrust itself between, and made darkness. Hearing the door open, she +thought Mrs. Jakin was coming in with her supper, as usual; and with +that repugnance to trivial speech which comes with languor and +wretchedness, she shrank from turning round and saying she wanted +nothing; good little Mrs. Jakin would be sure to make some well-meant +remarks. But the next moment, without her having discerned the sound +of a footstep, she felt a light hand on her shoulder, and heard a +voice close to her saying, "Maggie!" + +The face was there,--changed, but all the sweeter; the hazel eyes were +there, with their heart-piercing tenderness. + +"Maggie!" the soft voice said. "Lucy!" answered a voice with a sharp +ring of anguish in it; and Lucy threw her arms round Maggie's neck, +and leaned her pale cheek against the burning brow. + +"I stole out," said Lucy, almost in a whisper, while she sat down +close to Maggie and held her hand, "when papa and the rest were away. +Alice is come with me. I asked her to help me. But I must only stay a +little while, because it is so late." + +It was easier to say that at first than to say anything else. They sat +looking at each other. It seemed as if the interview must end without +more speech, for speech was very difficult. Each felt that there would +be something scorching in the words that would recall the +irretrievable wrong. But soon, as Maggie looked, every distinct +thought began to be overflowed by a wave of loving penitence, and +words burst forth with a sob. + +"God bless you for coming, Lucy." + +The sobs came thick on each other after that. + +"Maggie, dear, be comforted," said Lucy now, putting her cheek against +Maggie's again. "Don't grieve." And she sat still, hoping to soothe +Maggie with that gentle caress. + +"I didn't mean to deceive you, Lucy," said Maggie, as soon as she +could speak. "It always made me wretched that I felt what I didn't +like you to know. It was because I thought it would all be conquered, +and you might never see anything to wound you." + +"I know, dear," said Lucy. "I know you never meant to make me unhappy. +It is a trouble that has come on us all; you have more to bear than I +have--and you gave him up, when--you did what it must have been very +hard to do." + +They were silent again a little while, sitting with clasped hands, and +cheeks leaned together. + +"Lucy," Maggie began again, "_he_ struggled too. He wanted to be true +to you. He will come back to you. Forgive him--he will be happy +then----" + +These words were wrung forth from Maggie's deepest soul, with an +effort like the convulsed clutch of a drowning man. Lucy trembled and +was silent. + +A gentle knock came at the door. It was Alice, the maid, who entered +and said,-- + +"I daren't stay any longer, Miss Deane. They'll find it out, and +there'll be such anger at your coming out so late." + +Lucy rose and said, "Very well, Alice,--in a minute." + +"I'm to go away on Friday, Maggie," she added, when Alice had closed +the door again. "When I come back, and am strong, they will let me do +as I like. I shall come to you when I please then." + +"Lucy," said Maggie, with another great effort, "I pray to God +continually that I may never be the cause of sorrow to you any more." + +She pressed the little hand that she held between hers, and looked up +into the face that was bent over hers. Lucy never forgot that look. + +"Maggie," she said, in a low voice, that had the solemnity of +confession in it, "you are better than I am. I can't----" + +She broke off there, and said no more. But they clasped each other +again in a last embrace. + + + +Chapter V + +The Last Conflict + + +In the second week of September, Maggie was again sitting in her +lonely room, battling with the old shadowy enemies that were forever +slain and rising again. It was past midnight, and the rain was beating +heavily against the window, driven with fitful force by the rushing, +loud-moaning wind. For the day after Lucy's visit there had been a +sudden change in the weather; the heat and drought had given way to +cold variable winds, and heavy falls of rain at intervals; and she had +been forbidden to risk the contemplated journey until the weather +should become more settled. In the counties higher up the Floss the +rains had been continuous, and the completion of the harvest had been +arrested. And now, for the last two days, the rains on this lower +course of the river had been incessant, so that the old men had shaken +their heads and talked of sixty years ago, when the same sort of +weather, happening about the equinox, brought on the great floods, +which swept the bridge away, and reduced the town to great misery. But +the younger generation, who had seen several small floods, thought +lightly of these sombre recollections and forebodings; and Bob Jakin, +naturally prone to take a hopeful view of his own luck, laughed at his +mother when she regretted their having taken a house by the riverside, +observing that but for that they would have had no boats, which were +the most lucky of possessions in case of a flood that obliged them to +go to a distance for food. + +But the careless and the fearful were alike sleeping in their beds +now. There was hope that the rain would abate by the morrow; +threatenings of a worse kind, from sudden thaws after falls of snow, +had often passed off, in the experience of the younger ones; and at +the very worst, the banks would be sure to break lower down the river +when the tide came in with violence, and so the waters would be +carried off, without causing more than temporary inconvenience, and +losses that would be felt only by the poorer sort, whom charity would +relieve. + +All were in their beds now, for it was past midnight; all except some +solitary watchers such as Maggie. She was seated in her little parlor +toward the river, with one candle, that left everything dim in the +room except a letter which lay before her on the table. That letter, +which had come to her to-day, was one of the causes that had kept her +up far on into the night, unconscious how the hours were going, +careless of seeking rest, with no image of rest coming across her +mind, except of that far, far off rest from which there would be no +more waking for her into this struggling earthly life. + +Two days before Maggie received that letter, she had been to the +Rectory for the last time. The heavy rain would have prevented her +from going since; but there was another reason. Dr. Kenn, at first +enlightened only by a few hints as to the new turn which gossip and +slander had taken in relation to Maggie, had recently been made more +fully aware of it by an earnest remonstrance from one of his male +parishioners against the indiscretion of persisting in the attempt to +overcome the prevalent feeling in the parish by a course of +resistance. Dr. Kenn, having a conscience void of offence in the +matter, was still inclined to persevere,--was still averse to give way +before a public sentiment that was odious and contemptible; but he was +finally wrought upon by the consideration of the peculiar +responsibility attached to his office, of avoiding the appearance of +evil,--an "appearance" that is always dependent on the average quality +of surrounding minds. Where these minds are low and gross, the area of +that "appearance" is proportionately widened. Perhaps he was in danger +of acting from obstinacy; perhaps it was his duty to succumb. +Conscientious people are apt to see their duty in that which is the +most painful course; and to recede was always painful to Dr. Kenn. He +made up his mind that he must advise Maggie to go away from St. Ogg's +for a time; and he performed that difficult task with as much delicacy +as he could, only stating in vague terms that he found his attempt to +countenance her stay was a source of discord between himself and his +parishioners, that was likely to obstruct his usefulness as a +clergyman. He begged her to allow him to write to a clerical friend of +his, who might possibly take her into his own family as governess; +and, if not, would probably know of some other available position for +a young woman in whose welfare Dr. Kenn felt a strong interest. + +Poor Maggie listened with a trembling lip; she could say nothing but a +faint "Thank you, I shall be grateful"; and she walked back to her +lodgings, through the driving rain, with a new sense of desolation. +She must be a lonely wanderer; she must go out among fresh faces, that +would look at her wonderingly, because the days did not seem joyful to +her; she must begin a new life, in which she would have to rouse +herself to receive new impressions; and she was so unspeakably, +sickeningly weary! There was no home, no help for the erring; even +those who pitied were constrained to hardness. But ought she to +complain? Ought she to shrink in this way from the long penance of +life, which was all the possibility she had of lightening the load to +some other sufferers, and so changing that passionate error into a new +force of unselfish human love? All the next day she sat in her lonely +room, with a window darkened by the cloud and the driving rain, +thinking of that future, and wrestling for patience; for what repose +could poor Maggie ever win except by wrestling? + +And on the third day--this day of which she had just sat out the +close--the letter had come which was lying on the table before her. + +The letter was from Stephen. He was come back from Holland; he was at +Mudport again, unknown to any of his friends, and had written to her +from that place, enclosing the letter to a person whom he trusted in +St. Ogg's. From beginning to end it was a passionate cry of reproach; +an appeal against her useless sacrifice of him, of herself, against +that perverted notion of right which led her to crush all his hopes, +for the sake of a mere idea, and not any substantial good,--_his_ +hopes, whom she loved, and who loved her with that single overpowering +passion, that worship, which a man never gives to a woman more than +once in his life. + +"They have written to me that you are to marry Kenn. As if I should +believe that! Perhaps they have told you some such fables about me. +Perhaps they tell you I've been 'travelling.' My body has been dragged +about somewhere; but _I_ have never travelled from the hideous place +where you left me; where I started up from the stupor of helpless rage +to find you gone. + +"Maggie! whose pain can have been like mine? Whose injury is like +mine? Who besides me has met that long look of love that has burnt +itself into my soul, so that no other image can come there? Maggie, +call me back to you! Call me back to life and goodness! I am banished +from both now. I have no motives; I am indifferent to everything. Two +months have only deepened the certainty that I can never care for life +without you. Write me one word; say 'Come!' In two days I should be +with you. Maggie, have you forgotten what it was to be together,--to +be within reach of a look, to be within hearing of each other's +voice?" + +When Maggie first read this letter she felt as if her real temptation +had only just begun. At the entrance of the chill dark cavern, we turn +with unworn courage from the warm light; but how, when we have trodden +far in the damp darkness, and have begun to be faint and weary; how, +if there is a sudden opening above us, and we are invited back again +to the life-nourishing day? The leap of natural longing from under the +pressure of pain is so strong, that all less immediate motives are +likely to be forgotten--till the pain has been escaped from. + +For hours Maggie felt as if her struggle had been in vain. For hours +every other thought that she strove to summon was thrust aside by the +image of Stephen waiting for the single word that would bring him to +her. She did not _read_ the letter: she heard him uttering it, and the +voice shook her with its old strange power. All the day before she had +been filled with the vision of a lonely future through which she must +carry the burthen of regret, upheld only by clinging faith. And here, +close within her reach, urging itself upon her even as a claim, was +another future, in which hard endurance and effort were to be +exchanged for easy, delicious leaning on another's loving strength! +And yet that promise of joy in the place of sadness did not make the +dire force of the temptation to Maggie. + +It was Stephen's tone of misery, it was the doubt in the justice of +her own resolve, that made the balance tremble, and made her once +start from her seat to reach the pen and paper, and write "Come!" + +But close upon that decisive act, her mind recoiled; and the sense of +contradiction with her past self in her moments of strength and +clearness came upon her like a pang of conscious degradation. No, she +must wait; she must pray; the light that had forsaken her would come +again; she should feel again what she had felt when she had fled away, +under an inspiration strong enough to conquer agony,--to conquer love; +she should feel again what she had felt when Lucy stood by her, when +Philip's letter had stirred all the fibres that bound her to the +calmer past. + +She sat quite still, far on into the night, with no impulse to change +her attitude, without active force enough even for the mental act of +prayer; only waiting for the light that would surely come again. It +came with the memories that no passion could long quench; the long +past came back to her, and with it the fountains of self-renouncing +pity and affection, of faithfulness and resolve. The words that were +marked by the quiet hand in the little old book that she had long ago +learned by heart, rushed even to her lips, and found a vent for +themselves in a low murmur that was quite lost in the loud driving of +the rain against the window and the loud moan and roar of the wind. "I +have received the Cross, I have received it from Thy hand; I will bear +it, and bear it till death, as Thou hast laid it upon me." + +But soon other words rose that could find no utterance but in a +sob,--"Forgive me, Stephen! It will pass away. You will come back to +her." + +She took up the letter, held it to the candle, and let it burn slowly +on the hearth. To-morrow she would write to him the last word of +parting. + +"I will bear it, and bear it till death. But how long it will be +before death comes! I am so young, so healthy. How shall I have +patience and strength? Am I to struggle and fall and repent again? Has +life other trials as hard for me still?" + +With that cry of self-despair, Maggie fell on her knees against the +table, and buried her sorrow-stricken face. Her soul went out to the +Unseen Pity that would be with her to the end. Surely there was +something being taught her by this experience of great need; and she +must be learning a secret of human tenderness and long-suffering, that +the less erring could hardly know? "O God, if my life is to be long, +let me live to bless and comfort----" + +At that moment Maggie felt a startling sensation of sudden cold about +her knees and feet; it was water flowing under her. She started up; +the stream was flowing under the door that led into the passage. She +was not bewildered for an instant; she knew it was the flood! + +The tumult of emotion she had been enduring for the last twelve hours +seemed to have left a great calm in her; without screaming, she +hurried with the candle upstairs to Bob Jakin's bedroom. The door was +ajar; she went in and shook him by the shoulder. + +"Bob, the flood is come! it is in the house; let us see if we can make +the boats safe." + +She lighted his candle, while the poor wife, snatching up her baby, +burst into screams; and then she hurried down again to see if the +waters were rising fast. There was a step down into the room at the +door leading from the staircase; she saw that the water was already on +a level with the step. While she was looking, something came with a +tremendous crash against the window, and sent the leaded panes and the +old wooden framework inward in shivers, the water pouring in after it. + +"It is the boat!" cried Maggie. "Bob, come down to get the boats!" + +And without a moment's shudder of fear, she plunged through the water, +which was rising fast to her knees, and by the glimmering light of the +candle she had left on the stairs, she mounted on to the window-sill, +and crept into the boat, which was left with the prow lodging and +protruding through the window. Bob was not long after her, hurrying +without shoes or stockings, but with the lanthorn in his hand. + +"Why, they're both here,--both the boats," said Bob, as he got into +the one where Maggie was. "It's wonderful this fastening isn't broke +too, as well as the mooring." + +In the excitement of getting into the other boat, unfastening it, and +mastering an oar, Bob was not struck with the danger Maggie incurred. +We are not apt to fear for the fearless, when we are companions in +their danger, and Bob's mind was absorbed in possible expedients for +the safety of the helpless indoors. The fact that Maggie had been up, +had waked him, and had taken the lead in activity, gave Bob a vague +impression of her as one who would help to protect, not need to be +protected. She too had got possession of an oar, and had pushed off, +so as to release the boat from the overhanging window-frame. + +"The water's rising so fast," said Bob, "I doubt it'll be in at the +chambers before long,--th' house is so low. I've more mind to get +Prissy and the child and the mother into the boat, if I could, and +trusten to the water,--for th' old house is none so safe. And if I let +go the boat--but _you_," he exclaimed, suddenly lifting the light of +his lanthorn on Maggie, as she stood in the rain with the oar in her +hand and her black hair streaming. + +Maggie had no time to answer, for a new tidal current swept along the +line of the houses, and drove both the boats out on to the wide water, +with a force that carried them far past the meeting current of the +river. + +In the first moments Maggie felt nothing, thought of nothing, but that +she had suddenly passed away from that life which she had been +dreading; it was the transition of death, without its agony,--and she +was alone in the darkness with God. + +The whole thing had been so rapid, so dreamlike, that the threads of +ordinary association were broken; she sank down on the seat clutching +the oar mechanically, and for a long while had no distinct conception +of her position. The first thing that waked her to fuller +consciousness was the cessation of the rain, and a perception that the +darkness was divided by the faintest light, which parted the +overhanging gloom from the immeasurable watery level below. She was +driven out upon the flood,--that awful visitation of God which her +father used to talk of; which had made the nightmare of her childish +dreams. And with that thought there rushed in the vision of the old +home, and Tom, and her mother,--they had all listened together. + +"O God, where am I? Which is the way home?" she cried out, in the dim +loneliness. + +What was happening to them at the Mill? The flood had once nearly +destroyed it. They might be in danger, in distress,--her mother and +her brother, alone there, beyond reach of help! Her whole soul was +strained now on that thought; and she saw the long-loved faces looking +for help into the darkness, and finding none. + +She was floating in smooth water now,--perhaps far on the overflooded +fields. There was no sense of present danger to check the outgoing of +her mind to the old home; and she strained her eyes against the +curtain of gloom that she might seize the first sight of her +whereabout,--that she might catch some faint suggestion of the spot +toward which all her anxieties tended. + +Oh, how welcome, the widening of that dismal watery level, the gradual +uplifting of the cloudy firmament, the slowly defining blackness of +objects above the glassy dark! Yes, she must be out on the fields; +those were the tops of hedgerow trees. Which way did the river lie? +Looking behind her, she saw the lines of black trees; looking before +her, there were none; then the river lay before her. She seized an oar +and began to paddle the boat forward with the energy of wakening hope; +the dawning seemed to advance more swiftly, now she was in action; and +she could soon see the poor dumb beasts crowding piteously on a mound +where they had taken refuge. Onward she paddled and rowed by turns in +the growing twilight; her wet clothes clung round her, and her +streaming hair was dashed about by the wind, but she was hardly +conscious of any bodily sensations,--except a sensation of strength, +inspired by mighty emotion. Along with the sense of danger and +possible rescue for those long-remembered beings at the old home, +there was an undefined sense of reconcilement with her brother; what +quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in +the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of +our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive +mortal needs? Vaguely Maggie felt this, in the strong resurgent love +toward her brother that swept away all the later impressions of hard, +cruel offence and misunderstanding, and left only the deep, +underlying, unshakable memories of early union. + +But now there was a large dark mass in the distance, and near to her +Maggie could discern the current of the river. The dark mass must +be--yes, it was--St. Ogg's. Ah, now she knew which way to look for the +first glimpse of the well-known trees--the gray willows, the now +yellowing chestnuts--and above them the old roof! But there was no +color, no shape yet; all was faint and dim. More and more strongly the +energies seemed to come and put themselves forth, as if her life were +a stored-up force that was being spent in this hour, unneeded for any +future. + +She must get her boat into the current of the Floss, else she would +never be able to pass the Ripple and approach the house; this was the +thought that occurred to her, as she imagined with more and more +vividness the state of things round the old home. But then she might +be carried very far down, and be unable to guide her boat out of the +current again. For the first time distinct ideas of danger began to +press upon her; but there was no choice of courses, no room for +hesitation, and she floated into the current. Swiftly she went now +without effort; more and more clearly in the lessening distance and +the growing light she began to discern the objects that she knew must +be the well-known trees and roofs; nay, she was not far off a rushing, +muddy current that must be the strangely altered Ripple. + +Great God! there were floating masses in it, that might dash against +her boat as she passed, and cause her to perish too soon. What were +those masses? + +For the first time Maggie's heart began to beat in an agony of dread. +She sat helpless, dimly conscious that she was being floated along, +more intensely conscious of the anticipated clash. But the horror was +transient; it passed away before the oncoming warehouses of St. Ogg's. +She had passed the mouth of the Ripple, then; _now_, she must use all +her skill and power to manage the boat and get it if possible out of +the current. She could see now that the bridge was broken down; she +could see the masts of a stranded vessel far out over the watery +field. But no boats were to be seen moving on the river,--such as had +been laid hands on were employed in the flooded streets. + +With new resolution, Maggie seized her oar, and stood up again to +paddle; but the now ebbing tide added to the swiftness of the river, +and she was carried along beyond the bridge. She could hear shouts +from the windows overlooking the river, as if the people there were +calling to her. It was not till she had passed on nearly to Tofton +that she could get the boat clear of the current. Then with one +yearning look toward her uncle Deane's house that lay farther down the +river, she took to both her oars and rowed with all her might across +the watery fields, back toward the Mill. Color was beginning to awake +now, and as she approached the Dorlcote fields, she could discern the +tints of the trees, could see the old Scotch firs far to the right, +and the home chestnuts,--oh, how deep they lay in the water,--deeper +than the trees on this side the hill! And the roof of the Mill--where +was it? Those heavy fragments hurrying down the Ripple,--what had they +meant? But it was not the house,--the house stood firm; drowned up to +the first story, but still firm,--or was it broken in at the end +toward the Mill? + +With panting joy that she was there at last,--joy that overcame all +distress,--Maggie neared the front of the house. At first she heard no +sound; she saw no object moving. Her boat was on a level with the +upstairs window. She called out in a loud, piercing voice,-- + +"Tom, where are you? Mother, where are you? Here is Maggie!" + +Soon, from the window of the attic in the central gable, she heard +Tom's voice,-- + +"Who is it? Have you brought a boat?" + +"It is I, Tom,--Maggie. Where is mother?" + +"She is not here; she went to Garum the day before yesterday. I'll +come down to the lower window." + +"Alone, Maggie?" said Tom, in a voice of deep astonishment, as he +opened the middle window, on a level with the boat. + +"Yes, Tom; God has taken care of me, to bring me to you. Get in +quickly. Is there no one else?" + +"No," said Tom, stepping into the boat; "I fear the man is drowned; he +was carried down the Ripple, I think, when part of the Mill fell with +the crash of trees and stones against it; I've shouted again and +again, and there has been no answer. Give me the oars, Maggie." + +It was not till Tom had pushed off and they were on the wide +water,--he face to face with Maggie,--that the full meaning of what +had happened rushed upon his mind. It came with so overpowering a +force,--it was such a new revelation to his spirit, of the depths in +life that had lain beyond his vision, which he had fancied so keen and +clear,--that he was unable to ask a question. They sat mutely gazing +at each other,--Maggie with eyes of intense life looking out from a +weary, beaten face; Tom pale, with a certain awe and humiliation. +Thought was busy though the lips were silent; and though he could ask +no question, he guessed a story of almost miraculous, divinely +protected effort. But at last a mist gathered over the blue-gray eyes, +and the lips found a word they could utter,--the old childish +"Magsie!" + +Maggie could make no answer but a long, deep sob of that mysterious, +wondrous happiness that is one with pain. + +As soon as she could speak, she said, "We will go to Lucy, Tom; we'll +go and see if she is safe, and then we can help the rest." + +Tom rowed with untired vigor, and with a different speed from poor +Maggie's. The boat was soon in the current of the river again, and +soon they would be at Tofton. + +"Park House stands high up out of the flood," said Maggie. "Perhaps +they have got Lucy there." + +Nothing else was said; a new danger was being carried toward them by +the river. Some wooden machinery had just given way on one of the +wharves, and huge fragments were being floated along. The sun was +rising now, and the wide area of watery desolation was spread out in +dreadful clearness around them; in dreadful clearness floated onward +the hurrying, threatening masses. A large company in a boat that was +working its way along under the Tofton houses observed their danger, +and shouted, "Get out of the current!" + +But that could not be done at once; and Tom, looking before him, saw +death rushing on them. Huge fragments, clinging together in fatal +fellowship, made one wide mass across the stream. + +"It is coming, Maggie!" Tom said, in a deep, hoarse voice, loosing the +oars, and clasping her. + +The next instant the boat was no longer seen upon the water, and the +huge mass was hurrying on in hideous triumph. + +But soon the keel of the boat reappeared, a black speck on the golden +water. + +The boat reappeared, but brother and sister had gone down in an +embrace never to be parted; living through again in one supreme moment +the days when they had clasped their little hands in love, and roamed +the daisied fields together. + +Conclusion + +Nature repairs her ravages,--repairs them with her sunshine, and with +human labor. The desolation wrought by that flood had left little +visible trace on the face of the earth, five years after. The fifth +autumn was rich in golden cornstacks, rising in thick clusters among +the distant hedgerows; the wharves and warehouses on the Floss were +busy again, with echoes of eager voices, with hopeful lading and +unlading. + +And every man and woman mentioned in this history was still living, +except those whose end we know. + +Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not +rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new +growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills +underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To +the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair. + +Dorlcote Mill was rebuilt. And Dorlcote churchyard--where the brick +grave that held a father whom we know, was found with the stone laid +prostrate upon it after the flood--had recovered all its grassy order +and decent quiet. + +Near that brick grave there was a tomb erected, very soon after the +flood, for two bodies that were found in close embrace; and it was +visited at different moments by two men who both felt that their +keenest joy and keenest sorrow were forever buried there. + +One of them visited the tomb again with a sweet face beside him; but +that was years after. + +The other was always solitary. His great companionship was among the +trees of the Red Deeps, where the buried joy seemed still to hover, +like a revisiting spirit. + +The tomb bore the names of Tom and Maggie Tulliver, and below the +names it was written,-- + + "In their death they were not divided." diff --git a/pg1260.txt b/pg1260.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f241f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/pg1260.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20659 @@ +JANE EYRE +AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY + + +BY +CHARLOTTE BRONTE + +_ILLUSTRATED BY F. H. TOWNSEND_ + +London +SERVICE & PATON +5 HENRIETTA STREET +1897 + +_The Illustrations_ +_in this Volume are the copyright of_ +SERVICE & PATON, _London_ + +TO +W. M. THACKERAY, ESQ., + +This Work +IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED + +BY +THE AUTHOR + + + + +PREFACE + + +A preface to the first edition of "Jane Eyre" being unnecessary, I gave +none: this second edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment and +miscellaneous remark. + +My thanks are due in three quarters. + +To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a plain tale with +few pretensions. + +To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to an +obscure aspirant. + +To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical +sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unrecommended +Author. + +The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and I +must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so are +certain generous critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted and +high-minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger; to them, +_i.e._, to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially, +Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart. + +Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me, +I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not, +therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who +doubt the tendency of such books as "Jane Eyre:" in whose eyes whatever +is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against +bigotry--that parent of crime--an insult to piety, that regent of God on +earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I +would remind them of certain simple truths. + +Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To +attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the +face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of +Thorns. + +These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as +is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be +confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human +doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be +substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeat +it--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly +and clearly the line of separation between them. + +The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been +accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show +pass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for clean +shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase the +gilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, and +reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him. + +Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerning +him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaannah better; +yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears +to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel. + +There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle +delicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of +society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah +and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power as prophet-like +and as vital--a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the satirist of +"Vanity Fair" admired in high places? I cannot tell; but I think if some +of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over +whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his +warnings in time--they or their seed might yet escape a fatal +Rimoth-Gilead. + +Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because I +think I see in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his +contemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the first +social regenerator of the day--as the very master of that working corps +who would restore to rectitude the warped system of things; because I +think no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison that +suits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say he +is like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. He +resembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on +carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humour +attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that +the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer- +cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I have +alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him--if he will accept the tribute +of a total stranger--I have dedicated this second edition of "JANE EYRE." + +CURRER BELL. + +_December_ 21_st_, 1847. + + + + +NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION + + +I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of "Jane Eyre" +affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to explain that my +claim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If, +therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction has been attributed +to me, an honour is awarded where it is not merited; and consequently, +denied where it is justly due. + +This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which may already have +been made, and to prevent future errors. + +CURRER BELL. + +_April_ 13_th_, 1848. + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been +wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but +since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold +winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so +penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. + +I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly +afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with +nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, +the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to +Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed. + +The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama +in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with +her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) +looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; +saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a +distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her +own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a +more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly +manner--something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really +must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, +little children." + +"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked. + +"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something +truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be +seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent." + +A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It +contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care +that it should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window- +seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having +drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double +retirement. + +Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left +were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the +drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my +book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a +pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat +shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and +lamentable blast. + +I returned to my book--Bewick's History of British Birds: the letterpress +thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were +certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite +as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of +"the solitary rocks and promontories" by them only inhabited; of the +coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the +Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape-- + + "Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls, + Boils round the naked, melancholy isles + Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge + Pours in among the stormy Hebrides." + +Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, +Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with "the vast +sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,--that +reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation +of centuries of winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround +the pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of +these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all +the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains, +but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pages +connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gave significance +to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken +boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing +through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking. + +I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with +its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, +girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the +hour of eventide. + +The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms. + +The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passed over +quickly: it was an object of terror. + +So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant +crowd surrounding a gallows. + +Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped +understanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting: as +interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, +when she chanced to be in good humour; and when, having brought her +ironing-table to the nursery hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and +while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap +borders, fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure +taken from old fairy tales and other ballads; or (as at a later period I +discovered) from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland. + +With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way. I +feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast- +room door opened. + +"Boh! Madam Mope!" cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: he +found the room apparently empty. + +"Where the dickens is she!" he continued. "Lizzy! Georgy! (calling to +his sisters) Joan is not here: tell mama she is run out into the rain--bad +animal!" + +"It is well I drew the curtain," thought I; and I wished fervently he +might not discover my hiding-place: nor would John Reed have found it out +himself; he was not quick either of vision or conception; but Eliza just +put her head in at the door, and said at once-- + +"She is in the window-seat, to be sure, Jack." + +And I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being dragged +forth by the said Jack. + +"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence. + +"Say, 'What do you want, Master Reed?'" was the answer. "I want you to +come here;" and seating himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a +gesture that I was to approach and stand before him. + +John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I, +for I was but ten: large and stout for his age, with a dingy and +unwholesome skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and +large extremities. He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him +bilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye and flabby cheeks. He ought +now to have been at school; but his mama had taken him home for a month +or two, "on account of his delicate health." Mr. Miles, the master, +affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeats +sent him from home; but the mother's heart turned from an opinion so +harsh, and inclined rather to the more refined idea that John's +sallowness was owing to over-application and, perhaps, to pining after +home. + +John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy +to me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, +nor once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had feared +him, and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near. +There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, +because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his +inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master by +taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the +subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did +both now and then in her very presence, more frequently, however, behind +her back. + +Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair: he spent some three +minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could without +damaging the roots: I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the +blow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would +presently deal it. I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, all +at once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered, +and on regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or two from his +chair. + +"That is for your impudence in answering mama awhile since," said he, +"and for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, and for the look +you had in your eyes two minutes since, you rat!" + +Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it; +my care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow the +insult. + +"What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked. + +"I was reading." + +"Show the book." + +I returned to the window and fetched it thence. + +"You have no business to take our books; you are a dependent, mama says; +you have no money; your father left you none; you ought to beg, and not +to live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals we +do, and wear clothes at our mama's expense. Now, I'll teach you to +rummage my bookshelves: for they _are_ mine; all the house belongs to me, +or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of +the mirror and the windows." + +I did so, not at first aware what was his intention; but when I saw him +lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctively +started aside with a cry of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volume +was flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door and +cutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp: my terror had passed its +climax; other feelings succeeded. + +"Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a murderer--you are like a +slave-driver--you are like the Roman emperors!" + +I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of +Nero, Caligula, etc. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never +thought thus to have declared aloud. + +"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, +Eliza and Georgiana? Won't I tell mama? but first--" + +He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had +closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. +I felt a drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was +sensible of somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time +predominated over fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very +well know what I did with my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and +bellowed out aloud. Aid was near him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for +Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she now came upon the scene, followed +by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were parted: I heard the words-- + +"Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!" + +"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!" + +Then Mrs. Reed subjoined-- + +"Take her away to the red-room, and lock her in there." Four hands were +immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which +greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed +to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather +_out_ of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment's +mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any +other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths. + +"Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat." + +"For shame! for shame!" cried the lady's-maid. "What shocking conduct, +Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your +young master." + +"Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?" + +"No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. +There, sit down, and think over your wickedness." + +They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs. Reed, +and had thrust me upon a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a +spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly. + +"If you don't sit still, you must be tied down," said Bessie. "Miss +Abbot, lend me your garters; she would break mine directly." + +Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This +preparation for bonds, and the additional ignominy it inferred, took a +little of the excitement out of me. + +"Don't take them off," I cried; "I will not stir." + +In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands. + +"Mind you don't," said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that I was +really subsiding, she loosened her hold of me; then she and Miss Abbot +stood with folded arms, looking darkly and doubtfully on my face, as +incredulous of my sanity. + +"She never did so before," at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail. + +"But it was always in her," was the reply. "I've told Missis often my +opinion about the child, and Missis agreed with me. She's an underhand +little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much cover." + +Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said--"You ought to +be aware, Miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs. Reed: she keeps +you: if she were to turn you off, you would have to go to the poorhouse." + +I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me: my very +first recollections of existence included hints of the same kind. This +reproach of my dependence had become a vague sing-song in my ear: very +painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in-- + +"And you ought not to think yourself on an equality with the Misses Reed +and Master Reed, because Missis kindly allows you to be brought up with +them. They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: it +is your place to be humble, and to try to make yourself agreeable to +them." + +"What we tell you is for your good," added Bessie, in no harsh voice, +"you should try to be useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have +a home here; but if you become passionate and rude, Missis will send you +away, I am sure." + +"Besides," said Miss Abbot, "God will punish her: He might strike her +dead in the midst of her tantrums, and then where would she go? Come, +Bessie, we will leave her: I wouldn't have her heart for anything. Say +your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't +repent, something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and +fetch you away." + +They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them. + +The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might say +never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead Hall +rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation it +contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in the +mansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung with +curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle in the centre; +the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down, were half +shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red; +the table at the foot of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the +walls were a soft fawn colour with a blush of pink in it; the wardrobe, +the toilet-table, the chairs were of darkly polished old mahogany. Out +of these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, the piled- +up mattresses and pillows of the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles +counterpane. Scarcely less prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair +near the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it; and +looking, as I thought, like a pale throne. + +This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent, because +remote from the nursery and kitchen; solemn, because it was known to be +so seldom entered. The house-maid alone came here on Saturdays, to wipe +from the mirrors and the furniture a week's quiet dust: and Mrs. Reed +herself, at far intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certain +secret drawer in the wardrobe, where were stored divers parchments, her +jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband; and in those last +words lies the secret of the red-room--the spell which kept it so lonely +in spite of its grandeur. + +Mr. Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathed his +last; here he lay in state; hence his coffin was borne by the +undertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary consecration had +guarded it from frequent intrusion. + +My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted, +was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose before me; +to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with subdued, broken +reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my left were the muffled +windows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majesty +of the bed and room. I was not quite sure whether they had locked the +door; and when I dared move, I got up and went to see. Alas! yes: no +jail was ever more secure. Returning, I had to cross before the looking- +glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. +All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: +and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and +arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all +else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like one of +the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening stories +represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing +before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool. + +Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hour for +complete victory: my blood was still warm; the mood of the revolted slave +was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I had to stem a rapid rush +of retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismal present. + +All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indifference, +all his mother's aversion, all the servants' partiality, turned up in my +disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was I always +suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Why +could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? +Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who had +a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage, +was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, +seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase +indemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted, much less punished; +though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, +set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, +and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called +his mother "old girl," too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, +similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore +and spoiled her silk attire; and he was still "her own darling." I dared +commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughty +and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to +night. + +My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: no +one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turned +against him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded with +general opprobrium. + +"Unjust!--unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into +precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, +instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable +oppression--as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never +eating or drinking more, and letting myself die. + +What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all my +brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in what +darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I could +not answer the ceaseless inward question--_why_ I thus suffered; now, at +the distance of--I will not say how many years, I see it clearly. + +I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I had nothing +in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosen vassalage. If +they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them. They were not +bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathise with one +amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in +capacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving their +interest, or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing the +germs of indignation at their treatment, of contempt of their judgment. I +know that had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, +romping child--though equally dependent and friendless--Mrs. Reed would +have endured my presence more complacently; her children would have +entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants +would have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of the nursery. + +Daylight began to forsake the red-room; it was past four o'clock, and the +beclouded afternoon was tending to drear twilight. I heard the rain +still beating continuously on the staircase window, and the wind howling +in the grove behind the hall; I grew by degrees cold as a stone, and then +my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn +depression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire. All said I was +wicked, and perhaps I might be so; what thought had I been but just +conceiving of starving myself to death? That certainly was a crime: and +was I fit to die? Or was the vault under the chancel of Gateshead Church +an inviting bourne? In such vault I had been told did Mr. Reed lie +buried; and led by this thought to recall his idea, I dwelt on it with +gathering dread. I could not remember him; but I knew that he was my own +uncle--my mother's brother--that he had taken me when a parentless infant +to his house; and that in his last moments he had required a promise of +Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children. +Mrs. Reed probably considered she had kept this promise; and so she had, +I dare say, as well as her nature would permit her; but how could she +really like an interloper not of her race, and unconnected with her, +after her husband's death, by any tie? It must have been most irksome to +find herself bound by a hard-wrung pledge to stand in the stead of a +parent to a strange child she could not love, and to see an uncongenial +alien permanently intruded on her own family group. + +A singular notion dawned upon me. I doubted not--never doubted--that if +Mr. Reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now, as I +sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls--occasionally also +turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaning mirror--I began to +recall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the +violation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the +perjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr. Reed's spirit, +harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its +abode--whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the +departed--and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears and +hushed my sobs, fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a +preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed +face, bending over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory in +theory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might I +endeavoured to stifle it--I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from +my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room; +at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a +ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight +was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling +and quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streak +of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern carried by some +one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken +as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift darting beam was a +herald of some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, my +head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of +wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated: endurance +broke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. +Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie and +Abbot entered. + +"Miss Eyre, are you ill?" said Bessie. + +"What a dreadful noise! it went quite through me!" exclaimed Abbot. + +"Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!" was my cry. + +"What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?" again demanded +Bessie. + +"Oh! I saw a light, and I thought a ghost would come." I had now got +hold of Bessie's hand, and she did not snatch it from me. + +"She has screamed out on purpose," declared Abbot, in some disgust. "And +what a scream! If she had been in great pain one would have excused it, +but she only wanted to bring us all here: I know her naughty tricks." + +"What is all this?" demanded another voice peremptorily; and Mrs. Reed +came along the corridor, her cap flying wide, her gown rustling stormily. +"Abbot and Bessie, I believe I gave orders that Jane Eyre should be left +in the red-room till I came to her myself." + +"Miss Jane screamed so loud, ma'am," pleaded Bessie. + +"Let her go," was the only answer. "Loose Bessie's hand, child: you +cannot succeed in getting out by these means, be assured. I abhor +artifice, particularly in children; it is my duty to show you that tricks +will not answer: you will now stay here an hour longer, and it is only on +condition of perfect submission and stillness that I shall liberate you +then." + +"O aunt! have pity! Forgive me! I cannot endure it--let me be punished +some other way! I shall be killed if--" + +"Silence! This violence is all most repulsive:" and so, no doubt, she +felt it. I was a precocious actress in her eyes; she sincerely looked on +me as a compound of virulent passions, mean spirit, and dangerous +duplicity. + +Bessie and Abbot having retreated, Mrs. Reed, impatient of my now frantic +anguish and wild sobs, abruptly thrust me back and locked me in, without +farther parley. I heard her sweeping away; and soon after she was gone, +I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness closed the scene. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The next thing I remember is, waking up with a feeling as if I had had a +frightful nightmare, and seeing before me a terrible red glare, crossed +with thick black bars. I heard voices, too, speaking with a hollow +sound, and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water: agitation, +uncertainty, and an all-predominating sense of terror confused my +faculties. Ere long, I became aware that some one was handling me; +lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture, and that more +tenderly than I had ever been raised or upheld before. I rested my head +against a pillow or an arm, and felt easy. + +In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quite +well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nursery +fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed- +foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my +pillow, leaning over me. + +I felt an inexpressible relief, a soothing conviction of protection and +security, when I knew that there was a stranger in the room, an +individual not belonging to Gateshead, and not related to Mrs. Reed. +Turning from Bessie (though her presence was far less obnoxious to me +than that of Abbot, for instance, would have been), I scrutinised the +face of the gentleman: I knew him; it was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary, +sometimes called in by Mrs. Reed when the servants were ailing: for +herself and the children she employed a physician. + +"Well, who am I?" he asked. + +I pronounced his name, offering him at the same time my hand: he took it, +smiling and saying, "We shall do very well by-and-by." Then he laid me +down, and addressing Bessie, charged her to be very careful that I was +not disturbed during the night. Having given some further directions, +and intimates that he should call again the next day, he departed; to my +grief: I felt so sheltered and befriended while he sat in the chair near +my pillow; and as he closed the door after him, all the room darkened and +my heart again sank: inexpressible sadness weighed it down. + +"Do you feel as if you should sleep, Miss?" asked Bessie, rather softly. + +Scarcely dared I answer her; for I feared the next sentence might be +rough. "I will try." + +"Would you like to drink, or could you eat anything?" + +"No, thank you, Bessie." + +"Then I think I shall go to bed, for it is past twelve o'clock; but you +may call me if you want anything in the night." + +Wonderful civility this! It emboldened me to ask a question. + +"Bessie, what is the matter with me? Am I ill?" + +"You fell sick, I suppose, in the red-room with crying; you'll be better +soon, no doubt." + +Bessie went into the housemaid's apartment, which was near. I heard her +say-- + +"Sarah, come and sleep with me in the nursery; I daren't for my life be +alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it's such a strange +thing she should have that fit: I wonder if she saw anything. Missis was +rather too hard." + +Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering +together for half-an-hour before they fell asleep. I caught scraps of +their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to infer +the main subject discussed. + +"Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished"--"A great +black dog behind him"--"Three loud raps on the chamber door"--"A light in +the churchyard just over his grave," etc., etc. + +At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out. For me, the +watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained by +dread: such dread as children only can feel. + +No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red- +room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation to +this day. Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mental +suffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did: +while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my +bad propensities. + +Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl by +the nursery hearth. I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worse +ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness which +kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt drop +from my cheek than another followed. Yet, I thought, I ought to have +been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in +the carriage with their mama. Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, +and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and +arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted +kindness. This state of things should have been to me a paradise of +peace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless +fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that no +calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably. + +Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart +on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise, +nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in +me a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had often +petitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it more +closely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a +privilege. This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was +cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain +favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished +for, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, +the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and +tart away. Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word _book_ acted as +a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels from +the library. This book I had again and again perused with delight. I +considered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein of +interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves, +having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under +mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at +length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of +England to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker, +and the population more scant; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in +my creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I might +one day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, +houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds +of the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, +the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other. Yet, when +this cherished volume was now placed in my hand--when I turned over its +leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, +never failed to find--all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt +goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most +desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed the +book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the +untasted tart. + +Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washed +her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid shreds of +silk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll. +Meantime she sang: her song was-- + + "In the days when we went gipsying, + A long time ago." + +I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; for +Bessie had a sweet voice,--at least, I thought so. But now, though her +voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness. +Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, very +lingeringly; "A long time ago" came out like the saddest cadence of a +funeral hymn. She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful +one. + + "My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary; + Long is the way, and the mountains are wild; + Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary + Over the path of the poor orphan child. + + Why did they send me so far and so lonely, + Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled? + Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels only + Watch o'er the steps of a poor orphan child. + + Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing, + Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild, + God, in His mercy, protection is showing, + Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child. + + Ev'n should I fall o'er the broken bridge passing, + Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled, + Still will my Father, with promise and blessing, + Take to His bosom the poor orphan child. + + There is a thought that for strength should avail me, + Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled; + Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me; + God is a friend to the poor orphan child." + +"Come, Miss Jane, don't cry," said Bessie as she finished. She might as +well have said to the fire, "don't burn!" but how could she divine the +morbid suffering to which I was a prey? In the course of the morning Mr. +Lloyd came again. + +"What, already up!" said he, as he entered the nursery. "Well, nurse, +how is she?" + +Bessie answered that I was doing very well. + +"Then she ought to look more cheerful. Come here, Miss Jane: your name +is Jane, is it not?" + +"Yes, sir, Jane Eyre." + +"Well, you have been crying, Miss Jane Eyre; can you tell me what about? +Have you any pain?" + +"No, sir." + +"Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with Missis in +the carriage," interposed Bessie. + +"Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness." + +I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false charge, I +answered promptly, "I never cried for such a thing in my life: I hate +going out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable." + +"Oh fie, Miss!" said Bessie. + +The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I was standing before +him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were small and grey; +not very bright, but I dare say I should think them shrewd now: he had a +hard-featured yet good-natured looking face. Having considered me at +leisure, he said-- + +"What made you ill yesterday?" + +"She had a fall," said Bessie, again putting in her word. + +"Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can't she manage to walk at her +age? She must be eight or nine years old." + +"I was knocked down," was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me by +another pang of mortified pride; "but that did not make me ill," I added; +while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff. + +As he was returning the box to his waistcoat pocket, a loud bell rang for +the servants' dinner; he knew what it was. "That's for you, nurse," said +he; "you can go down; I'll give Miss Jane a lecture till you come back." + +Bessie would rather have stayed, but she was obliged to go, because +punctuality at meals was rigidly enforced at Gateshead Hall. + +"The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?" pursued Mr. Lloyd when +Bessie was gone. + +"I was shut up in a room where there is a ghost till after dark." + +I saw Mr. Lloyd smile and frown at the same time. + +"Ghost! What, you are a baby after all! You are afraid of ghosts?" + +"Of Mr. Reed's ghost I am: he died in that room, and was laid out there. +Neither Bessie nor any one else will go into it at night, if they can +help it; and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle,--so cruel +that I think I shall never forget it." + +"Nonsense! And is it that makes you so miserable? Are you afraid now in +daylight?" + +"No: but night will come again before long: and besides,--I am +unhappy,--very unhappy, for other things." + +"What other things? Can you tell me some of them?" + +How much I wished to reply fully to this question! How difficult it was +to frame any answer! Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their +feelings; and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know +not how to express the result of the process in words. Fearful, however, +of losing this first and only opportunity of relieving my grief by +imparting it, I, after a disturbed pause, contrived to frame a meagre, +though, as far as it went, true response. + +"For one thing, I have no father or mother, brothers or sisters." + +"You have a kind aunt and cousins." + +Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced-- + +"But John Reed knocked me down, and my aunt shut me up in the red-room." + +Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box. + +"Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?" asked he. "Are +you not very thankful to have such a fine place to live at?" + +"It is not my house, sir; and Abbot says I have less right to be here +than a servant." + +"Pooh! you can't be silly enough to wish to leave such a splendid place?" + +"If I had anywhere else to go, I should be glad to leave it; but I can +never get away from Gateshead till I am a woman." + +"Perhaps you may--who knows? Have you any relations besides Mrs. Reed?" + +"I think not, sir." + +"None belonging to your father?" + +"I don't know. I asked Aunt Reed once, and she said possibly I might +have some poor, low relations called Eyre, but she knew nothing about +them." + +"If you had such, would you like to go to them?" + +I reflected. Poverty looks grim to grown people; still more so to +children: they have not much idea of industrious, working, respectable +poverty; they think of the word only as connected with ragged clothes, +scanty food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty +for me was synonymous with degradation. + +"No; I should not like to belong to poor people," was my reply. + +"Not even if they were kind to you?" + +I shook my head: I could not see how poor people had the means of being +kind; and then to learn to speak like them, to adopt their manners, to be +uneducated, to grow up like one of the poor women I saw sometimes nursing +their children or washing their clothes at the cottage doors of the +village of Gateshead: no, I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at +the price of caste. + +"But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?" + +"I cannot tell; Aunt Reed says if I have any, they must be a beggarly +set: I should not like to go a begging." + +"Would you like to go to school?" + +Again I reflected: I scarcely knew what school was: Bessie sometimes +spoke of it as a place where young ladies sat in the stocks, wore +backboards, and were expected to be exceedingly genteel and precise: John +Reed hated his school, and abused his master; but John Reed's tastes were +no rule for mine, and if Bessie's accounts of school-discipline (gathered +from the young ladies of a family where she had lived before coming to +Gateshead) were somewhat appalling, her details of certain +accomplishments attained by these same young ladies were, I thought, +equally attractive. She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes and +flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they could +play, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate; +till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, school +would be a complete change: it implied a long journey, an entire +separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life. + +"I should indeed like to go to school," was the audible conclusion of my +musings. + +"Well, well! who knows what may happen?" said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up. +"The child ought to have change of air and scene," he added, speaking to +himself; "nerves not in a good state." + +Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling up +the gravel-walk. + +"Is that your mistress, nurse?" asked Mr. Lloyd. "I should like to speak +to her before I go." + +Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out. +In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, +from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my +being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enough +adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when +both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, as +they thought, asleep, "Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid +of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she +were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand." Abbot, I think, +gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes. + +On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot's +communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman; that +my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who +considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was so +irritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling; that +after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught the +typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing town +where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then prevalent: +that my mother took the infection from him, and both died within a month +of each other. + +Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said, "Poor Miss Jane +is to be pitied, too, Abbot." + +"Yes," responded Abbot; "if she were a nice, pretty child, one might +compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a +little toad as that." + +"Not a great deal, to be sure," agreed Bessie: "at any rate, a beauty +like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition." + +"Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent Abbot. "Little +darling!--with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour +as she has; just as if she were painted!--Bessie, I could fancy a Welsh +rabbit for supper." + +"So could I--with a roast onion. Come, we'll go down." They went. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +From my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above reported conference +between Bessie and Abbot, I gathered enough of hope to suffice as a +motive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near,--I desired and +waited it in silence. It tarried, however: days and weeks passed: I had +regained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the +subject over which I brooded. Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with a +severe eye, but seldom addressed me: since my illness, she had drawn a +more marked line of separation than ever between me and her own children; +appointing me a small closet to sleep in by myself, condemning me to take +my meals alone, and pass all my time in the nursery, while my cousins +were constantly in the drawing-room. Not a hint, however, did she drop +about sending me to school: still I felt an instinctive certainty that +she would not long endure me under the same roof with her; for her +glance, now more than ever, when turned on me, expressed an insuperable +and rooted aversion. + +Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me as +little as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek whenever he saw +me, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantly turned against +him, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire and desperate revolt which +had stirred my corruption before, he thought it better to desist, and ran +from me tittering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose. I had +indeed levelled at that prominent feature as hard a blow as my knuckles +could inflict; and when I saw that either that or my look daunted him, I +had the greatest inclination to follow up my advantage to purpose; but he +was already with his mama. I heard him in a blubbering tone commence the +tale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he +was stopped rather harshly-- + +"Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not to go near her; she is +not worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or your sisters +should associate with her." + +Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at all +deliberating on my words-- + +"They are not fit to associate with me." + +Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange and +audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept me like a +whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib, +dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter one +syllable during the remainder of the day. + +"What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive?" was my scarcely +voluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if my +tongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance: +something spoke out of me over which I had no control. + +"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold composed grey +eye became troubled with a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm, +and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I were child or +fiend. I was now in for it. + +"My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and think; and so can +papa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long, and how you +wish me dead." + +Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly, she boxed +both my ears, and then left me without a word. Bessie supplied the +hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which she proved beyond a +doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned child ever reared under a +roof. I half believed her; for I felt indeed only bad feelings surging +in my breast. + +November, December, and half of January passed away. Christmas and the +New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usual festive cheer; +presents had been interchanged, dinners and evening parties given. From +every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded: my share of the gaiety +consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, and +seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin +frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ringletted; and +afterwards, in listening to the sound of the piano or the harp played +below, to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to the +jingling of glass and china as refreshments were handed, to the broken +hum of conversation as the drawing-room door opened and closed. When +tired of this occupation, I would retire from the stairhead to the +solitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhat sad, I was not +miserable. To speak truth, I had not the least wish to go into company, +for in company I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kind +and companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings +quietly with her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye of +Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. But Bessie, as soon +as she had dressed her young ladies, used to take herself off to the +lively regions of the kitchen and housekeeper's room, generally bearing +the candle along with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee till the +fire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothing worse +than myself haunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sank to a dull +red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best might, +and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. To this crib I +always took my doll; human beings must love something, and, in the dearth +of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in +loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature +scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I +doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of +sensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and +when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it +to be happy likewise. + +Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of the company, and +listened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs: sometimes she +would come up in the interval to seek her thimble or her scissors, or +perhaps to bring me something by way of supper--a bun or a +cheese-cake--then she would sit on the bed while I ate it, and when I had +finished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twice she kissed me, +and said, "Good night, Miss Jane." When thus gentle, Bessie seemed to me +the best, prettiest, kindest being in the world; and I wished most +intensely that she would always be so pleasant and amiable, and never +push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was too often +wont to do. Bessie Lee must, I think, have been a girl of good natural +capacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knack of +narrative; so, at least, I judge from the impression made on me by her +nursery tales. She was pretty too, if my recollections of her face and +person are correct. I remember her as a slim young woman, with black +hair, dark eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but she +had a capricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or +justice: still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else at +Gateshead Hall. + +It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning: +Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet been summoned +to their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to go +and feed her poultry, an occupation of which she was fond: and not less +so of selling the eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she +thus obtained. She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity for +saving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but also in +driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and +slips of plants; that functionary having orders from Mrs. Reed to buy of +his young lady all the products of her parterre she wished to sell: and +Eliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made a +handsome profit thereby. As to her money, she first secreted it in odd +corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards +having been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing +her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usurious +rate of interest--fifty or sixty per cent.; which interest she exacted +every quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxious +accuracy. + +Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass, and +interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded feathers, of +which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic. I was making my +bed, having received strict orders from Bessie to get it arranged before +she returned (for Bessie now frequently employed me as a sort of under- +nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust the chairs, &c.). Having spread the +quilt and folded my night-dress, I went to the window-seat to put in +order some picture-books and doll's house furniture scattered there; an +abrupt command from Georgiana to let her playthings alone (for the tiny +chairs and mirrors, the fairy plates and cups, were her property) stopped +my proceedings; and then, for lack of other occupation, I fell to +breathing on the frost-flowers with which the window was fretted, and +thus clearing a space in the glass through which I might look out on the +grounds, where all was still and petrified under the influence of a hard +frost. + +From this window were visible the porter's lodge and the carriage-road, +and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-white foliage veiling +the panes as left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and a +carriage roll through. I watched it ascending the drive with +indifference; carriages often came to Gateshead, but none ever brought +visitors in whom I was interested; it stopped in front of the house, the +door-bell rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted. All this being +nothing to me, my vacant attention soon found livelier attraction in the +spectacle of a little hungry robin, which came and chirruped on the twigs +of the leafless cherry-tree nailed against the wall near the casement. +The remains of my breakfast of bread and milk stood on the table, and +having crumbled a morsel of roll, I was tugging at the sash to put out +the crumbs on the window-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into the +nursery. + +"Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; what are you doing there? Have you +washed your hands and face this morning?" I gave another tug before I +answered, for I wanted the bird to be secure of its bread: the sash +yielded; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stone sill, some on the +cherry-tree bough, then, closing the window, I replied-- + +"No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting." + +"Troublesome, careless child! and what are you doing now? You look quite +red, as if you had been about some mischief: what were you opening the +window for?" + +I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed in too great a +hurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me to the washstand, +inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my face and hands with +soap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my head with a bristly +brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then hurrying me to the top of the +stairs, bid me go down directly, as I was wanted in the breakfast-room. + +I would have asked who wanted me: I would have demanded if Mrs. Reed was +there; but Bessie was already gone, and had closed the nursery-door upon +me. I slowly descended. For nearly three months, I had never been +called to Mrs. Reed's presence; restricted so long to the nursery, the +breakfast, dining, and drawing-rooms were become for me awful regions, on +which it dismayed me to intrude. + +I now stood in the empty hall; before me was the breakfast-room door, and +I stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a miserable little poltroon +had fear, engendered of unjust punishment, made of me in those days! I +feared to return to the nursery, and feared to go forward to the parlour; +ten minutes I stood in agitated hesitation; the vehement ringing of the +breakfast-room bell decided me; I _must_ enter. + +"Who could want me?" I asked inwardly, as with both hands I turned the +stiff door-handle, which, for a second or two, resisted my efforts. "What +should I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment?--a man or a woman?" The +handle turned, the door unclosed, and passing through and curtseying low, +I looked up at--a black pillar!--such, at least, appeared to me, at first +sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug: +the grim face at the top was like a carved mask, placed above the shaft +by way of capital. + +Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a signal to +me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony stranger +with the words: "This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to +you." + +_He_, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood, and +having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes which +twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice, +"Her size is small: what is her age?" + +"Ten years." + +"So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for +some minutes. Presently he addressed me--"Your name, little girl?" + +"Jane Eyre, sir." + +In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tall gentleman; +but then I was very little; his features were large, and they and all the +lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim. + +"Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?" + +Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held a +contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by an +expressive shake of the head, adding soon, "Perhaps the less said on that +subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst." + +"Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;" and bending +from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair opposite +Mrs. Reed's. "Come here," he said. + +I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him. +What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a +great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth! + +"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a +naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?" + +"They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer. + +"And what is hell? Can you tell me that?" + +"A pit full of fire." + +"And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for +ever?" + +"No, sir." + +"What must you do to avoid it?" + +I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: +"I must keep in good health, and not die." + +"How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I +buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since,--a good +little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same +could not be said of you were you to be called hence." + +Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down on +the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing myself far +enough away. + +"I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever having +been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress." + +"Benefactress! benefactress!" said I inwardly: "they all call Mrs. Reed +my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable thing." + +"Do you say your prayers night and morning?" continued my interrogator. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you read your Bible?" + +"Sometimes." + +"With pleasure? Are you fond of it?" + +"I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and Genesis and Samuel, and +a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job +and Jonah." + +"And the Psalms? I hope you like them?" + +"No, sir." + +"No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows six +Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather have, a +gingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: 'Oh! the +verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;' says he, 'I wish to be a little +angel here below;' he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant +piety." + +"Psalms are not interesting," I remarked. + +"That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to change +it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart of stone and +give you a heart of flesh." + +I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in which that +operation of changing my heart was to be performed, when Mrs. Reed +interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry on the +conversation herself. + +"Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I wrote to +you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite the character +and disposition I could wish: should you admit her into Lowood school, I +should be glad if the superintendent and teachers were requested to keep +a strict eye on her, and, above all, to guard against her worst fault, a +tendency to deceit. I mention this in your hearing, Jane, that you may +not attempt to impose on Mr. Brocklehurst." + +Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it was her nature +to wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence; however carefully +I obeyed, however strenuously I strove to please her, my efforts were +still repulsed and repaid by such sentences as the above. Now, uttered +before a stranger, the accusation cut me to the heart; I dimly perceived +that she was already obliterating hope from the new phase of existence +which she destined me to enter; I felt, though I could not have expressed +the feeling, that she was sowing aversion and unkindness along my future +path; I saw myself transformed under Mr. Brocklehurst's eye into an +artful, noxious child, and what could I do to remedy the injury? + +"Nothing, indeed," thought I, as I struggled to repress a sob, and +hastily wiped away some tears, the impotent evidences of my anguish. + +"Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child," said Mr. Brocklehurst; "it +is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their portion in the lake +burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be watched, Mrs. +Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers." + +"I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting her prospects," +continued my benefactress; "to be made useful, to be kept humble: as for +the vacations, she will, with your permission, spend them always at +Lowood." + +"Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam," returned Mr. +Brocklehurst. "Humility is a Christian grace, and one peculiarly +appropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore, direct that especial +care shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. I have studied +how best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment of pride; and, only the +other day, I had a pleasing proof of my success. My second daughter, +Augusta, went with her mama to visit the school, and on her return she +exclaimed: 'Oh, dear papa, how quiet and plain all the girls at Lowood +look, with their hair combed behind their ears, and their long pinafores, +and those little holland pockets outside their frocks--they are almost +like poor people's children! and,' said she, 'they looked at my dress and +mama's, as if they had never seen a silk gown before.'" + +"This is the state of things I quite approve," returned Mrs. Reed; "had I +sought all England over, I could scarcely have found a system more +exactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre. Consistency, my dear Mr. +Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things." + +"Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties; and it has been +observed in every arrangement connected with the establishment of Lowood: +plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations, hardy and +active habits; such is the order of the day in the house and its +inhabitants." + +"Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being received as a +pupil at Lowood, and there being trained in conformity to her position +and prospects?" + +"Madam, you may: she shall be placed in that nursery of chosen plants, +and I trust she will show herself grateful for the inestimable privilege +of her election." + +"I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst; for, I +assure you, I feel anxious to be relieved of a responsibility that was +becoming too irksome." + +"No doubt, no doubt, madam; and now I wish you good morning. I shall +return to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a week or two: my good +friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I shall +send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, so that there +will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs. and Miss Brocklehurst, +and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master Broughton Brocklehurst." + +"I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the 'Child's +Guide,' read it with prayer, especially that part containing 'An account +of the awfully sudden death of Martha G---, a naughty child addicted to +falsehood and deceit.'" + +With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thin pamphlet sewn +in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, he departed. + +Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence; she was +sewing, I was watching her. Mrs. Reed might be at that time some six or +seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and +strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese: she had a somewhat +large face, the under jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow +was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently +regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her +skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was +sound as a bell--illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever +manager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; +her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn; +she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set off +handsome attire. + +Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her arm-chair, I examined her +figure; I perused her features. In my hand I held the tract containing +the sudden death of the Liar, to which narrative my attention had been +pointed as to an appropriate warning. What had just passed; what Mrs. +Reed had said concerning me to Mr. Brocklehurst; the whole tenor of their +conversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in my mind; I had felt every +word as acutely as I had heard it plainly, and a passion of resentment +fomented now within me. + +Mrs. Reed looked up from her work; her eye settled on mine, her fingers +at the same time suspended their nimble movements. + +"Go out of the room; return to the nursery," was her mandate. My look or +something else must have struck her as offensive, for she spoke with +extreme though suppressed irritation. I got up, I went to the door; I +came back again; I walked to the window, across the room, then close up +to her. + +_Speak_ I must: I had been trodden on severely, and _must_ turn: but how? +What strength had I to dart retaliation at my antagonist? I gathered my +energies and launched them in this blunt sentence-- + +"I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I +do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world except +John Reed; and this book about the liar, you may give to your girl, +Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I." + +Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of ice +continued to dwell freezingly on mine. + +"What more have you to say?" she asked, rather in the tone in which a +person might address an opponent of adult age than such as is ordinarily +used to a child. + +That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had. Shaking from +head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued-- + +"I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never call you aunt again +as long as I live. I will never come to see you when I am grown up; and +if any one asks me how I liked you, and how you treated me, I will say +the very thought of you makes me sick, and that you treated me with +miserable cruelty." + +"How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?" + +"How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the _truth_. You +think I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love or +kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall remember +how you thrust me back--roughly and violently thrust me back--into the +red-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was in agony; +though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, 'Have mercy! Have +mercy, Aunt Reed!' And that punishment you made me suffer because your +wicked boy struck me--knocked me down for nothing. I will tell anybody +who asks me questions, this exact tale. People think you a good woman, +but you are bad, hard-hearted. _You_ are deceitful!" + +{How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the truth: p30.jpg} + +Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult, with +the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. It seemed as if +an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled out into unhoped- +for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs. Reed looked +frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she was lifting up her +hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twisting her face as if she +would cry. + +"Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? Why do you +tremble so violently? Would you like to drink some water?" + +"No, Mrs. Reed." + +"Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure you, I desire to be +your friend." + +"Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, a deceitful +disposition; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what +you have done." + +"Jane, you don't understand these things: children must be corrected for +their faults." + +"Deceit is not my fault!" I cried out in a savage, high voice. + +"But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow: and now return to the +nursery--there's a dear--and lie down a little." + +"I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: send me to school soon, Mrs. +Reed, for I hate to live here." + +"I will indeed send her to school soon," murmured Mrs. Reed _sotto voce_; +and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment. + +I was left there alone--winner of the field. It was the hardest battle I +had fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stood awhile on the +rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyed my conqueror's +solitude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; but this fierce +pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the accelerated throb of my +pulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I had done; cannot +give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I had given mine, without +experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse and the chill of reaction. A +ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing, devouring, would have been a +meet emblem of my mind when I accused and menaced Mrs. Reed: the same +ridge, black and blasted after the flames are dead, would have +represented as meetly my subsequent condition, when half-an-hour's +silence and reflection had shown me the madness of my conduct, and the +dreariness of my hated and hating position. + +Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine +it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and +corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned. Willingly +would I now have gone and asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but I knew, partly +from experience and partly from instinct, that was the way to make her +repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-exciting every turbulent impulse +of my nature. + +I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking; +fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombre +indignation. I took a book--some Arabian tales; I sat down and +endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my own +thoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually found +fascinating. I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: the +shrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or +breeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt +of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was +quite sequestrated; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the +falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept +by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a +gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where +the short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very grey day; a most +opaque sky, "onding on snaw," canopied all; thence flakes felt it +intervals, which settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea without +melting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to myself over and +over again, "What shall I do?--what shall I do?" + +All at once I heard a clear voice call, "Miss Jane! where are you? Come +to lunch!" + +It was Bessie, I knew well enough; but I did not stir; her light step +came tripping down the path. + +"You naughty little thing!" she said. "Why don't you come when you are +called?" + +Bessie's presence, compared with the thoughts over which I had been +brooding, seemed cheerful; even though, as usual, she was somewhat cross. +The fact is, after my conflict with and victory over Mrs. Reed, I was not +disposed to care much for the nursemaid's transitory anger; and I _was_ +disposed to bask in her youthful lightness of heart. I just put my two +arms round her and said, "Come, Bessie! don't scold." + +The action was more frank and fearless than any I was habituated to +indulge in: somehow it pleased her. + +"You are a strange child, Miss Jane," she said, as she looked down at me; +"a little roving, solitary thing: and you are going to school, I +suppose?" + +I nodded. + +"And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?" + +"What does Bessie care for me? She is always scolding me." + +"Because you're such a queer, frightened, shy little thing. You should +be bolder." + +"What! to get more knocks?" + +"Nonsense! But you are rather put upon, that's certain. My mother said, +when she came to see me last week, that she would not like a little one +of her own to be in your place.--Now, come in, and I've some good news +for you." + +"I don't think you have, Bessie." + +"Child! what do you mean? What sorrowful eyes you fix on me! Well, but +Missis and the young ladies and Master John are going out to tea this +afternoon, and you shall have tea with me. I'll ask cook to bake you a +little cake, and then you shall help me to look over your drawers; for I +am soon to pack your trunk. Missis intends you to leave Gateshead in a +day or two, and you shall choose what toys you like to take with you." + +"Bessie, you must promise not to scold me any more till I go." + +"Well, I will; but mind you are a very good girl, and don't be afraid of +me. Don't start when I chance to speak rather sharply; it's so +provoking." + +"I don't think I shall ever be afraid of you again, Bessie, because I +have got used to you, and I shall soon have another set of people to +dread." + +"If you dread them they'll dislike you." + +"As you do, Bessie?" + +"I don't dislike you, Miss; I believe I am fonder of you than of all the +others." + +"You don't show it." + +"You little sharp thing! you've got quite a new way of talking. What +makes you so venturesome and hardy?" + +"Why, I shall soon be away from you, and besides"--I was going to say +something about what had passed between me and Mrs. Reed, but on second +thoughts I considered it better to remain silent on that head. + +"And so you're glad to leave me?" + +"Not at all, Bessie; indeed, just now I'm rather sorry." + +"Just now! and rather! How coolly my little lady says it! I dare say +now if I were to ask you for a kiss you wouldn't give it me: you'd say +you'd _rather_ not." + +"I'll kiss you and welcome: bend your head down." Bessie stooped; we +mutually embraced, and I followed her into the house quite comforted. +That afternoon lapsed in peace and harmony; and in the evening Bessie +told me some of her most enchanting stories, and sang me some of her +sweetest songs. Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January, +when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up and +nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and had +washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of a half-moon just +setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib. I +was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach which passed the lodge gates +at six a.m. Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in +the nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children +can eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, +having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and +bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and +put them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet, +and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we +passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go in and bid Missis good- +bye?" + +"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone down to +supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or my cousins +either; and she told me to remember that she had always been my best +friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her accordingly." + +"What did you say, Miss?" + +"Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from her to +the wall." + +"That was wrong, Miss Jane." + +"It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis has not been my friend: she has +been my foe." + +"O Miss Jane! don't say so!" + +"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall and went +out at the front door. + +The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whose +light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw. Raw +and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered as I hastened down +the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it, +we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had +been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door. It +wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck, +the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door +and watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom. + +"Is she going by herself?" asked the porter's wife. + +"Yes." + +"And how far is it?" + +"Fifty miles." + +"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far +alone." + +The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses and its +top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly urged haste; my +trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's neck, to which I clung +with kisses. + +"Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the guard, as he lifted +me into the inside. + +"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed "All +right," and on we drove. Thus was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead; +thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deemed, remote and +mysterious regions. + +I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed to +me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel over +hundreds of miles of road. We passed through several towns, and in one, +a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were taken out, and the +passengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn, where the guard +wanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left me in +an immense room with a fireplace at each end, a chandelier pendent from +the ceiling, and a little red gallery high up against the wall filled +with musical instruments. Here I walked about for a long time, feeling +very strange, and mortally apprehensive of some one coming in and +kidnapping me; for I believed in kidnappers, their exploits having +frequently figured in Bessie's fireside chronicles. At last the guard +returned; once more I was stowed away in the coach, my protector mounted +his own seat, sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the +"stony street" of L-. + +The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned into dusk, I +began to feel that we were getting very far indeed from Gateshead: we +ceased to pass through towns; the country changed; great grey hills +heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, we descended a valley, +dark with wood, and long after night had overclouded the prospect, I +heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees. + +Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not long slumbered +when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-door was open, +and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and dress +by the light of the lamps. + +"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I answered +"Yes," and was then lifted out; my trunk was handed down, and the coach +instantly drove away. + +I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motion +of the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me. Rain, wind, and +darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall before me +and a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: she +shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or +houses--for the building spread far--with many windows, and lights +burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were +admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room +with a fire, where she left me alone. + +I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked round; +there was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth showed, by +intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture: +it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-room at +Gateshead, but comfortable enough. I was puzzling to make out the +subject of a picture on the wall, when the door opened, and an individual +carrying a light entered; another followed close behind. + +The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and large +forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl, her countenance was +grave, her bearing erect. + +"The child is very young to be sent alone," said she, putting her candle +down on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two, +then further added-- + +"She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?" she +asked, placing her hand on my shoulder. + +"A little, ma'am." + +"And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goes to +bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time you have left your parents to +come to school, my little girl?" + +I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had +been dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether I could read, +write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheek gently with her +forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be a good child," dismissed +me along with Miss Miller. + +The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with me +appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look, +and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion, though of a +careworn countenance; hurried in gait and action, like one who had always +a multiplicity of tasks on hand: she looked, indeed, what I afterwards +found she really was, an under-teacher. Led by her, I passed from +compartment to compartment, from passage to passage, of a large and +irregular building; till, emerging from the total and somewhat dreary +silence pervading that portion of the house we had traversed, we came +upon the hum of many voices, and presently entered a wide, long room, +with great deal tables, two at each end, on each of which burnt a pair of +candles, and seated all round on benches, a congregation of girls of +every age, from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the +dips, their number to me appeared countless, though not in reality +exceeding eighty; they were uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of +quaint fashion, and long holland pinafores. It was the hour of study; +they were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's task, and the hum I +had heard was the combined result of their whispered repetitions. + +Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, then walking up +to the top of the long room she cried out-- + +"Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away!" + +Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round, gathered +the books and removed them. Miss Miller again gave the word of command-- + +"Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!" + +The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a tray, with +portions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon, and a pitcher +of water and mug in the middle of each tray. The portions were handed +round; those who liked took a draught of the water, the mug being common +to all. When it came to my turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not +touch the food, excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of eating: +I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten cake shared into fragments. + +The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes filed +off, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this time with weariness, I +scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was, except that, like +the schoolroom, I saw it was very long. To-night I was to be Miss +Miller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress: when laid down I glanced +at the long rows of beds, each of which was quickly filled with two +occupants; in ten minutes the single light was extinguished, and amidst +silence and complete darkness I fell asleep. + +The night passed rapidly. I was too tired even to dream; I only once +awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain fall in +torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken her place by my +side. When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell was ringing; the girls +were up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or +two burned in the room. I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and +I dressed as well as I could for shivering, and washed when there was a +basin at liberty, which did not occur soon, as there was but one basin to +six girls, on the stands down the middle of the room. Again the bell +rang: all formed in file, two and two, and in that order descended the +stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom: here prayers were +read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out-- + +"Form classes!" + +A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Miller +repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!" When it subsided, I saw +them all drawn up in four semicircles, before four chairs, placed at the +four tables; all held books in their hands, and a great book, like a +Bible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. A pause of some +seconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague hum of numbers; Miss +Miller walked from class to class, hushing this indefinite sound. + +A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room, each +walked to a table and took her seat. Miss Miller assumed the fourth +vacant chair, which was that nearest the door, and around which the +smallest of the children were assembled: to this inferior class I was +called, and placed at the bottom of it. + +Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts of +Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of +chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise +was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable bell now sounded +for the fourth time: the classes were marshalled and marched into another +room to breakfast: how glad I was to behold a prospect of getting +something to eat! I was now nearly sick from inanition, having taken so +little the day before. + +The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room; on two long tables +smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay, sent forth +an odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of +discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those +destined to swallow it; from the van of the procession, the tall girls of +the first class, rose the whispered words-- + +"Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!" + +"Silence!" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller, but one of the +upper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly dressed, but of +somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the top of one table, +while a more buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain for her +I had first seen the night before; she was not visible: Miss Miller +occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange, +foreign-looking, elderly lady, the French teacher, as I afterwards found, +took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace was said +and a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and +the meal began. + +Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion +without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger blunted, I +perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt porridge is almost as +bad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon sickens over it. The spoons +were moved slowly: I saw each girl taste her food and try to swallow it; +but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished. Breakfast was over, +and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got, +and a second hymn chanted, the refectory was evacuated for the +schoolroom. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, +I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge and taste it; she looked +at the others; all their countenances expressed displeasure, and one of +them, the stout one, whispered-- + +"Abominable stuff! How shameful!" + +A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during which the +schoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of time it seemed to +be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used their privilege. +The whole conversation ran on the breakfast, which one and all abused +roundly. Poor things! it was the sole consolation they had. Miss Miller +was now the only teacher in the room: a group of great girls standing +about her spoke with serious and sullen gestures. I heard the name of +Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips; at which Miss Miller shook her +head disapprovingly; but she made no great effort to check the general +wrath; doubtless she shared in it. + +A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle, and +standing in the middle of the room, cried-- + +"Silence! To your seats!" + +Discipline prevailed: in five minutes the confused throng was resolved +into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour of tongues. +The upper teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but still, all +seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty +girls sat motionless and erect; a quaint assemblage they appeared, all +with plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible; in brown +dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat, +with little pockets of holland (shaped something like a Highlander's +purse) tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose +of a work-bag: all, too, wearing woollen stockings and country-made +shoes, fastened with brass buckles. Above twenty of those clad in this +costume were full-grown girls, or rather young women; it suited them ill, +and gave an air of oddity even to the prettiest. + +I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining the +teachers--none of whom precisely pleased me; for the stout one was a +little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner harsh and +grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple, weather-beaten, +and over-worked--when, as my eye wandered from face to face, the whole +school rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring. + +What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled. Ere I +had gathered my wits, the classes were again seated: but as all eyes were +now turned to one point, mine followed the general direction, and +encountered the personage who had received me last night. She stood at +the bottom of the long room, on the hearth; for there was a fire at each +end; she surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Miss +Miller approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and having received her +answer, went back to her place, and said aloud-- + +"Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!" + +While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved slowly +up the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of veneration, for I +retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her steps. +Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown +eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long +lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her +temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, +according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor +long ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was +of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; +a gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her +girdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; a +complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he will +have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea of the +exterior of Miss Temple--Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw the name +written in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church. + +The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having taken her +seat before a pair of globes placed on one of the tables, summoned the +first class round her, and commenced giving a lesson on geography; the +lower classes were called by the teachers: repetitions in history, +grammar, &c., went on for an hour; writing and arithmetic succeeded, and +music lessons were given by Miss Temple to some of the elder girls. The +duration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last struck +twelve. The superintendent rose-- + +"I have a word to address to the pupils," said she. + +The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking forth, but it +sank at her voice. She went on-- + +"You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat; you must be +hungry:--I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be served +to all." + +The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise. + +"It is to be done on my responsibility," she added, in an explanatory +tone to them, and immediately afterwards left the room. + +The bread and cheese was presently brought in and distributed, to the +high delight and refreshment of the whole school. The order was now +given "To the garden!" Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with strings +of coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was similarly +equipped, and, following the stream, I made my way into the open air. + +The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as to +exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down one side, +and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into scores of little +beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the pupils to cultivate, +and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers they would doubtless +look pretty; but now, at the latter end of January, all was wintry blight +and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked round me: it was an +inclement day for outdoor exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by +a drizzling yellow fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with the +floods of yesterday. The stronger among the girls ran about and engaged +in active games, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for +shelter and warmth in the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mist +penetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of a +hollow cough. + +As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take notice of me; +I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed; +it did not oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of the verandah, +drew my grey mantle close about me, and, trying to forget the cold which +nipped me without, and the unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within, +delivered myself up to the employment of watching and thinking. My +reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly +yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to +an immeasurable distance; the present was vague and strange, and of the +future I could form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-like +garden, and then up at the house--a large building, half of which seemed +grey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing the +schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, +which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door bore +this inscription:-- + +"Lowood Institution.--This portion was rebuilt A.D. ---, by Naomi +Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county." "Let your light so +shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your +Father which is in heaven."--St. Matt. v. 16. + +I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation +belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import. I was +still pondering the signification of "Institution," and endeavouring to +make out a connection between the first words and the verse of Scripture, +when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. I saw a +girl sitting on a stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on the +perusal of which she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see the +title--it was "Rasselas;" a name that struck me as strange, and +consequently attractive. In turning a leaf she happened to look up, and +I said to her directly-- + +"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the intention of asking +her to lend it to me some day. + +"I like it," she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during which +she examined me. + +"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the +hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was +contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a +chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a +frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the serious +or substantial. + +"You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book. + +I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less +taking than the title: "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling taste; I saw +nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed +spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her; she +received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapse +into her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her-- + +"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means? What +is Lowood Institution?" + +"This house where you are come to live." + +"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different from +other schools?" + +"It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of us, are +charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either your +father or your mother dead?" + +"Both died before I can remember." + +"Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and this +is called an institution for educating orphans." + +"Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?" + +"We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each." + +"Then why do they call us charity-children?" + +"Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and the +deficiency is supplied by subscription." + +"Who subscribes?" + +"Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this neighbourhood +and in London." + +"Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?" + +"The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet records, +and whose son overlooks and directs everything here." + +"Why?" + +"Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment." + +"Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a watch, and +who said we were to have some bread and cheese?" + +"To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to Mr. +Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our food and +all our clothes." + +"Does he live here?" + +"No--two miles off, at a large hall." + +"Is he a good man?" + +"He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good." + +"Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple?" + +"Yes." + +"And what are the other teachers called?" + +"The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith; she attends to the work, +and cuts out--for we make our own clothes, our frocks, and pelisses, and +everything; the little one with black hair is Miss Scatcherd; she teaches +history and grammar, and hears the second class repetitions; and the one +who wears a shawl, and has a pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with a +yellow ribband, is Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in France, and +teaches French." + +"Do you like the teachers?" + +"Well enough." + +"Do you like the little black one, and the Madame ---?--I cannot +pronounce her name as you do." + +"Miss Scatcherd is hasty--you must take care not to offend her; Madame +Pierrot is not a bad sort of person." + +"But Miss Temple is the best--isn't she?" + +"Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest, because +she knows far more than they do." + +"Have you been long here?" + +"Two years." + +"Are you an orphan?" + +"My mother is dead." + +"Are you happy here?" + +"You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough for +the present: now I want to read." + +But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner; all re-entered the +house. The odour which now filled the refectory was scarcely more +appetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast: the +dinner was served in two huge tin-plated vessels, whence rose a strong +steam redolent of rancid fat. I found the mess to consist of indifferent +potatoes and strange shreds of rusty meat, mixed and cooked together. Of +this preparation a tolerably abundant plateful was apportioned to each +pupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within myself whether every +day's fare would be like this. + +After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessons +recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock. + +The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl with whom +I had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace by Miss Scatcherd +from a history class, and sent to stand in the middle of the large +schoolroom. The punishment seemed to me in a high degree ignominious, +especially for so great a girl--she looked thirteen or upwards. I +expected she would show signs of great distress and shame; but to my +surprise she neither wept nor blushed: composed, though grave, she stood, +the central mark of all eyes. "How can she bear it so quietly--so +firmly?" I asked of myself. "Were I in her place, it seems to me I +should wish the earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if she +were thinking of something beyond her punishment--beyond her situation: +of something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams--is +she in a day-dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure +they do not see it--her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart: +she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really +present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is--whether good or naughty." + +Soon after five p.m. we had another meal, consisting of a small mug of +coffee, and half-a-slice of brown bread. I devoured my bread and drank +my coffee with relish; but I should have been glad of as much more--I was +still hungry. Half-an-hour's recreation succeeded, then study; then the +glass of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my +first day at Lowood. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by rushlight; +but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the ceremony of +washing; the water in the pitchers was frozen. A change had taken place +in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen north-east wind, +whistling through the crevices of our bedroom windows all night long, had +made us shiver in our beds, and turned the contents of the ewers to ice. + +Before the long hour and a half of prayers and Bible-reading was over, I +felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast-time came at last, and this +morning the porridge was not burnt; the quality was eatable, the quantity +small. How small my portion seemed! I wished it had been doubled. + +In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth class, and +regular tasks and occupations were assigned me: hitherto, I had only been +a spectator of the proceedings at Lowood; I was now to become an actor +therein. At first, being little accustomed to learn by heart, the +lessons appeared to me both long and difficult; the frequent change from +task to task, too, bewildered me; and I was glad when, about three +o'clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith put into my hands a border of muslin +two yards long, together with needle, thimble, &c., and sent me to sit in +a quiet corner of the schoolroom, with directions to hem the same. At +that hour most of the others were sewing likewise; but one class still +stood round Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, and as all was quiet, the +subject of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner in +which each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or +commendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was English +history: among the readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah: at +the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of the +class, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to stops, +she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that obscure position, +Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of constant notice: she +was continually addressing to her such phrases as the following:-- + +"Burns" (such it seems was her name: the girls here were all called by +their surnames, as boys are elsewhere), "Burns, you are standing on the +side of your shoe; turn your toes out immediately." "Burns, you poke +your chin most unpleasantly; draw it in." "Burns, I insist on your +holding your head up; I will not have you before me in that attitude," +&c. &c. + +A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed and the +girls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign of Charles +I., and there were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage and ship- +money, which most of them appeared unable to answer; still, every little +difficulty was solved instantly when it reached Burns: her memory seemed +to have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was ready +with answers on every point. I kept expecting that Miss Scatcherd would +praise her attention; but, instead of that, she suddenly cried out-- + +"You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails this +morning!" + +Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence. "Why," thought I, "does +she not explain that she could neither clean her nails nor wash her face, +as the water was frozen?" + +My attention was now called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a skein +of thread: while she was winding it, she talked to me from time to time, +asking whether I had ever been at school before, whether I could mark, +stitch, knit, &c.; till she dismissed me, I could not pursue my +observations on Miss Scatcherd's movements. When I returned to my seat, +that lady was just delivering an order of which I did not catch the +import; but Burns immediately left the class, and going into the small +inner room where the books were kept, returned in half a minute, carrying +in her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This ominous +tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful curtesy; then she +quietly, and without being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher +instantly and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with the +bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns' eye; and, while I paused from +my sewing, because my fingers quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment +of unavailing and impotent anger, not a feature of her pensive face +altered its ordinary expression. + +"Hardened girl!" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can correct you of +your slatternly habits: carry the rod away." + +Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the +book-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket, +and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek. + +The play-hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction of the +day at Lowood: the bit of bread, the draught of coffee swallowed at five +o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not satisfied hunger: the long +restraint of the day was slackened; the schoolroom felt warmer than in +the morning--its fires being allowed to burn a little more brightly, to +supply, in some measure, the place of candles, not yet introduced: the +ruddy gloaming, the licensed uproar, the confusion of many voices gave +one a welcome sense of liberty. + +On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog her +pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables and laughing +groups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely: when I passed the +windows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked out; it snowed fast, a +drift was already forming against the lower panes; putting my ear close +to the window, I could distinguish from the gleeful tumult within, the +disconsolate moan of the wind outside. + +Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this would +have been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted the +separation; that wind would then have saddened my heart; this obscure +chaos would have disturbed my peace! as it was, I derived from both a +strange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished the wind to howl +more wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and the confusion to rise +to clamour. + +Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to one of +the fire-places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender, I found Burns, +absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by the companionship of a +book, which she read by the dim glare of the embers. + +"Is it still 'Rasselas'?" I asked, coming behind her. + +"Yes," she said, "and I have just finished it." + +And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad of this. "Now," +thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk." I sat down by her on the +floor. + +"What is your name besides Burns?" + +"Helen." + +"Do you come a long way from here?" + +"I come from a place farther north, quite on the borders of Scotland." + +"Will you ever go back?" + +"I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future." + +"You must wish to leave Lowood?" + +"No! why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and it +would be of no use going away until I have attained that object." + +"But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?" + +"Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults." + +"And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist her. +If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should +break it under her nose." + +"Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr. +Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great grief +to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart which +nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil +consequences will extend to all connected with you; and besides, the +Bible bids us return good for evil." + +"But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to stand in +the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great girl: I am +far younger than you, and I could not bear it." + +"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is +weak and silly to say you _cannot bear_ what it is your fate to be +required to bear." + +I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend this doctrine of +endurance; and still less could I understand or sympathise with the +forbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt that Helen +Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I suspected she +might be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder the matter deeply; +like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient season. + +"You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very +good." + +"Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss Scatcherd +said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things, in order; I am +careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I have +no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot _bear_ to be subjected +to systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking to Miss +Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular." + +"And cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns would not admit my +addition: she kept silence. + +"Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?" + +At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over her +grave face. + +"Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be severe to any one, +even the worst in the school: she sees my errors, and tells me of them +gently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives me my meed +liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective nature is, that +even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have not influence to cure +me of my faults; and even her praise, though I value it most highly, +cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight." + +"That is curious," said I, "it is so easy to be careful." + +"For _you_ I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class this +morning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never seemed +to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned you. Now, +mine continually rove away; when I should be listening to Miss Scatcherd, +and collecting all she says with assiduity, often I lose the very sound +of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in +Northumberland, and that the noises I hear round me are the bubbling of a +little brook which runs through Deepden, near our house;--then, when it +comes to my turn to reply, I have to be awakened; and having heard +nothing of what was read for listening to the visionary brook, I have no +answer ready." + +"Yet how well you replied this afternoon." + +"It was mere chance; the subject on which we had been reading had +interested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I was +wondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly and +unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what a pity it +was that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he could see no +farther than the prerogatives of the crown. If he had but been able to +look to a distance, and see how what they call the spirit of the age was +tending! Still, I like Charles--I respect him--I pity him, poor murdered +king! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they shed blood they had no right +to shed. How dared they kill him!" + +Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could not very well +understand her--that I was ignorant, or nearly so, of the subject she +discussed. I recalled her to my level. + +"And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?" + +"No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has generally something to +say which is newer than my own reflections; her language is singularly +agreeable to me, and the information she communicates is often just what +I wished to gain." + +"Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?" + +"Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination guides +me. There is no merit in such goodness." + +"A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you. It is all I +ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those who +are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way: +they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but would +grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we should +strike back again very hard; I am sure we should--so hard as to teach the +person who struck us never to do it again." + +"You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you are +but a little untaught girl." + +"But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those who, whatever I do to +please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish me +unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show me +affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved." + +"Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians and +civilised nations disown it." + +"How? I don't understand." + +"It is not violence that best overcomes hate--nor vengeance that most +certainly heals injury." + +"What then?" + +"Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how He acts; +make His word your rule, and His conduct your example." + +"What does He say?" + +"Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate +you and despitefully use you." + +"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless her son +John, which is impossible." + +In her turn, Helen Burns asked me to explain, and I proceeded forthwith +to pour out, in my own way, the tale of my sufferings and resentments. +Bitter and truculent when excited, I spoke as I felt, without reserve or +softening. + +Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then make a +remark, but she said nothing. + +"Well," I asked impatiently, "is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted, bad +woman?" + +"She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she dislikes your +cast of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but how minutely you +remember all she has done and said to you! What a singularly deep +impression her injustice seems to have made on your heart! No ill-usage +so brands its record on my feelings. Would you not be happier if you +tried to forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions it +excited? Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity +or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with +faults in this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall +put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement and +sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the +spark of the spirit will remain,--the impalpable principle of light and +thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whence +it came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated to some being +higher than man--perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the +pale human soul to brighten to the seraph! Surely it will never, on the +contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannot +believe that: I hold another creed: which no one ever taught me, and +which I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: for +it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest--a mighty home, not a +terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly +distinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can so sincerely +forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge never +worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice +never crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end." + +Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished this +sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to me, but +rather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not allowed much time +for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl, presently came up, +exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent-- + +"Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order, and fold up +your work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look at it!" + +Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitor +without reply as without delay. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not the golden age either; +it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in habituating myself +to new rules and unwonted tasks. The fear of failure in these points +harassed me worse than the physical hardships of my lot; though these +were no trifles. + +During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows, and, after +their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented our stirring beyond +the garden walls, except to go to church; but within these limits we had +to pass an hour every day in the open air. Our clothing was insufficient +to protect us from the severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got into +our shoes and melted there: our ungloved hands became numbed and covered +with chilblains, as were our feet: I remember well the distracting +irritation I endured from this cause every evening, when my feet +inflamed; and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes +into my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty supply of food was +distressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely +sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of +nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the younger +pupils: whenever the famished great girls had an opportunity, they would +coax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I have +shared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown bread +distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third half the +contents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an +accompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger. + +Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We had to walk two miles +to Brocklebridge Church, where our patron officiated. We set out cold, +we arrived at church colder: during the morning service we became almost +paralysed. It was too far to return to dinner, and an allowance of cold +meat and bread, in the same penurious proportion observed in our ordinary +meals, was served round between the services. + +At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed and hilly +road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of snowy summits +to the north, almost flayed the skin from our faces. + +I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our drooping +line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close +about her, and encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up our +spirits, and march forward, as she said, "like stalwart soldiers." The +other teachers, poor things, were generally themselves too much dejected +to attempt the task of cheering others. + +How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when we got back! +But, to the little ones at least, this was denied: each hearth in the +schoolroom was immediately surrounded by a double row of great girls, and +behind them the younger children crouched in groups, wrapping their +starved arms in their pinafores. + +A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double ration of +bread--a whole, instead of a half, slice--with the delicious addition of +a thin scrape of butter: it was the hebdomadal treat to which we all +looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath. I generally contrived to reserve +a moiety of this bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I was +invariably obliged to part with. + +The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the Church +Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; and +in listening to a long sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible +yawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these performances +was the enactment of the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of little +girls, who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the +third loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. The +remedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of the schoolroom, and +oblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes their +feet failed them, and they sank together in a heap; they were then +propped up with the monitors' high stools. + +I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed that +gentleman was from home during the greater part of the first month after +my arrival; perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the archdeacon: +his absence was a relief to me. I need not say that I had my own reasons +for dreading his coming: but come he did at last. + +One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was sitting +with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes, +raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure just +passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline; and when, +two minutes after, all the school, teachers included, rose _en masse_, it +was not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance +they thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently +beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the same black column +which had frowned on me so ominously from the hearthrug of Gateshead. I +now glanced sideways at this piece of architecture. Yes, I was right: it +was Mr. Brocklehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, +narrower, and more rigid than ever. + +I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition; too well I +remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, +&c.; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to apprise Miss Temple and +the teachers of my vicious nature. All along I had been dreading the +fulfilment of this promise,--I had been looking out daily for the "Coming +Man," whose information respecting my past life and conversation was to +brand me as a bad child for ever: now there he was. + +He stood at Miss Temple's side; he was speaking low in her ear: I did not +doubt he was making disclosures of my villainy; and I watched her eye +with painful anxiety, expecting every moment to see its dark orb turn on +me a glance of repugnance and contempt. I listened too; and as I +happened to be seated quite at the top of the room, I caught most of what +he said: its import relieved me from immediate apprehension. + +"I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Lowton will do; it struck +me that it would be just of the quality for the calico chemises, and I +sorted the needles to match. You may tell Miss Smith that I forgot to +make a memorandum of the darning needles, but she shall have some papers +sent in next week; and she is not, on any account, to give out more than +one at a time to each pupil: if they have more, they are apt to be +careless and lose them. And, O ma'am! I wish the woollen stockings were +better looked to!--when I was here last, I went into the kitchen-garden +and examined the clothes drying on the line; there was a quantity of +black hose in a very bad state of repair: from the size of the holes in +them I was sure they had not been well mended from time to time." + +He paused. + +"Your directions shall be attended to, sir," said Miss Temple. + +"And, ma'am," he continued, "the laundress tells me some of the girls +have two clean tuckers in the week: it is too much; the rules limit them +to one." + +"I think I can explain that circumstance, sir. Agnes and Catherine +Johnstone were invited to take tea with some friends at Lowton last +Thursday, and I gave them leave to put on clean tuckers for the +occasion." + +Mr. Brocklehurst nodded. + +"Well, for once it may pass; but please not to let the circumstance occur +too often. And there is another thing which surprised me; I find, in +settling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of bread +and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the past +fortnight. How is this? I looked over the regulations, and I find no +such meal as lunch mentioned. Who introduced this innovation? and by +what authority?" + +"I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir," replied Miss Temple: +"the breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eat +it; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting till dinner-time." + +"Madam, allow me an instant. You are aware that my plan in bringing up +these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury and indulgence, +but to render them hardy, patient, self-denying. Should any little +accidental disappointment of the appetite occur, such as the spoiling of +a meal, the under or the over dressing of a dish, the incident ought not +to be neutralised by replacing with something more delicate the comfort +lost, thus pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution; +it ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by +encouraging them to evince fortitude under temporary privation. A brief +address on those occasions would not be mistimed, wherein a judicious +instructor would take the opportunity of referring to the sufferings of +the primitive Christians; to the torments of martyrs; to the exhortations +of our blessed Lord Himself, calling upon His disciples to take up their +cross and follow Him; to His warnings that man shall not live by bread +alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God; to His +divine consolations, "If ye suffer hunger or thirst for My sake, happy +are ye." Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt +porridge, into these children's mouths, you may indeed feed their vile +bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!" + +Mr. Brocklehurst again paused--perhaps overcome by his feelings. Miss +Temple had looked down when he first began to speak to her; but she now +gazed straight before her, and her face, naturally pale as marble, +appeared to be assuming also the coldness and fixity of that material; +especially her mouth, closed as if it would have required a sculptor's +chisel to open it, and her brow settled gradually into petrified +severity. + +Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behind +his back, majestically surveyed the whole school. Suddenly his eye gave +a blink, as if it had met something that either dazzled or shocked its +pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used-- + +"Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what--_what_ is that girl with curled hair? +Red hair, ma'am, curled--curled all over?" And extending his cane he +pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so. + +"It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly. + +"Julia Severn, ma'am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, +in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does she +conform to the world so openly--here in an evangelical, charitable +establishment--as to wear her hair one mass of curls?" + +"Julia's hair curls naturally," returned Miss Temple, still more quietly. + +"Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature; I wish these girls +to be the children of Grace: and why that abundance? I have again and +again intimated that I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, +plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair must be cut off entirely; I will +send a barber to-morrow: and I see others who have far too much of the +excrescence--that tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the first +form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall." + +Miss Temple passed her handkerchief over her lips, as if to smooth away +the involuntary smile that curled them; she gave the order, however, and +when the first class could take in what was required of them, they +obeyed. Leaning a little back on my bench, I could see the looks and +grimaces with which they commented on this manoeuvre: it was a pity Mr. +Brocklehurst could not see them too; he would perhaps have felt that, +whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the inside +was further beyond his interference than he imagined. + +He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, then +pronounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom-- + +"All those top-knots must be cut off." + +Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate. + +"Madam," he pursued, "I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not of +this world: my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts of the +flesh; to teach them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness and +sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and each of the young +persons before us has a string of hair twisted in plaits which vanity +itself might have woven; these, I repeat, must be cut off; think of the +time wasted, of--" + +Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now +entered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heard +his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, +and furs. The two younger of the trio (fine girls of sixteen and +seventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, shaded with ostrich +plumes, and from under the brim of this graceful head-dress fell a +profusion of light tresses, elaborately curled; the elder lady was +enveloped in a costly velvet shawl, trimmed with ermine, and she wore a +false front of French curls. + +These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as Mrs. and the +Misses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of honour at the top of the +room. It seems they had come in the carriage with their reverend +relative, and had been conducting a rummaging scrutiny of the room +upstairs, while he transacted business with the housekeeper, questioned +the laundress, and lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded to +address divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith, who was charged with +the care of the linen and the inspection of the dormitories: but I had no +time to listen to what they said; other matters called off and enchanted +my attention. + +Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. Brocklehurst and Miss +Temple, I had not, at the same time, neglected precautions to secure my +personal safety; which I thought would be effected, if I could only elude +observation. To this end, I had sat well back on the form, and while +seeming to be busy with my sum, had held my slate in such a manner as to +conceal my face: I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherous +slate somehow happened to slip from my hand, and falling with an +obtrusive crash, directly drawn every eye upon me; I knew it was all over +now, and, as I stooped to pick up the two fragments of slate, I rallied +my forces for the worst. It came. + +"A careless girl!" said Mr. Brocklehurst, and immediately after--"It is +the new pupil, I perceive." And before I could draw breath, "I must not +forget I have a word to say respecting her." Then aloud: how loud it +seemed to me! "Let the child who broke her slate come forward!" + +Of my own accord I could not have stirred; I was paralysed: but the two +great girls who sit on each side of me, set me on my legs and pushed me +towards the dread judge, and then Miss Temple gently assisted me to his +very feet, and I caught her whispered counsel-- + +"Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall not be +punished." + +The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger. + +"Another minute, and she will despise me for a hypocrite," thought I; and +an impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co. bounded in my +pulses at the conviction. I was no Helen Burns. + +"Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high one +from which a monitor had just risen: it was brought. + +"Place the child upon it." + +And I was placed there, by whom I don't know: I was in no condition to +note particulars; I was only aware that they had hoisted me up to the +height of Mr. Brocklehurst's nose, that he was within a yard of me, and +that a spread of shot orange and purple silk pelisses and a cloud of +silvery plumage extended and waved below me. + +Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed. + +"Ladies," said he, turning to his family, "Miss Temple, teachers, and +children, you all see this girl?" + +Of course they did; for I felt their eyes directed like burning-glasses +against my scorched skin. + +"You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the ordinary form of +childhood; God has graciously given her the shape that He has given to +all of us; no signal deformity points her out as a marked character. Who +would think that the Evil One had already found a servant and agent in +her? Yet such, I grieve to say, is the case." + +A pause--in which I began to steady the palsy of my nerves, and to feel +that the Rubicon was passed; and that the trial, no longer to be shirked, +must be firmly sustained. + +"My dear children," pursued the black marble clergyman, with pathos, +"this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it becomes my duty to warn +you, that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a little +castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper and +an alien. You must be on your guard against her; you must shun her +example; if necessary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, +and shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her: keep +your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions, +punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation be possible, +for (my tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child, the native +of a Christian land, worse than many a little heathen who says its +prayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut--this girl is--a liar!" + +Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I, by this time in perfect +possession of my wits, observed all the female Brocklehursts produce +their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics, while the +elderly lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two younger ones +whispered, "How shocking!" Mr. Brocklehurst resumed. + +"This I learned from her benefactress; from the pious and charitable lady +who adopted her in her orphan state, reared her as her own daughter, and +whose kindness, whose generosity the unhappy girl repaid by an +ingratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness was +obliged to separate her from her own young ones, fearful lest her vicious +example should contaminate their purity: she has sent her here to be +healed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to the troubled pool +of Bethesda; and, teachers, superintendent, I beg of you not to allow the +waters to stagnate round her." + +With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button of +his surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed to Miss +Temple, and then all the great people sailed in state from the room. +Turning at the door, my judge said-- + +"Let her stand half-an-hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak to +her during the remainder of the day." + +There was I, then, mounted aloft; I, who had said I could not bear the +shame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of the room, was now +exposed to general view on a pedestal of infamy. What my sensations were +no language can describe; but just as they all rose, stifling my breath +and constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me: in passing, she +lifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them! What an +extraordinary sensation that ray sent through me! How the new feeling +bore me up! It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim, +and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, +lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen Burns asked +some slight question about her work of Miss Smith, was chidden for the +triviality of the inquiry, returned to her place, and smiled at me as she +again went by. What a smile! I remember it now, and I know that it was +the effluence of fine intellect, of true courage; it lit up her marked +lineaments, her thin face, her sunken grey eye, like a reflection from +the aspect of an angel. Yet at that moment Helen Burns wore on her arm +"the untidy badge;" scarcely an hour ago I had heard her condemned by +Miss Scatcherd to a dinner of bread and water on the morrow because she +had blotted an exercise in copying it out. Such is the imperfect nature +of man! such spots are there on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyes +like Miss Scatcherd's can only see those minute defects, and are blind to +the full brightness of the orb. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Ere the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck; school was dismissed, and +all were gone into the refectory to tea. I now ventured to descend: it +was deep dusk; I retired into a corner and sat down on the floor. The +spell by which I had been so far supported began to dissolve; reaction +took place, and soon, so overwhelming was the grief that seized me, I +sank prostrate with my face to the ground. Now I wept: Helen Burns was +not here; nothing sustained me; left to myself I abandoned myself, and my +tears watered the boards. I had meant to be so good, and to do so much +at Lowood: to make so many friends, to earn respect and win affection. +Already I had made visible progress: that very morning I had reached the +head of my class; Miss Miller had praised me warmly; Miss Temple had +smiled approbation; she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me +learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months +longer: and then I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as an +equal by those of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here I lay +again crushed and trodden on; and could I ever rise more? + +"Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die. While sobbing out this +wish in broken accents, some one approached: I started up--again Helen +Burns was near me; the fading fires just showed her coming up the long, +vacant room; she brought my coffee and bread. + +"Come, eat something," she said; but I put both away from me, feeling as +if a drop or a crumb would have choked me in my present condition. Helen +regarded me, probably with surprise: I could not now abate my agitation, +though I tried hard; I continued to weep aloud. She sat down on the +ground near me, embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her head +upon them; in that attitude she remained silent as an Indian. I was the +first who spoke-- + +"Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes to be a +liar?" + +"Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you +called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions." + +"But what have I to do with millions? The eighty, I know, despise me." + +"Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despises +or dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much." + +"How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst has said?" + +"Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god: nor is he even a great and admired man: +he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself liked. Had +he treated you as an especial favourite, you would have found enemies, +declared or covert, all around you; as it is, the greater number would +offer you sympathy if they dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly on +you for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in their +hearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these feelings will ere long +appear so much the more evidently for their temporary suppression. +Besides, Jane"--she paused. + +"Well, Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers: she chafed my fingers +gently to warm them, and went on-- + +"If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own +conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be +without friends." + +"No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: if +others don't love me I would rather die than live--I cannot bear to be +solitary and hated, Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection from +you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I would willingly +submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to +stand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest--" + +"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human beings; you are too +impulsive, too vehement; the sovereign hand that created your frame, and +put life into it, has provided you with other resources than your feeble +self, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides +the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits: +that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us, +for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we were dying in pain and +shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hatred crushed us, angels see +our tortures, recognise our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know you +are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has weakly and pompously +repeated at second-hand from Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature in +your ardent eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only the +separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, +then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon +over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness--to glory?" + +I was silent; Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquillity she imparted +there was an alloy of inexpressible sadness. I felt the impression of +woe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence it came; and when, having +done speaking, she breathed a little fast and coughed a short cough, I +momentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield to a vague concern for her. + +Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round her waist; she +drew me to her, and we reposed in silence. We had not sat long thus, +when another person came in. Some heavy clouds, swept from the sky by a +rising wind, had left the moon bare; and her light, streaming in through +a window near, shone full both on us and on the approaching figure, which +we at once recognised as Miss Temple. + +"I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said she; "I want you in my +room; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may come too." + +We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to thread some +intricate passages, and mount a staircase before we reached her +apartment; it contained a good fire, and looked cheerful. Miss Temple +told Helen Burns to be seated in a low arm-chair on one side of the +hearth, and herself taking another, she called me to her side. + +"Is it all over?" she asked, looking down at my face. "Have you cried +your grief away?" + +"I am afraid I never shall do that." + +"Why?" + +"Because I have been wrongly accused; and you, ma'am, and everybody else, +will now think me wicked." + +"We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue to +act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us." + +"Shall I, Miss Temple?" + +"You will," said she, passing her arm round me. "And now tell me who is +the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your benefactress?" + +"Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife. My uncle is dead, and he left me to her +care." + +"Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?" + +"No, ma'am; she was sorry to have to do it: but my uncle, as I have often +heard the servants say, got her to promise before he died that she would +always keep me." + +"Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that when a +criminal is accused, he is always allowed to speak in his own defence. +You have been charged with falsehood; defend yourself to me as well as +you can. Say whatever your memory suggests is true; but add nothing and +exaggerate nothing." + +I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate--most +correct; and, having reflected a few minutes in order to arrange +coherently what I had to say, I told her all the story of my sad +childhood. Exhausted by emotion, my language was more subdued than it +generally was when it developed that sad theme; and mindful of Helen's +warnings against the indulgence of resentment, I infused into the +narrative far less of gall and wormwood than ordinary. Thus restrained +and simplified, it sounded more credible: I felt as I went on that Miss +Temple fully believed me. + +In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come to see +me after the fit: for I never forgot the, to me, frightful episode of the +red-room: in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree, to +break bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm of +agony which clutched my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication +for pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber. + +I had finished: Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence; she +then said-- + +"I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to him; if his reply agrees +with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation; +to me, Jane, you are clear now." + +She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was well +contented to stand, for I derived a child's pleasure from the +contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her white +forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes), she +proceeded to address Helen Burns. + +"How are you to-night, Helen? Have you coughed much to-day?" + +"Not quite so much, I think, ma'am." + +"And the pain in your chest?" + +"It is a little better." + +Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse; then she +returned to her own seat: as she resumed it, I heard her sigh low. She +was pensive a few minutes, then rousing herself, she said cheerfully-- + +"But you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such." She +rang her bell. + +"Barbara," she said to the servant who answered it, "I have not yet had +tea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies." + +And a tray was soon brought. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups +and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire! +How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast! +of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry) +discerned only a very small portion: Miss Temple discerned it too. + +"Barbara," said she, "can you not bring a little more bread and butter? +There is not enough for three." + +Barbara went out: she returned soon-- + +"Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity." + +Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper: a woman after Mr. +Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron. + +"Oh, very well!" returned Miss Temple; "we must make it do, Barbara, I +suppose." And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling, "Fortunately, I +have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once." + +Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before each +of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast, she got +up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper, +disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake. + +"I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you," said she, +"but as there is so little toast, you must have it now," and she +proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand. + +We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the least +delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with which +our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the +delicate fare she liberally supplied. + +Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we sat +one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her and +Helen, which it was indeed a privilege to be admitted to hear. + +Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in her +mien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded deviation +into the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which chastened the +pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to her, by a controlling +sense of awe; and such was my feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I was +struck with wonder. + +The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of her +beloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these, something in her +own unique mind, had roused her powers within her. They woke, they +kindled: first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which till +this hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in the +liquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more +singular than that of Miss Temple's--a beauty neither of fine colour nor +long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of +radiance. Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what +source I cannot tell. Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, +vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid +eloquence? Such was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on that, to +me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very +brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence. + +They conversed of things I had never heard of; of nations and times past; +of countries far away; of secrets of nature discovered or guessed at: +they spoke of books: how many they had read! What stores of knowledge +they possessed! Then they seemed so familiar with French names and +French authors: but my amazement reached its climax when Miss Temple +asked Helen if she sometimes snatched a moment to recall the Latin her +father had taught her, and taking a book from a shelf, bade her read and +construe a page of Virgil; and Helen obeyed, my organ of veneration +expanding at every sounding line. She had scarcely finished ere the bell +announced bedtime! no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us +both, saying, as she drew us to her heart-- + +"God bless you, my children!" + +Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her go more reluctantly; +it was Helen her eye followed to the door; it was for her she a second +time breathed a sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek. + +On reaching the bedroom, we heard the voice of Miss Scatcherd: she was +examining drawers; she had just pulled out Helen Burns's, and when we +entered Helen was greeted with a sharp reprimand, and told that to-morrow +she should have half-a-dozen of untidily folded articles pinned to her +shoulder. + +"My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured Helen to me, in a +low voice: "I intended to have arranged them, but I forgot." + +Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters on a piece +of pasteboard the word "Slattern," and bound it like a phylactery round +Helen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead. She wore +it till evening, patient, unresentful, regarding it as a deserved +punishment. The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew after afternoon school, I +ran to Helen, tore it off, and thrust it into the fire: the fury of which +she was incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot and +large, had continually been scalding my cheek; for the spectacle of her +sad resignation gave me an intolerable pain at the heart. + +About a week subsequently to the incidents above narrated, Miss Temple, +who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer: it appeared that what +he said went to corroborate my account. Miss Temple, having assembled +the whole school, announced that inquiry had been made into the charges +alleged against Jane Eyre, and that she was most happy to be able to +pronounce her completely cleared from every imputation. The teachers +then shook hands with me and kissed me, and a murmur of pleasure ran +through the ranks of my companions. + +Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour set to work afresh, +resolved to pioneer my way through every difficulty: I toiled hard, and +my success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturally +tenacious, improved with practice; exercise sharpened my wits; in a few +weeks I was promoted to a higher class; in less than two months I was +allowed to commence French and drawing. I learned the first two tenses +of the verb _Etre_, and sketched my first cottage (whose walls, by-the- +bye, outrivalled in slope those of the leaning tower of Pisa), on the +same day. That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in +imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread +and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: I +feasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings, which I saw in the +dark; all the work of my own hands: freely pencilled houses and trees, +picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups of cattle, sweet paintings +of butterflies hovering over unblown roses, of birds picking at ripe +cherries, of wren's nests enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about with +young ivy sprays. I examined, too, in thought, the possibility of my +ever being able to translate currently a certain little French story +which Madame Pierrot had that day shown me; nor was that problem solved +to my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep. + +Well has Solomon said--"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a +stalled ox and hatred therewith." + +I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its privations for +Gateshead and its daily luxuries. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +But the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood lessened. Spring +drew on: she was indeed already come; the frosts of winter had ceased; +its snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated. My wretched feet, +flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal +and subside under the gentler breathings of April; the nights and +mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood in +our veins; we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden: +sometimes on a sunny day it began even to be pleasant and genial, and a +greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested +the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning +brighter traces of her steps. Flowers peeped out amongst the leaves; +snow-drops, crocuses, purple auriculas, and golden-eyed pansies. On +Thursday afternoons (half-holidays) we now took walks, and found still +sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under the hedges. + +I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which the horizon +only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of our +garden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling a +great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, full of +dark stones and sparkling eddies. How different had this scene looked +when I viewed it laid out beneath the iron sky of winter, stiffened in +frost, shrouded with snow!--when mists as chill as death wandered to the +impulse of east winds along those purple peaks, and rolled down "ing" and +holm till they blended with the frozen fog of the beck! That beck itself +was then a torrent, turbid and curbless: it tore asunder the wood, and +sent a raving sound through the air, often thickened with wild rain or +whirling sleet; and for the forest on its banks, _that_ showed only ranks +of skeletons. + +April advanced to May: a bright serene May it was; days of blue sky, +placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales filled up its +duration. And now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose its +tresses; it became all green, all flowery; its great elm, ash, and oak +skeletons were restored to majestic life; woodland plants sprang up +profusely in its recesses; unnumbered varieties of moss filled its +hollows, and it made a strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of its +wild primrose plants: I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed +spots like scatterings of the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often +and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone: for this unwonted liberty +and pleasure there was a cause, to which it now becomes my task to +advert. + +Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling, when I speak of it +as bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the verge of a stream? +Assuredly, pleasant enough: but whether healthy or not is another +question. + +That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and fog-bred +pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring, crept into the +Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and +dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the seminary into an +hospital. + +Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils to +receive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one +time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few who continued well +were allowed almost unlimited license; because the medical attendant +insisted on the necessity of frequent exercise to keep them in health: +and had it been otherwise, no one had leisure to watch or restrain them. +Miss Temple's whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she lived in +the sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest at +night. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other +necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were +fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to remove +them from the seat of contagion. Many, already smitten, went home only +to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly, the +nature of the malady forbidding delay. + +While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death its +frequent visitor; while there was gloom and fear within its walls; while +its rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells, the drug and the +pastille striving vainly to overcome the effluvia of mortality, that +bright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland out +of doors. Its garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung up +tall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom; the +borders of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double +daisies; the sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent of +spice and apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for most +of the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful of +herbs and blossoms to put in a coffin. + +But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of the +scene and season; they let us ramble in the wood, like gipsies, from +morning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived +better too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now: +household matters were not scrutinised into; the cross housekeeper was +gone, driven away by the fear of infection; her successor, who had been +matron at the Lowton Dispensary, unused to the ways of her new abode, +provided with comparative liberality. Besides, there were fewer to feed; +the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled; when +there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, she +would give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread and +cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we each chose +the spot we liked best, and dined sumptuously. + +My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white and dry from +the very middle of the beck, and only to be got at by wading through the +water; a feat I accomplished barefoot. The stone was just broad enough +to accommodate, comfortably, another girl and me, at that time my chosen +comrade--one Mary Ann Wilson; a shrewd, observant personage, whose +society I took pleasure in, partly because she was witty and original, +and partly because she had a manner which set me at my ease. Some years +older than I, she knew more of the world, and could tell me many things I +liked to hear: with her my curiosity found gratification: to my faults +also she gave ample indulgence, never imposing curb or rein on anything I +said. She had a turn for narrative, I for analysis; she liked to inform, +I to question; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving much +entertainment, if not much improvement, from our mutual intercourse. + +And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet +days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her? or was I so worthless as +to have grown tired of her pure society? Surely the Mary Ann Wilson I +have mentioned was inferior to my first acquaintance: she could only tell +me amusing stories, and reciprocate any racy and pungent gossip I chose +to indulge in; while, if I have spoken truth of Helen, she was qualified +to give those who enjoyed the privilege of her converse a taste of far +higher things. + +True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a defective +being, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tired of +Helen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of +attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animated +my heart. How could it be otherwise, when Helen, at all times and under +all circumstances, evinced for me a quiet and faithful friendship, which +ill-humour never soured, nor irritation never troubled? But Helen was +ill at present: for some weeks she had been removed from my sight to I +knew not what room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospital +portion of the house with the fever patients; for her complaint was +consumption, not typhus: and by consumption I, in my ignorance, +understood something mild, which time and care would be sure to +alleviate. + +I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice coming +downstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being taken by Miss Temple +into the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and +speak to her; I only saw her from the schoolroom window, and then not +distinctly; for she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the +verandah. + +One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with +Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselves from the +others, and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way, and had to ask +it at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman lived, who looked after a +herd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we got +back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which we knew to be the surgeon's, +was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann remarked that she supposed +some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of +the evening. She went into the house; I stayed behind a few minutes to +plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest, and +which I feared would wither if I left them till the morning. This done, +I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew +fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; the still +glowing west promised so fairly another fine day on the morrow; the moon +rose with such majesty in the grave east. I was noting these things and +enjoying them as a child might, when it entered my mind as it had never +done before:-- + +"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying! +This world is pleasant--it would be dreary to be called from it, and to +have to go who knows where?" + +And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend what had +been infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for the first time +it recoiled, baffled; and for the first time glancing behind, on each +side, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomed gulf: it felt the one +point where it stood--the present; all the rest was formless cloud and +vacant depth; and it shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plunging +amid that chaos. While pondering this new idea, I heard the front door +open; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. After she had seen +him mount his horse and depart, she was about to close the door, but I +ran up to her. + +"How is Helen Burns?" + +"Very poorly," was the answer. + +"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?" + +"Yes." + +"And what does he say about her?" + +"He says she'll not be here long." + +This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have only conveyed +the notion that she was about to be removed to Northumberland, to her own +home. I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but I +knew instantly now! It opened clear on my comprehension that Helen Burns +was numbering her last days in this world, and that she was going to be +taken to the region of spirits, if such region there were. I experienced +a shock of horror, then a strong thrill of grief, then a desire--a +necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay. + +"She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse. + +"May I go up and speak to her?" + +"Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in; +you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling." + +The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which led +to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o'clock, and Miss +Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed. + +It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I--not having +been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfect silence of the +dormitory, that my companions were all wrapt in profound repose--rose +softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept +from the apartment, and set off in quest of Miss Temple's room. It was +quite at the other end of the house; but I knew my way; and the light of +the unclouded summer moon, entering here and there at passage windows, +enabled me to find it without difficulty. An odour of camphor and burnt +vinegar warned me when I came near the fever room: and I passed its door +quickly, fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night should hear me. I +dreaded being discovered and sent back; for I _must_ see Helen,--I must +embrace her before she died,--I must give her one last kiss, exchange +with her one last word. + +Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the house below, and +succeeded in opening and shutting, without noise, two doors, I reached +another flight of steps; these I mounted, and then just opposite to me +was Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the keyhole and from under +the door; a profound stillness pervaded the vicinity. Coming near, I +found the door slightly ajar; probably to admit some fresh air into the +close abode of sickness. Indisposed to hesitate, and full of impatient +impulses--soul and senses quivering with keen throes--I put it back and +looked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death. + +Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains, +there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under the +clothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I had spoken to +in the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffed candle burnt +dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen: I knew afterwards +that she had been called to a delirious patient in the fever-room. I +advanced; then paused by the crib side: my hand was on the curtain, but I +preferred speaking before I withdrew it. I still recoiled at the dread +of seeing a corpse. + +"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake?" + +She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale, +wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my fear was +instantly dissipated. + +"Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice. + +"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she could +not speak and look so calmly if she were." + +I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and her cheek +both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of +old. + +"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heard it +strike some minutes since." + +"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not +sleep till I had spoken to you." + +"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably." + +"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?" + +"Yes; to my long home--my last home." + +"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devour my +tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake the +nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then she +whispered-- + +"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with my +quilt." + +I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her. After a +long silence, she resumed, still whispering-- + +"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must be +sure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die +one day, and the illness which is removing me is not painful; it is +gentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leave no one to regret me +much: I have only a father; and he is lately married, and will not miss +me. By dying young, I shall escape great sufferings. I had not +qualities or talents to make my way very well in the world: I should have +been continually at fault." + +"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?" + +"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God." + +"Where is God? What is God?" + +"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created. I rely +implicitly on His power, and confide wholly in His goodness: I count the +hours till that eventful one arrives which shall restore me to Him, +reveal Him to me." + +"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven, and +that our souls can get to it when we die?" + +"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good; I can resign +my immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is my father; God is +my friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me." + +"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?" + +"You will come to the same region of happiness: be received by the same +mighty, universal Parent, no doubt, dear Jane." + +Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. "Where is that +region? Does it exist?" And I clasped my arms closer round Helen; she +seemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I could not let her go; I lay +with my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said, in the sweetest +tone-- + +"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little; +I feel as if I could sleep: but don't leave me, Jane; I like to have you +near me." + +"I'll stay with you, _dear_ Helen: no one shall take me away." + +"Are you warm, darling?" + +"Yes." + +"Good-night, Jane." + +"Good-night, Helen." + +She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered. + +When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; I +was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through +the passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded for leaving my +bed; people had something else to think about; no explanation was +afforded then to my many questions; but a day or two afterwards I learned +that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laid +in the little crib; my face against Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round +her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was--dead. + +Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after her +death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tablet +marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word "Resurgam." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant +existence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost as many +chapters. But this is not to be a regular autobiography. I am only +bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess some +degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in +silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of +connection. + +When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood, +it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its virulence and the +number of its victims had drawn public attention on the school. Inquiry +was made into the origin of the scourge, and by degrees various facts +came out which excited public indignation in a high degree. The +unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children's +food; the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils' +wretched clothing and accommodations--all these things were discovered, +and the discovery produced a result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but +beneficial to the institution. + +Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed +largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better +situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothing +introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the management of a +committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth and family +connections, could not be overlooked, still retained the post of +treasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties by gentlemen +of rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his office of inspector, +too, was shared by those who knew how to combine reason with strictness, +comfort with economy, compassion with uprightness. The school, thus +improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution. I +remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration, for eight years: +six as pupil, and two as teacher; and in both capacities I bear my +testimony to its value and importance. + +During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy, because it +was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent education placed +within my reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to excel +in all, together with a great delight in pleasing my teachers, especially +such as I loved, urged me on: I availed myself fully of the advantages +offered me. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; then +I was invested with the office of teacher; which I discharged with zeal +for two years: but at the end of that time I altered. + +Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued superintendent +of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of my +acquirements; her friendship and society had been my continual solace; +she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, and, latterly, +companion. At this period she married, removed with her husband (a +clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distant +county, and consequently was lost to me. + +From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone every +settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a +home to me. I had imbibed from her something of her nature and much of +her habits: more harmonious thoughts: what seemed better regulated +feelings had become the inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiance to +duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the eyes of +others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued +character. + +But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and +Miss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into a post-chaise, +shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise mount the hill +and disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my own room, and there +spent in solitude the greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honour +of the occasion. + +I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself only to +be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when my +reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon +was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me, +namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming process; that +my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple--or rather that +she had taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in her +vicinity--and that now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to +feel the stirring of old emotions. It did not seem as if a prop were +withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to +be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was no +more. My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had been +of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide, +and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and +excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, +to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils. + +I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the two wings +of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood; +there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other objects to rest on +those most remote, the blue peaks; it was those I longed to surmount; all +within their boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exile +limits. I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain, +and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I longed to follow it farther! +I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road in a coach; I +remembered descending that hill at twilight; an age seemed to have +elapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never +quitted it since. My vacations had all been spent at school: Mrs. Reed +had never sent for me to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had +ever been to visit me. I had had no communication by letter or message +with the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and +notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, and +preferences, and antipathies--such was what I knew of existence. And now +I felt that it was not enough; I tired of the routine of eight years in +one afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I +uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. I +abandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change, stimulus: +that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: "Then," I cried, +half desperate, "grant me at least a new servitude!" + +Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs. + +I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections till +bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me kept me +from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged effusion of +small talk. How I wished sleep would silence her. It seemed as if, +could I but go back to the idea which had last entered my mind as I stood +at the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for my relief. + +Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till now her +habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any other light +than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes with +satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my half-effaced thought +instantly revived. + +"A new servitude! There is something in that," I soliloquised (mentally, +be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there is, because it +does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words as Liberty, +Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more than sounds +for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to +listen to them. But Servitude! That must be matter of fact. Any one +may serve: I have served here eight years; now all I want is to serve +elsewhere. Can I not get so much of my own will? Is not the thing +feasible? Yes--yes--the end is not so difficult; if I had only a brain +active enough to ferret out the means of attaining it." + +I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chilly +night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded _to +think_ again with all my might. + +"What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under +new circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting anything +better. How do people do to get a new place? They apply to friends, I +suppose: I have no friends. There are many others who have no friends, +who must look about for themselves and be their own helpers; and what is +their resource?" + +I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to find a +response, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt the pulses +throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked in chaos; +and no result came of its efforts. Feverish with vain labour, I got up +and took a turn in the room; undrew the curtain, noted a star or two, +shivered with cold, and again crept to bed. + +A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestion +on my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and naturally to my +mind.--"Those who want situations advertise; you must advertise in the +_---shire Herald_." + +"How? I know nothing about advertising." + +Replies rose smooth and prompt now:-- + +"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it under a +cover directed to the editor of the _Herald_; you must put it, the first +opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers must be addressed +to J.E., at the post-office there; you can go and inquire in about a week +after you send your letter, if any are come, and act accordingly." + +This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my mind; I +had it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and fell asleep. + +With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written, enclosed, +and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it ran thus:-- + +"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher two +years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private family +where the children are under fourteen" (I thought that as I was barely +eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils nearer my +own age). "She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good English +education, together with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days, +reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplishments, would have been +held tolerably comprehensive). "Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton, --- +shire." + +This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I asked +leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order to perform some +small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow-teachers; +permission was readily granted; I went. It was a walk of two miles, and +the evening was wet, but the days were still long; I visited a shop or +two, slipped the letter into the post-office, and came back through heavy +rain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart. + +The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however, like +all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a pleasant +autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A picturesque +track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the beck and through +the sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I thought more of the +letters, that might or might not be awaiting me at the little burgh +whither I was bound, than of the charms of lea and water. + +My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair of +shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was done, I +stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's to +the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horn spectacles on +her nose, and black mittens on her hands. + +"Are there any letters for J.E.?" I asked. + +She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and +fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes began +to falter. At last, having held a document before her glasses for nearly +five minutes, she presented it across the counter, accompanying the act +by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance--it was for J.E. + +"Is there only one?" I demanded. + +"There are no more," said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned my +face homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to be back by +eight, and it was already half-past seven. + +Various duties awaited me on my arrival. I had to sit with the girls +during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers; to see +them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers. Even when we +finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss Gryce was still my +companion: we had only a short end of candle in our candlestick, and I +dreaded lest she should talk till it was all burnt out; fortunately, +however, the heavy supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect: she +was already snoring before I had finished undressing. There still +remained an inch of candle: I now took out my letter; the seal was an +initial F.; I broke it; the contents were brief. + +"If J.E., who advertised in the _---shire Herald_ of last Thursday, +possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position to give +satisfactory references as to character and competency, a situation can +be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten +years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds per annum. J.E. is +requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the +direction:-- + +"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, ---shire." + +I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and rather +uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circumstance was +satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus acting for +myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into some +scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my endeavours to be +respectable, proper, _en regle_. I now felt that an elderly lady was no +bad ingredient in the business I had on hand. Mrs. Fairfax! I saw her +in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid, perhaps, but not uncivil: a +model of elderly English respectability. Thornfield! that, doubtless, +was the name of her house: a neat orderly spot, I was sure; though I +failed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the premises. +Millcote, ---shire; I brushed up my recollections of the map of England, +yes, I saw it; both the shire and the town. ---shire was seventy miles +nearer London than the remote county where I now resided: that was a +recommendation to me. I longed to go where there was life and movement: +Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busy +place enough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a complete +change at least. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of +long chimneys and clouds of smoke--"but," I argued, "Thornfield will, +probably, be a good way from the town." + +Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out. + +Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be confined +to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve their success. +Having sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent during the +noontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a new +situation where the salary would be double what I now received (for at +Lowood I only got 15 pounds per annum); and requested she would break the +matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee, and +ascertain whether they would permit me to mention them as references. She +obligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the matter. The next day she +laid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be +written to, as she was my natural guardian. A note was accordingly +addressed to that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as I +pleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs." This +note went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared to +me most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my condition +if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always conducted myself +well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character +and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, should +forthwith be furnished me. + +This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded a +copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating that she +was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period for my +assuming the post of governess in her house. + +I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed rapidly. I had +not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants; and the +last day sufficed to pack my trunk,--the same I had brought with me eight +years ago from Gateshead. + +The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half-an-hour the carrier was +to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at an +early hour the next morning to meet the coach. I had brushed my black +stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought in +all my drawers to see that no article was left behind; and now having +nothing more to do, I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though I +had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too +much excited. A phase of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening +to-morrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly +while the change was being accomplished. + +"Miss," said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wandering +like a troubled spirit, "a person below wishes to see you." + +"The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry. I +was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, the door of which +was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out-- + +"It's her, I am sure!--I could have told her anywhere!" cried the +individual who stopped my progress and took my hand. + +I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly, +yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and lively +complexion. + +"Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half +recognised; "you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?" + +In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously: "Bessie! +Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, half +cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the fire stood a little +fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers. + +"That is my little boy," said Bessie directly. + +"Then you are married, Bessie?" + +"Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and I've a +little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane." + +"And you don't live at Gateshead?" + +"I live at the lodge: the old porter has left." + +"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them, +Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will +you?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother. + +"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued +Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too well at school: Miss +Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana +would make two of you in breadth." + +"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?" + +"Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and there +everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but his +relations were against the match; and--what do you think?--he and Miss +Georgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped. It +was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; and now she +and her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they are always +quarrelling--" + +"Well, and what of John Reed?" + +"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went to college, +and he got--plucked, I think they call it: and then his uncles wanted him +to be a barrister, and study the law: but he is such a dissipated young +man, they will never make much of him, I think." + +"What does he look like?" + +"He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man; but he +has such thick lips." + +"And Mrs. Reed?" + +"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she's not +quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please her--he spends +a deal of money." + +"Did she send you here, Bessie?" + +"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard that +there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part +of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a look at you before +you were quite out of my reach." + +"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I said this laughing: +I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed regard, did in no +shape denote admiration. + +"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a +lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as +a child." + +I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but I +confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen most +people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an exterior +likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification. + +"I dare say you are clever, though," continued Bessie, by way of solace. +"What can you do? Can you play on the piano?" + +"A little." + +There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then asked me +to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and she was +charmed. + +"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly. "I always +said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?" + +"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece." It was a landscape +in water colours, of which I had made a present to the superintendent, in +acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf, +and which she had framed and glazed. + +"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane! It is as fine a picture as any Miss +Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladies themselves, +who could not come near it: and have you learnt French?" + +"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it." + +"And you can work on muslin and canvas?" + +"I can." + +"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will get +on whether your relations notice you or not. There was something I +wanted to ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father's +kinsfolk, the Eyres?" + +"Never in my life." + +"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable: +and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds +are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead +and wanted to see you; Missis said you were at school fifty miles off; he +seemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on a +voyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail from London in a +day or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your +father's brother." + +"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?" + +"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler did +tell me--" + +"Madeira?" I suggested. + +"Yes, that is it--that is the very word." + +"So he went?" + +"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very high +with him; she called him afterwards a 'sneaking tradesman.' My Robert +believes he was a wine-merchant." + +"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a +wine-merchant." + +Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she was +obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next morning +at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally at the +door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she set +off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take +her back to Gateshead, I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to new +duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play; and +when I draw up the curtain this time, reader, you must fancy you see a +room in the George Inn at Millcote, with such large figured papering on +the walls as inn rooms have; such a carpet, such furniture, such +ornaments on the mantelpiece, such prints, including a portrait of George +the Third, and another of the Prince of Wales, and a representation of +the death of Wolfe. All this is visible to you by the light of an oil +lamp hanging from the ceiling, and by that of an excellent fire, near +which I sit in my cloak and bonnet; my muff and umbrella lie on the +table, and I am warming away the numbness and chill contracted by sixteen +hours' exposure to the rawness of an October day: I left Lowton at four +o'clock a.m., and the Millcote town clock is now just striking eight. + +Reader, though I look comfortably accommodated, I am not very tranquil in +my mind. I thought when the coach stopped here there would be some one +to meet me; I looked anxiously round as I descended the wooden steps the +"boots" placed for my convenience, expecting to hear my name pronounced, +and to see some description of carriage waiting to convey me to +Thornfield. Nothing of the sort was visible; and when I asked a waiter +if any one had been to inquire after a Miss Eyre, I was answered in the +negative: so I had no resource but to request to be shown into a private +room: and here I am waiting, while all sorts of doubts and fears are +troubling my thoughts. + +It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself +quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain +whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by +many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of +adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then +the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when +half-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring +the bell. + +"Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of +the waiter who answered the summons. + +"Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar." He +vanished, but reappeared instantly-- + +"Is your name Eyre, Miss?" + +"Yes." + +"Person here waiting for you." + +I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the +inn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit +street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance. + +"This will be your luggage, I suppose?" said the man rather abruptly when +he saw me, pointing to my trunk in the passage. + +"Yes." He hoisted it on to the vehicle, which was a sort of car, and +then I got in; before he shut me up, I asked him how far it was to +Thornfield. + +"A matter of six miles." + +"How long shall we be before we get there?" + +"Happen an hour and a half." + +He fastened the car door, climbed to his own seat outside, and we set +off. Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; I +was content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as I +leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated +much at my ease. + +"I suppose," thought I, "judging from the plainness of the servant and +carriage, Mrs. Fairfax is not a very dashing person: so much the better; +I never lived amongst fine people but once, and I was very miserable with +them. I wonder if she lives alone except this little girl; if so, and if +she is in any degree amiable, I shall surely be able to get on with her; +I will do my best; it is a pity that doing one's best does not always +answer. At Lowood, indeed, I took that resolution, kept it, and +succeeded in pleasing; but with Mrs. Reed, I remember my best was always +spurned with scorn. I pray God Mrs. Fairfax may not turn out a second +Mrs. Reed; but if she does, I am not bound to stay with her! let the +worst come to the worst, I can advertise again. How far are we on our +road now, I wonder?" + +I let down the window and looked out; Millcote was behind us; judging by +the number of its lights, it seemed a place of considerable magnitude, +much larger than Lowton. We were now, as far as I could see, on a sort +of common; but there were houses scattered all over the district; I felt +we were in a different region to Lowood, more populous, less picturesque; +more stirring, less romantic. + +The roads were heavy, the night misty; my conductor let his horse walk +all the way, and the hour and a half extended, I verily believe, to two +hours; at last he turned in his seat and said-- + +"You're noan so far fro' Thornfield now." + +Again I looked out: we were passing a church; I saw its low broad tower +against the sky, and its bell was tolling a quarter; I saw a narrow +galaxy of lights too, on a hillside, marking a village or hamlet. About +ten minutes after, the driver got down and opened a pair of gates: we +passed through, and they clashed to behind us. We now slowly ascended a +drive, and came upon the long front of a house: candlelight gleamed from +one curtained bow-window; all the rest were dark. The car stopped at the +front door; it was opened by a maid-servant; I alighted and went in. + +"Will you walk this way, ma'am?" said the girl; and I followed her across +a square hall with high doors all round: she ushered me into a room whose +double illumination of fire and candle at first dazzled me, contrasting +as it did with the darkness to which my eyes had been for two hours +inured; when I could see, however, a cosy and agreeable picture presented +itself to my view. + +A snug small room; a round table by a cheerful fire; an arm-chair high- +backed and old-fashioned, wherein sat the neatest imaginable little +elderly lady, in widow's cap, black silk gown, and snowy muslin apron; +exactly like what I had fancied Mrs. Fairfax, only less stately and +milder looking. She was occupied in knitting; a large cat sat demurely +at her feet; nothing in short was wanting to complete the beau-ideal of +domestic comfort. A more reassuring introduction for a new governess +could scarcely be conceived; there was no grandeur to overwhelm, no +stateliness to embarrass; and then, as I entered, the old lady got up and +promptly and kindly came forward to meet me. + +"How do you do, my dear? I am afraid you have had a tedious ride; John +drives so slowly; you must be cold, come to the fire." + +"Mrs. Fairfax, I suppose?" said I. + +"Yes, you are right: do sit down." + +She conducted me to her own chair, and then began to remove my shawl and +untie my bonnet-strings; I begged she would not give herself so much +trouble. + +"Oh, it is no trouble; I dare say your own hands are almost numbed with +cold. Leah, make a little hot negus and cut a sandwich or two: here are +the keys of the storeroom." + +And she produced from her pocket a most housewifely bunch of keys, and +delivered them to the servant. + +"Now, then, draw nearer to the fire," she continued. "You've brought +your luggage with you, haven't you, my dear?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"I'll see it carried into your room," she said, and bustled out. + +"She treats me like a visitor," thought I. "I little expected such a +reception; I anticipated only coldness and stiffness: this is not like +what I have heard of the treatment of governesses; but I must not exult +too soon." + +She returned; with her own hands cleared her knitting apparatus and a +book or two from the table, to make room for the tray which Leah now +brought, and then herself handed me the refreshments. I felt rather +confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever before +received, and, that too, shown by my employer and superior; but as she +did not herself seem to consider she was doing anything out of her place, +I thought it better to take her civilities quietly. + +"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax to-night?" I asked, +when I had partaken of what she offered me. + +"What did you say, my dear? I am a little deaf," returned the good lady, +approaching her ear to my mouth. + +I repeated the question more distinctly. + +"Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your +future pupil." + +"Indeed! Then she is not your daughter?" + +"No,--I have no family." + +I should have followed up my first inquiry, by asking in what way Miss +Varens was connected with her; but I recollected it was not polite to ask +too many questions: besides, I was sure to hear in time. + +"I am so glad," she continued, as she sat down opposite to me, and took +the cat on her knee; "I am so glad you are come; it will be quite +pleasant living here now with a companion. To be sure it is pleasant at +any time; for Thornfield is a fine old hall, rather neglected of late +years perhaps, but still it is a respectable place; yet you know in +winter-time one feels dreary quite alone in the best quarters. I say +alone--Leah is a nice girl to be sure, and John and his wife are very +decent people; but then you see they are only servants, and one can't +converse with them on terms of equality: one must keep them at due +distance, for fear of losing one's authority. I'm sure last winter (it +was a very severe one, if you recollect, and when it did not snow, it +rained and blew), not a creature but the butcher and postman came to the +house, from November till February; and I really got quite melancholy +with sitting night after night alone; I had Leah in to read to me +sometimes; but I don't think the poor girl liked the task much: she felt +it confining. In spring and summer one got on better: sunshine and long +days make such a difference; and then, just at the commencement of this +autumn, little Adela Varens came and her nurse: a child makes a house +alive all at once; and now you are here I shall be quite gay." + +My heart really warmed to the worthy lady as I heard her talk; and I drew +my chair a little nearer to her, and expressed my sincere wish that she +might find my company as agreeable as she anticipated. + +"But I'll not keep you sitting up late to-night," said she; "it is on the +stroke of twelve now, and you have been travelling all day: you must feel +tired. If you have got your feet well warmed, I'll show you your +bedroom. I've had the room next to mine prepared for you; it is only a +small apartment, but I thought you would like it better than one of the +large front chambers: to be sure they have finer furniture, but they are +so dreary and solitary, I never sleep in them myself." + +I thanked her for her considerate choice, and as I really felt fatigued +with my long journey, expressed my readiness to retire. She took her +candle, and I followed her from the room. First she went to see if the +hall-door was fastened; having taken the key from the lock, she led the +way upstairs. The steps and banisters were of oak; the staircase window +was high and latticed; both it and the long gallery into which the +bedroom doors opened looked as if they belonged to a church rather than a +house. A very chill and vault-like air pervaded the stairs and gallery, +suggesting cheerless ideas of space and solitude; and I was glad, when +finally ushered into my chamber, to find it of small dimensions, and +furnished in ordinary, modern style. + +When Mrs. Fairfax had bidden me a kind good-night, and I had fastened my +door, gazed leisurely round, and in some measure effaced the eerie +impression made by that wide hall, that dark and spacious staircase, and +that long, cold gallery, by the livelier aspect of my little room, I +remembered that, after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was +now at last in safe haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, +and I knelt down at the bedside, and offered up thanks where thanks were +due; not forgetting, ere I rose, to implore aid on my further path, and +the power of meriting the kindness which seemed so frankly offered me +before it was earned. My couch had no thorns in it that night; my +solitary room no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon and +soundly: when I awoke it was broad day. + +The chamber looked such a bright little place to me as the sun shone in +between the gay blue chintz window curtains, showing papered walls and a +carpeted floor, so unlike the bare planks and stained plaster of Lowood, +that my spirits rose at the view. Externals have a great effect on the +young: I thought that a fairer era of life was beginning for me, one that +was to have its flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. +My faculties, roused by the change of scene, the new field offered to +hope, seemed all astir. I cannot precisely define what they expected, +but it was something pleasant: not perhaps that day or that month, but at +an indefinite future period. + +I rose; I dressed myself with care: obliged to be plain--for I had no +article of attire that was not made with extreme simplicity--I was still +by nature solicitous to be neat. It was not my habit to be disregardful +of appearance or careless of the impression I made: on the contrary, I +ever wished to look as well as I could, and to please as much as my want +of beauty would permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer; +I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry +mouth; I desired to be tall, stately, and finely developed in figure; I +felt it a misfortune that I was so little, so pale, and had features so +irregular and so marked. And why had I these aspirations and these +regrets? It would be difficult to say: I could not then distinctly say +it to myself; yet I had a reason, and a logical, natural reason too. +However, when I had brushed my hair very smooth, and put on my black +frock--which, Quakerlike as it was, at least had the merit of fitting to +a nicety--and adjusted my clean white tucker, I thought I should do +respectably enough to appear before Mrs. Fairfax, and that my new pupil +would not at least recoil from me with antipathy. Having opened my +chamber window, and seen that I left all things straight and neat on the +toilet table, I ventured forth. + +Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery steps of +oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I looked at some +pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented a grim man in a +cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl necklace), at a +bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great clock whose case was of +oak curiously carved, and ebon black with time and rubbing. Everything +appeared very stately and imposing to me; but then I was so little +accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was half of glass, stood +open; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine autumn morning; the +early sun shone serenely on embrowned groves and still green fields; +advancing on to the lawn, I looked up and surveyed the front of the +mansion. It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, though +considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: +battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front +stood out well from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants +were now on the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a +great meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and where +an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, at +once explained the etymology of the mansion's designation. Farther off +were hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor so +like barriers of separation from the living world; but yet quiet and +lonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace Thornfield with a seclusion I +had not expected to find existent so near the stirring locality of +Millcote. A little hamlet, whose roofs were blent with trees, straggled +up the side of one of these hills; the church of the district stood +nearer Thornfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll between the +house and gates. + +I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, yet +listening with delight to the cawing of the rooks, yet surveying the +wide, hoary front of the hall, and thinking what a great place it was for +one lonely little dame like Mrs. Fairfax to inhabit, when that lady +appeared at the door. + +"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser." I went +up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake of the hand. + +"How do you like Thornfield?" she asked. I told her I liked it very +much. + +"Yes," she said, "it is a pretty place; but I fear it will be getting out +of order, unless Mr. Rochester should take it into his head to come and +reside here permanently; or, at least, visit it rather oftener: great +houses and fine grounds require the presence of the proprietor." + +"Mr. Rochester!" I exclaimed. "Who is he?" + +"The owner of Thornfield," she responded quietly. "Did you not know he +was called Rochester?" + +Of course I did not--I had never heard of him before; but the old lady +seemed to regard his existence as a universally understood fact, with +which everybody must be acquainted by instinct. + +"I thought," I continued, "Thornfield belonged to you." + +"To me? Bless you, child; what an idea! To me! I am only the +housekeeper--the manager. To be sure I am distantly related to the +Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was; he was a +clergyman, incumbent of Hay--that little village yonder on the hill--and +that church near the gates was his. The present Mr. Rochester's mother +was a Fairfax, and second cousin to my husband: but I never presume on +the connection--in fact, it is nothing to me; I consider myself quite in +the light of an ordinary housekeeper: my employer is always civil, and I +expect nothing more." + +"And the little girl--my pupil!" + +"She is Mr. Rochester's ward; he commissioned me to find a governess for +her. He intended to have her brought up in ---shire, I believe. Here +she comes, with her 'bonne,' as she calls her nurse." The enigma then +was explained: this affable and kind little widow was no great dame; but +a dependant like myself. I did not like her the worse for that; on the +contrary, I felt better pleased than ever. The equality between her and +me was real; not the mere result of condescension on her part: so much +the better--my position was all the freer. + +As I was meditating on this discovery, a little girl, followed by her +attendant, came running up the lawn. I looked at my pupil, who did not +at first appear to notice me: she was quite a child, perhaps seven or +eight years old, slightly built, with a pale, small-featured face, and a +redundancy of hair falling in curls to her waist. + +"Good morning, Miss Adela," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Come and speak to the +lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some day." She +approached. + +"C'est la ma gouverante!" said she, pointing to me, and addressing her +nurse; who answered-- + +"Mais oui, certainement." + +"Are they foreigners?" I inquired, amazed at hearing the French language. + +"The nurse is a foreigner, and Adela was born on the Continent; and, I +believe, never left it till within six months ago. When she first came +here she could speak no English; now she can make shift to talk it a +little: I don't understand her, she mixes it so with French; but you will +make out her meaning very well, I dare say." + +Fortunately I had had the advantage of being taught French by a French +lady; and as I had always made a point of conversing with Madame Pierrot +as often as I could, and had besides, during the last seven years, learnt +a portion of French by heart daily--applying myself to take pains with my +accent, and imitating as closely as possible the pronunciation of my +teacher, I had acquired a certain degree of readiness and correctness in +the language, and was not likely to be much at a loss with Mademoiselle +Adela. She came and shook hand with me when she heard that I was her +governess; and as I led her in to breakfast, I addressed some phrases to +her in her own tongue: she replied briefly at first, but after we were +seated at the table, and she had examined me some ten minutes with her +large hazel eyes, she suddenly commenced chattering fluently. + +"Ah!" cried she, in French, "you speak my language as well as Mr. +Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can Sophie. She +will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame Fairfax is all English. +Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over the sea in a great ship with a +chimney that smoked--how it did smoke!--and I was sick, and so was +Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester lay down on a sofa in a +pretty room called the salon, and Sophie and I had little beds in another +place. I nearly fell out of mine; it was like a shelf. And +Mademoiselle--what is your name?" + +"Eyre--Jane Eyre." + +"Aire? Bah! I cannot say it. Well, our ship stopped in the morning, +before it was quite daylight, at a great city--a huge city, with very +dark houses and all smoky; not at all like the pretty clean town I came +from; and Mr. Rochester carried me in his arms over a plank to the land, +and Sophie came after, and we all got into a coach, which took us to a +beautiful large house, larger than this and finer, called an hotel. We +stayed there nearly a week: I and Sophie used to walk every day in a +great green place full of trees, called the Park; and there were many +children there besides me, and a pond with beautiful birds in it, that I +fed with crumbs." + +"Can you understand her when she runs on so fast?" asked Mrs. Fairfax. + +I understood her very well, for I had been accustomed to the fluent +tongue of Madame Pierrot. + +"I wish," continued the good lady, "you would ask her a question or two +about her parents: I wonder if she remembers them?" + +"Adele," I inquired, "with whom did you live when you were in that pretty +clean town you spoke of?" + +"I lived long ago with mama; but she is gone to the Holy Virgin. Mama +used to teach me to dance and sing, and to say verses. A great many +gentlemen and ladies came to see mama, and I used to dance before them, +or to sit on their knees and sing to them: I liked it. Shall I let you +hear me sing now?" + +She had finished her breakfast, so I permitted her to give a specimen of +her accomplishments. Descending from her chair, she came and placed +herself on my knee; then, folding her little hands demurely before her, +shaking back her curls and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she commenced +singing a song from some opera. It was the strain of a forsaken lady, +who, after bewailing the perfidy of her lover, calls pride to her aid; +desires her attendant to deck her in her brightest jewels and richest +robes, and resolves to meet the false one that night at a ball, and prove +to him, by the gaiety of her demeanour, how little his desertion has +affected her. + +The subject seemed strangely chosen for an infant singer; but I suppose +the point of the exhibition lay in hearing the notes of love and jealousy +warbled with the lisp of childhood; and in very bad taste that point was: +at least I thought so. + +Adele sang the canzonette tunefully enough, and with the _naivete_ of her +age. This achieved, she jumped from my knee and said, "Now, +Mademoiselle, I will repeat you some poetry." + +Assuming an attitude, she began, "La Ligue des Rats: fable de La +Fontaine." She then declaimed the little piece with an attention to +punctuation and emphasis, a flexibility of voice and an appropriateness +of gesture, very unusual indeed at her age, and which proved she had been +carefully trained. + +"Was it your mama who taught you that piece?" I asked. + +"Yes, and she just used to say it in this way: 'Qu' avez vous donc? lui +dit un de ces rats; parlez!' She made me lift my hand--so--to remind me +to raise my voice at the question. Now shall I dance for you?" + +"No, that will do: but after your mama went to the Holy Virgin, as you +say, with whom did you live then?" + +"With Madame Frederic and her husband: she took care of me, but she is +nothing related to me. I think she is poor, for she had not so fine a +house as mama. I was not long there. Mr. Rochester asked me if I would +like to go and live with him in England, and I said yes; for I knew Mr. +Rochester before I knew Madame Frederic, and he was always kind to me and +gave me pretty dresses and toys: but you see he has not kept his word, +for he has brought me to England, and now he is gone back again himself, +and I never see him." + +After breakfast, Adele and I withdrew to the library, which room, it +appears, Mr. Rochester had directed should be used as the schoolroom. +Most of the books were locked up behind glass doors; but there was one +bookcase left open containing everything that could be needed in the way +of elementary works, and several volumes of light literature, poetry, +biography, travels, a few romances, &c. I suppose he had considered that +these were all the governess would require for her private perusal; and, +indeed, they contented me amply for the present; compared with the scanty +pickings I had now and then been able to glean at Lowood, they seemed to +offer an abundant harvest of entertainment and information. In this +room, too, there was a cabinet piano, quite new and of superior tone; +also an easel for painting and a pair of globes. + +I found my pupil sufficiently docile, though disinclined to apply: she +had not been used to regular occupation of any kind. I felt it would be +injudicious to confine her too much at first; so, when I had talked to +her a great deal, and got her to learn a little, and when the morning had +advanced to noon, I allowed her to return to her nurse. I then proposed +to occupy myself till dinner-time in drawing some little sketches for her +use. + +As I was going upstairs to fetch my portfolio and pencils, Mrs. Fairfax +called to me: "Your morning school-hours are over now, I suppose," said +she. She was in a room the folding-doors of which stood open: I went in +when she addressed me. It was a large, stately apartment, with purple +chairs and curtains, a Turkey carpet, walnut-panelled walls, one vast +window rich in slanted glass, and a lofty ceiling, nobly moulded. Mrs. +Fairfax was dusting some vases of fine purple spar, which stood on a +sideboard. + +"What a beautiful room!" I exclaimed, as I looked round; for I had never +before seen any half so imposing. + +"Yes; this is the dining-room. I have just opened the window, to let in +a little air and sunshine; for everything gets so damp in apartments that +are seldom inhabited; the drawing-room yonder feels like a vault." + +She pointed to a wide arch corresponding to the window, and hung like it +with a Tyrian-dyed curtain, now looped up. Mounting to it by two broad +steps, and looking through, I thought I caught a glimpse of a fairy +place, so bright to my novice-eyes appeared the view beyond. Yet it was +merely a very pretty drawing-room, and within it a boudoir, both spread +with white carpets, on which seemed laid brilliant garlands of flowers; +both ceiled with snowy mouldings of white grapes and vine-leaves, beneath +which glowed in rich contrast crimson couches and ottomans; while the +ornaments on the pale Parian mantelpiece were of sparkling Bohemian +glass, ruby red; and between the windows large mirrors repeated the +general blending of snow and fire. + +"In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!" said I. "No dust, no +canvas coverings: except that the air feels chilly, one would think they +were inhabited daily." + +"Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, they are +always sudden and unexpected; and as I observed that it put him out to +find everything swathed up, and to have a bustle of arrangement on his +arrival, I thought it best to keep the rooms in readiness." + +"Is Mr. Rochester an exacting, fastidious sort of man?" + +"Not particularly so; but he has a gentleman's tastes and habits, and he +expects to have things managed in conformity to them." + +"Do you like him? Is he generally liked?" + +"Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here. Almost all the +land in this neighbourhood, as far as you can see, has belonged to the +Rochesters time out of mind." + +"Well, but, leaving his land out of the question, do you like him? Is he +liked for himself?" + +"I have no cause to do otherwise than like him; and I believe he is +considered a just and liberal landlord by his tenants: but he has never +lived much amongst them." + +"But has he no peculiarities? What, in short, is his character?" + +"Oh! his character is unimpeachable, I suppose. He is rather peculiar, +perhaps: he has travelled a great deal, and seen a great deal of the +world, I should think. I dare say he is clever, but I never had much +conversation with him." + +"In what way is he peculiar?" + +"I don't know--it is not easy to describe--nothing striking, but you feel +it when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure whether he is in jest +or earnest, whether he is pleased or the contrary; you don't thoroughly +understand him, in short--at least, I don't: but it is of no consequence, +he is a very good master." + +This was all the account I got from Mrs. Fairfax of her employer and +mine. There are people who seem to have no notion of sketching a +character, or observing and describing salient points, either in persons +or things: the good lady evidently belonged to this class; my queries +puzzled, but did not draw her out. Mr. Rochester was Mr. Rochester in +her eyes; a gentleman, a landed proprietor--nothing more: she inquired +and searched no further, and evidently wondered at my wish to gain a more +definite notion of his identity. + +When we left the dining-room, she proposed to show me over the rest of +the house; and I followed her upstairs and downstairs, admiring as I +went; for all was well arranged and handsome. The large front chambers I +thought especially grand: and some of the third-storey rooms, though dark +and low, were interesting from their air of antiquity. The furniture +once appropriated to the lower apartments had from time to time been +removed here, as fashions changed: and the imperfect light entering by +their narrow casement showed bedsteads of a hundred years old; chests in +oak or walnut, looking, with their strange carvings of palm branches and +cherubs' heads, like types of the Hebrew ark; rows of venerable chairs, +high-backed and narrow; stools still more antiquated, on whose cushioned +tops were yet apparent traces of half-effaced embroideries, wrought by +fingers that for two generations had been coffin-dust. All these relics +gave to the third storey of Thornfield Hall the aspect of a home of the +past: a shrine of memory. I liked the hush, the gloom, the quaintness of +these retreats in the day; but I by no means coveted a night's repose on +one of those wide and heavy beds: shut in, some of them, with doors of +oak; shaded, others, with wrought old English hangings crusted with thick +work, portraying effigies of strange flowers, and stranger birds, and +strangest human beings,--all which would have looked strange, indeed, by +the pallid gleam of moonlight. + +"Do the servants sleep in these rooms?" I asked. + +"No; they occupy a range of smaller apartments to the back; no one ever +sleeps here: one would almost say that, if there were a ghost at +Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt." + +"So I think: you have no ghost, then?" + +"None that I ever heard of," returned Mrs. Fairfax, smiling. + +"Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?" + +"I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather a +violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though, that is the +reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now." + +"Yes--'after life's fitful fever they sleep well,'" I muttered. "Where +are you going now, Mrs. Fairfax?" for she was moving away. + +"On to the leads; will you come and see the view from thence?" I +followed still, up a very narrow staircase to the attics, and thence by a +ladder and through a trap-door to the roof of the hall. I was now on a +level with the crow colony, and could see into their nests. Leaning over +the battlements and looking far down, I surveyed the grounds laid out +like a map: the bright and velvet lawn closely girdling the grey base of +the mansion; the field, wide as a park, dotted with its ancient timber; +the wood, dun and sere, divided by a path visibly overgrown, greener with +moss than the trees were with foliage; the church at the gates, the road, +the tranquil hills, all reposing in the autumn day's sun; the horizon +bounded by a propitious sky, azure, marbled with pearly white. No +feature in the scene was extraordinary, but all was pleasing. When I +turned from it and repassed the trap-door, I could scarcely see my way +down the ladder; the attic seemed black as a vault compared with that +arch of blue air to which I had been looking up, and to that sunlit scene +of grove, pasture, and green hill, of which the hall was the centre, and +over which I had been gazing with delight. + +Mrs. Fairfax stayed behind a moment to fasten the trap-door; I, by drift +of groping, found the outlet from the attic, and proceeded to descend the +narrow garret staircase. I lingered in the long passage to which this +led, separating the front and back rooms of the third storey: narrow, +low, and dim, with only one little window at the far end, and looking, +with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some +Bluebeard's castle. + +While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so still a +region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh; distinct, +formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only for an instant; it +began again, louder: for at first, though distinct, it was very low. It +passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every +lonely chamber; though it originated but in one, and I could have pointed +out the door whence the accents issued. + +"Mrs. Fairfax!" I called out: for I now heard her descending the great +stairs. "Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?" + +"Some of the servants, very likely," she answered: "perhaps Grace Poole." + +"Did you hear it?" I again inquired. + +"Yes, plainly: I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms. +Sometimes Leah is with her; they are frequently noisy together." + +The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in an +odd murmur. + +"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax. + +I really did not expect any Grace to answer; for the laugh was as tragic, +as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard; and, but that it was high +noon, and that no circumstance of ghostliness accompanied the curious +cachinnation; but that neither scene nor season favoured fear, I should +have been superstitiously afraid. However, the event showed me I was a +fool for entertaining a sense even of surprise. + +The door nearest me opened, and a servant came out,--a woman of between +thirty and forty; a set, square-made figure, red-haired, and with a hard, +plain face: any apparition less romantic or less ghostly could scarcely +be conceived. + +"Too much noise, Grace," said Mrs. Fairfax. "Remember directions!" Grace +curtseyed silently and went in. + +"She is a person we have to sew and assist Leah in her housemaid's work," +continued the widow; "not altogether unobjectionable in some points, but +she does well enough. By-the-bye, how have you got on with your new +pupil this morning?" + +The conversation, thus turned on Adele, continued till we reached the +light and cheerful region below. Adele came running to meet us in the +hall, exclaiming-- + +"Mesdames, vous etes servies!" adding, "J'ai bien faim, moi!" + +We found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +The promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction to +Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer acquaintance +with the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she +appeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman, of competent education +and average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, who had been +spoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes wayward; but as she was +committed entirely to my care, and no injudicious interference from any +quarter ever thwarted my plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her +little freaks, and became obedient and teachable. She had no great +talents, no marked traits of character, no peculiar development of +feeling or taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of +childhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk her +below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious, +though perhaps not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity, gay +prattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree of +attachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society. + +This, _par parenthese_, will be thought cool language by persons who +entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children, and the +duty of those charged with their education to conceive for them an +idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter parental egotism, to +echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling the truth. I felt a +conscientious solicitude for Adele's welfare and progress, and a quiet +liking for her little self: just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a +thankfulness for her kindness, and a pleasure in her society +proportionate to the tranquil regard she had for me, and the moderation +of her mind and character. + +Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now and then, +when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I went down to the +gates and looked through them along the road; or when, while Adele played +with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made jellies in the storeroom, I climbed +the three staircases, raised the trap-door of the attic, and having +reached the leads, looked out afar over sequestered field and hill, and +along dim sky-line--that then I longed for a power of vision which might +overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions +full of life I had heard of but never seen--that then I desired more of +practical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind, +of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach. +I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax, and what was good in Adele; but I +believed in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of goodness, and +what I believed in I wished to behold. + +Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. I +could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to +pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of +the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and +solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright +visions rose before it--and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to +let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled +it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward +ear to a tale that was never ended--a tale my imagination created, and +narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, +feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence. + +It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with +tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot +find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and +millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many +rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life +which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but +women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and +a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from +too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would +suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures +to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and +knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is +thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or +learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex. + +When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh: the same +peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard, had thrilled +me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than her laugh. There +were days when she was quite silent; but there were others when I could +not account for the sounds she made. Sometimes I saw her: she would come +out of her room with a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down +to the kitchen and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, +forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Her +appearance always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oral +oddities: hard-featured and staid, she had no point to which interest +could attach. I made some attempts to draw her into conversation, but +she seemed a person of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually cut short +every effort of that sort. + +The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife, Leah the +housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but in no +respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, and sometimes I +asked her questions about her native country; but she was not of a +descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such vapid and confused +answers as were calculated rather to check than encourage inquiry. + +October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs. +Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a cold; and, as +Adele seconded the request with an ardour that reminded me how precious +occasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood, I accorded it, +deeming that I did well in showing pliability on the point. It was a +fine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired of sitting still in the +library through a whole long morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written a +letter which was waiting to be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak +and volunteered to carry it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a +pleasant winter afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in +her little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her +best wax doll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a +drawer) to play with, and a story-book for change of amusement; and +having replied to her "Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere Mdlle. +Jeannette," with a kiss I set out. + +The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I walked fast +till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyse the +species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and situation. It was +three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passed under the belfry: the +charm of the hour lay in its approaching dimness, in the low-gliding and +pale-beaming sun. I was a mile from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild +roses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even now +possessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter +delight lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of +air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an +evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as +still as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path. +Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle now +browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the +hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop. + +This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached the middle, +I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gathering my mantle +about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feel the cold, +though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of ice covering the +causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, had overflowed after a +rapid thaw some days since. From my seat I could look down on +Thornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was the principal object in +the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery rose against the west. I +lingered till the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and +clear behind them. I then turned eastward. + +On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a cloud, but +brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half lost in trees, +sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it was yet a mile distant, +but in the absolute hush I could hear plainly its thin murmurs of life. +My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; in what dales and depths I could +not tell: but there were many hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks +threading their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of +the nearest streams, the sough of the most remote. + +A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once so +far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, which +effaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solid mass of a +crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark and strong on the +foreground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill, sunny horizon, and +blended clouds where tint melts into tint. + +The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of the lane +yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the stile; yet, as the +path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. In those days I was young, +and all sorts of fancies bright and dark tenanted my mind: the memories +of nursery stories were there amongst other rubbish; and when they +recurred, maturing youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what +childhood could give. As this horse approached, and as I watched for it +to appear through the dusk, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales, +wherein figured a North-of-England spirit called a "Gytrash," which, in +the form of horse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, and +sometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon +me. + +It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to the tramp, +tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the hazel stems +glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made him a distinct +object against the trees. It was exactly one form of Bessie's Gytrash--a +lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head: it passed me, however, +quietly enough; not staying to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, +in my face, as I half expected it would. The horse followed,--a tall +steed, and on its back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the +spell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and +goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of +beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. No +Gytrash was this,--only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He +passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned: a sliding sound and an +exclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?" and a clattering tumble, +arrested my attention. Man and horse were down; they had slipped on the +sheet of ice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back, and +seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked +till the evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep in proportion to +his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and then he ran up +to me; it was all he could do,--there was no other help at hand to +summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this time +struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I +thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him the question-- + +"Are you injured, sir?" + +I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was pronouncing +some formula which prevented him from replying to me directly. + +"Can I do anything?" I asked again. + +"You must just stand on one side," he answered as he rose, first to his +knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving, stamping, +clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying which removed me +effectually some yards' distance; but I would not be driven quite away +till I saw the event. This was finally fortunate; the horse was +re-established, and the dog was silenced with a "Down, Pilot!" The +traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether they +were sound; apparently something ailed them, for he halted to the stile +whence I had just risen, and sat down. + +I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I think, for I +now drew near him again. + +"If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one either from +Thornfield Hall or from Hay." + +"Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones,--only a sprain;" and +again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted an +involuntary "Ugh!" + +Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing bright: I +could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, fur +collared and steel clasped; its details were not apparent, but I traced +the general points of middle height and considerable breadth of chest. He +had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes and +gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, +but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt +no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic- +looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus +questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I +had hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I +had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, +fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, +I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have +sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would +fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic. + +If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me when I +addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gaily and with +thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt any vocation to renew +inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of the traveller, set me at my +ease: I retained my station when he waved to me to go, and announced-- + +"I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this solitary +lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse." + +He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in my +direction before. + +"I should think you ought to be at home yourself," said he, "if you have +a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?" + +"From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late when it is +moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it: +indeed, I am going there to post a letter." + +"You live just below--do you mean at that house with the battlements?" +pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam, +bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods that, by contrast with +the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Whose house is it?" + +"Mr. Rochester's." + +"Do you know Mr. Rochester?" + +"No, I have never seen him." + +"He is not resident, then?" + +"No." + +"Can you tell me where he is?" + +"I cannot." + +"You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are--" He stopped, +ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a black +merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough for +a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I helped him. + +"I am the governess." + +"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce take me, if I had not forgotten! +The governess!" and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. In two minutes +he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when he tried to move. + +"I cannot commission you to fetch help," he said; "but you may help me a +little yourself, if you will be so kind." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?" + +"No." + +"Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you are not +afraid?" + +I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when told to +do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the stile, and went +up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it was a +spirited thing, and would not let me come near its head; I made effort on +effort, though in vain: meantime, I was mortally afraid of its trampling +fore-feet. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last +he laughed. + +{I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet: p107.jpg} + +"I see," he said, "the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all +you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg of you to +come here." + +I came. "Excuse me," he continued: "necessity compels me to make you +useful." He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on me with +some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught the bridle, he +mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacing grimly as he +made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain. + +"Now," said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, "just hand me +my whip; it lies there under the hedge." + +I sought it and found it. + +"Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as +you can." + +A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear, and then +bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished, + + "Like heath that, in the wilderness, + The wild wind whirls away." + +I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and was gone +for me: it _was_ an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a +sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. My +help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have +done something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an +active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive. The new face, +too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it +was dissimilar to all the others hanging there: firstly, because it was +masculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had +it still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into the +post-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home. When +I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round and listened, with +an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway again, and that a +rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be again +apparent: I saw only the hedge and a pollard willow before me, rising up +still and straight to meet the moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft +of wind roaming fitful among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; +and when I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye, +traversing the hall-front, caught a light kindling in a window: it +reminded me that I was late, and I hurried on. + +I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold was to +return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend the darksome +staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and then to meet tranquil +Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter evening with her, and her only, +was to quell wholly the faint excitement wakened by my walk,--to slip +again over my faculties the viewless fetters of an uniform and too still +existence; of an existence whose very privileges of security and ease I +was becoming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have done me +at that time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain struggling +life, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long for +the calm amidst which I now repined! Yes, just as much good as it would +do a man tired of sitting still in a "too easy chair" to take a long +walk: and just as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, +as it would be under his. + +I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced backwards and +forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door were closed; I +could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and spirit seemed drawn +from the gloomy house--from the grey-hollow filled with rayless cells, as +it appeared to me--to that sky expanded before me,--a blue sea absolved +from taint of cloud; the moon ascending it in solemn march; her orb +seeming to look up as she left the hill-tops, from behind which she had +come, far and farther below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark +in its fathomless depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling +stars that followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins glow +when I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck +in the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a side- +door, and went in. + +The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung bronze +lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps of the oak +staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room, whose two- +leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in the grate, glancing +on marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and revealing purple draperies and +polished furniture, in the most pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a +group near the mantelpiece: I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become +aware of a cheerful mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed to +distinguish the tones of Adele, when the door closed. + +I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too, but no +candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting upright on the +rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld a great black and +white long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash of the lane. It was so like +it that I went forward and said--"Pilot" and the thing got up and came to +me and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail; but he +looked an eerie creature to be alone with, and I could not tell whence he +had come. I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to +get an account of this visitant. Leah entered. + +"What dog is this?" + +"He came with master." + +"With whom?" + +"With master--Mr. Rochester--he is just arrived." + +"Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?" + +"Yes, and Miss Adele; they are in the dining-room, and John is gone for a +surgeon; for master has had an accident; his horse fell and his ankle is +sprained." + +"Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?" + +"Yes, coming down-hill; it slipped on some ice." + +"Ah! Bring me a candle will you Leah?" + +Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated the +news; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and was now with Mr. +Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went +upstairs to take off my things. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that +night; nor did he rise soon next morning. When he did come down, it was +to attend to business: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived, +and waiting to speak with him. + +Adele and I had now to vacate the library: it would be in daily +requisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit in an +apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arranged it for +the future schoolroom. I discerned in the course of the morning that +Thornfield Hall was a changed place: no longer silent as a church, it +echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a clang of the bell; +steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different +keys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing through it; it had a +master: for my part, I liked it better. + +Adele was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply: she kept +running to the door and looking over the banisters to see if she could +get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester; then she coined pretexts to go +downstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library, +where I knew she was not wanted; then, when I got a little angry, and +made her sit still, she continued to talk incessantly of her "ami, +Monsieur Edouard Fairfax _de_ Rochester," as she dubbed him (I had not +before heard his prenomens), and to conjecture what presents he had +brought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that when +his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a little +box in whose contents she had an interest. + +"Et cela doit signifier," said she, "qu'il y aura la dedans un cadeau +pour moi, et peut-etre pour vous aussi, mademoiselle. Monsieur a parle +de vous: il m'a demande le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait pas +une petite personne, assez mince et un peu pale. J'ai dit qu'oui: car +c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?" + +I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax's parlour; the afternoon +was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroom. At dark I +allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs; for, +from the comparative silence below, and from the cessation of appeals to +the door-bell, I conjectured that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left +alone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thence: +twilight and snowflakes together thickened the air, and hid the very +shrubs on the lawn. I let down the curtain and went back to the +fireside. + +In the clear embers I was tracing a view, not unlike a picture I +remembered to have seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine, when +Mrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrance the fiery mosaic I had +been piercing together, and scattering too some heavy unwelcome thoughts +that were beginning to throng on my solitude. + +"Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with +him in the drawing-room this evening," said she: "he has been so much +engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before." + +"When is his tea-time?" I inquired. + +"Oh, at six o'clock: he keeps early hours in the country. You had better +change your frock now; I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a +candle." + +"Is it necessary to change my frock?" + +"Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester +is here." + +This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, I repaired to +my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax's aid, replaced my black stuff dress by +one of black silk; the best and the only additional one I had, except one +of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too +fine to be worn, except on first-rate occasions. + +"You want a brooch," said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a single little pearl +ornament which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake: I put it on, +and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was to strangers, it was rather +a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester's presence. I +let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, and kept in her shade +as we crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch, whose curtain was +now dropped, entered the elegant recess beyond. + +Two wax candles stood lighted on the table, and two on the mantelpiece; +basking in the light and heat of a superb fire, lay Pilot--Adele knelt +near him. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot +supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fire +shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty +eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of +his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for +character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; +his grim mouth, chin, and jaw--yes, all three were very grim, and no +mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in +squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the +athletic sense of the term--broad chested and thin flanked, though +neither tall nor graceful. + +Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entrance of Mrs. Fairfax and +myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he never +lifted his head as we approached. + +"Here is Miss Eyre, sir," said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed, +still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child. + +"Let Miss Eyre be seated," said he: and there was something in the forced +stiff bow, in the impatient yet formal tone, which seemed further to +express, "What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not? +At this moment I am not disposed to accost her." + +I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politeness +would probably have confused me: I could not have returned or repaid it +by answering grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice laid me +under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under the +freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of the +proceeding was piquant: I felt interested to see how he would go on. + +He went on as a statue would, that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Mrs. +Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable, and +she began to talk. Kindly, as usual--and, as usual, rather trite--she +condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on the +annoyance it must have been to him with that painful sprain: then she +commended his patience and perseverance in going through with it. + +"Madam, I should like some tea," was the sole rejoinder she got. She +hastened to ring the bell; and when the tray came, she proceeded to +arrange the cups, spoons, &c., with assiduous celerity. I and Adele went +to the table; but the master did not leave his couch. + +"Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?" said Mrs. Fairfax to me; "Adele +might perhaps spill it." + +I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adele, thinking the +moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out-- + +"N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre dans +votre petit coffre?" + +"Who talks of cadeaux?" said he gruffly. "Did you expect a present, Miss +Eyre? Are you fond of presents?" and he searched my face with eyes that +I saw were dark, irate, and piercing. + +"I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are generally +thought pleasant things." + +"Generally thought? But what do _you_ think?" + +"I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer +worthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it, has it not? +and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as to its +nature." + +"Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adele: she demands a +'cadeau,' clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the bush." + +"Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adele has: she can +prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; for +she says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but +if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger, +and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment." + +"Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adele, and find +you have taken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has no +talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement." + +"Sir, you have now given me my 'cadeau;' I am obliged to you: it is the +meed teachers most covet--praise of their pupils' progress." + +"Humph!" said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence. + +"Come to the fire," said the master, when the tray was taken away, and +Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting; while Adele was +leading me by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books and +ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in duty +bound; Adele wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to +amuse herself with Pilot. + +"You have been resident in my house three months?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And you came from--?" + +"From Lowood school, in ---shire." + +"Ah! a charitable concern. How long were you there?" + +"Eight years." + +"Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time in +such a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder you have +rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that +sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought +unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you +had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?" + +"I have none." + +"Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?" + +"No." + +"I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on +that stile?" + +"For whom, sir?" + +"For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I +break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the +causeway?" + +I shook my head. "The men in green all forsook England a hundred years +ago," said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. "And not even in Hay +Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them. I don't +think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on their +revels more." + +Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, seemed +wondering what sort of talk this was. + +"Well," resumed Mr. Rochester, "if you disown parents, you must have some +sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?" + +"No; none that I ever saw." + +"And your home?" + +"I have none." + +"Where do your brothers and sisters live?" + +"I have no brothers or sisters." + +"Who recommended you to come here?" + +"I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement." + +"Yes," said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon, "and I +am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make. Miss Eyre +has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and careful teacher to +Adele." + +"Don't trouble yourself to give her a character," returned Mr. Rochester: +"eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself. She began by +felling my horse." + +"Sir?" said Mrs. Fairfax. + +"I have to thank her for this sprain." + +The widow looked bewildered. + +"Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?" + +"No, sir." + +"Have you seen much society?" + +"None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates of +Thornfield." + +"Have you read much?" + +"Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerous or +very learned." + +"You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled in +religious forms;--Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, is a +parson, is he not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full of religieuses +would worship their director." + +"Oh, no." + +"You are very cool! No! What! a novice not worship her priest! That +sounds blasphemous." + +"I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling. He is +a harsh man; at once pompous and meddling; he cut off our hair; and for +economy's sake bought us bad needles and thread, with which we could +hardly sew." + +"That was very false economy," remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now again +caught the drift of the dialogue. + +"And was that the head and front of his offending?" demanded Mr. +Rochester. + +"He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the provision +department, before the committee was appointed; and he bored us with long +lectures once a week, and with evening readings from books of his own +inditing, about sudden deaths and judgments, which made us afraid to go +to bed." + +"What age were you when you went to Lowood?" + +"About ten." + +"And you stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?" + +I assented. + +"Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly have +been able to guess your age. It is a point difficult to fix where the +features and countenance are so much at variance as in your case. And +now what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?" + +"A little." + +"Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library--I mean, +if you please.--(Excuse my tone of command; I am used to say, 'Do this,' +and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one new +inmate.)--Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave the +door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune." + +I departed, obeying his directions. + +"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play _a little_, I see; +like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but +not well." + +I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued--"Adele showed +me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. I don't know +whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you?" + +"No, indeed!" I interjected. + +"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch +for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you are +certain: I can recognise patchwork." + +"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir." + +I brought the portfolio from the library. + +"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele and +Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures. + +"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as I +finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine." + +He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid +aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him. + +"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and look at +them with Adele;--you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my +questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that +hand yours?" + +"Yes." + +"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and +some thought." + +"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no +other occupation." + +"Where did you get your copies?" + +"Out of my head." + +"That head I see now on your shoulders?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Has it other furniture of the same kind within?" + +"I should think it may have: I should hope--better." + +He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately. + +While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and +first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had, +indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye, +before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would +not second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale +portrait of the thing I had conceived. + +These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds low +and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse; +so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there +was no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submerged +mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wings flecked with +foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touched +with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering +distinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast, +a drowned corpse glanced through the green water; a fair arm was the only +limb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or torn. + +The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill, +with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above +spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky +was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I +could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments +below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark +and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm +or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection like +moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from +which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star. + +The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky: +a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, along +the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a +head,--a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and resting against +it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and supporting it, drew +up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, white +as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for the +glassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidst +wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character and +consistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles +of a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was "the likeness of a kingly +crown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none." + +"Were you happy when you painted these pictures?" asked Mr. Rochester +presently. + +"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was +to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known." + +"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have been +few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while +you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them long +each day?" + +"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them +from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length of the +midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply." + +"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?" + +"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my +handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite +powerless to realise." + +"Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more, +probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give +it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to +the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must +have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not +at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what +meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind? +There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you +see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away!" + +I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at his +watch, he said abruptly-- + +"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit up +so long? Take her to bed." + +Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the caress, +but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor so +much. + +"I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a movement of the hand +towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company, and wished +to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio: +we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew. + +"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I +observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed. + +"Well, is he?" + +"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt." + +"True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to +his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of +temper, allowance should be made." + +"Why?" + +"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature; +and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and +make his spirits unequal." + +"What about?" + +"Family troubles, for one thing." + +"But he has no family." + +"Not now, but he has had--or, at least, relatives. He lost his elder +brother a few years since." + +"His _elder_ brother?" + +"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of +the property; only about nine years." + +"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as +to be still inconsolable for his loss?" + +"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings +between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward; +and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was +fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He did +not like to diminish the property by division, and yet he was anxious +that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of +the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were +not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and +Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a +painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise +nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could +not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he +broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled +kind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for +a fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a will left +him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place." + +"Why should he shun it?" + +"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy." + +The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs. +Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information +of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred they +were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from +conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the +subject, which I did accordingly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the +mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon, +gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes stayed +to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit of horse +exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as he +generally did not come back till late at night. + +During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, and +all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional rencontre in +the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes pass +me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my presence by a distant nod +or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike +affability. His changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I +had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on +causes quite disconnected with me. + +One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio; in +order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went away early, +to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but +the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them. +Soon after they were gone he rang the bell: a message came that I and +Adele were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her neat, +and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where +there was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided +locks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, Adele wondering +whether the _petit coffre_ was at length come; for, owing to some +mistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there +it stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room. +She appeared to know it by instinct. + +"Ma boite! ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it. + +"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuine +daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it," said the +deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from the +depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside. "And mind," he +continued, "don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process, +or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be +conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu?" + +Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retired to a +sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured the +lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery +envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed-- + +"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbed in ecstatic +contemplation. + +"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from his seat +to look round to the door, near which I still stood. + +"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here." He drew a chair near his own. +"I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued; "for, old +bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their +lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening +_tete-a-tete_ with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre; +sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confound +these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly +affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind; +it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is +said to be thicker than water." + +He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived, +knitting-basket in hand. + +"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I have +forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting +with repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress and +interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever +performed." + +Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to her +sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the +waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations and +raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of. + +"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr. Rochester, +"put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at +liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a +little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you +without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no +mind to do." + +I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat in +the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it +seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly. + +We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been +lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the large +fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample +before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was still, save the +subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up each +pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes. + +Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to +what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy. +There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine +or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short, +in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self- +indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he +looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling +back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite- +hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, +and very fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depths +sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that +feeling. + +He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the +same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze +fastened on his physiognomy. + +"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome?" + +I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by +something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped +from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir." + +"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he: "you +have the air of a little _nonnette_; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as +you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the +carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face; +as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a +remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, +which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?" + +"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that +it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about +appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little +consequence, or something of that sort." + +"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence, +indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of +stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under +my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have +all my limbs and all my features like any other man?" + +"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed +repartee: it was only a blunder." + +"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise me: +does my forehead not please you?" + +He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over his +brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an +abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen. + +"Now, ma'am, am I a fool?" + +"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in +return whether you are a philanthropist?" + +"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to pat +my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of +children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am not a +general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;" and he pointed to the +prominences which are said to indicate that faculty, and which, +fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a +marked breadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides, I once had a +kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a +feeling fellow enough, partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; +but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her +knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber +ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with one +sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for +me?" + +"Hope of what, sir?" + +"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?" + +"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought; and I did not know what +answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he was +capable of being re-transformed? + +"You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty +any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it +is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my +physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so +puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative +to-night." + +With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his arm +on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly as +well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost +to his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him an +ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much +ease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own +external appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of other +qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere +personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared +the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the +confidence. + +"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night," he repeated, +"and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier were not +sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these +can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far below the mark; Mrs. +Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me if you will: you puzzled +me the first evening I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten +you since: other ideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night I am +resolved to be at ease; to dismiss what importunes, and recall what +pleases. It would please me now to draw you out--to learn more of +you--therefore speak." + +Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or submissive +smile either. + +"Speak," he urged. + +"What about, sir?" + +"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of +treating it entirely to yourself." + +Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk for the +mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressed +himself to the wrong person," I thought. + +"You are dumb, Miss Eyre." + +I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with a +single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes. + +"Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my +request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your +pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an +inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiority +as must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century's +advance in experience. This is legitimate, _et j'y tiens_, as Adele +would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that +I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert +my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point--cankering as a +rusty nail." + +He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not feel +insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so. + +"I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but I cannot +introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest you? Ask me +questions, and I will do my best to answer them." + +"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right to be +a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on the grounds I +stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your father, and that I have +battled through a varied experience with many men of many nations, and +roamed over half the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set of +people in one house?" + +"Do as you please, sir." + +"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a very +evasive one. Reply clearly." + +"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because you +are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; +your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time +and experience." + +"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it would +never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, use +of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question, then, you +must still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piqued +or hurt by the tone of command. Will you?" + +I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester _is_ peculiar--he seems to +forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders. + +"The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passing +expression; "but speak too." + +"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselves to +inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt by +their orders." + +"Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes, +I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary ground, will +you agree to let me hector a little?" + +"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forget it, +and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in his +dependency, I agree heartily." + +"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional forms +and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from insolence?" + +"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence: one I +rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a +salary." + +"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary; +therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities of which +you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands with you for +your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which +it was said, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank and +sincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary, +affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of +one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in three +thousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as you have +just done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a +different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. +And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet +know, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerable +defects to counterbalance your few good points." + +"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind: +he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import had been spoken +as well as imagined-- + +"Yes, yes, you are right," said he; "I have plenty of faults of my own: I +know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need +not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of +deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might +well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I +started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the +blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong +tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right +course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as +good as you--wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, +your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory +without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--an +inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?" + +"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?" + +"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it +to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite your equal. Nature +meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better +kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't see it; at least +I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you +express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then +take my word for it,--I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that--not +to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, +rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace +sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich +and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you? +Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself +elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets: people +will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to +tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they +will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their +indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting +and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations." + +"How do you know?--how can you guess all this, sir?" + +"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were +writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been +superior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see I was +not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned +desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites +my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am +better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I +wish I had stood firm--God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are +tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life." + +"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir." + +"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform--I +have strength yet for that--if--but where is the use of thinking of it, +hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is +irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I +_will_ get it, cost what it may." + +"Then you will degenerate still more, sir." + +"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I +may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the +moor." + +"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir." + +"How do you know?--you never tried it. How very serious--how very solemn +you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head" +(taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no right to preach to me, +you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely +unacquainted with its mysteries." + +"I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought +remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence." + +"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered +across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather +than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing--I know that. Here +it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on +the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest +when it asks entrance to my heart." + +"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel." + +"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to +distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the +eternal throne--between a guide and a seducer?" + +"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the +suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more +misery if you listen to it." + +"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the +rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself uneasy. +Here, come in, bonny wanderer!" + +He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; +then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he +seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being. + +"Now," he continued, again addressing me, "I have received the pilgrim--a +disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my +heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine." + +"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keep up the +conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I +know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that +you regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I can comprehend: you +intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems +to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to +become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you +began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in +a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to +which you might revert with pleasure." + +"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am +paving hell with energy." + +"Sir?" + +"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. +Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have +been." + +"And better?" + +"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to +doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives +are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes +and Persians, that both are right." + +"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them." + +"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute: +unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules." + +"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it +is liable to abuse." + +"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to +abuse it." + +"You are human and fallible." + +"I am: so are you--what then?" + +"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine +and perfect alone can be safely intrusted." + +"What power?" + +"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Let it be +right.'" + +"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them." + +"_May_ it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to +continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible +that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at +least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague +sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance. + +"Where are you going?" + +"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime." + +"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx." + +"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am +certainly not afraid." + +"You _are_ afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder." + +"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense." + +"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake +it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to +answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe +me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. +The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your +features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear +in the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you +will--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in +time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it +impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements +will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at +intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars +of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but +free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?" + +"It has struck nine, sir." + +"Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. My +position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room, +favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionally +watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curious +study,--reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you some day). +She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk +frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in her +blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Il +faut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et a l'instant meme!' and she rushed +out of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in +a few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see,--a +miniature of Celine Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the +rising of--But never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about +to receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it +will be realised." + +Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall. She +entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of +rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it could be +gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a wreath of +rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk stockings +and small white satin sandals. + +"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding forwards; "et mes +souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!" + +And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room till, having +reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him on tip-toe, +then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming-- + +"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte;" then rising, she +added, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?" + +"Pre-cise-ly!" was the answer; "and, 'comme cela,' she charmed my English +gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green, too, Miss +Eyre,--ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once +freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has left me that French +floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Not +valuing now the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of a sort +which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but half a liking to the +blossom, especially when it looks so artificial as just now. I keep it +and rear it rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous +sins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. +Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was one +afternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: and while +she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up and +down a long beech avenue within sight of her. + +He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, Celine +Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a "_grande +passion_." This passion Celine had professed to return with even +superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: he +believed, as he said, that she preferred his "_taille d'athlete_" to the +elegance of the Apollo Belvidere. + +"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of the Gallic +sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in an hotel; gave her a +complete establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds, +dentelles, &c. In short, I began the process of ruining myself in the +received style, like any other spoony. I had not, it seems, the +originality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode +the old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the +beaten centre. I had--as I deserved to have--the fate of all other +spoonies. Happening to call one evening when Celine did not expect me, I +found her out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling +through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy to breathe the air +consecrated so lately by her presence. No,--I exaggerate; I never +thought there was any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort +of pastille perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than an +odour of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes of +conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself to +open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlight and +gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was furnished +with a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar,--I will take one +now, if you will excuse me." + +Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a cigar; +having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense on +the freezing and sunless air, he went on-- + +"I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was +_croquant_--(overlook the barbarism)--_croquant_ chocolate comfits, and +smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along +the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in an +elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses, and +distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the 'voiture' I +had given Celine. She was returning: of course my heart thumped with +impatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The carriage stopped, as +I had expected, at the hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for an +opera inamorata) alighted: though muffed in a cloak--an unnecessary +encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June evening--I knew her instantly +by her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she +skipped from the carriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to +murmur 'Mon ange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the +ear of love alone--when a figure jumped from the carriage after her; +cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the pavement, +and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched _porte +cochere_ of the hotel. + +"You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not +ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to +experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall +waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in +which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes +and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the +bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell +you--and you may mark my words--you will come some day to a craggy pass +in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into +whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on +crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer +current--as I am now. + +"I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and +stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, its +antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey +facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet +how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great +plague-house? How I do still abhor--" + +He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his +boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in +its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance. + +We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. +Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I +never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust, +detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large +pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should +be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and +cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified +his countenance: he went on-- + +"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with +my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk--a hag like one of +those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like +Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air +a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, +between the upper and lower row of windows, 'Like it if you can! Like it +if you dare!' + +"'I will like it,' said I; 'I dare like it;' and" (he subjoined moodily) +"I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to +goodness--yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been, +than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the +habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem +but straw and rotten wood." + +Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. "Away!" he cried +harshly; "keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie!" Continuing +then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the point +whence he had abruptly diverged-- + +"Did you leave the balcony, sir," I asked, "when Mdlle. Varens entered?" + +I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, on +the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes +towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. "Oh, I had +forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer thus come in +accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake +of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided +within my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core. +Strange!" he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. "Strange +that I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young lady; +passing strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were the +most usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of his +opera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last +singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before: you, with +your gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient +of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in +communication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection: +it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm +it: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I +converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me." +After this digression he proceeded-- + +"I remained in the balcony. 'They will come to her boudoir, no doubt,' +thought I: 'let me prepare an ambush.' So putting my hand in through the +open window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an opening through +which I could take observations; then I closed the casement, all but a +chink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows: +then I stole back to my chair; and as I resumed it the pair came in. My +eye was quickly at the aperture. Celine's chamber-maid entered, lit a +lamp, left it on the table, and withdrew. The couple were thus revealed +to me clearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was 'the Varens,' +shining in satin and jewels,--my gifts of course,--and there was her +companion in an officer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of a +vicomte--a brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in +society, and had never thought of hating because I despised him so +absolutely. On recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy was +instantly broken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sank +under an extinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival was +not worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than I, +who had been her dupe. + +"They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely: frivolous, +mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather calculated to weary +than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay on the table; this being +perceived, brought my name under discussion. Neither of them possessed +energy or wit to belabour me soundly, but they insulted me as coarsely as +they could in their little way: especially Celine, who even waxed rather +brilliant on my personal defects--deformities she termed them. Now it +had been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration of what she +called my '_beaute male_:' wherein she differed diametrically from you, +who told me point-blank, at the second interview, that you did not think +me handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and--" + +Adele here came running up again. + +"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called and +wishes to see you." + +"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked in upon +them; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice to vacate her +hotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams, +hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions; made an appointment with +the vicomte for a meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had +the pleasure of encountering him; left a bullet in one of his poor +etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a chicken in the pip, and then +thought I had done with the whole crew. But unluckily the Varens, six +months before, had given me this filette Adele, who, she affirmed, was my +daughter; and perhaps she may be, though I see no proofs of such grim +paternity written in her countenance: Pilot is more like me than she. +Some years after I had broken with the mother, she abandoned her child, +and ran away to Italy with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no +natural claim on Adele's part to be supported by me, nor do I now +acknowledge any, for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite +destitute, I e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris, +and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of an +English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but now you +know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you +will perhaps think differently of your post and protegee: you will be +coming to me some day with notice that you have found another place--that +you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c.--Eh?" + +"No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or yours: I +have a regard for her; and now that I know she is, in a sense, +parentless--forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir--I shall +cling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the spoilt +pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to a +lonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a friend?" + +"Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in now; and +you too: it darkens." + +But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot--ran a race +with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. When we went +in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee; kept +her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked: not rebuking +even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt to +stray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of +character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to an +English mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to appreciate +all that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and +features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn +of expression announced relationship. It was a pity: if she could but +have been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her. + +It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the night, +that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As he had +said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the substance of +the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion for a French dancer, +and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in +society; but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of +emotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act of +expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived +pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on +this incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present +inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner to +myself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed a +tribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His +deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than at +the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chilling +hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he +had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal +invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception +that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that +these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my +benefit. + +I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with relish. +It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mind +unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do not +mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived their +interest from the great scale on which they were acted, the strange +novelty by which they were characterised); and I had a keen delight in +receiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he +portrayed, and following him in thought through the new regions he +disclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion. + +The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the friendly +frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me, drew me to +him. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather than my master: +yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not mind that; I saw it +was his way. So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interest +added to life, that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thin +crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled +up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength. + +And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, and +many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I +best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the +brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not, +for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh +to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his +great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He +was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to read +to him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his +folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl +blackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, his +harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say _former_, for now he +seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I +believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, +and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education +instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent +materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat +spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, +whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it. + +Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I could +not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue, and told +how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy at +Thornfield. + +"Why not?" I asked myself. "What alienates him from the house? Will he +leave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer than +a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight weeks. If he +does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, +summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!" + +I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at any rate, +I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious, +which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I had kept my candle +burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed. I rose +and sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed. + +I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inward +tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck two. +Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept +the panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside. I said, "Who +is there?" Nothing answered. I was chilled with fear. + +All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the kitchen- +door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way up to the +threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying there myself +in the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down. Silence +composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again through +the whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was not +fated that I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached my +ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incident +enough. + +This was a demoniac laugh--low, suppressed, and deep--uttered, as it +seemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my bed was +near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my +bedside--or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked round, and +could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was +reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse +was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry out, "Who is +there?" + +Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the gallery +towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shut +in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still. + +"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil?" thought I. +Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I +hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the door +with a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside, and on +the matting in the gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: but +still more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with +smoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find whence +these blue wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell of +burning. + +Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr. Rochester's, +and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs. +Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the laugh: in an instant, I +was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the +curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester +lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep. + +"Wake! wake!" I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and turned: the +smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets +were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wide +and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up, +deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my +own water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in +extinguishing the flames which were devouring it. + +The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flung +from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash of the +shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last. +Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him +fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of +water. + +"Is there a flood?" he cried. + +"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire: get up, do; you are +quenched now; I will fetch you a candle." + +"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?" he +demanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the +room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me?" + +"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up. Somebody +has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and what it is." + +"There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait two +minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be--yes, here +is my dressing-gown. Now run!" + +I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the gallery. He +took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, all blackened and +scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet round swimming in water. + +"What is it? and who did it?" he asked. I briefly related to him what +had transpired: the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery: the step +ascending to the third storey; the smoke,--the smell of fire which had +conducted me to his room; in what state I had found matters there, and +how I had deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on. + +{"What is it and who did it?" he asked: p140.jpg} + +He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more concern +than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had concluded. + +"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax?" I asked. + +"Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What can she +do? Let her sleep unmolested." + +"Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife." + +"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are not warm +enough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, and sit down in +the arm-chair: there,--I will put it on. Now place your feet on the +stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave you a few +minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are till I return; +be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit to the second storey. Don't +move, remember, or call any one." + +He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the gallery very +softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise as possible, +shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left in total +darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A very long +time elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the cloak; and then +I did not see the use of staying, as I was not to rouse the house. I was +on the point of risking Mr. Rochester's displeasure by disobeying his +orders, when the light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I +heard his unshod feet tread the matting. "I hope it is he," thought I, +"and not something worse." + +He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out," said he, +setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought." + +"How, sir?" + +He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the ground. +At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather a peculiar tone-- + +"I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber +door." + +"No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground." + +"But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I should +think, or something like it?" + +"Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole,--she +laughs in that way. She is a singular person." + +"Just so. Grace Poole--you have guessed it. She is, as you say, +singular--very. Well, I shall reflect on the subject. Meantime, I am +glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the +precise details of to-night's incident. You are no talking fool: say +nothing about it. I will account for this state of affairs" (pointing to +the bed): "and now return to your own room. I shall do very well on the +sofa in the library for the rest of the night. It is near four:--in two +hours the servants will be up." + +"Good-night, then, sir," said I, departing. + +He seemed surprised--very inconsistently so, as he had just told me to +go. + +"What!" he exclaimed, "are you quitting me already, and in that way?" + +"You said I might go, sir." + +"But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of +acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. +Why, you have saved my life!--snatched me from a horrible and +excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! +At least shake hands." + +He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in +both his own. + +"You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a +debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been +tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but +you: it is different;--I feel your benefits no burden, Jane." + +He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,--but +his voice was checked. + +"Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, +in the case." + +"I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at some +time;--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression +and smile did not"--(again he stopped)--"did not" (he proceeded hastily) +"strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of +natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth +in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!" + +Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look. + +"I am glad I happened to be awake," I said: and then I was going. + +"What! you _will_ go?" + +"I am cold, sir." + +"Cold? Yes,--and standing in a pool! Go, then, Jane; go!" But he still +retained my hand, and I could not free it. I bethought myself of an +expedient. + +"I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax move, sir," said I. + +"Well, leave me:" he relaxed his fingers, and I was gone. + +I regained my couch, but never thought of sleep. Till morning dawned I +was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled +under surges of joy. I thought sometimes I saw beyond its wild waters a +shore, sweet as the hills of Beulah; and now and then a freshening gale, +wakened by hope, bore my spirit triumphantly towards the bourne: but I +could not reach it, even in fancy--a counteracting breeze blew off land, +and continually drove me back. Sense would resist delirium: judgment +would warn passion. Too feverish to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed +this sleepless night: I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to +meet his eye. During the early part of the morning, I momentarily +expected his coming; he was not in the frequent habit of entering the +schoolroom, but he did step in for a few minutes sometimes, and I had the +impression that he was sure to visit it that day. + +But the morning passed just as usual: nothing happened to interrupt the +quiet course of Adele's studies; only soon after breakfast, I heard some +bustle in the neighbourhood of Mr. Rochester's chamber, Mrs. Fairfax's +voice, and Leah's, and the cook's--that is, John's wife--and even John's +own gruff tones. There were exclamations of "What a mercy master was not +burnt in his bed!" "It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at +night." "How providential that he had presence of mind to think of the +water-jug!" "I wonder he waked nobody!" "It is to be hoped he will not +take cold with sleeping on the library sofa," &c. + +To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to +rights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, I saw +through the open door that all was again restored to complete order; only +the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the window-seat, +rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about to address +her, for I wished to know what account had been given of the affair: but, +on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber--a woman sitting on a +chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new curtains. That woman was +no other than Grace Poole. + +There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown stuff +gown, her check apron, white handkerchief, and cap. She was intent on +her work, in which her whole thoughts seemed absorbed: on her hard +forehead, and in her commonplace features, was nothing either of the +paleness or desperation one would have expected to see marking the +countenance of a woman who had attempted murder, and whose intended +victim had followed her last night to her lair, and (as I believed), +charged her with the crime she wished to perpetrate. I was +amazed--confounded. She looked up, while I still gazed at her: no start, +no increase or failure of colour betrayed emotion, consciousness of +guilt, or fear of detection. She said "Good morning, Miss," in her usual +phlegmatic and brief manner; and taking up another ring and more tape, +went on with her sewing. + +"I will put her to some test," thought I: "such absolute impenetrability +is past comprehension." + +"Good morning, Grace," I said. "Has anything happened here? I thought I +heard the servants all talking together a while ago." + +"Only master had been reading in his bed last night; he fell asleep with +his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire; but, fortunately, he awoke +before the bed-clothes or the wood-work caught, and contrived to quench +the flames with the water in the ewer." + +"A strange affair!" I said, in a low voice: then, looking at her +fixedly--"Did Mr. Rochester wake nobody? Did no one hear him move?" + +She again raised her eyes to me, and this time there was something of +consciousness in their expression. She seemed to examine me warily; then +she answered-- + +"The servants sleep so far off, you know, Miss, they would not be likely +to hear. Mrs. Fairfax's room and yours are the nearest to master's; but +Mrs. Fairfax said she heard nothing: when people get elderly, they often +sleep heavy." She paused, and then added, with a sort of assumed +indifference, but still in a marked and significant tone--"But you are +young, Miss; and I should say a light sleeper: perhaps you may have heard +a noise?" + +"I did," said I, dropping my voice, so that Leah, who was still polishing +the panes, could not hear me, "and at first I thought it was Pilot: but +Pilot cannot laugh; and I am certain I heard a laugh, and a strange one." + +She took a new needleful of thread, waxed it carefully, threaded her +needle with a steady hand, and then observed, with perfect composure-- + +"It is hardly likely master would laugh, I should think, Miss, when he +was in such danger: You must have been dreaming." + +"I was not dreaming," I said, with some warmth, for her brazen coolness +provoked me. Again she looked at me; and with the same scrutinising and +conscious eye. + +"Have you told master that you heard a laugh?" she inquired. + +"I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning." + +"You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the +gallery?" she further asked. + +She appeared to be cross-questioning me, attempting to draw from me +information unawares. The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew +or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignant +pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard. + +"On the contrary," said I, "I bolted my door." + +"Then you are not in the habit of bolting your door every night before +you get into bed?" + +"Fiend! she wants to know my habits, that she may lay her plans +accordingly!" Indignation again prevailed over prudence: I replied +sharply, "Hitherto I have often omitted to fasten the bolt: I did not +think it necessary. I was not aware any danger or annoyance was to be +dreaded at Thornfield Hall: but in future" (and I laid marked stress on +the words) "I shall take good care to make all secure before I venture to +lie down." + +"It will be wise so to do," was her answer: "this neighbourhood is as +quiet as any I know, and I never heard of the hall being attempted by +robbers since it was a house; though there are hundreds of pounds' worth +of plate in the plate-closet, as is well known. And you see, for such a +large house, there are very few servants, because master has never lived +here much; and when he does come, being a bachelor, he needs little +waiting on: but I always think it best to err on the safe side; a door is +soon fastened, and it is as well to have a drawn bolt between one and any +mischief that may be about. A deal of people, Miss, are for trusting all +to Providence; but I say Providence will not dispense with the means, +though He often blesses them when they are used discreetly." And here +she closed her harangue: a long one for her, and uttered with the +demureness of a Quakeress. + +I still stood absolutely dumfoundered at what appeared to me her +miraculous self-possession and most inscrutable hypocrisy, when the cook +entered. + +"Mrs. Poole," said she, addressing Grace, "the servants' dinner will soon +be ready: will you come down?" + +"No; just put my pint of porter and bit of pudding on a tray, and I'll +carry it upstairs." + +"You'll have some meat?" + +"Just a morsel, and a taste of cheese, that's all." + +"And the sago?" + +"Never mind it at present: I shall be coming down before teatime: I'll +make it myself." + +The cook here turned to me, saying that Mrs. Fairfax was waiting for me: +so I departed. + +I hardly heard Mrs. Fairfax's account of the curtain conflagration during +dinner, so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over the enigmatical +character of Grace Poole, and still more in pondering the problem of her +position at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been given into +custody that morning, or, at the very least, dismissed from her master's +service. He had almost as much as declared his conviction of her +criminality last night: what mysterious cause withheld him from accusing +her? Why had he enjoined me, too, to secrecy? It was strange: a bold, +vindictive, and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of +the meanest of his dependants; so much in her power, that even when she +lifted her hand against his life, he dared not openly charge her with the +attempt, much less punish her for it. + +Had Grace been young and handsome, I should have been tempted to think +that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr. Rochester in +her behalf; but, hard-favoured and matronly as she was, the idea could +not be admitted. "Yet," I reflected, "she has been young once; her youth +would be contemporary with her master's: Mrs. Fairfax told me once, she +had lived here many years. I don't think she can ever have been pretty; +but, for aught I know, she may possess originality and strength of +character to compensate for the want of personal advantages. Mr. +Rochester is an amateur of the decided and eccentric: Grace is eccentric +at least. What if a former caprice (a freak very possible to a nature so +sudden and headstrong as his) has delivered him into her power, and she +now exercises over his actions a secret influence, the result of his own +indiscretion, which he cannot shake off, and dare not disregard?" But, +having reached this point of conjecture, Mrs. Poole's square, flat +figure, and uncomely, dry, even coarse face, recurred so distinctly to my +mind's eye, that I thought, "No; impossible! my supposition cannot be +correct. Yet," suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own +hearts, "you are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves +you: at any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and last +night--remember his words; remember his look; remember his voice!" + +I well remembered all; language, glance, and tone seemed at the moment +vividly renewed. I was now in the schoolroom; Adele was drawing; I bent +over her and directed her pencil. She looked up with a sort of start. + +"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblent comme la +feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!" + +"I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching; I went on +thinking. + +I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving +respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared myself with her, and +found we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; and +she spoke truth--I was a lady. And now I looked much better than I did +when Bessie saw me; I had more colour and more flesh, more life, more +vivacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments. + +"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the window. "I have +never heard Mr. Rochester's voice or step in the house to-day; but surely +I shall see him before night: I feared the meeting in the morning; now I +desire it, because expectation has been so long baffled that it is grown +impatient." + +When dusk actually closed, and when Adele left me to go and play in the +nursery with Sophie, I did most keenly desire it. I listened for the +bell to ring below; I listened for Leah coming up with a message; I +fancied sometimes I heard Mr. Rochester's own tread, and I turned to the +door, expecting it to open and admit him. The door remained shut; +darkness only came in through the window. Still it was not late; he +often sent for me at seven and eight o'clock, and it was yet but six. +Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to-night, when I had so many +things to say to him! I wanted again to introduce the subject of Grace +Poole, and to hear what he would answer; I wanted to ask him plainly if +he really believed it was she who had made last night's hideous attempt; +and if so, why he kept her wickedness a secret. It little mattered +whether my curiosity irritated him; I knew the pleasure of vexing and +soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in, and a sure +instinct always prevented me from going too far; beyond the verge of +provocation I never ventured; on the extreme brink I liked well to try my +skill. Retaining every minute form of respect, every propriety of my +station, I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasy +restraint; this suited both him and me. + +A tread creaked on the stairs at last. Leah made her appearance; but it +was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs. Fairfax's room. Thither +I repaired, glad at least to go downstairs; for that brought me, I +imagined, nearer to Mr. Rochester's presence. + +"You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I joined her; "you ate +so little at dinner. I am afraid," she continued, "you are not well to- +day: you look flushed and feverish." + +"Oh, quite well! I never felt better." + +"Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite; will you fill the +teapot while I knit off this needle?" Having completed her task, she +rose to draw down the blind, which she had hitherto kept up, by way, I +suppose, of making the most of daylight, though dusk was now fast +deepening into total obscurity. + +"It is fair to-night," said she, as she looked through the panes, "though +not starlight; Mr. Rochester has, on the whole, had a favourable day for +his journey." + +"Journey!--Is Mr. Rochester gone anywhere? I did not know he was out." + +"Oh, he set off the moment he had breakfasted! He is gone to the Leas, +Mr. Eshton's place, ten miles on the other side Millcote. I believe +there is quite a party assembled there; Lord Ingram, Sir George Lynn, +Colonel Dent, and others." + +"Do you expect him back to-night?" + +"No--nor to-morrow either; I should think he is very likely to stay a +week or more: when these fine, fashionable people get together, they are +so surrounded by elegance and gaiety, so well provided with all that can +please and entertain, they are in no hurry to separate. Gentlemen +especially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester is +so talented and so lively in society, that I believe he is a general +favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you would not think +his appearance calculated to recommend him particularly in their eyes: +but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his wealth and good +blood, make amends for any little fault of look." + +"Are there ladies at the Leas?" + +"There are Mrs. Eshton and her three daughters--very elegant young ladies +indeed; and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram, most +beautiful women, I suppose: indeed I have seen Blanche, six or seven +years since, when she was a girl of eighteen. She came here to a +Christmas ball and party Mr. Rochester gave. You should have seen the +dining-room that day--how richly it was decorated, how brilliantly lit +up! I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen present--all of +the first county families; and Miss Ingram was considered the belle of +the evening." + +"You saw her, you say, Mrs. Fairfax: what was she like?" + +"Yes, I saw her. The dining-room doors were thrown open; and, as it was +Christmas-time, the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall, to +hear some of the ladies sing and play. Mr. Rochester would have me to +come in, and I sat down in a quiet corner and watched them. I never saw +a more splendid scene: the ladies were magnificently dressed; most of +them--at least most of the younger ones--looked handsome; but Miss Ingram +was certainly the queen." + +"And what was she like?" + +"Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck: olive +complexion, dark and clear; noble features; eyes rather like Mr. +Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. And then +she had such a fine head of hair; raven-black and so becomingly arranged: +a crown of thick plaits behind, and in front the longest, the glossiest +curls I ever saw. She was dressed in pure white; an amber-coloured scarf +was passed over her shoulder and across her breast, tied at the side, and +descending in long, fringed ends below her knee. She wore an +amber-coloured flower, too, in her hair: it contrasted well with the +jetty mass of her curls." + +"She was greatly admired, of course?" + +"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her accomplishments. +She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman accompanied her on the +piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet." + +"Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing." + +"Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music." + +"And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?" + +"A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a treat to +listen to her;--and she played afterwards. I am no judge of music, but +Mr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her execution was remarkably good." + +"And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?" + +"It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very large +fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and the +eldest son came in for everything almost." + +"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to her: +Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?" + +"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age: Mr. +Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-five." + +"What of that? More unequal matches are made every day." + +"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would entertain an idea +of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted since you +began tea." + +"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?" + +I was about again to revert to the probability of a union between Mr. +Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and the +conversation was turned into another channel. + +When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked into +my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavoured to bring +back with a strict hand such as had been straying through imagination's +boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of common sense. + +Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the hopes, +wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night--of the general +state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a fortnight past; Reason +having come forward and told, in her own quiet way a plain, unvarnished +tale, showing how I had rejected the real, and rabidly devoured the +ideal;--I pronounced judgment to this effect:-- + +That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life; +that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies, +and swallowed poison as if it were nectar. + +"_You_," I said, "a favourite with Mr. Rochester? _You_ gifted with the +power of pleasing him? _You_ of importance to him in any way? Go! your +folly sickens me. And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokens +of preference--equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a man +of the world to a dependent and a novice. How dared you? Poor stupid +dupe!--Could not even self-interest make you wiser? You repeated to +yourself this morning the brief scene of last night?--Cover your face and +be ashamed! He said something in praise of your eyes, did he? Blind +puppy! Open their bleared lids and look on your own accursed +senselessness! It does good to no woman to be flattered by her superior, +who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all women +to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and +unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and +responded to, must lead, _ignis-fatuus_-like, into miry wilds whence there +is no extrication. + +"Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place the glass +before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without +softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing +irregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, +poor, and plain.' + +"Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory--you have one prepared in your +drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest, clearest +tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefully +the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in your softest shades and +sweetest lines, according to the description given by Mrs. Fairfax of +Blanche Ingram; remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;--What! you +revert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No snivel!--no sentiment!--no +regret! I will endure only sense and resolution. Recall the august yet +harmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round and +dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring +nor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aerial lace and +glistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it 'Blanche, an +accomplished lady of rank.' + +"Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks +well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say, 'Mr. +Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose to +strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this +indigent and insignificant plebeian?'" + +"I'll do it," I resolved: and having framed this determination, I grew +calm, and fell asleep. + +I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in +crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory miniature +of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. It looked a lovely face enough, and when +compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self- +control could desire. I derived benefit from the task: it had kept my +head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new +impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart. + +Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of wholesome +discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit. Thanks to +it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm, which, +had they found me unprepared, I should probably have been unequal to +maintain, even externally. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +A week passed, and no news arrived of Mr. Rochester: ten days, and still +he did not come. Mrs. Fairfax said she should not be surprised if he +were to go straight from the Leas to London, and thence to the Continent, +and not show his face again at Thornfield for a year to come; he had not +unfrequently quitted it in a manner quite as abrupt and unexpected. When +I heard this, I was beginning to feel a strange chill and failing at the +heart. I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense +of disappointment; but rallying my wits, and recollecting my principles, +I at once called my sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I got +over the temporary blunder--how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. +Rochester's movements a matter in which I had any cause to take a vital +interest. Not that I humbled myself by a slavish notion of inferiority: +on the contrary, I just said-- + +"You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield, further than to +receive the salary he gives you for teaching his protegee, and to be +grateful for such respectful and kind treatment as, if you do your duty, +you have a right to expect at his hands. Be sure that is the only tie he +seriously acknowledges between you and him; so don't make him the object +of your fine feelings, your raptures, agonies, and so forth. He is not +of your order: keep to your caste, and be too self-respecting to lavish +the love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not +wanted and would be despised." + +I went on with my day's business tranquilly; but ever and anon vague +suggestions kept wandering across my brain of reasons why I should quit +Thornfield; and I kept involuntarily framing advertisements and pondering +conjectures about new situations: these thoughts I did not think to +check; they might germinate and bear fruit if they could. + +Mr. Rochester had been absent upwards of a fortnight, when the post +brought Mrs. Fairfax a letter. + +"It is from the master," said she, as she looked at the direction. "Now +I suppose we shall know whether we are to expect his return or not." + +And while she broke the seal and perused the document, I went on taking +my coffee (we were at breakfast): it was hot, and I attributed to that +circumstance a fiery glow which suddenly rose to my face. Why my hand +shook, and why I involuntarily spilt half the contents of my cup into my +saucer, I did not choose to consider. + +"Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we run a chance of being +busy enough now: for a little while at least," said Mrs. Fairfax, still +holding the note before her spectacles. + +Ere I permitted myself to request an explanation, I tied the string of +Adele's pinafore, which happened to be loose: having helped her also to +another bun and refilled her mug with milk, I said, nonchalantly-- + +"Mr. Rochester is not likely to return soon, I suppose?" + +"Indeed he is--in three days, he says: that will be next Thursday; and +not alone either. I don't know how many of the fine people at the Leas +are coming with him: he sends directions for all the best bedrooms to be +prepared; and the library and drawing-rooms are to be cleaned out; I am +to get more kitchen hands from the George Inn, at Millcote, and from +wherever else I can; and the ladies will bring their maids and the +gentlemen their valets: so we shall have a full house of it." And Mrs. +Fairfax swallowed her breakfast and hastened away to commence operations. + +The three days were, as she had foretold, busy enough. I had thought all +the rooms at Thornfield beautifully clean and well arranged; but it +appears I was mistaken. Three women were got to help; and such +scrubbing, such brushing, such washing of paint and beating of carpets, +such taking down and putting up of pictures, such polishing of mirrors +and lustres, such lighting of fires in bedrooms, such airing of sheets +and feather-beds on hearths, I never beheld, either before or since. +Adele ran quite wild in the midst of it: the preparations for company and +the prospect of their arrival, seemed to throw her into ecstasies. She +would have Sophie to look over all her "toilettes," as she called frocks; +to furbish up any that were "_passees_," and to air and arrange the new. +For herself, she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers, jump +on and off the bedsteads, and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters +and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys. From +school duties she was exonerated: Mrs. Fairfax had pressed me into her +service, and I was all day in the storeroom, helping (or hindering) her +and the cook; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and French +pastry, to truss game and garnish desert-dishes. + +The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon, in time for +dinner at six. During the intervening period I had no time to nurse +chimeras; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody--Adele +excepted. Still, now and then, I received a damping check to my +cheerfulness; and was, in spite of myself, thrown back on the region of +doubts and portents, and dark conjectures. This was when I chanced to +see the third-storey staircase door (which of late had always been kept +locked) open slowly, and give passage to the form of Grace Poole, in prim +cap, white apron, and handkerchief; when I watched her glide along the +gallery, her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper; when I saw her look +into the bustling, topsy-turvy bedrooms,--just say a word, perhaps, to +the charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate, or clean a marble +mantelpiece, or take stains from papered walls, and then pass on. She +would thus descend to the kitchen once a day, eat her dinner, smoke a +moderate pipe on the hearth, and go back, carrying her pot of porter with +her, for her private solace, in her own gloomy, upper haunt. Only one +hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below; all +the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled, oaken chamber of the +second storey: there she sat and sewed--and probably laughed drearily to +herself,--as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon. + +The strangest thing of all was, that not a soul in the house, except me, +noticed her habits, or seemed to marvel at them: no one discussed her +position or employment; no one pitied her solitude or isolation. I once, +indeed, overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the +charwomen, of which Grace formed the subject. Leah had been saying +something I had not caught, and the charwoman remarked-- + +"She gets good wages, I guess?" + +"Yes," said Leah; "I wish I had as good; not that mine are to complain +of,--there's no stinginess at Thornfield; but they're not one fifth of +the sum Mrs. Poole receives. And she is laying by: she goes every +quarter to the bank at Millcote. I should not wonder but she has saved +enough to keep her independent if she liked to leave; but I suppose she's +got used to the place; and then she's not forty yet, and strong and able +for anything. It is too soon for her to give up business." + +"She is a good hand, I daresay," said the charwoman. + +"Ah!--she understands what she has to do,--nobody better," rejoined Leah +significantly; "and it is not every one could fill her shoes--not for all +the money she gets." + +"That it is not!" was the reply. "I wonder whether the master--" + +The charwoman was going on; but here Leah turned and perceived me, and +she instantly gave her companion a nudge. + +"Doesn't she know?" I heard the woman whisper. + +Leah shook her head, and the conversation was of course dropped. All I +had gathered from it amounted to this,--that there was a mystery at +Thornfield; and that from participation in that mystery I was purposely +excluded. + +Thursday came: all work had been completed the previous evening; carpets +were laid down, bed-hangings festooned, radiant white counterpanes +spread, toilet tables arranged, furniture rubbed, flowers piled in vases: +both chambers and saloons looked as fresh and bright as hands could make +them. The hall, too, was scoured; and the great carved clock, as well as +the steps and banisters of the staircase, were polished to the brightness +of glass; in the dining-room, the sideboard flashed resplendent with +plate; in the drawing-room and boudoir, vases of exotics bloomed on all +sides. + +Afternoon arrived: Mrs. Fairfax assumed her best black satin gown, her +gloves, and her gold watch; for it was her part to receive the +company,--to conduct the ladies to their rooms, &c. Adele, too, would be +dressed: though I thought she had little chance of being introduced to +the party that day at least. However, to please her, I allowed Sophie to +apparel her in one of her short, full muslin frocks. For myself, I had +no need to make any change; I should not be called upon to quit my +sanctum of the schoolroom; for a sanctum it was now become to me,--"a +very pleasant refuge in time of trouble." + +It had been a mild, serene spring day--one of those days which, towards +the end of March or the beginning of April, rise shining over the earth +as heralds of summer. It was drawing to an end now; but the evening was +even warm, and I sat at work in the schoolroom with the window open. + +"It gets late," said Mrs. Fairfax, entering in rustling state. "I am +glad I ordered dinner an hour after the time Mr. Rochester mentioned; for +it is past six now. I have sent John down to the gates to see if there +is anything on the road: one can see a long way from thence in the +direction of Millcote." She went to the window. "Here he is!" said she. +"Well, John" (leaning out), "any news?" + +"They're coming, ma'am," was the answer. "They'll be here in ten +minutes." + +Adele flew to the window. I followed, taking care to stand on one side, +so that, screened by the curtain, I could see without being seen. + +The ten minutes John had given seemed very long, but at last wheels were +heard; four equestrians galloped up the drive, and after them came two +open carriages. Fluttering veils and waving plumes filled the vehicles; +two of the cavaliers were young, dashing-looking gentlemen; the third was +Mr. Rochester, on his black horse, Mesrour, Pilot bounding before him; at +his side rode a lady, and he and she were the first of the party. Her +purple riding-habit almost swept the ground, her veil streamed long on +the breeze; mingling with its transparent folds, and gleaming through +them, shone rich raven ringlets. + +"Miss Ingram!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax, and away she hurried to her post +below. + +The cavalcade, following the sweep of the drive, quickly turned the angle +of the house, and I lost sight of it. Adele now petitioned to go down; +but I took her on my knee, and gave her to understand that she must not +on any account think of venturing in sight of the ladies, either now or +at any other time, unless expressly sent for: that Mr. Rochester would be +very angry, &c. "Some natural tears she shed" on being told this; but as +I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them. + +A joyous stir was now audible in the hall: gentlemen's deep tones and +ladies' silvery accents blent harmoniously together, and distinguishable +above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of +Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof. +Then light steps ascended the stairs; and there was a tripping through +the gallery, and soft cheerful laughs, and opening and closing doors, +and, for a time, a hush. + +"Elles changent de toilettes," said Adele; who, listening attentively, +had followed every movement; and she sighed. + +"Chez maman," said she, "quand il y avait du monde, je le suivais +partout, au salon et a leurs chambres; souvent je regardais les femmes de +chambre coiffer et habiller les dames, et c'etait si amusant: comme cela +on apprend." + +"Don't you feel hungry, Adele?" + +"Mais oui, mademoiselle: voila cinq ou six heures que nous n'avons pas +mange." + +"Well now, while the ladies are in their rooms, I will venture down and +get you something to eat." + +And issuing from my asylum with precaution, I sought a back-stairs which +conducted directly to the kitchen. All in that region was fire and +commotion; the soup and fish were in the last stage of projection, and +the cook hung over her crucibles in a frame of mind and body threatening +spontaneous combustion. In the servants' hall two coachmen and three +gentlemen's gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the abigails, I +suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new servants, that had +been hired from Millcote, were bustling about everywhere. Threading this +chaos, I at last reached the larder; there I took possession of a cold +chicken, a roll of bread, some tarts, a plate or two and a knife and +fork: with this booty I made a hasty retreat. I had regained the +gallery, and was just shutting the back-door behind me, when an +accelerated hum warned me that the ladies were about to issue from their +chambers. I could not proceed to the schoolroom without passing some of +their doors, and running the risk of being surprised with my cargo of +victualage; so I stood still at this end, which, being windowless, was +dark: quite dark now, for the sun was set and twilight gathering. + +Presently the chambers gave up their fair tenants one after another: each +came out gaily and airily, with dress that gleamed lustrous through the +dusk. For a moment they stood grouped together at the other extremity of +the gallery, conversing in a key of sweet subdued vivacity: they then +descended the staircase almost as noiselessly as a bright mist rolls down +a hill. Their collective appearance had left on me an impression of high- +born elegance, such as I had never before received. + +I found Adele peeping through the schoolroom door, which she held ajar. +"What beautiful ladies!" cried she in English. "Oh, I wish I might go to +them! Do you think Mr. Rochester will send for us by-and-bye, after +dinner?" + +"No, indeed, I don't; Mr. Rochester has something else to think about. +Never mind the ladies to-night; perhaps you will see them to-morrow: here +is your dinner." + +She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her +attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both she, I, +and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run a +chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too much +engaged to think of us. The dessert was not carried out till after nine +and at ten footmen were still running to and fro with trays and coffee- +cups. I allowed Adele to sit up much later than usual; for she declared +she could not possibly go to sleep while the doors kept opening and +shutting below, and people bustling about. Besides, she added, a message +might possibly come from Mr. Rochester when she was undressed; "et alors +quel dommage!" + +I told her stories as long as she would listen to them; and then for a +change I took her out into the gallery. The hall lamp was now lit, and +it amused her to look over the balustrade and watch the servants passing +backwards and forwards. When the evening was far advanced, a sound of +music issued from the drawing-room, whither the piano had been removed; +Adele and I sat down on the top step of the stairs to listen. Presently +a voice blent with the rich tones of the instrument; it was a lady who +sang, and very sweet her notes were. The solo over, a duet followed, and +then a glee: a joyous conversational murmur filled up the intervals. I +listened long: suddenly I discovered that my ear was wholly intent on +analysing the mingled sounds, and trying to discriminate amidst the +confusion of accents those of Mr. Rochester; and when it caught them, +which it soon did, it found a further task in framing the tones, rendered +by distance inarticulate, into words. + +The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant against my +shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up in my arms and +carried her off to bed. It was near one before the gentlemen and ladies +sought their chambers. + +The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by the party +to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. They set out early in +the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in carriages; I witnessed both +the departure and the return. Miss Ingram, as before, was the only lady +equestrian; and, as before, Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the two +rode a little apart from the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to +Mrs. Fairfax, who was standing at the window with me-- + +"You said it was not likely they should think of being married," said I, +"but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of the other +ladies." + +"Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her." + +"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her head towards him as if +she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have +never had a glimpse of it yet." + +"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs. Fairfax. "I happened to +remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced to the +ladies, and he said: 'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room after +dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her.'" + +"Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure," I +answered. + +"Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did not +think you would like appearing before so gay a party--all strangers; and +he replied, in his quick way--'Nonsense! If she objects, tell her it is +my particular wish; and if she resists, say I shall come and fetch her in +case of contumacy.'" + +"I will not give him that trouble," I answered. "I will go, if no better +may be; but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs. Fairfax?" + +"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you how to manage +so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance, which is +the most disagreeable part of the business. You must go into the drawing- +room while it is empty, before the ladies leave the dinner-table; choose +your seat in any quiet nook you like; you need not stay long after the +gentlemen come in, unless you please: just let Mr. Rochester see you are +there and then slip away--nobody will notice you." + +"Will these people remain long, do you think?" + +"Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the Easter +recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for Millcote, will +have to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay Mr. Rochester will +accompany him: it surprises me that he has already made so protracted a +stay at Thornfield." + +It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach when I +was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele had been in a +state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be presented to the +ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie commenced the operation +of dressing her that she sobered down. Then the importance of the +process quickly steadied her, and by the time she had her curls arranged +in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her pink satin frock put on, her +long sash tied, and her lace mittens adjusted, she looked as grave as any +judge. No need to warn her not to disarrange her attire: when she was +dressed, she sat demurely down in her little chair, taking care +previously to lift up the satin skirt for fear she should crease it, and +assured me she would not stir thence till I was ready. This I quickly +was: my best dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's +wedding, and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soon +smoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed. We +descended. + +Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than that +through the saloon where they were all seated at dinner. We found the +apartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the marble hearth, and +wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the exquisite flowers with +which the tables were adorned. The crimson curtain hung before the arch: +slight as was the separation this drapery formed from the party in the +adjoining saloon, they spoke in so low a key that nothing of their +conversation could be distinguished beyond a soothing murmur. + +Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnising +impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I pointed out to +her. I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from a table near, +endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she +touched my knee. + +"What is it, Adele?" + +"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques, +mademoiselle? Seulement pour completer ma toilette." + +"You think too much of your 'toilette,' Adele: but you may have a +flower." And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. She +sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were +now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress: +there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little +Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress. + +A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept back +from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustre +pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent +dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the +opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them. + +There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the +impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall; many +were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that +seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and +curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return, the others only +stared at me. + +They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and +buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds. Some of +them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and +ottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books: +the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all talked in a low but +clear tone which seemed habitual to them. I knew their names afterwards, +and may as well mention them now. + +First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had evidently +been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still. Of her daughters, +the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive, and child-like in face and +manner, and piquant in form; her white muslin dress and blue sash became +her well. The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure; +with a very pretty face, of that order the French term _minois chiffone_: +both sisters were fair as lilies. + +Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect, +very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen: +her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume, and +within the circlet of a band of gems. + +Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like. She +had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her black satin +dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased +me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame. + +But the three most distinguished--partly, perhaps, because the tallest +figures of the band--were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her daughters, +Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the loftiest stature of women. +The Dowager might be between forty and fifty: her shape was still fine; +her hair (by candle-light at least) still black; her teeth, too, were +still apparently perfect. Most people would have termed her a splendid +woman of her age: and so she was, no doubt, physically speaking; but then +there was an expression of almost insupportable haughtiness in her +bearing and countenance. She had Roman features and a double chin, +disappearing into a throat like a pillar: these features appeared to me +not only inflated and darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and the +chin was sustained by the same principle, in a position of almost +preternatural erectness. She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: it +reminded me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice +was deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical,--very +intolerable, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban of some +gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she thought) with a +truly imperial dignity. + +Blanche and Mary were of equal stature,--straight and tall as poplars. +Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded like a Dian. I +regarded her, of course, with special interest. First, I wished to see +whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's description; +secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy miniature I had painted +of her; and thirdly--it will out!--whether it were such as I should fancy +likely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste. + +As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my picture +and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping shoulders, +the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--but +her face? Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed +likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride. It +was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; her +laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and +haughty lip. + +Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram +was a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-conscious +indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs. +Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as she +said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she +ran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently perceived she was (what +is vernacularly termed) _trailing_ Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her +ignorance--her _trail_ might be clever, but it was decidedly not good- +natured. She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice +was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well, +with fluency and with a good accent. + +Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer features +too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a +Spaniard)--but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression, +her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her seat, +remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The sisters were both attired +in spotless white. + +And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester would be +likely to make? I could not tell--I did not know his taste in female +beauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty: then +she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would admire her, I +thought; and that he _did_ admire her, I already seemed to have obtained +proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see them +together. + +You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been sitting +motionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies entered, she +rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately reverence, and said with +gravity-- + +"Bon jour, mesdames." + +And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and exclaimed, +"Oh, what a little puppet!" + +Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose--the +little French girl he was speaking of." + +Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss. + +Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously--"What a love of a +child!" + +And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat, ensconced +between them, chattering alternately in French and broken English; +absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of Mrs. Eshton +and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content. + +At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned. I sit in +the shade--if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit apartment; the +window-curtain half hides me. Again the arch yawns; they come. The +collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that of the ladies, is very +imposing: they are all costumed in black; most of them are tall, some +young. Henry and Frederick Lynn are very dashing sparks indeed; and +Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the +district, is gentleman-like: his hair is quite white, his eyebrows and +whiskers still dark, which gives him something of the appearance of a +"pere noble de theatre." Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very tall; +like them, also, he is handsome; but he shares Mary's apathetic and +listless look: he seems to have more length of limb than vivacity of +blood or vigour of brain. + +And where is Mr. Rochester? + +He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him enter. I +try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles, on the meshes +of the purse I am forming--I wish to think only of the work I have in my +hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that lie in my lap; +whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I inevitably recall the +moment when I last saw it; just after I had rendered him, what he deemed, +an essential service, and he, holding my hand, and looking down on my +face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to +overflow; in whose emotions I had a part. How near had I approached him +at that moment! What had occurred since, calculated to change his and my +relative positions? Yet now, how distant, how far estranged we were! So +far estranged, that I did not expect him to come and speak to me. I did +not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at the other side +of the room, and began conversing with some of the ladies. + +No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and that I +might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn involuntarily +to his face; I could not keep their lids under control: they would rise, +and the irids would fix on him. I looked, and had an acute pleasure in +looking,--a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steely +point of agony: a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel +who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and +drinks divine draughts nevertheless. + +Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My master's +colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, +deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,--all energy, decision, +will,--were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more than +beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite +mastered me,--that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them +in his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought +hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, +at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and +strong! He made me love him without looking at me. + +I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace of the Lynns, +the languid elegance of Lord Ingram,--even the military distinction of +Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native pith and genuine power? +I had no sympathy in their appearance, their expression: yet I could +imagine that most observers would call them attractive, handsome, +imposing; while they would pronounce Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featured +and melancholy-looking. I saw them smile, laugh--it was nothing; the +light of the candles had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of +the bell as much significance as their laugh. I saw Mr. Rochester +smile:--his stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant and +gentle, its ray both searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment, +to Louisa and Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with calm that +look which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their eyes to fall, +their colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I found they were in +no sense moved. "He is not to them what he is to me," I thought: "he is +not of their kind. I believe he is of mine;--I am sure he is--I feel +akin to him--I understand the language of his countenance and movements: +though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and +heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did +I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive +my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other +light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, +vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must +conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he +cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not +mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean +only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, +then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered:--and yet, while I +breathe and think, I must love him." + +Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have become +lively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel Dent and +Mr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen. The two proud +dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together. Sir +George--whom, by-the-bye, I have forgotten to describe,--a very big, and +very fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before their sofa, coffee- +cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word. Mr. Frederick Lynn has +taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is showing her the engravings of a +splendid volume: she looks, smiles now and then, but apparently says +little. The tall and phlegmatic Lord Ingram leans with folded arms on +the chair-back of the little and lively Amy Eshton; she glances up at +him, and chatters like a wren: she likes him better than she does Mr. +Rochester. Henry Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of +Louisa: Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk French with her, +and Louisa laughs at his blunders. With whom will Blanche Ingram pair? +She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over an album. She +seems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait too long: she herself +selects a mate. + +Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth as +solitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking her +station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece. + +"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?" + +"Nor am I." + +"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as that?" +(pointing to Adele). "Where did you pick her up?" + +"I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands." + +"You should have sent her to school." + +"I could not afford it: schools are so dear." + +"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with her +just now--is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still, behind the window- +curtain. You pay her, of course; I should think it quite as +expensive,--more so; for you have them both to keep in addition." + +I feared--or should I say, hoped?--the allusion to me would make Mr. +Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into the +shade: but he never turned his eyes. + +"I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently, looking +straight before him. + +"No, you men never do consider economy and common sense. You should hear +mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should think, +a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the rest +ridiculous, and all incubi--were they not, mama?" + +"Did you speak, my own?" + +The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property, reiterated +her question with an explanation. + +"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me nervous. I +have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and caprice. I thank +Heaven I have now done with them!" + +Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something in her +ear; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder that one of +the anathematised race was present. + +"Tant pis!" said her Ladyship, "I hope it may do her good!" Then, in a +lower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, "I noticed her; I am a +judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class." + +"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud. + +"I will tell you in your private ear," replied she, wagging her turban +three times with portentous significancy. + +"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now." + +"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I." + +"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of the +whole tribe; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever suffered much from +them; I took care to turn the tables. What tricks Theodore and I used to +play on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame Jouberts! Mary was +always too sleepy to join in a plot with spirit. The best fun was with +Madame Joubert: Miss Wilson was a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and low- +spirited, not worth the trouble of vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Grey +was coarse and insensible; no blow took effect on her. But poor Madame +Joubert! I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven her to +extremities--spilt our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed our +books up to the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler and desk, +the fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember those merry days?" + +"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram; "and the poor old stick +used to cry out 'Oh you villains childs!'--and then we sermonised her on +the presumption of attempting to teach such clever blades as we were, +when she was herself so ignorant." + +"We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (or +persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining--the parson in the pip, as +we used to call him. He and Miss Wilson took the liberty of falling in +love with each other--at least Tedo and I thought so; we surprised sundry +tender glances and sighs which we interpreted as tokens of 'la belle +passion,' and I promise you the public soon had the benefit of our +discovery; we employed it as a sort of lever to hoist our dead-weights +from the house. Dear mama, there, as soon as she got an inkling of the +business, found out that it was of an immoral tendency. Did you not, my +lady-mother?" + +"Certainly, my best. And I was quite right: depend on that: there are a +thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and tutors should never +be tolerated a moment in any well-regulated house; firstly--" + +"Oh, gracious, mama! Spare us the enumeration! _Au reste_, we all know +them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood; distractions and +consequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached--mutual alliance +and reliance; confidence thence resulting--insolence accompanying--mutiny +and general blow-up. Am I right, Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?" + +"My lily-flower, you are right now, as always." + +"Then no more need be said: change the subject." + +Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in with her +soft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I used to quiz our governess too; but +she was such a good creature, she would bear anything: nothing put her +out. She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?" + +"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and her +workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured, +she would give us anything we asked for." + +"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically, "we +shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses extant: in +order to avert such a visitation, I again move the introduction of a new +topic. Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?" + +"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other." + +"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo, are you +in voice to-night?" + +"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be." + +"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs +and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service." + +"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?" + +"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its curls, as +she moved to the piano. "It is my opinion the fiddler David must have +been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better: to my mind +a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say +what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort +of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my +hand." + +"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?" cried +Mr. Rochester. + +"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel Dent. + +"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply. + +Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano, +spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliant +prelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her high horse +to-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite not only +the admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently bent +on striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed. + +"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she, +rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir a +step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama's +permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care about their +pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a man +had anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were not the special +prerogative of woman--her legitimate appanage and heritage! I grant an +ugly _woman_ is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the +_gentlemen_, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour: +let their motto be:--Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a +fillip. Such should be my device, were I a man." + +"Whenever I marry," she continued after a pause which none interrupted, +"I am resolved my husband shall not be a rival, but a foil to me. I will +suffer no competitor near the throne; I shall exact an undivided homage: +his devotions shall not be shared between me and the shape he sees in his +mirror. Mr. Rochester, now sing, and I will play for you." + +"I am all obedience," was the response. + +"Here then is a Corsair-song. Know that I doat on Corsairs; and for that +reason, sing it _con spirito_." + +"Commands from Miss Ingram's lips would put spirit into a mug of milk and +water." + +"Take care, then: if you don't please me, I will shame you by showing how +such things _should_ be done." + +"That is offering a premium on incapacity: I shall now endeavour to +fail." + +"Gardez-vous en bien! If you err wilfully, I shall devise a +proportionate punishment." + +"Miss Ingram ought to be clement, for she has it in her power to inflict +a chastisement beyond mortal endurance." + +"Ha! explain!" commanded the lady. + +"Pardon me, madam: no need of explanation; your own fine sense must +inform you that one of your frowns would be a sufficient substitute for +capital punishment." + +"Sing!" said she, and again touching the piano, she commenced an +accompaniment in spirited style. + +"Now is my time to slip away," thought I: but the tones that then severed +the air arrested me. Mrs. Fairfax had said Mr. Rochester possessed a +fine voice: he did--a mellow, powerful bass, into which he threw his own +feeling, his own force; finding a way through the ear to the heart, and +there waking sensation strangely. I waited till the last deep and full +vibration had expired--till the tide of talk, checked an instant, had +resumed its flow; I then quitted my sheltered corner and made my exit by +the side-door, which was fortunately near. Thence a narrow passage led +into the hall: in crossing it, I perceived my sandal was loose; I stopped +to tie it, kneeling down for that purpose on the mat at the foot of the +staircase. I heard the dining-room door unclose; a gentleman came out; +rising hastily, I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester. + +"How do you do?" he asked. + +"I am very well, sir." + +"Why did you not come and speak to me in the room?" + +I thought I might have retorted the question on him who put it: but I +would not take that freedom. I answered-- + +"I did not wish to disturb you, as you seemed engaged, sir." + +"What have you been doing during my absence?" + +"Nothing particular; teaching Adele as usual." + +"And getting a good deal paler than you were--as I saw at first sight. +What is the matter?" + +"Nothing at all, sir." + +"Did you take any cold that night you half drowned me?" + +"Not the least." + +"Return to the drawing-room: you are deserting too early." + +"I am tired, sir." + +He looked at me for a minute. + +"And a little depressed," he said. "What about? Tell me." + +"Nothing--nothing, sir. I am not depressed." + +"But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words would +bring tears to your eyes--indeed, they are there now, shining and +swimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag. +If I had time, and was not in mortal dread of some prating prig of a +servant passing, I would know what all this means. Well, to-night I +excuse you; but understand that so long as my visitors stay, I expect you +to appear in the drawing-room every evening; it is my wish; don't neglect +it. Now go, and send Sophie for Adele. Good-night, my--" He stopped, +bit his lip, and abruptly left me. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Merry days were these at Thornfield Hall; and busy days too: how +different from the first three months of stillness, monotony, and +solitude I had passed beneath its roof! All sad feelings seemed now +driven from the house, all gloomy associations forgotten: there was life +everywhere, movement all day long. You could not now traverse the +gallery, once so hushed, nor enter the front chambers, once so +tenantless, without encountering a smart lady's-maid or a dandy valet. + +The kitchen, the butler's pantry, the servants' hall, the entrance hall, +were equally alive; and the saloons were only left void and still when +the blue sky and halcyon sunshine of the genial spring weather called +their occupants out into the grounds. Even when that weather was broken, +and continuous rain set in for some days, no damp seemed cast over +enjoyment: indoor amusements only became more lively and varied, in +consequence of the stop put to outdoor gaiety. + +I wondered what they were going to do the first evening a change of +entertainment was proposed: they spoke of "playing charades," but in my +ignorance I did not understand the term. The servants were called in, +the dining-room tables wheeled away, the lights otherwise disposed, the +chairs placed in a semicircle opposite the arch. While Mr. Rochester and +the other gentlemen directed these alterations, the ladies were running +up and down stairs ringing for their maids. Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to +give information respecting the resources of the house in shawls, +dresses, draperies of any kind; and certain wardrobes of the third storey +were ransacked, and their contents, in the shape of brocaded and hooped +petticoats, satin sacques, black modes, lace lappets, &c., were brought +down in armfuls by the abigails; then a selection was made, and such +things as were chosen were carried to the boudoir within the +drawing-room. + +Meantime, Mr. Rochester had again summoned the ladies round him, and was +selecting certain of their number to be of his party. "Miss Ingram is +mine, of course," said he: afterwards he named the two Misses Eshton, and +Mrs. Dent. He looked at me: I happened to be near him, as I had been +fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose. + +"Will you play?" he asked. I shook my head. He did not insist, which I +rather feared he would have done; he allowed me to return quietly to my +usual seat. + +He and his aids now withdrew behind the curtain: the other party, which +was headed by Colonel Dent, sat down on the crescent of chairs. One of +the gentlemen, Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed to propose that I should +be asked to join them; but Lady Ingram instantly negatived the notion. + +"No," I heard her say: "she looks too stupid for any game of the sort." + +Ere long a bell tinkled, and the curtain drew up. Within the arch, the +bulky figure of Sir George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester had likewise chosen, +was seen enveloped in a white sheet: before him, on a table, lay open a +large book; and at his side stood Amy Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester's +cloak, and holding a book in her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang the bell +merrily; then Adele (who had insisted on being one of her guardian's +party), bounded forward, scattering round her the contents of a basket of +flowers she carried on her arm. Then appeared the magnificent figure of +Miss Ingram, clad in white, a long veil on her head, and a wreath of +roses round her brow; by her side walked Mr. Rochester, and together they +drew near the table. They knelt; while Mrs. Dent and Louisa Eshton, +dressed also in white, took up their stations behind them. A ceremony +followed, in dumb show, in which it was easy to recognise the pantomime +of a marriage. At its termination, Colonel Dent and his party consulted +in whispers for two minutes, then the Colonel called out-- + +"Bride!" Mr. Rochester bowed, and the curtain fell. + +A considerable interval elapsed before it again rose. Its second rising +displayed a more elaborately prepared scene than the last. The drawing- +room, as I have before observed, was raised two steps above the dining- +room, and on the top of the upper step, placed a yard or two back within +the room, appeared a large marble basin--which I recognised as an +ornament of the conservatory--where it usually stood, surrounded by +exotics, and tenanted by gold fish--and whence it must have been +transported with some trouble, on account of its size and weight. + +Seated on the carpet, by the side of this basin, was seen Mr. Rochester, +costumed in shawls, with a turban on his head. His dark eyes and swarthy +skin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly: he looked the very +model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring. +Presently advanced into view Miss Ingram. She, too, was attired in +oriental fashion: a crimson scarf tied sash-like round the waist: an +embroidered handkerchief knotted about her temples; her +beautifully-moulded arms bare, one of them upraised in the act of +supporting a pitcher, poised gracefully on her head. Both her cast of +form and feature, her complexion and her general air, suggested the idea +of some Israelitish princess of the patriarchal days; and such was +doubtless the character she intended to represent. + +She approached the basin, and bent over it as if to fill her pitcher; she +again lifted it to her head. The personage on the well-brink now seemed +to accost her; to make some request:--"She hasted, let down her pitcher +on her hand, and gave him to drink." From the bosom of his robe he then +produced a casket, opened it and showed magnificent bracelets and +earrings; she acted astonishment and admiration; kneeling, he laid the +treasure at her feet; incredulity and delight were expressed by her looks +and gestures; the stranger fastened the bracelets on her arms and the +rings in her ears. It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the camels only were +wanting. + +The divining party again laid their heads together: apparently they could +not agree about the word or syllable the scene illustrated. Colonel +Dent, their spokesman, demanded "the tableau of the whole;" whereupon the +curtain again descended. + +On its third rising only a portion of the drawing-room was disclosed; the +rest being concealed by a screen, hung with some sort of dark and coarse +drapery. The marble basin was removed; in its place, stood a deal table +and a kitchen chair: these objects were visible by a very dim light +proceeding from a horn lantern, the wax candles being all extinguished. + +Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting on +his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew Mr. Rochester; though +the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from one +arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), the +desperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might well +have disguised him. As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were +attached fetters. + +"Bridewell!" exclaimed Colonel Dent, and the charade was solved. + +A sufficient interval having elapsed for the performers to resume their +ordinary costume, they re-entered the dining-room. Mr. Rochester led in +Miss Ingram; she was complimenting him on his acting. + +"Do you know," said she, "that, of the three characters, I liked you in +the last best? Oh, had you but lived a few years earlier, what a gallant +gentleman-highwayman you would have made!" + +"Is all the soot washed from my face?" he asked, turning it towards her. + +"Alas! yes: the more's the pity! Nothing could be more becoming to your +complexion than that ruffian's rouge." + +"You would like a hero of the road then?" + +"An English hero of the road would be the next best thing to an Italian +bandit; and that could only be surpassed by a Levantine pirate." + +"Well, whatever I am, remember you are my wife; we were married an hour +since, in the presence of all these witnesses." She giggled, and her +colour rose. + +"Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn." And as the +other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. Miss +Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners +filled the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now watch the +actors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; my +attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the +arch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. What +charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how they +acquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I still see the +consultation which followed each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to Miss +Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head towards him, +till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder and wave against his +cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchanged +glances; and something even of the feeling roused by the spectacle +returns in memory at this moment. + +I have told you, reader, that I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester: I could +not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice +me--because I might pass hours in his presence, and he would never once +turn his eyes in my direction--because I saw all his attentions +appropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me with the hem of her +robes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me +by chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean to +merit observation. I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he would +soon marry this very lady--because I read daily in her a proud security +in his intentions respecting her--because I witnessed hourly in him a +style of courtship which, if careless and choosing rather to be sought +than to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness, captivating, and in its +very pride, irresistible. + +There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances, though +much to create despair. Much too, you will think, reader, to engender +jealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be jealous of a +woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or very rarely;--the +nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by that word. Miss +Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too inferior to excite the +feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean what I say. She was very +showy, but she was not genuine: she had a fine person, many brilliant +attainments; but her mind was poor, her heart barren by nature: nothing +bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no unforced natural fruit delighted +by its freshness. She was not good; she was not original: she used to +repeat sounding phrases from books: she never offered, nor had, an +opinion of her own. She advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did +not know the sensations of sympathy and pity; tenderness and truth were +not in her. Too often she betrayed this, by the undue vent she gave to a +spiteful antipathy she had conceived against little Adele: pushing her +away with some contumelious epithet if she happened to approach her; +sometimes ordering her from the room, and always treating her with +coldness and acrimony. Other eyes besides mine watched these +manifestations of character--watched them closely, keenly, shrewdly. Yes; +the future bridegroom, Mr. Rochester himself, exercised over his intended +a ceaseless surveillance; and it was from this sagacity--this guardedness +of his--this perfect, clear consciousness of his fair one's defects--this +obvious absence of passion in his sentiments towards her, that my ever- +torturing pain arose. + +I saw he was going to marry her, for family, perhaps political reasons, +because her rank and connections suited him; I felt he had not given her +his love, and that her qualifications were ill adapted to win from him +that treasure. This was the point--this was where the nerve was touched +and teased--this was where the fever was sustained and fed: _she could +not charm him_. + +If she had managed the victory at once, and he had yielded and sincerely +laid his heart at her feet, I should have covered my face, turned to the +wall, and (figuratively) have died to them. If Miss Ingram had been a +good and noble woman, endowed with force, fervour, kindness, sense, I +should have had one vital struggle with two tigers--jealousy and despair: +then, my heart torn out and devoured, I should have admired +her--acknowledged her excellence, and been quiet for the rest of my days: +and the more absolute her superiority, the deeper would have been my +admiration--the more truly tranquil my quiescence. But as matters really +stood, to watch Miss Ingram's efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester, to +witness their repeated failure--herself unconscious that they did fail; +vainly fancying that each shaft launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly +pluming herself on success, when her pride and self-complacency repelled +further and further what she wished to allure--to witness _this_, was to +be at once under ceaseless excitation and ruthless restraint. + +Because, when she failed, I saw how she might have succeeded. Arrows +that continually glanced off from Mr. Rochester's breast and fell +harmless at his feet, might, I knew, if shot by a surer hand, have +quivered keen in his proud heart--have called love into his stern eye, +and softness into his sardonic face; or, better still, without weapons a +silent conquest might have been won. + +"Why can she not influence him more, when she is privileged to draw so +near to him?" I asked myself. "Surely she cannot truly like him, or not +like him with true affection! If she did, she need not coin her smiles +so lavishly, flash her glances so unremittingly, manufacture airs so +elaborate, graces so multitudinous. It seems to me that she might, by +merely sitting quietly at his side, saying little and looking less, get +nigher his heart. I have seen in his face a far different expression +from that which hardens it now while she is so vivaciously accosting him; +but then it came of itself: it was not elicited by meretricious arts and +calculated manoeuvres; and one had but to accept it--to answer what he +asked without pretension, to address him when needful without grimace--and +it increased and grew kinder and more genial, and warmed one like a +fostering sunbeam. How will she manage to please him when they are +married? I do not think she will manage it; and yet it might be managed; +and his wife might, I verily believe, be the very happiest woman the sun +shines on." + +I have not yet said anything condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's project of +marrying for interest and connections. It surprised me when I first +discovered that such was his intention: I had thought him a man unlikely +to be influenced by motives so commonplace in his choice of a wife; but +the longer I considered the position, education, &c., of the parties, the +less I felt justified in judging and blaming either him or Miss Ingram +for acting in conformity to ideas and principles instilled into them, +doubtless, from their childhood. All their class held these principles: +I supposed, then, they had reasons for holding them such as I could not +fathom. It seemed to me that, were I a gentleman like him, I would take +to my bosom only such a wife as I could love; but the very obviousness of +the advantages to the husband's own happiness offered by this plan +convinced me that there must be arguments against its general adoption of +which I was quite ignorant: otherwise I felt sure all the world would act +as I wished to act. + +But in other points, as well as this, I was growing very lenient to my +master: I was forgetting all his faults, for which I had once kept a +sharp look-out. It had formerly been my endeavour to study all sides of +his character: to take the bad with the good; and from the just weighing +of both, to form an equitable judgment. Now I saw no bad. The sarcasm +that had repelled, the harshness that had startled me once, were only +like keen condiments in a choice dish: their presence was pungent, but +their absence would be felt as comparatively insipid. And as for the +vague something--was it a sinister or a sorrowful, a designing or a +desponding expression?--that opened upon a careful observer, now and +then, in his eye, and closed again before one could fathom the strange +depth partially disclosed; that something which used to make me fear and +shrink, as if I had been wandering amongst volcanic-looking hills, and +had suddenly felt the ground quiver and seen it gape: that something, I, +at intervals, beheld still; and with throbbing heart, but not with +palsied nerves. Instead of wishing to shun, I longed only to dare--to +divine it; and I thought Miss Ingram happy, because one day she might +look into the abyss at her leisure, explore its secrets and analyse their +nature. + +Meantime, while I thought only of my master and his future bride--saw +only them, heard only their discourse, and considered only their +movements of importance--the rest of the party were occupied with their +own separate interests and pleasures. The Ladies Lynn and Ingram +continued to consort in solemn conferences, where they nodded their two +turbans at each other, and held up their four hands in confronting +gestures of surprise, or mystery, or horror, according to the theme on +which their gossip ran, like a pair of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs. Dent +talked with good-natured Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes bestowed a +courteous word or smile on me. Sir George Lynn, Colonel Dent, and Mr. +Eshton discussed politics, or county affairs, or justice business. Lord +Ingram flirted with Amy Eshton; Louisa played and sang to and with one of +the Messrs. Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened languidly to the gallant +speeches of the other. Sometimes all, as with one consent, suspended +their by-play to observe and listen to the principal actors: for, after +all, Mr. Rochester and--because closely connected with him--Miss Ingram +were the life and soul of the party. If he was absent from the room an +hour, a perceptible dulness seemed to steal over the spirits of his +guests; and his re-entrance was sure to give a fresh impulse to the +vivacity of conversation. + +The want of his animating influence appeared to be peculiarly felt one +day that he had been summoned to Millcote on business, and was not likely +to return till late. The afternoon was wet: a walk the party had +proposed to take to see a gipsy camp, lately pitched on a common beyond +Hay, was consequently deferred. Some of the gentlemen were gone to the +stables: the younger ones, together with the younger ladies, were playing +billiards in the billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram and Lynn sought +solace in a quiet game at cards. Blanche Ingram, after having repelled, +by supercilious taciturnity, some efforts of Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to +draw her into conversation, had first murmured over some sentimental +tunes and airs on the piano, and then, having fetched a novel from the +library, had flung herself in haughty listlessness on a sofa, and +prepared to beguile, by the spell of fiction, the tedious hours of +absence. The room and the house were silent: only now and then the +merriment of the billiard-players was heard from above. + +It was verging on dusk, and the clock had already given warning of the +hour to dress for dinner, when little Adele, who knelt by me in the +drawing-room window-seat, suddenly exclaimed-- + +"Voila, Monsieur Rochester, qui revient!" + +I turned, and Miss Ingram darted forwards from her sofa: the others, too, +looked up from their several occupations; for at the same time a +crunching of wheels and a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs became audible +on the wet gravel. A post-chaise was approaching. + +"What can possess him to come home in that style?" said Miss Ingram. "He +rode Mesrour (the black horse), did he not, when he went out? and Pilot +was with him:--what has he done with the animals?" + +As she said this, she approached her tall person and ample garments so +near the window, that I was obliged to bend back almost to the breaking +of my spine: in her eagerness she did not observe me at first, but when +she did, she curled her lip and moved to another casement. The +post-chaise stopped; the driver rang the door-bell, and a gentleman +alighted attired in travelling garb; but it was not Mr. Rochester; it was +a tall, fashionable-looking man, a stranger. + +"How provoking!" exclaimed Miss Ingram: "you tiresome monkey!" +(apostrophising Adele), "who perched you up in the window to give false +intelligence?" and she cast on me an angry glance, as if I were in fault. + +Some parleying was audible in the hall, and soon the new-comer entered. +He bowed to Lady Ingram, as deeming her the eldest lady present. + +"It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam," said he, "when my +friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very long +journey, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimate +acquaintance as to instal myself here till he returns." + +His manner was polite; his accent, in speaking, struck me as being +somewhat unusual,--not precisely foreign, but still not altogether +English: his age might be about Mr. Rochester's,--between thirty and +forty; his complexion was singularly sallow: otherwise he was a +fine-looking man, at first sight especially. On closer examination, you +detected something in his face that displeased, or rather that failed to +please. His features were regular, but too relaxed: his eye was large +and well cut, but the life looking out of it was a tame, vacant life--at +least so I thought. + +The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party. It was not till +after dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease. But +I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being at +the same time unsettled and inanimate. His eye wandered, and had no +meaning in its wandering: this gave him an odd look, such as I never +remembered to have seen. For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking +man, he repelled me exceedingly: there was no power in that +smooth-skinned face of a full oval shape: no firmness in that aquiline +nose and small cherry mouth; there was no thought on the low, even +forehead; no command in that blank, brown eye. + +As I sat in my usual nook, and looked at him with the light of the +girandoles on the mantelpiece beaming full over him--for he occupied an +arm-chair drawn close to the fire, and kept shrinking still nearer, as if +he were cold, I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I think (with deference +be it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater between a sleek +gander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the rough-coated +keen-eyed dog, its guardian. + +He had spoken of Mr. Rochester as an old friend. A curious friendship +theirs must have been: a pointed illustration, indeed, of the old adage +that "extremes meet." + +Two or three of the gentlemen sat near him, and I caught at times scraps +of their conversation across the room. At first I could not make much +sense of what I heard; for the discourse of Louisa Eshton and Mary +Ingram, who sat nearer to me, confused the fragmentary sentences that +reached me at intervals. These last were discussing the stranger; they +both called him "a beautiful man." Louisa said he was "a love of a +creature," and she "adored him;" and Mary instanced his "pretty little +mouth, and nice nose," as her ideal of the charming. + +"And what a sweet-tempered forehead he has!" cried Louisa,--"so +smooth--none of those frowning irregularities I dislike so much; and such +a placid eye and smile!" + +And then, to my great relief, Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them to the other +side of the room, to settle some point about the deferred excursion to +Hay Common. + +I was now able to concentrate my attention on the group by the fire, and +I presently gathered that the new-comer was called Mr. Mason; then I +learned that he was but just arrived in England, and that he came from +some hot country: which was the reason, doubtless, his face was so +sallow, and that he sat so near the hearth, and wore a surtout in the +house. Presently the words Jamaica, Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated +the West Indies as his residence; and it was with no little surprise I +gathered, ere long, that he had there first seen and become acquainted +with Mr. Rochester. He spoke of his friend's dislike of the burning +heats, the hurricanes, and rainy seasons of that region. I knew Mr. +Rochester had been a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had said so; but I thought +the continent of Europe had bounded his wanderings; till now I had never +heard a hint given of visits to more distant shores. + +I was pondering these things, when an incident, and a somewhat unexpected +one, broke the thread of my musings. Mr. Mason, shivering as some one +chanced to open the door, asked for more coal to be put on the fire, +which had burnt out its flame, though its mass of cinder still shone hot +and red. The footman who brought the coal, in going out, stopped near +Mr. Eshton's chair, and said something to him in a low voice, of which I +heard only the words, "old woman,"--"quite troublesome." + +"Tell her she shall be put in the stocks if she does not take herself +off," replied the magistrate. + +"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel Dent. "Don't send her away, Eshton; we +might turn the thing to account; better consult the ladies." And +speaking aloud, he continued--"Ladies, you talked of going to Hay Common +to visit the gipsy camp; Sam here says that one of the old Mother Bunches +is in the servants' hall at this moment, and insists upon being brought +in before 'the quality,' to tell them their fortunes. Would you like to +see her?" + +"Surely, colonel," cried Lady Ingram, "you would not encourage such a low +impostor? Dismiss her, by all means, at once!" + +"But I cannot persuade her to go away, my lady," said the footman; "nor +can any of the servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with her just now, entreating +her to be gone; but she has taken a chair in the chimney-corner, and says +nothing shall stir her from it till she gets leave to come in here." + +"What does she want?" asked Mrs. Eshton. + +"'To tell the gentry their fortunes,' she says, ma'am; and she swears she +must and will do it." + +"What is she like?" inquired the Misses Eshton, in a breath. + +"A shockingly ugly old creature, miss; almost as black as a crock." + +"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried Frederick Lynn. "Let us have her +in, of course." + +"To be sure," rejoined his brother; "it would be a thousand pities to +throw away such a chance of fun." + +"My dear boys, what are you thinking about?" exclaimed Mrs. Lynn. + +"I cannot possibly countenance any such inconsistent proceeding," chimed +in the Dowager Ingram. + +"Indeed, mama, but you can--and will," pronounced the haughty voice of +Blanche, as she turned round on the piano-stool; where till now she had +sat silent, apparently examining sundry sheets of music. "I have a +curiosity to hear my fortune told: therefore, Sam, order the beldame +forward." + +"My darling Blanche! recollect--" + +"I do--I recollect all you can suggest; and I must have my will--quick, +Sam!" + +"Yes--yes--yes!" cried all the juveniles, both ladies and gentlemen. "Let +her come--it will be excellent sport!" + +The footman still lingered. "She looks such a rough one," said he. + +"Go!" ejaculated Miss Ingram, and the man went. + +Excitement instantly seized the whole party: a running fire of raillery +and jests was proceeding when Sam returned. + +"She won't come now," said he. "She says it's not her mission to appear +before the 'vulgar herd' (them's her words). I must show her into a room +by herself, and then those who wish to consult her must go to her one by +one." + +"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began Lady Ingram, "she encroaches. Be +advised, my angel girl--and--" + +"Show her into the library, of course," cut in the "angel girl." "It is +not my mission to listen to her before the vulgar herd either: I mean to +have her all to myself. Is there a fire in the library?" + +"Yes, ma'am--but she looks such a tinkler." + +"Cease that chatter, blockhead! and do my bidding." + +Again Sam vanished; and mystery, animation, expectation rose to full flow +once more. + +"She's ready now," said the footman, as he reappeared. "She wishes to +know who will be her first visitor." + +"I think I had better just look in upon her before any of the ladies go," +said Colonel Dent. + +"Tell her, Sam, a gentleman is coming." + +Sam went and returned. + +"She says, sir, that she'll have no gentlemen; they need not trouble +themselves to come near her; nor," he added, with difficulty suppressing +a titter, "any ladies either, except the young, and single." + +"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed Henry Lynn. + +Miss Ingram rose solemnly: "I go first," she said, in a tone which might +have befitted the leader of a forlorn hope, mounting a breach in the van +of his men. + +"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest! pause--reflect!" was her mama's cry; but +she swept past her in stately silence, passed through the door which +Colonel Dent held open, and we heard her enter the library. + +A comparative silence ensued. Lady Ingram thought it "le cas" to wring +her hands: which she did accordingly. Miss Mary declared she felt, for +her part, she never dared venture. Amy and Louisa Eshton tittered under +their breath, and looked a little frightened. + +The minutes passed very slowly: fifteen were counted before the library- +door again opened. Miss Ingram returned to us through the arch. + +Would she laugh? Would she take it as a joke? All eyes met her with a +glance of eager curiosity, and she met all eyes with one of rebuff and +coldness; she looked neither flurried nor merry: she walked stiffly to +her seat, and took it in silence. + +"Well, Blanche?" said Lord Ingram. + +"What did she say, sister?" asked Mary. + +"What did you think? How do you feel?--Is she a real fortune-teller?" +demanded the Misses Eshton. + +"Now, now, good people," returned Miss Ingram, "don't press upon me. +Really your organs of wonder and credulity are easily excited: you seem, +by the importance of you all--my good mama included--ascribe to this +matter, absolutely to believe we have a genuine witch in the house, who +is in close alliance with the old gentleman. I have seen a gipsy +vagabond; she has practised in hackneyed fashion the science of palmistry +and told me what such people usually tell. My whim is gratified; and now +I think Mr. Eshton will do well to put the hag in the stocks to-morrow +morning, as he threatened." + +Miss Ingram took a book, leant back in her chair, and so declined further +conversation. I watched her for nearly half-an-hour: during all that +time she never turned a page, and her face grew momently darker, more +dissatisfied, and more sourly expressive of disappointment. She had +obviously not heard anything to her advantage: and it seemed to me, from +her prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity, that she herself, +notwithstanding her professed indifference, attached undue importance to +whatever revelations had been made her. + +{During all that time she never turned a page: p184.jpg} + +Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy and Louisa Eshton, declared they dared not go +alone; and yet they all wished to go. A negotiation was opened through +the medium of the ambassador, Sam; and after much pacing to and fro, +till, I think, the said Sam's calves must have ached with the exercise, +permission was at last, with great difficulty, extorted from the rigorous +Sibyl, for the three to wait upon her in a body. + +Their visit was not so still as Miss Ingram's had been: we heard +hysterical giggling and little shrieks proceeding from the library; and +at the end of about twenty minutes they burst the door open, and came +running across the hall, as if they were half-scared out of their wits. + +"I am sure she is something not right!" they cried, one and all. "She +told us such things! She knows all about us!" and they sank breathless +into the various seats the gentlemen hastened to bring them. + +Pressed for further explanation, they declared she had told them of +things they had said and done when they were mere children; described +books and ornaments they had in their boudoirs at home: keepsakes that +different relations had presented to them. They affirmed that she had +even divined their thoughts, and had whispered in the ear of each the +name of the person she liked best in the world, and informed them of what +they most wished for. + +Here the gentlemen interposed with earnest petitions to be further +enlightened on these two last-named points; but they got only blushes, +ejaculations, tremors, and titters, in return for their importunity. The +matrons, meantime, offered vinaigrettes and wielded fans; and again and +again reiterated the expression of their concern that their warning had +not been taken in time; and the elder gentlemen laughed, and the younger +urged their services on the agitated fair ones. + +In the midst of the tumult, and while my eyes and ears were fully engaged +in the scene before me, I heard a hem close at my elbow: I turned, and +saw Sam. + +"If you please, miss, the gipsy declares that there is another young +single lady in the room who has not been to her yet, and she swears she +will not go till she has seen all. I thought it must be you: there is no +one else for it. What shall I tell her?" + +"Oh, I will go by all means," I answered: and I was glad of the +unexpected opportunity to gratify my much-excited curiosity. I slipped +out of the room, unobserved by any eye--for the company were gathered in +one mass about the trembling trio just returned--and I closed the door +quietly behind me. + +"If you like, miss," said Sam, "I'll wait in the hall for you; and if she +frightens you, just call and I'll come in." + +"No, Sam, return to the kitchen: I am not in the least afraid." Nor was +I; but I was a good deal interested and excited. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The library looked tranquil enough as I entered it, and the Sibyl--if +Sibyl she were--was seated snugly enough in an easy-chair at the chimney- +corner. She had on a red cloak and a black bonnet: or rather, a broad- +brimmed gipsy hat, tied down with a striped handkerchief under her chin. +An extinguished candle stood on the table; she was bending over the fire, +and seemed reading in a little black book, like a prayer-book, by the +light of the blaze: she muttered the words to herself, as most old women +do, while she read; she did not desist immediately on my entrance: it +appeared she wished to finish a paragraph. + +I stood on the rug and warmed my hands, which were rather cold with +sitting at a distance from the drawing-room fire. I felt now as composed +as ever I did in my life: there was nothing indeed in the gipsy's +appearance to trouble one's calm. She shut her book and slowly looked +up; her hat-brim partially shaded her face, yet I could see, as she +raised it, that it was a strange one. It looked all brown and black: elf- +locks bristled out from beneath a white band which passed under her chin, +and came half over her cheeks, or rather jaws: her eye confronted me at +once, with a bold and direct gaze. + +"Well, and you want your fortune told?" she said, in a voice as decided +as her glance, as harsh as her features. + +"I don't care about it, mother; you may please yourself: but I ought to +warn you, I have no faith." + +"It's like your impudence to say so: I expected it of you; I heard it in +your step as you crossed the threshold." + +"Did you? You've a quick ear." + +"I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain." + +"You need them all in your trade." + +"I do; especially when I've customers like you to deal with. Why don't +you tremble?" + +"I'm not cold." + +"Why don't you turn pale?" + +"I am not sick." + +"Why don't you consult my art?" + +"I'm not silly." + +The old crone "nichered" a laugh under her bonnet and bandage; she then +drew out a short black pipe, and lighting it began to smoke. Having +indulged a while in this sedative, she raised her bent body, took the +pipe from her lips, and while gazing steadily at the fire, said very +deliberately--"You are cold; you are sick; and you are silly." + +"Prove it," I rejoined. + +"I will, in few words. You are cold, because you are alone: no contact +strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the best +of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away +from you. You are silly, because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon +it to approach, nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits +you." + +She again put her short black pipe to her lips, and renewed her smoking +with vigour. + +"You might say all that to almost any one who you knew lived as a +solitary dependent in a great house." + +"I might say it to almost any one: but would it be true of almost any +one?" + +"In my circumstances." + +"Yes; just so, in _your_ circumstances: but find me another precisely +placed as you are." + +"It would be easy to find you thousands." + +"You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are peculiarly +situated: very near happiness; yes, within reach of it. The materials +are all prepared; there only wants a movement to combine them. Chance +laid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached and bliss results." + +"I don't understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my life." + +"If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm." + +"And I must cross it with silver, I suppose?" + +"To be sure." + +I gave her a shilling: she put it into an old stocking-foot which she +took out of her pocket, and having tied it round and returned it, she +told me to hold out my hand. I did. She approached her face to the +palm, and pored over it without touching it. + +"It is too fine," said she. "I can make nothing of such a hand as that; +almost without lines: besides, what is in a palm? Destiny is not written +there." + +"I believe you," said I. + +"No," she continued, "it is in the face: on the forehead, about the eyes, +in the lines of the mouth. Kneel, and lift up your head." + +"Ah! now you are coming to reality," I said, as I obeyed her. "I shall +begin to put some faith in you presently." + +I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that a +ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal: the glare, however, as she +sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow: mine, it illumined. + +"I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night," she said, when she +had examined me a while. "I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart +during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flitting +before you like shapes in a magic-lantern: just as little sympathetic +communion passing between you and them as if they were really mere +shadows of human forms, and not the actual substance." + +"I feel tired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad." + +"Then you have some secret hope to buoy you up and please you with +whispers of the future?" + +"Not I. The utmost I hope is, to save money enough out of my earnings to +set up a school some day in a little house rented by myself." + +"A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on: and sitting in that window- +seat (you see I know your habits )--" + +"You have learned them from the servants." + +"Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well, perhaps I have: to speak truth, I +have an acquaintance with one of them, Mrs. Poole--" + +I started to my feet when I heard the name. + +"You have--have you?" thought I; "there is diablerie in the business +after all, then!" + +"Don't be alarmed," continued the strange being; "she's a safe hand is +Mrs. Poole: close and quiet; any one may repose confidence in her. But, +as I was saying: sitting in that window-seat, do you think of nothing but +your future school? Have you no present interest in any of the company +who occupy the sofas and chairs before you? Is there not one face you +study? one figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?" + +"I like to observe all the faces and all the figures." + +"But do you never single one from the rest--or it may be, two?" + +"I do frequently; when the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling a +tale: it amuses me to watch them." + +"What tale do you like best to hear?" + +"Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same +theme--courtship; and promise to end in the same catastrophe--marriage." + +"And do you like that monotonous theme?" + +"Positively, I don't care about it: it is nothing to me." + +"Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health, +charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune, sits +and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman you--" + +"I what?" + +"You know--and perhaps think well of." + +"I don't know the gentlemen here. I have scarcely interchanged a +syllable with one of them; and as to thinking well of them, I consider +some respectable, and stately, and middle-aged, and others young, +dashing, handsome, and lively: but certainly they are all at liberty to +be the recipients of whose smiles they please, without my feeling +disposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me." + +"You don't know the gentlemen here? You have not exchanged a syllable +with one of them? Will you say that of the master of the house!" + +"He is not at home." + +"A profound remark! A most ingenious quibble! He went to Millcote this +morning, and will be back here to-night or to-morrow: does that +circumstance exclude him from the list of your acquaintance--blot him, as +it were, out of existence?" + +"No; but I can scarcely see what Mr. Rochester has to do with the theme +you had introduced." + +"I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of late so +many smiles have been shed into Mr. Rochester's eyes that they overflow +like two cups filled above the brim: have you never remarked that?" + +"Mr. Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests." + +"No question about his right: but have you never observed that, of all +the tales told here about matrimony, Mr. Rochester has been favoured with +the most lively and the most continuous?" + +"The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator." I said +this rather to myself than to the gipsy, whose strange talk, voice, +manner, had by this time wrapped me in a kind of dream. One unexpected +sentence came from her lips after another, till I got involved in a web +of mystification; and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for +weeks by my heart watching its workings and taking record of every pulse. + +"Eagerness of a listener!" repeated she: "yes; Mr. Rochester has sat by +the hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delight +in their task of communicating; and Mr. Rochester was so willing to +receive and looked so grateful for the pastime given him; you have +noticed this?" + +"Grateful! I cannot remember detecting gratitude in his face." + +"Detecting! You have analysed, then. And what did you detect, if not +gratitude?" + +I said nothing. + +"You have seen love: have you not?--and, looking forward, you have seen +him married, and beheld his bride happy?" + +"Humph! Not exactly. Your witch's skill is rather at fault sometimes." + +"What the devil have you seen, then?" + +"Never mind: I came here to inquire, not to confess. Is it known that +Mr. Rochester is to be married?" + +"Yes; and to the beautiful Miss Ingram." + +"Shortly?" + +"Appearances would warrant that conclusion: and, no doubt (though, with +an audacity that wants chastising out of you, you seem to question it), +they will be a superlatively happy pair. He must love such a handsome, +noble, witty, accomplished lady; and probably she loves him, or, if not +his person, at least his purse. I know she considers the Rochester +estate eligible to the last degree; though (God pardon me!) I told her +something on that point about an hour ago which made her look wondrous +grave: the corners of her mouth fell half an inch. I would advise her +blackaviced suitor to look out: if another comes, with a longer or +clearer rent-roll,--he's dished--" + +"But, mother, I did not come to hear Mr. Rochester's fortune: I came to +hear my own; and you have told me nothing of it." + +"Your fortune is yet doubtful: when I examined your face, one trait +contradicted another. Chance has meted you a measure of happiness: that +I know. I knew it before I came here this evening. She has laid it +carefully on one side for you. I saw her do it. It depends on yourself +to stretch out your hand, and take it up: but whether you will do so, is +the problem I study. Kneel again on the rug." + +"Don't keep me long; the fire scorches me." + +{She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back in her chair: +p190.jpg} + +I knelt. She did not stoop towards me, but only gazed, leaning back in +her chair. She began muttering,-- + +"The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it looks soft +and full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon: it is susceptible; +impression follows impression through its clear sphere; where it ceases +to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the lid: that +signifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns from me; it +will not suffer further scrutiny; it seems to deny, by a mocking glance, +the truth of the discoveries I have already made,--to disown the charge +both of sensibility and chagrin: its pride and reserve only confirm me in +my opinion. The eye is favourable. + +"As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is disposed to +impart all that the brain conceives; though I daresay it would be silent +on much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it was never +intended to be compressed in the eternal silence of solitude: it is a +mouth which should speak much and smile often, and have human affection +for its interlocutor. That feature too is propitious. + +"I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that brow +professes to say,--'I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances +require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an +inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous +delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford +to give.' The forehead declares, 'Reason sits firm and holds the reins, +and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild +chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as they +are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgment +shall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in +every decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but +I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the +dictates of conscience.' + +"Well said, forehead; your declaration shall be respected. I have formed +my plans--right plans I deem them--and in them I have attended to the +claims of conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon youth +would fade and bloom perish, if, in the cup of bliss offered, but one +dreg of shame, or one flavour of remorse were detected; and I do not want +sacrifice, sorrow, dissolution--such is not my taste. I wish to foster, +not to blight--to earn gratitude, not to wring tears of blood--no, nor of +brine: my harvest must be in smiles, in endearments, in sweet--That will +do. I think I rave in a kind of exquisite delirium. I should wish now +to protract this moment _ad infinitum_; but I dare not. So far I have +governed myself thoroughly. I have acted as I inwardly swore I would +act; but further might try me beyond my strength. Rise, Miss Eyre: leave +me; the play is played out'." + +Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been dreaming? Did I dream +still? The old woman's voice had changed: her accent, her gesture, and +all were familiar to me as my own face in a glass--as the speech of my +own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred the fire, and +I looked again: but she drew her bonnet and her bandage closer about her +face, and again beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her hand +stretched out: roused now, and on the alert for discoveries, I at once +noticed that hand. It was no more the withered limb of eld than my own; +it was a rounded supple member, with smooth fingers, symmetrically +turned; a broad ring flashed on the little finger, and stooping forward, +I looked at it, and saw a gem I had seen a hundred times before. Again I +looked at the face; which was no longer turned from me--on the contrary, +the bonnet was doffed, the bandage displaced, the head advanced. + +"Well, Jane, do you know me?" asked the familiar voice. + +"Only take off the red cloak, sir, and then--" + +"But the string is in a knot--help me." + +"Break it, sir." + +"There, then--'Off, ye lendings!'" And Mr. Rochester stepped out of his +disguise. + +"Now, sir, what a strange idea!" + +"But well carried out, eh? Don't you think so?" + +"With the ladies you must have managed well." + +"But not with you?" + +"You did not act the character of a gipsy with me." + +"What character did I act? My own?" + +"No; some unaccountable one. In short, I believe you have been trying to +draw me out--or in; you have been talking nonsense to make me talk +nonsense. It is scarcely fair, sir." + +"Do you forgive me, Jane?" + +"I cannot tell till I have thought it all over. If, on reflection, I +find I have fallen into no great absurdity, I shall try to forgive you; +but it was not right." + +"Oh, you have been very correct--very careful, very sensible." + +I reflected, and thought, on the whole, I had. It was a comfort; but, +indeed, I had been on my guard almost from the beginning of the +interview. Something of masquerade I suspected. I knew gipsies and +fortune-tellers did not express themselves as this seeming old woman had +expressed herself; besides I had noted her feigned voice, her anxiety to +conceal her features. But my mind had been running on Grace Poole--that +living enigma, that mystery of mysteries, as I considered her. I had +never thought of Mr. Rochester. + +"Well," said he, "what are you musing about? What does that grave smile +signify?" + +"Wonder and self-congratulation, sir. I have your permission to retire +now, I suppose?" + +"No; stay a moment; and tell me what the people in the drawing-room +yonder are doing." + +"Discussing the gipsy, I daresay." + +"Sit down!--Let me hear what they said about me." + +"I had better not stay long, sir; it must be near eleven o'clock. Oh, +are you aware, Mr. Rochester, that a stranger has arrived here since you +left this morning?" + +"A stranger!--no; who can it be? I expected no one; is he gone?" + +"No; he said he had known you long, and that he could take the liberty of +installing himself here till you returned." + +"The devil he did! Did he give his name?" + +"His name is Mason, sir; and he comes from the West Indies; from Spanish +Town, in Jamaica, I think." + +Mr. Rochester was standing near me; he had taken my hand, as if to lead +me to a chair. As I spoke he gave my wrist a convulsive grip; the smile +on his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his breath. + +"Mason!--the West Indies!" he said, in the tone one might fancy a +speaking automaton to enounce its single words; "Mason!--the West +Indies!" he reiterated; and he went over the syllables three times, +growing, in the intervals of speaking, whiter than ashes: he hardly +seemed to know what he was doing. + +"Do you feel ill, sir?" I inquired. + +"Jane, I've got a blow; I've got a blow, Jane!" He staggered. + +"Oh, lean on me, sir." + +"Jane, you offered me your shoulder once before; let me have it now." + +"Yes, sir, yes; and my arm." + +He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand in both his +own, he chafed it; gazing on me, at the same time, with the most troubled +and dreary look. + +"My little friend!" said he, "I wish I were in a quiet island with only +you; and trouble, and danger, and hideous recollections removed from me." + +"Can I help you, sir?--I'd give my life to serve you." + +"Jane, if aid is wanted, I'll seek it at your hands; I promise you that." + +"Thank you, sir. Tell me what to do,--I'll try, at least, to do it." + +"Fetch me now, Jane, a glass of wine from the dining-room: they will be +at supper there; and tell me if Mason is with them, and what he is +doing." + +I went. I found all the party in the dining-room at supper, as Mr. +Rochester had said; they were not seated at table,--the supper was +arranged on the sideboard; each had taken what he chose, and they stood +about here and there in groups, their plates and glasses in their hands. +Every one seemed in high glee; laughter and conversation were general and +animated. Mr. Mason stood near the fire, talking to Colonel and Mrs. +Dent, and appeared as merry as any of them. I filled a wine-glass (I saw +Miss Ingram watch me frowningly as I did so: she thought I was taking a +liberty, I daresay), and I returned to the library. + +Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he looked once more +firm and stern. He took the glass from my hand. + +"Here is to your health, ministrant spirit!" he said. He swallowed the +contents and returned it to me. "What are they doing, Jane?" + +"Laughing and talking, sir." + +"They don't look grave and mysterious, as if they had heard something +strange?" + +"Not at all: they are full of jests and gaiety." + +"And Mason?" + +"He was laughing too." + +"If all these people came in a body and spat at me, what would you do, +Jane?" + +"Turn them out of the room, sir, if I could." + +He half smiled. "But if I were to go to them, and they only looked at me +coldly, and whispered sneeringly amongst each other, and then dropped off +and left me one by one, what then? Would you go with them?" + +"I rather think not, sir: I should have more pleasure in staying with +you." + +"To comfort me?" + +"Yes, sir, to comfort you, as well as I could." + +"And if they laid you under a ban for adhering to me?" + +"I, probably, should know nothing about their ban; and if I did, I should +care nothing about it." + +"Then, you could dare censure for my sake?" + +"I could dare it for the sake of any friend who deserved my adherence; as +you, I am sure, do." + +"Go back now into the room; step quietly up to Mason, and whisper in his +ear that Mr. Rochester is come and wishes to see him: show him in here +and then leave me." + +"Yes, sir." + +I did his behest. The company all stared at me as I passed straight +among them. I sought Mr. Mason, delivered the message, and preceded him +from the room: I ushered him into the library, and then I went upstairs. + +At a late hour, after I had been in bed some time, I heard the visitors +repair to their chambers: I distinguished Mr. Rochester's voice, and +heard him say, "This way, Mason; this is your room." + +He spoke cheerfully: the gay tones set my heart at ease. I was soon +asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +I had forgotten to draw my curtain, which I usually did, and also to let +down my window-blind. The consequence was, that when the moon, which was +full and bright (for the night was fine), came in her course to that +space in the sky opposite my casement, and looked in at me through the +unveiled panes, her glorious gaze roused me. Awaking in the dead of +night, I opened my eyes on her disk--silver-white and crystal clear. It +was beautiful, but too solemn; I half rose, and stretched my arm to draw +the curtain. + +Good God! What a cry! + +The night--its silence--its rest, was rent in twain by a savage, a sharp, +a shrilly sound that ran from end to end of Thornfield Hall. + +My pulse stopped: my heart stood still; my stretched arm was paralysed. +The cry died, and was not renewed. Indeed, whatever being uttered that +fearful shriek could not soon repeat it: not the widest-winged condor on +the Andes could, twice in succession, send out such a yell from the cloud +shrouding his eyrie. The thing delivering such utterance must rest ere +it could repeat the effort. + +It came out of the third storey; for it passed overhead. And +overhead--yes, in the room just above my chamber-ceiling--I now heard a +struggle: a deadly one it seemed from the noise; and a half-smothered +voice shouted-- + +"Help! help! help!" three times rapidly. + +"Will no one come?" it cried; and then, while the staggering and stamping +went on wildly, I distinguished through plank and plaster:-- + +"Rochester! Rochester! for God's sake, come!" + +A chamber-door opened: some one ran, or rushed, along the gallery. +Another step stamped on the flooring above and something fell; and there +was silence. + +I had put on some clothes, though horror shook all my limbs; I issued +from my apartment. The sleepers were all aroused: ejaculations, +terrified murmurs sounded in every room; door after door unclosed; one +looked out and another looked out; the gallery filled. Gentlemen and +ladies alike had quitted their beds; and "Oh! what is it?"--"Who is +hurt?"--"What has happened?"--"Fetch a light!"--"Is it fire?"--"Are there +robbers?"--"Where shall we run?" was demanded confusedly on all hands. +But for the moonlight they would have been in complete darkness. They +ran to and fro; they crowded together: some sobbed, some stumbled: the +confusion was inextricable. + +"Where the devil is Rochester?" cried Colonel Dent. "I cannot find him +in his bed." + +"Here! here!" was shouted in return. "Be composed, all of you: I'm +coming." + +And the door at the end of the gallery opened, and Mr. Rochester advanced +with a candle: he had just descended from the upper storey. One of the +ladies ran to him directly; she seized his arm: it was Miss Ingram. + +"What awful event has taken place?" said she. "Speak! let us know the +worst at once!" + +"But don't pull me down or strangle me," he replied: for the Misses +Eshton were clinging about him now; and the two dowagers, in vast white +wrappers, were bearing down on him like ships in full sail. + +"All's right!--all's right!" he cried. "It's a mere rehearsal of Much +Ado about Nothing. Ladies, keep off, or I shall wax dangerous." + +And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted sparks. Calming himself +by an effort, he added-- + +"A servant has had the nightmare; that is all. She's an excitable, +nervous person: she construed her dream into an apparition, or something +of that sort, no doubt; and has taken a fit with fright. Now, then, I +must see you all back into your rooms; for, till the house is settled, +she cannot be looked after. Gentlemen, have the goodness to set the +ladies the example. Miss Ingram, I am sure you will not fail in evincing +superiority to idle terrors. Amy and Louisa, return to your nests like a +pair of doves, as you are. Mesdames" (to the dowagers), "you will take +cold to a dead certainty, if you stay in this chill gallery any longer." + +And so, by dint of alternate coaxing and commanding, he contrived to get +them all once more enclosed in their separate dormitories. I did not +wait to be ordered back to mine, but retreated unnoticed, as unnoticed I +had left it. + +Not, however, to go to bed: on the contrary, I began and dressed myself +carefully. The sounds I had heard after the scream, and the words that +had been uttered, had probably been heard only by me; for they had +proceeded from the room above mine: but they assured me that it was not a +servant's dream which had thus struck horror through the house; and that +the explanation Mr. Rochester had given was merely an invention framed to +pacify his guests. I dressed, then, to be ready for emergencies. When +dressed, I sat a long time by the window looking out over the silent +grounds and silvered fields and waiting for I knew not what. It seemed +to me that some event must follow the strange cry, struggle, and call. + +No: stillness returned: each murmur and movement ceased gradually, and in +about an hour Thornfield Hall was again as hushed as a desert. It seemed +that sleep and night had resumed their empire. Meantime the moon +declined: she was about to set. Not liking to sit in the cold and +darkness, I thought I would lie down on my bed, dressed as I was. I left +the window, and moved with little noise across the carpet; as I stooped +to take off my shoes, a cautious hand tapped low at the door. + +"Am I wanted?" I asked. + +"Are you up?" asked the voice I expected to hear, viz., my master's. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And dressed?" + +"Yes." + +"Come out, then, quietly." + +I obeyed. Mr. Rochester stood in the gallery holding a light. + +"I want you," he said: "come this way: take your time, and make no +noise." + +My slippers were thin: I could walk the matted floor as softly as a cat. +He glided up the gallery and up the stairs, and stopped in the dark, low +corridor of the fateful third storey: I had followed and stood at his +side. + +"Have you a sponge in your room?" he asked in a whisper. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Have you any salts--volatile salts?" + +"Yes." + +"Go back and fetch both." + +I returned, sought the sponge on the washstand, the salts in my drawer, +and once more retraced my steps. He still waited; he held a key in his +hand: approaching one of the small, black doors, he put it in the lock; +he paused, and addressed me again. + +"You don't turn sick at the sight of blood?" + +"I think I shall not: I have never been tried yet." + +I felt a thrill while I answered him; but no coldness, and no faintness. + +"Just give me your hand," he said: "it will not do to risk a fainting +fit." + +I put my fingers into his. "Warm and steady," was his remark: he turned +the key and opened the door. + +I saw a room I remembered to have seen before, the day Mrs. Fairfax +showed me over the house: it was hung with tapestry; but the tapestry was +now looped up in one part, and there was a door apparent, which had then +been concealed. This door was open; a light shone out of the room +within: I heard thence a snarling, snatching sound, almost like a dog +quarrelling. Mr. Rochester, putting down his candle, said to me, "Wait a +minute," and he went forward to the inner apartment. A shout of laughter +greeted his entrance; noisy at first, and terminating in Grace Poole's +own goblin ha! ha! _She_ then was there. He made some sort of +arrangement without speaking, though I heard a low voice address him: he +came out and closed the door behind him. + +"Here, Jane!" he said; and I walked round to the other side of a large +bed, which with its drawn curtains concealed a considerable portion of +the chamber. An easy-chair was near the bed-head: a man sat in it, +dressed with the exception of his coat; he was still; his head leant +back; his eyes were closed. Mr. Rochester held the candle over him; I +recognised in his pale and seemingly lifeless face--the stranger, Mason: +I saw too that his linen on one side, and one arm, was almost soaked in +blood. + +"Hold the candle," said Mr. Rochester, and I took it: he fetched a basin +of water from the washstand: "Hold that," said he. I obeyed. He took +the sponge, dipped it in, and moistened the corpse-like face; he asked +for my smelling-bottle, and applied it to the nostrils. Mr. Mason +shortly unclosed his eyes; he groaned. Mr. Rochester opened the shirt of +the wounded man, whose arm and shoulder were bandaged: he sponged away +blood, trickling fast down. + +"Is there immediate danger?" murmured Mr. Mason. + +"Pooh! No--a mere scratch. Don't be so overcome, man: bear up! I'll +fetch a surgeon for you now, myself: you'll be able to be removed by +morning, I hope. Jane," he continued. + +"Sir?" + +"I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman, for an hour, +or perhaps two hours: you will sponge the blood as I do when it returns: +if he feels faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to his +lips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak to him on any +pretext--and--Richard, it will be at the peril of your life if you speak +to her: open your lips--agitate yourself--and I'll not answer for the +consequences." + +Again the poor man groaned; he looked as if he dared not move; fear, +either of death or of something else, appeared almost to paralyse him. +Mr. Rochester put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I proceeded to +use it as he had done. He watched me a second, then saying, +"Remember!--No conversation," he left the room. I experienced a strange +feeling as the key grated in the lock, and the sound of his retreating +step ceased to be heard. + +Here then I was in the third storey, fastened into one of its mystic +cells; night around me; a pale and bloody spectacle under my eyes and +hands; a murderess hardly separated from me by a single door: yes--that +was appalling--the rest I could bear; but I shuddered at the thought of +Grace Poole bursting out upon me. + +I must keep to my post, however. I must watch this ghastly +countenance--these blue, still lips forbidden to unclose--these eyes now +shut, now opening, now wandering through the room, now fixing on me, and +ever glazed with the dulness of horror. I must dip my hand again and +again in the basin of blood and water, and wipe away the trickling gore. +I must see the light of the unsnuffed candle wane on my employment; the +shadows darken on the wrought, antique tapestry round me, and grow black +under the hangings of the vast old bed, and quiver strangely over the +doors of a great cabinet opposite--whose front, divided into twelve +panels, bore, in grim design, the heads of the twelve apostles, each +enclosed in its separate panel as in a frame; while above them at the top +rose an ebon crucifix and a dying Christ. + +According as the shifting obscurity and flickering gleam hovered here or +glanced there, it was now the bearded physician, Luke, that bent his +brow; now St. John's long hair that waved; and anon the devilish face of +Judas, that grew out of the panel, and seemed gathering life and +threatening a revelation of the arch-traitor--of Satan himself--in his +subordinate's form. + +Amidst all this, I had to listen as well as watch: to listen for the +movements of the wild beast or the fiend in yonder side den. But since +Mr. Rochester's visit it seemed spellbound: all the night I heard but +three sounds at three long intervals,--a step creak, a momentary renewal +of the snarling, canine noise, and a deep human groan. + +Then my own thoughts worried me. What crime was this that lived +incarnate in this sequestered mansion, and could neither be expelled nor +subdued by the owner?--what mystery, that broke out now in fire and now +in blood, at the deadest hours of night? What creature was it, that, +masked in an ordinary woman's face and shape, uttered the voice, now of a +mocking demon, and anon of a carrion-seeking bird of prey? + +And this man I bent over--this commonplace, quiet stranger--how had he +become involved in the web of horror? and why had the Fury flown at him? +What made him seek this quarter of the house at an untimely season, when +he should have been asleep in bed? I had heard Mr. Rochester assign him +an apartment below--what brought him here! And why, now, was he so tame +under the violence or treachery done him? Why did he so quietly submit +to the concealment Mr. Rochester enforced? Why _did_ Mr. Rochester +enforce this concealment? His guest had been outraged, his own life on a +former occasion had been hideously plotted against; and both attempts he +smothered in secrecy and sank in oblivion! Lastly, I saw Mr. Mason was +submissive to Mr. Rochester; that the impetuous will of the latter held +complete sway over the inertness of the former: the few words which had +passed between them assured me of this. It was evident that in their +former intercourse, the passive disposition of the one had been +habitually influenced by the active energy of the other: whence then had +arisen Mr. Rochester's dismay when he heard of Mr. Mason's arrival? Why +had the mere name of this unresisting individual--whom his word now +sufficed to control like a child--fallen on him, a few hours since, as a +thunderbolt might fall on an oak? + +Oh! I could not forget his look and his paleness when he whispered: +"Jane, I have got a blow--I have got a blow, Jane." I could not forget +how the arm had trembled which he rested on my shoulder: and it was no +light matter which could thus bow the resolute spirit and thrill the +vigorous frame of Fairfax Rochester. + +"When will he come? When will he come?" I cried inwardly, as the night +lingered and lingered--as my bleeding patient drooped, moaned, sickened: +and neither day nor aid arrived. I had, again and again, held the water +to Mason's white lips; again and again offered him the stimulating salts: +my efforts seemed ineffectual: either bodily or mental suffering, or loss +of blood, or all three combined, were fast prostrating his strength. He +moaned so, and looked so weak, wild, and lost, I feared he was dying; and +I might not even speak to him. + +The candle, wasted at last, went out; as it expired, I perceived streaks +of grey light edging the window curtains: dawn was then approaching. +Presently I heard Pilot bark far below, out of his distant kennel in the +courtyard: hope revived. Nor was it unwarranted: in five minutes more +the grating key, the yielding lock, warned me my watch was relieved. It +could not have lasted more than two hours: many a week has seemed +shorter. + +Mr. Rochester entered, and with him the surgeon he had been to fetch. + +"Now, Carter, be on the alert," he said to this last: "I give you but +half-an-hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting the +patient downstairs and all." + +"But is he fit to move, sir?" + +"No doubt of it; it is nothing serious; he is nervous, his spirits must +be kept up. Come, set to work." + +Mr. Rochester drew back the thick curtain, drew up the holland blind, let +in all the daylight he could; and I was surprised and cheered to see how +far dawn was advanced: what rosy streaks were beginning to brighten the +east. Then he approached Mason, whom the surgeon was already handling. + +"Now, my good fellow, how are you?" he asked. + +"She's done for me, I fear," was the faint reply. + +"Not a whit!--courage! This day fortnight you'll hardly be a pin the +worse of it: you've lost a little blood; that's all. Carter, assure him +there's no danger." + +"I can do that conscientiously," said Carter, who had now undone the +bandages; "only I wish I could have got here sooner: he would not have +bled so much--but how is this? The flesh on the shoulder is torn as well +as cut. This wound was not done with a knife: there have been teeth +here!" + +"She bit me," he murmured. "She worried me like a tigress, when +Rochester got the knife from her." + +"You should not have yielded: you should have grappled with her at once," +said Mr. Rochester. + +"But under such circumstances, what could one do?" returned Mason. "Oh, +it was frightful!" he added, shuddering. "And I did not expect it: she +looked so quiet at first." + +"I warned you," was his friend's answer; "I said--be on your guard when +you go near her. Besides, you might have waited till to-morrow, and had +me with you: it was mere folly to attempt the interview to-night, and +alone." + +"I thought I could have done some good." + +"You thought! you thought! Yes, it makes me impatient to hear you: but, +however, you have suffered, and are likely to suffer enough for not +taking my advice; so I'll say no more. Carter--hurry!--hurry! The sun +will soon rise, and I must have him off." + +"Directly, sir; the shoulder is just bandaged. I must look to this other +wound in the arm: she has had her teeth here too, I think." + +"She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my heart," said Mason. + +I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust, +horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion; but he only +said-- + +"Come, be silent, Richard, and never mind her gibberish: don't repeat +it." + +"I wish I could forget it," was the answer. + +"You will when you are out of the country: when you get back to Spanish +Town, you may think of her as dead and buried--or rather, you need not +think of her at all." + +"Impossible to forget this night!" + +"It is not impossible: have some energy, man. You thought you were as +dead as a herring two hours since, and you are all alive and talking now. +There!--Carter has done with you or nearly so; I'll make you decent in a +trice. Jane" (he turned to me for the first time since his re-entrance), +"take this key: go down into my bedroom, and walk straight forward into +my dressing-room: open the top drawer of the wardrobe and take out a +clean shirt and neck-handkerchief: bring them here; and be nimble." + +I went; sought the repository he had mentioned, found the articles named, +and returned with them. + +"Now," said he, "go to the other side of the bed while I order his +toilet; but don't leave the room: you may be wanted again." + +I retired as directed. + +"Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?" inquired Mr. +Rochester presently. + +"No, sir; all was very still." + +"We shall get you off cannily, Dick: and it will be better, both for your +sake, and for that of the poor creature in yonder. I have striven long +to avoid exposure, and I should not like it to come at last. Here, +Carter, help him on with his waist-coat. Where did you leave your furred +cloak? You can't travel a mile without that, I know, in this damned cold +climate. In your room?--Jane, run down to Mr. Mason's room,--the one +next mine,--and fetch a cloak you will see there." + +Again I ran, and again returned, bearing an immense mantle lined and +edged with fur. + +"Now, I've another errand for you," said my untiring master; "you must +away to my room again. What a mercy you are shod with velvet, Jane!--a +clod-hopping messenger would never do at this juncture. You must open +the middle drawer of my toilet-table and take out a little phial and a +little glass you will find there,--quick!" + +I flew thither and back, bringing the desired vessels. + +"That's well! Now, doctor, I shall take the liberty of administering a +dose myself, on my own responsibility. I got this cordial at Rome, of an +Italian charlatan--a fellow you would have kicked, Carter. It is not a +thing to be used indiscriminately, but it is good upon occasion: as now, +for instance. Jane, a little water." + +He held out the tiny glass, and I half filled it from the water-bottle on +the washstand. + +"That will do;--now wet the lip of the phial." + +I did so; he measured twelve drops of a crimson liquid, and presented it +to Mason. + +"Drink, Richard: it will give you the heart you lack, for an hour or so." + +"But will it hurt me?--is it inflammatory?" + +"Drink! drink! drink!" + +Mr. Mason obeyed, because it was evidently useless to resist. He was +dressed now: he still looked pale, but he was no longer gory and sullied. +Mr. Rochester let him sit three minutes after he had swallowed the +liquid; he then took his arm-- + +"Now I am sure you can get on your feet," he said--"try." + +The patient rose. + +"Carter, take him under the other shoulder. Be of good cheer, Richard; +step out--that's it!" + +"I do feel better," remarked Mr. Mason. + +"I am sure you do. Now, Jane, trip on before us away to the backstairs; +unbolt the side-passage door, and tell the driver of the post-chaise you +will see in the yard--or just outside, for I told him not to drive his +rattling wheels over the pavement--to be ready; we are coming: and, Jane, +if any one is about, come to the foot of the stairs and hem." + +It was by this time half-past five, and the sun was on the point of +rising; but I found the kitchen still dark and silent. The side-passage +door was fastened; I opened it with as little noise as possible: all the +yard was quiet; but the gates stood wide open, and there was a +post-chaise, with horses ready harnessed, and driver seated on the box, +stationed outside. I approached him, and said the gentlemen were coming; +he nodded: then I looked carefully round and listened. The stillness of +early morning slumbered everywhere; the curtains were yet drawn over the +servants' chamber windows; little birds were just twittering in the +blossom-blanched orchard trees, whose boughs drooped like white garlands +over the wall enclosing one side of the yard; the carriage horses stamped +from time to time in their closed stables: all else was still. + +The gentlemen now appeared. Mason, supported by Mr. Rochester and the +surgeon, seemed to walk with tolerable ease: they assisted him into the +chaise; Carter followed. + +"Take care of him," said Mr. Rochester to the latter, "and keep him at +your house till he is quite well: I shall ride over in a day or two to +see how he gets on. Richard, how is it with you?" + +"The fresh air revives me, Fairfax." + +"Leave the window open on his side, Carter; there is no wind--good-bye, +Dick." + +"Fairfax--" + +"Well what is it?" + +"Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as may be: let +her--" he stopped and burst into tears. + +"I do my best; and have done it, and will do it," was the answer: he shut +up the chaise door, and the vehicle drove away. + +"Yet would to God there was an end of all this!" added Mr. Rochester, as +he closed and barred the heavy yard-gates. + +This done, he moved with slow step and abstracted air towards a door in +the wall bordering the orchard. I, supposing he had done with me, +prepared to return to the house; again, however, I heard him call "Jane!" +He had opened the portal and stood at it, waiting for me. + +"Come where there is some freshness, for a few moments," he said; "that +house is a mere dungeon: don't you feel it so?" + +"It seems to me a splendid mansion, sir." + +"The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes," he answered; "and you +see it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that the gilding is +slime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate, +and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark. Now _here_" (he +pointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered) "all is real, sweet, and +pure." + +He strayed down a walk edged with box, with apple trees, pear trees, and +cherry trees on one side, and a border on the other full of all sorts of +old-fashioned flowers, stocks, sweet-williams, primroses, pansies, +mingled with southernwood, sweet-briar, and various fragrant herbs. They +were fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams, followed by a +lovely spring morning, could make them: the sun was just entering the +dappled east, and his light illumined the wreathed and dewy orchard trees +and shone down the quiet walks under them. + +"Jane, will you have a flower?" + +He gathered a half-blown rose, the first on the bush, and offered it to +me. + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Do you like this sunrise, Jane? That sky with its high and light clouds +which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm--this placid and balmly +atmosphere?" + +"I do, very much." + +"You have passed a strange night, Jane." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And it has made you look pale--were you afraid when I left you alone +with Mason?" + +"I was afraid of some one coming out of the inner room." + +"But I had fastened the door--I had the key in my pocket: I should have +been a careless shepherd if I had left a lamb--my pet lamb--so near a +wolf's den, unguarded: you were safe." + +"Will Grace Poole live here still, sir?" + +"Oh yes! don't trouble your head about her--put the thing out of your +thoughts." + +"Yet it seems to me your life is hardly secure while she stays." + +"Never fear--I will take care of myself." + +"Is the danger you apprehended last night gone by now, sir?" + +"I cannot vouch for that till Mason is out of England: nor even then. To +live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may crack and +spue fire any day." + +"But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir, is evidently +potent with him: he will never set you at defiance or wilfully injure +you." + +"Oh, no! Mason will not defy me; nor, knowing it, will he hurt me--but, +unintentionally, he might in a moment, by one careless word, deprive me, +if not of life, yet for ever of happiness." + +"Tell him to be cautious, sir: let him know what you fear, and show him +how to avert the danger." + +He laughed sardonically, hastily took my hand, and as hastily threw it +from him. + +"If I could do that, simpleton, where would the danger be? Annihilated +in a moment. Ever since I have known Mason, I have only had to say to +him 'Do that,' and the thing has been done. But I cannot give him orders +in this case: I cannot say 'Beware of harming me, Richard;' for it is +imperative that I should keep him ignorant that harm to me is possible. +Now you look puzzled; and I will puzzle you further. You are my little +friend, are you not?" + +"I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all that is right." + +"Precisely: I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your gait and +mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing me--working +for me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say, '_all that is +right_:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be no +light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance and +animated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale, +and would say, 'No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it, because it +is wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. Well, you too +have power over me, and may injure me: yet I dare not show you where I am +vulnerable, lest, faithful and friendly as you are, you should transfix +me at once." + +"If you have no more to fear from Mr. Mason than you have from me, sir, +you are very safe." + +"God grant it may be so! Here, Jane, is an arbour; sit down." + +The arbour was an arch in the wall, lined with ivy; it contained a rustic +seat. Mr. Rochester took it, leaving room, however, for me: but I stood +before him. + +"Sit," he said; "the bench is long enough for two. You don't hesitate to +take a place at my side, do you? Is that wrong, Jane?" + +I answered him by assuming it: to refuse would, I felt, have been unwise. + +"Now, my little friend, while the sun drinks the dew--while all the +flowers in this old garden awake and expand, and the birds fetch their +young ones' breakfast out of the Thornfield, and the early bees do their +first spell of work--I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour to +suppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me you are at ease, and +not fearing that I err in detaining you, or that you err in staying." + +"No, sir; I am content." + +"Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy:--suppose you were no longer a +girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhood +upwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that you +there commit a capital error, no matter of what nature or from what +motives, but one whose consequences must follow you through life and +taint all your existence. Mind, I don't say a _crime_; I am not speaking +of shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make the +perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is _error_. The results of what +you have done become in time to you utterly insupportable; you take +measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor +culpable. Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the very +confines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an eclipse, which you feel +will not leave it till the time of setting. Bitter and base associations +have become the sole food of your memory: you wander here and there, +seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure--I mean in heartless, +sensual pleasure--such as dulls intellect and blights feeling. +Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary +banishment: you make a new acquaintance--how or where no matter: you find +in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have +sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all +fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, +regenerates: you feel better days come back--higher wishes, purer +feelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remains +to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this +end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom--a mere +conventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your +judgment approves?" + +He paused for an answer: and what was I to say? Oh, for some good spirit +to suggest a judicious and satisfactory response! Vain aspiration! The +west wind whispered in the ivy round me; but no gentle Ariel borrowed its +breath as a medium of speech: the birds sang in the tree-tops; but their +song, however sweet, was inarticulate. + +Again Mr. Rochester propounded his query: + +"Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, man +justified in daring the world's opinion, in order to attach to him for +ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own +peace of mind and regeneration of life?" + +"Sir," I answered, "a wanderer's repose or a sinner's reformation should +never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophers +falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know has +suffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength to +amend and solace to heal." + +"But the instrument--the instrument! God, who does the work, ordains the +instrument. I have myself--I tell it you without parable--been a +worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I have found the +instrument for my cure in--" + +He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. I +almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the +suspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes--so +long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardy +speaker: he was looking eagerly at me. + +"Little friend," said he, in quite a changed tone--while his face changed +too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and +sarcastic--"you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don't +you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?" + +He got up instantly, went quite to the other end of the walk, and when he +came back he was humming a tune. + +"Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, "you are quite pale with your +vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?" + +"Curse you? No, sir." + +"Shake hands in confirmation of the word. What cold fingers! They were +warmer last night when I touched them at the door of the mysterious +chamber. Jane, when will you watch with me again?" + +"Whenever I can be useful, sir." + +"For instance, the night before I am married! I am sure I shall not be +able to sleep. Will you promise to sit up with me to bear me company? To +you I can talk of my lovely one: for now you have seen her and know her." + +"Yes, sir." + +"She's a rare one, is she not, Jane?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"A strapper--a real strapper, Jane: big, brown, and buxom; with hair just +such as the ladies of Carthage must have had. Bless me! there's Dent and +Lynn in the stables! Go in by the shrubbery, through that wicket." + +As I went one way, he went another, and I heard him in the yard, saying +cheerfully-- + +"Mason got the start of you all this morning; he was gone before sunrise: +I rose at four to see him off." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and so are +signs; and the three combined make one mystery to which humanity has not +yet found the key. I never laughed at presentiments in my life, because +I have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies, I believe, exist (for +instance, between far-distant, long-absent, wholly estranged relatives +asserting, notwithstanding their alienation, the unity of the source to +which each traces his origin) whose workings baffle mortal comprehension. +And signs, for aught we know, may be but the sympathies of Nature with +man. + +When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heard Bessie +Leaven say to Martha Abbot that she had been dreaming about a little +child; and that to dream of children was a sure sign of trouble, either +to one's self or one's kin. The saying might have worn out of my memory, +had not a circumstance immediately followed which served indelibly to fix +it there. The next day Bessie was sent for home to the deathbed of her +little sister. + +Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; for during +the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch that had not +brought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimes hushed in my +arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watched playing with +daisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands in running water. It was +a wailing child this night, and a laughing one the next: now it nestled +close to me, and now it ran from me; but whatever mood the apparition +evinced, whatever aspect it wore, it failed not for seven successive +nights to meet me the moment I entered the land of slumber. + +I did not like this iteration of one idea--this strange recurrence of one +image, and I grew nervous as bedtime approached and the hour of the +vision drew near. It was from companionship with this baby-phantom I had +been roused on that moonlight night when I heard the cry; and it was on +the afternoon of the day following I was summoned downstairs by a message +that some one wanted me in Mrs. Fairfax's room. On repairing thither, I +found a man waiting for me, having the appearance of a gentleman's +servant: he was dressed in deep mourning, and the hat he held in his hand +was surrounded with a crape band. + +"I daresay you hardly remember me, Miss," he said, rising as I entered; +"but my name is Leaven: I lived coachman with Mrs. Reed when you were at +Gateshead, eight or nine years since, and I live there still." + +"Oh, Robert! how do you do? I remember you very well: you used to give +me a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay pony. And how is Bessie? You +are married to Bessie?" + +"Yes, Miss: my wife is very hearty, thank you; she brought me another +little one about two months since--we have three now--and both mother and +child are thriving." + +"And are the family well at the house, Robert?" + +"I am sorry I can't give you better news of them, Miss: they are very +badly at present--in great trouble." + +"I hope no one is dead," I said, glancing at his black dress. He too +looked down at the crape round his hat and replied-- + +"Mr. John died yesterday was a week, at his chambers in London." + +"Mr. John?" + +"Yes." + +"And how does his mother bear it?" + +"Why, you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his life has been +very wild: these last three years he gave himself up to strange ways, and +his death was shocking." + +"I heard from Bessie he was not doing well." + +"Doing well! He could not do worse: he ruined his health and his estate +amongst the worst men and the worst women. He got into debt and into +jail: his mother helped him out twice, but as soon as he was free he +returned to his old companions and habits. His head was not strong: the +knaves he lived amongst fooled him beyond anything I ever heard. He came +down to Gateshead about three weeks ago and wanted missis to give up all +to him. Missis refused: her means have long been much reduced by his +extravagance; so he went back again, and the next news was that he was +dead. How he died, God knows!--they say he killed himself." + +I was silent: the things were frightful. Robert Leaven resumed-- + +"Missis had been out of health herself for some time: she had got very +stout, but was not strong with it; and the loss of money and fear of +poverty were quite breaking her down. The information about Mr. John's +death and the manner of it came too suddenly: it brought on a stroke. She +was three days without speaking; but last Tuesday she seemed rather +better: she appeared as if she wanted to say something, and kept making +signs to my wife and mumbling. It was only yesterday morning, however, +that Bessie understood she was pronouncing your name; and at last she +made out the words, 'Bring Jane--fetch Jane Eyre: I want to speak to +her.' Bessie is not sure whether she is in her right mind, or means +anything by the words; but she told Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana, and +advised them to send for you. The young ladies put it off at first; but +their mother grew so restless, and said, 'Jane, Jane,' so many times, +that at last they consented. I left Gateshead yesterday: and if you can +get ready, Miss, I should like to take you back with me early to-morrow +morning." + +"Yes, Robert, I shall be ready: it seems to me that I ought to go." + +"I think so too, Miss. Bessie said she was sure you would not refuse: +but I suppose you will have to ask leave before you can get off?" + +"Yes; and I will do it now;" and having directed him to the servants' +hall, and recommended him to the care of John's wife, and the attentions +of John himself, I went in search of Mr. Rochester. + +He was not in any of the lower rooms; he was not in the yard, the +stables, or the grounds. I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had seen him;--yes: +she believed he was playing billiards with Miss Ingram. To the billiard- +room I hastened: the click of balls and the hum of voices resounded +thence; Mr. Rochester, Miss Ingram, the two Misses Eshton, and their +admirers, were all busied in the game. It required some courage to +disturb so interesting a party; my errand, however, was one I could not +defer, so I approached the master where he stood at Miss Ingram's side. +She turned as I drew near, and looked at me haughtily: her eyes seemed to +demand, "What can the creeping creature want now?" and when I said, in a +low voice, "Mr. Rochester," she made a movement as if tempted to order me +away. I remember her appearance at the moment--it was very graceful and +very striking: she wore a morning robe of sky-blue crape; a gauzy azure +scarf was twisted in her hair. She had been all animation with the game, +and irritated pride did not lower the expression of her haughty +lineaments. + +"Does that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. Rochester; and Mr. +Rochester turned to see who the "person" was. He made a curious +grimace--one of his strange and equivocal demonstrations--threw down his +cue and followed me from the room. + +"Well, Jane?" he said, as he rested his back against the schoolroom door, +which he had shut. + +"If you please, sir, I want leave of absence for a week or two." + +"What to do?--where to go?" + +"To see a sick lady who has sent for me." + +"What sick lady?--where does she live?" + +"At Gateshead; in ---shire." + +"-shire? That is a hundred miles off! Who may she be that sends for +people to see her that distance?" + +"Her name is Reed, sir--Mrs. Reed." + +"Reed of Gateshead? There was a Reed of Gateshead, a magistrate." + +"It is his widow, sir." + +"And what have you to do with her? How do you know her?" + +"Mr. Reed was my uncle--my mother's brother." + +"The deuce he was! You never told me that before: you always said you +had no relations." + +"None that would own me, sir. Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife cast me +off." + +"Why?" + +"Because I was poor, and burdensome, and she disliked me." + +"But Reed left children?--you must have cousins? Sir George Lynn was +talking of a Reed of Gateshead yesterday, who, he said, was one of the +veriest rascals on town; and Ingram was mentioning a Georgiana Reed of +the same place, who was much admired for her beauty a season or two ago +in London." + +"John Reed is dead, too, sir: he ruined himself and half-ruined his +family, and is supposed to have committed suicide. The news so shocked +his mother that it brought on an apoplectic attack." + +"And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane! I would never think of +running a hundred miles to see an old lady who will, perhaps, be dead +before you reach her: besides, you say she cast you off." + +"Yes, sir, but that is long ago; and when her circumstances were very +different: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now." + +"How long will you stay?" + +"As short a time as possible, sir." + +"Promise me only to stay a week--" + +"I had better not pass my word: I might be obliged to break it." + +"At all events you _will_ come back: you will not be induced under any +pretext to take up a permanent residence with her?" + +"Oh, no! I shall certainly return if all be well." + +"And who goes with you? You don't travel a hundred miles alone." + +"No, sir, she has sent her coachman." + +"A person to be trusted?" + +"Yes, sir, he has lived ten years in the family." + +Mr. Rochester meditated. "When do you wish to go?" + +"Early to-morrow morning, sir." + +"Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without money, and I +daresay you have not much: I have given you no salary yet. How much have +you in the world, Jane?" he asked, smiling. + +I drew out my purse; a meagre thing it was. "Five shillings, sir." He +took the purse, poured the hoard into his palm, and chuckled over it as +if its scantiness amused him. Soon he produced his pocket-book: "Here," +said he, offering me a note; it was fifty pounds, and he owed me but +fifteen. I told him I had no change. + +"I don't want change; you know that. Take your wages." + +I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowled at first; then, as +if recollecting something, he said-- + +"Right, right! Better not give you all now: you would, perhaps, stay +away three months if you had fifty pounds. There are ten; is it not +plenty?" + +"Yes, sir, but now you owe me five." + +"Come back for it, then; I am your banker for forty pounds." + +"Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of business to you +while I have the opportunity." + +"Matter of business? I am curious to hear it." + +"You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going shortly to be +married?" + +"Yes; what then?" + +"In that case, sir, Adele ought to go to school: I am sure you will +perceive the necessity of it." + +"To get her out of my bride's way, who might otherwise walk over her +rather too emphatically? There's sense in the suggestion; not a doubt of +it. Adele, as you say, must go to school; and you, of course, must march +straight to--the devil?" + +"I hope not, sir; but I must seek another situation somewhere." + +"In course!" he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a distortion of +features equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at me some minutes. + +"And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicited by +you to seek a place, I suppose?" + +"No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justify me in +asking favours of them--but I shall advertise." + +"You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!" he growled. "At your peril +you advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereign instead of ten +pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I've a use for it." + +"And so have I, sir," I returned, putting my hands and my purse behind +me. "I could not spare the money on any account." + +"Little niggard!" said he, "refusing me a pecuniary request! Give me +five pounds, Jane." + +"Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence." + +"Just let me look at the cash." + +"No, sir; you are not to be trusted." + +"Jane!" + +"Sir?" + +"Promise me one thing." + +"I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely to perform." + +"Not to advertise: and to trust this quest of a situation to me. I'll +find you one in time." + +"I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promise that I +and Adele shall be both safe out of the house before your bride enters +it." + +"Very well! very well! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-morrow, +then?" + +"Yes, sir; early." + +"Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner?" + +"No, sir, I must prepare for the journey." + +"Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while?" + +"I suppose so, sir." + +"And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teach me; I'm +not quite up to it." + +"They say, Farewell, or any other form they prefer." + +"Then say it." + +"Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present." + +"What must I say?" + +"The same, if you like, sir." + +"Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present; is that all?" + +"Yes?" + +"It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should like +something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, for +instance; but no--that would not content me either. So you'll do no more +than say Farewell, Jane?" + +"It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty word +as in many." + +"Very likely; but it is blank and cool--'Farewell.'" + +"How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?" I asked +myself; "I want to commence my packing." The dinner-bell rang, and +suddenly away he bolted, without another syllable: I saw him no more +during the day, and was off before he had risen in the morning. + +I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the afternoon of +the first of May: I stepped in there before going up to the hall. It was +very clean and neat: the ornamental windows were hung with little white +curtains; the floor was spotless; the grate and fire-irons were burnished +bright, and the fire burnt clear. Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her +last-born, and Robert and his sister played quietly in a corner. + +"Bless you!--I knew you would come!" exclaimed Mrs. Leaven, as I entered. + +"Yes, Bessie," said I, after I had kissed her; "and I trust I am not too +late. How is Mrs. Reed?--Alive still, I hope." + +"Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she was. The +doctor says she may linger a week or two yet; but he hardly thinks she +will finally recover." + +"Has she mentioned me lately?" + +"She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you would come, +but she is sleeping now, or was ten minutes ago, when I was up at the +house. She generally lies in a kind of lethargy all the afternoon, and +wakes up about six or seven. Will you rest yourself here an hour, Miss, +and then I will go up with you?" + +Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in the cradle and +went to welcome him: afterwards she insisted on my taking off my bonnet +and having some tea; for she said I looked pale and tired. I was glad to +accept her hospitality; and I submitted to be relieved of my travelling +garb just as passively as I used to let her undress me when a child. + +Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling about--setting +out the tea-tray with her best china, cutting bread and butter, toasting +a tea-cake, and, between whiles, giving little Robert or Jane an +occasional tap or push, just as she used to give me in former days. +Bessie had retained her quick temper as well as her light foot and good +looks. + +Tea ready, I was going to approach the table; but she desired me to sit +still, quite in her old peremptory tones. I must be served at the +fireside, she said; and she placed before me a little round stand with my +cup and a plate of toast, absolutely as she used to accommodate me with +some privately purloined dainty on a nursery chair: and I smiled and +obeyed her as in bygone days. + +She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and what sort of a +person the mistress was; and when I told her there was only a master, +whether he was a nice gentleman, and if I liked him. I told her he was +rather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman; and that he treated me kindly, +and I was content. Then I went on to describe to her the gay company +that had lately been staying at the house; and to these details Bessie +listened with interest: they were precisely of the kind she relished. + +In such conversation an hour was soon gone: Bessie restored to me my +bonnet, &c., and, accompanied by her, I quitted the lodge for the hall. +It was also accompanied by her that I had, nearly nine years ago, walked +down the path I was now ascending. On a dark, misty, raw morning in +January, I had left a hostile roof with a desperate and embittered +heart--a sense of outlawry and almost of reprobation--to seek the chilly +harbourage of Lowood: that bourne so far away and unexplored. The same +hostile roof now again rose before me: my prospects were doubtful yet; +and I had yet an aching heart. I still felt as a wanderer on the face of +the earth; but I experienced firmer trust in myself and my own powers, +and less withering dread of oppression. The gaping wound of my wrongs, +too, was now quite healed; and the flame of resentment extinguished. + +"You shall go into the breakfast-room first," said Bessie, as she +preceded me through the hall; "the young ladies will be there." + +In another moment I was within that apartment. There was every article +of furniture looking just as it did on the morning I was first introduced +to Mr. Brocklehurst: the very rug he had stood upon still covered the +hearth. Glancing at the bookcases, I thought I could distinguish the two +volumes of Bewick's British Birds occupying their old place on the third +shelf, and Gulliver's Travels and the Arabian Nights ranged just above. +The inanimate objects were not changed; but the living things had altered +past recognition. + +Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tall as +Miss Ingram--very thin too, with a sallow face and severe mien. There +was something ascetic in her look, which was augmented by the extreme +plainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress, a starched linen +collar, hair combed away from the temples, and the nun-like ornament of a +string of ebony beads and a crucifix. This I felt sure was Eliza, though +I could trace little resemblance to her former self in that elongated and +colourless visage. + +The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the Georgiana I +remembered--the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This was a +full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsome and regular +features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellow hair. The hue of +her dress was black too; but its fashion was so different from her +sister's--so much more flowing and becoming--it looked as stylish as the +other's looked puritanical. + +In each of the sisters there was one trait of the mother--and only one; +the thin and pallid elder daughter had her parent's Cairngorm eye: the +blooming and luxuriant younger girl had her contour of jaw and +chin--perhaps a little softened, but still imparting an indescribable +hardness to the countenance otherwise so voluptuous and buxom. + +Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both addressed me by +the name of "Miss Eyre." Eliza's greeting was delivered in a short, +abrupt voice, without a smile; and then she sat down again, fixed her +eyes on the fire, and seemed to forget me. Georgiana added to her "How +d'ye do?" several commonplaces about my journey, the weather, and so on, +uttered in rather a drawling tone: and accompanied by sundry side-glances +that measured me from head to foot--now traversing the folds of my drab +merino pelisse, and now lingering on the plain trimming of my cottage +bonnet. Young ladies have a remarkable way of letting you know that they +think you a "quiz" without actually saying the words. A certain +superciliousness of look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone, +express fully their sentiments on the point, without committing them by +any positive rudeness in word or deed. + +A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer that power +over me it once possessed: as I sat between my cousins, I was surprised +to find how easy I felt under the total neglect of the one and the semi- +sarcastic attentions of the other--Eliza did not mortify, nor Georgiana +ruffle me. The fact was, I had other things to think about; within the +last few months feelings had been stirred in me so much more potent than +any they could raise--pains and pleasures so much more acute and +exquisite had been excited than any it was in their power to inflict or +bestow--that their airs gave me no concern either for good or bad. + +"How is Mrs. Reed?" I asked soon, looking calmly at Georgiana, who +thought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it were an unexpected +liberty. + +"Mrs. Reed? Ah! mama, you mean; she is extremely poorly: I doubt if you +can see her to-night." + +"If," said I, "you would just step upstairs and tell her I am come, I +should be much obliged to you." + +Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild and wide. "I +know she had a particular wish to see me," I added, "and I would not +defer attending to her desire longer than is absolutely necessary." + +"Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening," remarked Eliza. I soon +rose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited, and said I would +just step out to Bessie--who was, I dared say, in the kitchen--and ask +her to ascertain whether Mrs. Reed was disposed to receive me or not to- +night. I went, and having found Bessie and despatched her on my errand, +I proceeded to take further measures. It had heretofore been my habit +always to shrink from arrogance: received as I had been to-day, I should, +a year ago, have resolved to quit Gateshead the very next morning; now, +it was disclosed to me all at once that that would be a foolish plan. I +had taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, and I must stay +with her till she was better--or dead: as to her daughters' pride or +folly, I must put it on one side, make myself independent of it. So I +addressed the housekeeper; asked her to show me a room, told her I should +probably be a visitor here for a week or two, had my trunk conveyed to my +chamber, and followed it thither myself: I met Bessie on the landing. + +"Missis is awake," said she; "I have told her you are here: come and let +us see if she will know you." + +I did not need to be guided to the well-known room, to which I had so +often been summoned for chastisement or reprimand in former days. I +hastened before Bessie; I softly opened the door: a shaded light stood on +the table, for it was now getting dark. There was the great four-post +bed with amber hangings as of old; there the toilet-table, the armchair, +and the footstool, at which I had a hundred times been sentenced to +kneel, to ask pardon for offences by me uncommitted. I looked into a +certain corner near, half-expecting to see the slim outline of a once +dreaded switch which used to lurk there, waiting to leap out imp-like and +lace my quivering palm or shrinking neck. I approached the bed; I opened +the curtains and leant over the high-piled pillows. + +Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought the familiar +image. It is a happy thing that time quells the longings of vengeance +and hushes the promptings of rage and aversion. I had left this woman in +bitterness and hate, and I came back to her now with no other emotion +than a sort of ruth for her great sufferings, and a strong yearning to +forget and forgive all injuries--to be reconciled and clasp hands in +amity. + +The well-known face was there: stern, relentless as ever--there was that +peculiar eye which nothing could melt, and the somewhat raised, +imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it lowered on me menace and +hate! and how the recollection of childhood's terrors and sorrows revived +as I traced its harsh line now! And yet I stooped down and kissed her: +she looked at me. + +"Is this Jane Eyre?" she said. + +"Yes, Aunt Reed. How are you, dear aunt?" + +I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it no +sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers had fastened on her +hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I should +at that moment have experienced true pleasure. But unimpressionable +natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily +eradicated. Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and, turning her face rather +from me, she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me so +icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me--her feeling towards me--was +unchanged and unchangeable. I knew by her stony eye--opaque to +tenderness, indissoluble to tears--that she was resolved to consider me +bad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generous +pleasure: only a sense of mortification. + +I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination to +subdue her--to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will. +My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I ordered them back to their +source. I brought a chair to the bed-head: I sat down and leaned over +the pillow. + +"You sent for me," I said, "and I am here; and it is my intention to stay +till I see how you get on." + +"Oh, of course! You have seen my daughters?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some things +over with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, and I have a +difficulty in recalling them. But there was something I wished to +say--let me see--" + +The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken place +in her once vigorous frame. Turning restlessly, she drew the bedclothes +round her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it down: she +was at once irritated. + +"Sit up!" said she; "don't annoy me with holding the clothes fast. Are +you Jane Eyre?" + +"I am Jane Eyre." + +"I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe. Such +a burden to be left on my hands--and so much annoyance as she caused me, +daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and her sudden +starts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one's +movements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like a +fiend--no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her +away from the house. What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever +broke out there, and many of the pupils died. She, however, did not die: +but I said she did--I wish she had died!" + +"A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?" + +"I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband's only +sister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family's disowning +her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death, he +wept like a simpleton. He would send for the baby; though I entreated +him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. I hated +it the first time I set my eyes on it--a sickly, whining, pining thing! +It would wail in its cradle all night long--not screaming heartily like +any other child, but whimpering and moaning. Reed pitied it; and he used +to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than +he ever noticed his own at that age. He would try to make my children +friendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it, and he was +angry with them when they showed their dislike. In his last illness, he +had it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he +died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. I would as soon have been +charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak, naturally +weak. John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad of it: +John is like me and like my brothers--he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish +he would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no more +money to give him: we are getting poor. I must send away half the +servants and shut up part of the house; or let it off. I can never +submit to do that--yet how are we to get on? Two-thirds of my income +goes in paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles dreadfully, and +always loses--poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk and +degraded--his look is frightful--I feel ashamed for him when I see him." + +She was getting much excited. "I think I had better leave her now," said +I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed. + +"Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night--in +the morning she is calmer." + +I rose. "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "there is another thing I wished to +say. He threatens me--he continually threatens me with his own death, or +mine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound in +his throat, or with a swollen and blackened face. I am come to a strange +pass: I have heavy troubles. What is to be done? How is the money to be +had?" + +Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: she +succeeded with difficulty. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew more composed, and +sank into a dozing state. I then left her. + +More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her. +She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbade +everything which could painfully excite her. Meantime, I got on as well +as I could with Georgiana and Eliza. They were very cold, indeed, at +first. Eliza would sit half the day sewing, reading, or writing, and +scarcely utter a word either to me or her sister. Georgiana would +chatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour, and take no notice of +me. But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or +amusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served me +for both. + +Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to take +a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketching +fancy vignettes, representing any scene that happened momentarily to +shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse +of sea between two rocks; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk; +a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus- +flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest, +under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom. + +One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be, +I did not care or know. I took a soft black pencil, gave it a broad +point, and worked away. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and +prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contour +gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features. +Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; then +followed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and full +nostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firm +chin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course, some black +whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, and +waved above the forehead. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last, +because they required the most careful working. I drew them large; I +shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the irids +lustrous and large. "Good! but not quite the thing," I thought, as I +surveyed the effect: "they want more force and spirit;" and I wrought the +shades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilliantly--a happy +touch or two secured success. There, I had a friend's face under my +gaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backs +on me? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed +and content. + +"Is that a portrait of some one you know?" asked Eliza, who had +approached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancy head, +and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of course, I lied: it was, in +fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. But what was that +to her, or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. The +other drawings pleased her much, but she called that "an ugly man." They +both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their portraits; +and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. Then Georgiana produced her +album. I promised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her at +once into good humour. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before we +had been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation: she +had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spent +in London two seasons ago--of the admiration she had there excited--the +attention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquest +she had made. In the course of the afternoon and evening these hints +were enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported, and +sentimental scenes represented; and, in short, a volume of a novel of +fashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit. The +communications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the same +theme--herself, her loves, and woes. It was strange she never once +adverted either to her mother's illness, or her brother's death, or the +present gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind seemed wholly +taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations after +dissipations to come. She passed about five minutes each day in her +mother's sick-room, and no more. + +Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. I never saw +a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say what +she did: or rather, to discover any result of her diligence. She had an +alarm to call her up early. I know not how she occupied herself before +breakfast, but after that meal she divided her time into regular +portions, and each hour had its allotted task. Three times a day she +studied a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a Common Prayer +Book. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume, and +she said, "the Rubric." Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold +thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for a +carpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article, she +informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately +erected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two to +working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation of +her accounts. She seemed to want no company; no conversation. I believe +she was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothing +annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her to +vary its clockwork regularity. + +She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicative than +usual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin of the family, had +been a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now, she said, +settled her mind, and formed her resolution. Her own fortune she had +taken care to secure; and when her mother died--and it was wholly +improbable, she tranquilly remarked, that she should either recover or +linger long--she would execute a long-cherished project: seek a +retirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured from +disturbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous +world. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her. + +"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in common: they never had +had. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration. +Georgiana should take her own course; and she, Eliza, would take hers." + +Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of her time +in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house, and +wishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would send her an +invitation up to town. "It would be so much better," she said, "if she +could only get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over." I +did not ask what she meant by "all being over," but I suppose she +referred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy sequel of +funeral rites. Eliza generally took no more notice of her sister's +indolence and complaints than if no such murmuring, lounging object had +been before her. One day, however, as she put away her account-book and +unfolded her embroidery, she suddenly took her up thus-- + +"Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly never +allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born, for you make +no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a +reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some +other person's strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or +himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you +are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must +be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a +dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be +flattered--you must have music, dancing, and society--or you languish, +you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you +independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day; +share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no +stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes--include +all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid +regularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun; +and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant +moment: you have had to seek no one's company, conversation, sympathy, +forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to +do. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then you +will not want me or any one else, happen what may. Neglect it--go on as +heretofore, craving, whining, and idling--and suffer the results of your +idiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. I tell you this +plainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I am now +about to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death, I +wash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carried to the vault in +Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never known +each other. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the +same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest +claim: I can tell you this--if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, +were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you +in the old world, and betake myself to the new." + +She closed her lips. + +"You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that tirade," +answered Georgiana. "Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartless +creature in existence: and _I_ know your spiteful hatred towards me: I +have had a specimen of it before in the trick you played me about Lord +Edwin Vere: you could not bear me to be raised above you, to have a +title, to be received into circles where you dare not show your face, and +so you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for ever." +Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose for an hour +afterwards; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious. + +True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but here were +two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the other despicably +savourless for the want of it. Feeling without judgment is a washy +draught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter and +husky a morsel for human deglutition. + +It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofa +over the perusal of a novel; Eliza was gone to attend a saint's-day +service at the new church--for in matters of religion she was a rigid +formalist: no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what she +considered her devotional duties; fair or foul, she went to church thrice +every Sunday, and as often on week-days as there were prayers. + +I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped, who +lay there almost unheeded: the very servants paid her but a remittent +attention: the hired nurse, being little looked after, would slip out of +the room whenever she could. Bessie was faithful; but she had her own +family to mind, and could only come occasionally to the hall. I found +the sick-room unwatched, as I had expected: no nurse was there; the +patient lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in the +pillows: the fire was dying in the grate. I renewed the fuel, +re-arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze on +me, and then I moved away to the window. + +The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tempestuously: +"One lies there," I thought, "who will soon be beyond the war of earthly +elements. Whither will that spirit--now struggling to quit its material +tenement--flit when at length released?" + +In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled her +dying words--her faith--her doctrine of the equality of disembodied +souls. I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered +tones--still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and +sublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her +longing to be restored to her divine Father's bosom--when a feeble voice +murmured from the couch behind: "Who is that?" + +I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days: was she reviving? I went up to +her. + +"It is I, Aunt Reed." + +"Who--I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at me with surprise and +a sort of alarm, but still not wildly. "You are quite a stranger to +me--where is Bessie?" + +"She is at the lodge, aunt." + +"Aunt," she repeated. "Who calls me aunt? You are not one of the +Gibsons; and yet I know you--that face, and the eyes and forehead, are +quiet familiar to me: you are like--why, you are like Jane Eyre!" + +I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring my +identity. + +"Yet," said she, "I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. I +wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists: +besides, in eight years she must be so changed." I now gently assured +her that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeing +that I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I +explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield. + +"I am very ill, I know," she said ere long. "I was trying to turn myself +a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. It is as well I +should ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health, +burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Is the nurse here? +or is there no one in the room but you?" + +I assured her we were alone. + +"Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. One was in +breaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my own +child; the other--" she stopped. "After all, it is of no great +importance, perhaps," she murmured to herself: "and then I may get +better; and to humble myself so to her is painful." + +She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed; +she seemed to experience some inward sensation--the precursor, perhaps, +of the last pang. + +"Well, I must get it over. Eternity is before me: I had better tell +her.--Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will see +there." + +I obeyed her directions. "Read the letter," she said. + +It was short, and thus conceived:-- + + "Madam,--Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my + niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to + write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has + blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried + and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at + my death whatever I may have to leave.--I am, Madam, &c., &c., + + "JOHN EYRE, Madeira." + +It was dated three years back. + +"Why did I never hear of this?" I asked. + +"Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand in +lifting you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me, +Jane--the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which you +declared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; the +unchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thought +of me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserable +cruelty. I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up +and poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that I +had struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me in +a man's voice.--Bring me some water! Oh, make haste!" + +"Dear Mrs. Reed," said I, as I offered her the draught she required, +"think no more of all this, let it pass away from your mind. Forgive me +for my passionate language: I was a child then; eight, nine years have +passed since that day." + +She heeded nothing of what I said; but when she had tasted the water and +drawn breath, she went on thus-- + +"I tell you I could not forget it; and I took my revenge: for you to be +adopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease and comfort, was +what I could not endure. I wrote to him; I said I was sorry for his +disappointment, but Jane Eyre was dead: she had died of typhus fever at +Lowood. Now act as you please: write and contradict my assertion--expose +my falsehood as soon as you like. You were born, I think, to be my +torment: my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed which, but +for you, I should never have been tempted to commit." + +"If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt, and to +regard me with kindness and forgiveness" + +"You have a very bad disposition," said she, "and one to this day I feel +it impossible to understand: how for nine years you could be patient and +quiescent under any treatment, and in the tenth break out all fire and +violence, I can never comprehend." + +"My disposition is not so bad as you think: I am passionate, but not +vindictive. Many a time, as a little child, I should have been glad to +love you if you would have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciled +to you now: kiss me, aunt." + +I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not touch it. She said I +oppressed her by leaning over the bed, and again demanded water. As I +laid her down--for I raised her and supported her on my arm while she +drank--I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with mine: the feeble +fingers shrank from my touch--the glazing eyes shunned my gaze. + +"Love me, then, or hate me, as you will," I said at last, "you have my +full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace." + +Poor, suffering woman! it was too late for her to make now the effort to +change her habitual frame of mind: living, she had ever hated me--dying, +she must hate me still. + +The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed. I yet lingered half-an-hour +longer, hoping to see some sign of amity: but she gave none. She was +fast relapsing into stupor; nor did her mind again rally: at twelve +o'clock that night she died. I was not present to close her eyes, nor +were either of her daughters. They came to tell us the next morning that +all was over. She was by that time laid out. Eliza and I went to look +at her: Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she dared +not go. There was stretched Sarah Reed's once robust and active frame, +rigid and still: her eye of flint was covered with its cold lid; her brow +and strong traits wore yet the impress of her inexorable soul. A strange +and solemn object was that corpse to me. I gazed on it with gloom and +pain: nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, or +subduing did it inspire; only a grating anguish for _her_ woes--not _my_ +loss--and a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such a +form. + +Eliza surveyed her parent calmly. After a silence of some minutes she +observed-- + +"With her constitution she should have lived to a good old age: her life +was shortened by trouble." And then a spasm constricted her mouth for an +instant: as it passed away she turned and left the room, and so did I. +Neither of us had dropt a tear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Mr. Rochester had given me but one week's leave of absence: yet a month +elapsed before I quitted Gateshead. I wished to leave immediately after +the funeral, but Georgiana entreated me to stay till she could get off to +London, whither she was now at last invited by her uncle, Mr. Gibson, who +had come down to direct his sister's interment and settle the family +affairs. Georgiana said she dreaded being left alone with Eliza; from +her she got neither sympathy in her dejection, support in her fears, nor +aid in her preparations; so I bore with her feeble-minded wailings and +selfish lamentations as well as I could, and did my best in sewing for +her and packing her dresses. It is true, that while I worked, she would +idle; and I thought to myself, "If you and I were destined to live always +together, cousin, we would commence matters on a different footing. I +should not settle tamely down into being the forbearing party; I should +assign you your share of labour, and compel you to accomplish it, or else +it should be left undone: I should insist, also, on your keeping some of +those drawling, half-insincere complaints hushed in your own breast. It +is only because our connection happens to be very transitory, and comes +at a peculiarly mournful season, that I consent thus to render it so +patient and compliant on my part." + +At last I saw Georgiana off; but now it was Eliza's turn to request me to +stay another week. Her plans required all her time and attention, she +said; she was about to depart for some unknown bourne; and all day long +she stayed in her own room, her door bolted within, filling trunks, +emptying drawers, burning papers, and holding no communication with any +one. She wished me to look after the house, to see callers, and answer +notes of condolence. + +One morning she told me I was at liberty. "And," she added, "I am +obliged to you for your valuable services and discreet conduct! There is +some difference between living with such an one as you and with +Georgiana: you perform your own part in life and burden no one. +To-morrow," she continued, "I set out for the Continent. I shall take up +my abode in a religious house near Lisle--a nunnery you would call it; +there I shall be quiet and unmolested. I shall devote myself for a time +to the examination of the Roman Catholic dogmas, and to a careful study +of the workings of their system: if I find it to be, as I half suspect it +is, the one best calculated to ensure the doing of all things decently +and in order, I shall embrace the tenets of Rome and probably take the +veil." + +I neither expressed surprise at this resolution nor attempted to dissuade +her from it. "The vocation will fit you to a hair," I thought: "much +good may it do you!" + +When we parted, she said: "Good-bye, cousin Jane Eyre; I wish you well: +you have some sense." + +I then returned: "You are not without sense, cousin Eliza; but what you +have, I suppose, in another year will be walled up alive in a French +convent. However, it is not my business, and so it suits you, I don't +much care." + +"You are in the right," said she; and with these words we each went our +separate way. As I shall not have occasion to refer either to her or her +sister again, I may as well mention here, that Georgiana made an +advantageous match with a wealthy worn-out man of fashion, and that Eliza +actually took the veil, and is at this day superior of the convent where +she passed the period of her novitiate, and which she endowed with her +fortune. + +How people feel when they are returning home from an absence, long or +short, I did not know: I had never experienced the sensation. I had +known what it was to come back to Gateshead when a child after a long +walk, to be scolded for looking cold or gloomy; and later, what it was to +come back from church to Lowood, to long for a plenteous meal and a good +fire, and to be unable to get either. Neither of these returnings was +very pleasant or desirable: no magnet drew me to a given point, +increasing in its strength of attraction the nearer I came. The return +to Thornfield was yet to be tried. + +My journey seemed tedious--very tedious: fifty miles one day, a night +spent at an inn; fifty miles the next day. During the first twelve hours +I thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments; I saw her disfigured and +discoloured face, and heard her strangely altered voice. I mused on the +funeral day, the coffin, the hearse, the black train of tenants and +servants--few was the number of relatives--the gaping vault, the silent +church, the solemn service. Then I thought of Eliza and Georgiana; I +beheld one the cynosure of a ball-room, the other the inmate of a convent +cell; and I dwelt on and analysed their separate peculiarities of person +and character. The evening arrival at the great town of--scattered these +thoughts; night gave them quite another turn: laid down on my traveller's +bed, I left reminiscence for anticipation. + +I was going back to Thornfield: but how long was I to stay there? Not +long; of that I was sure. I had heard from Mrs. Fairfax in the interim +of my absence: the party at the hall was dispersed; Mr. Rochester had +left for London three weeks ago, but he was then expected to return in a +fortnight. Mrs. Fairfax surmised that he was gone to make arrangements +for his wedding, as he had talked of purchasing a new carriage: she said +the idea of his marrying Miss Ingram still seemed strange to her; but +from what everybody said, and from what she had herself seen, she could +no longer doubt that the event would shortly take place. "You would be +strangely incredulous if you did doubt it," was my mental comment. "I +don't doubt it." + +The question followed, "Where was I to go?" I dreamt of Miss Ingram all +the night: in a vivid morning dream I saw her closing the gates of +Thornfield against me and pointing me out another road; and Mr. Rochester +looked on with his arms folded--smiling sardonically, as it seemed, at +both her and me. + +I had not notified to Mrs. Fairfax the exact day of my return; for I did +not wish either car or carriage to meet me at Millcote. I proposed to +walk the distance quietly by myself; and very quietly, after leaving my +box in the ostler's care, did I slip away from the George Inn, about six +o'clock of a June evening, and take the old road to Thornfield: a road +which lay chiefly through fields, and was now little frequented. + +It was not a bright or splendid summer evening, though fair and soft: the +haymakers were at work all along the road; and the sky, though far from +cloudless, was such as promised well for the future: its blue--where blue +was visible--was mild and settled, and its cloud strata high and thin. +The west, too, was warm: no watery gleam chilled it--it seemed as if +there was a fire lit, an altar burning behind its screen of marbled +vapour, and out of apertures shone a golden redness. + +I felt glad as the road shortened before me: so glad that I stopped once +to ask myself what that joy meant: and to remind reason that it was not +to my home I was going, or to a permanent resting-place, or to a place +where fond friends looked out for me and waited my arrival. "Mrs. +Fairfax will smile you a calm welcome, to be sure," said I; "and little +Adele will clap her hands and jump to see you: but you know very well you +are thinking of another than they, and that he is not thinking of you." + +But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience? These +affirmed that it was pleasure enough to have the privilege of again +looking on Mr. Rochester, whether he looked on me or not; and they +added--"Hasten! hasten! be with him while you may: but a few more days or +weeks, at most, and you are parted from him for ever!" And then I +strangled a new-born agony--a deformed thing which I could not persuade +myself to own and rear--and ran on. + +They are making hay, too, in Thornfield meadows: or rather, the labourers +are just quitting their work, and returning home with their rakes on +their shoulders, now, at the hour I arrive. I have but a field or two to +traverse, and then I shall cross the road and reach the gates. How full +the hedges are of roses! But I have no time to gather any; I want to be +at the house. I passed a tall briar, shooting leafy and flowery branches +across the path; I see the narrow stile with stone steps; and I see--Mr. +Rochester sitting there, a book and a pencil in his hand; he is writing. + +Well, he is not a ghost; yet every nerve I have is unstrung: for a moment +I am beyond my own mastery. What does it mean? I did not think I should +tremble in this way when I saw him, or lose my voice or the power of +motion in his presence. I will go back as soon as I can stir: I need not +make an absolute fool of myself. I know another way to the house. It +does not signify if I knew twenty ways; for he has seen me. + +"Hillo!" he cries; and he puts up his book and his pencil. "There you +are! Come on, if you please." + +I suppose I do come on; though in what fashion I know not; being scarcely +cognisant of my movements, and solicitous only to appear calm; and, above +all, to control the working muscles of my face--which I feel rebel +insolently against my will, and struggle to express what I had resolved +to conceal. But I have a veil--it is down: I may make shift yet to +behave with decent composure. + +"And this is Jane Eyre? Are you coming from Millcote, and on foot? +Yes--just one of your tricks: not to send for a carriage, and come +clattering over street and road like a common mortal, but to steal into +the vicinage of your home along with twilight, just as if you were a +dream or a shade. What the deuce have you done with yourself this last +month?" + +"I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead." + +"A true Janian reply! Good angels be my guard! She comes from the other +world--from the abode of people who are dead; and tells me so when she +meets me alone here in the gloaming! If I dared, I'd touch you, to see +if you are substance or shadow, you elf!--but I'd as soon offer to take +hold of a blue _ignis fatuus_ light in a marsh. Truant! truant!" he +added, when he had paused an instant. "Absent from me a whole month, and +forgetting me quite, I'll be sworn!" + +I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again, even though +broken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to be my master, and by +the knowledge that I was nothing to him: but there was ever in Mr. +Rochester (so at least I thought) such a wealth of the power of +communicating happiness, that to taste but of the crumbs he scattered to +stray and stranger birds like me, was to feast genially. His last words +were balm: they seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether +I forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home--would +that it were my home! + +He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by. I +inquired soon if he had not been to London. + +"Yes; I suppose you found that out by second-sight." + +"Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter." + +"And did she inform you what I went to do?" + +"Oh, yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand." + +"You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't think it will +suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't look like Queen +Boadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, I +were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally. Tell me now, +fairy as you are--can't you give me a charm, or a philter, or something +of that sort, to make me a handsome man?" + +"It would be past the power of magic, sir;" and, in thought, I added, "A +loving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; or +rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty." + +Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen to +me incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of my +abrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had of +his own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it +too good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling--he +shed it over me now. + +"Pass, Janet," said he, making room for me to cross the stile: "go up +home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold." + +All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to +colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to +leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast--a force turned me round. I +said--or something in me said for me, and in spite of me-- + +"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad +to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home--my only home." + +I walked on so fast that even he could hardly have overtaken me had he +tried. Little Adele was half wild with delight when she saw me. Mrs. +Fairfax received me with her usual plain friendliness. Leah smiled, and +even Sophie bid me "bon soir" with glee. This was very pleasant; there +is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow-creatures, and +feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort. + +I that evening shut my eyes resolutely against the future: I stopped my +ears against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and coming +grief. When tea was over and Mrs. Fairfax had taken her knitting, and I +had assumed a low seat near her, and Adele, kneeling on the carpet, had +nestled close up to me, and a sense of mutual affection seemed to +surround us with a ring of golden peace, I uttered a silent prayer that +we might not be parted far or soon; but when, as we thus sat, Mr. +Rochester entered, unannounced, and looking at us, seemed to take +pleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable--when he said he +supposed the old lady was all right now that she had got her adopted +daughter back again, and added that he saw Adele was "prete a croquer sa +petite maman Anglaise"--I half ventured to hope that he would, even after +his marriage, keep us together somewhere under the shelter of his +protection, and not quite exiled from the sunshine of his presence. + +A fortnight of dubious calm succeeded my return to Thornfield Hall. +Nothing was said of the master's marriage, and I saw no preparation going +on for such an event. Almost every day I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had +yet heard anything decided: her answer was always in the negative. Once +she said she had actually put the question to Mr. Rochester as to when he +was going to bring his bride home; but he had answered her only by a joke +and one of his queer looks, and she could not tell what to make of him. + +One thing specially surprised me, and that was, there were no journeyings +backward and forward, no visits to Ingram Park: to be sure it was twenty +miles off, on the borders of another county; but what was that distance +to an ardent lover? To so practised and indefatigable a horseman as Mr. +Rochester, it would be but a morning's ride. I began to cherish hopes I +had no right to conceive: that the match was broken off; that rumour had +been mistaken; that one or both parties had changed their minds. I used +to look at my master's face to see if it were sad or fierce; but I could +not remember the time when it had been so uniformly clear of clouds or +evil feelings. If, in the moments I and my pupil spent with him, I +lacked spirits and sank into inevitable dejection, he became even gay. +Never had he called me more frequently to his presence; never been kinder +to me when there--and, alas! never had I loved him so well. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +A splendid Midsummer shone over England: skies so pure, suns so radiant +as were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even singly, our wave- +girt land. It was as if a band of Italian days had come from the South, +like a flock of glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on the +cliffs of Albion. The hay was all got in; the fields round Thornfield +were green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees were in their +dark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and deeply tinted, contrasted +well with the sunny hue of the cleared meadows between. + +On Midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in Hay +Lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her drop +asleep, and when I left her, I sought the garden. + +It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four:--"Day its fervid fires +had wasted," and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit. +Where the sun had gone down in simple state--pure of the pomp of +clouds--spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and +furnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending high and +wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. The east had its own +charm or fine deep blue, and its own modest gem, a casino and solitary +star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon. + +I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent--that of +a cigar--stole from some window; I saw the library casement open a +handbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart into the +orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like; it +was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it out +from the court, on one side; on the other, a beech avenue screened it +from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation from +lonely fields: a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a +giant horse-chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, led down to the +fence. Here one could wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, such +silence reigned, such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such +shade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the +upper part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising +moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed--not by sound, not +by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance. + +Sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long been +yielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent is neither of +shrub nor flower; it is--I know it well--it is Mr. Rochester's cigar. I +look round and I listen. I see trees laden with ripening fruit. I hear +a nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form is +visible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: I must flee. +I make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester +entering. I step aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: he +will soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me. + +But no--eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique garden +as attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry-tree +branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they are laden; +now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot of +flowers, either to inhale their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on +their petals. A great moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at +Mr. Rochester's foot: he sees it, and bends to examine it. + +"Now, he has his back towards me," thought I, "and he is occupied too; +perhaps, if I walk softly, I can slip away unnoticed." + +I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel might +not betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or two distant +from where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged him. "I shall get +by very well," I meditated. As I crossed his shadow, thrown long over +the garden by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, without +turning-- + +"Jane, come and look at this fellow." + +I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind--could his shadow feel? I +started at first, and then I approached him. + +"Look at his wings," said he, "he reminds me rather of a West Indian +insect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in England; +there! he is flown." + +The moth roamed away. I was sheepishly retreating also; but Mr. +Rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket, he said-- + +"Turn back: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the house; and +surely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting with +moonrise." + +It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enough +at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing an +excuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when a facile word or +plausible pretext is specially wanted to get me out of painful +embarrassment. I did not like to walk at this hour alone with Mr. +Rochester in the shadowy orchard; but I could not find a reason to allege +for leaving him. I followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily bent +on discovering a means of extrication; but he himself looked so composed +and so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil--if +evil existent or prospective there was--seemed to lie with me only; his +mind was unconscious and quiet. + +"Jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayed +down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse-chestnut, +"Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"You must have become in some degree attached to the house,--you, who +have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of +Adhesiveness?" + +"I am attached to it, indeed." + +"And though I don't comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired a +degree of regard for that foolish little child Adele, too; and even for +simple dame Fairfax?" + +"Yes, sir; in different ways, I have an affection for both." + +"And would be sorry to part with them?" + +"Yes." + +"Pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "It is always the way of events +in this life," he continued presently: "no sooner have you got settled in +a pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move +on, for the hour of repose is expired." + +"Must I move on, sir?" I asked. "Must I leave Thornfield?" + +"I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe indeed you +must." + +This was a blow: but I did not let it prostrate me. + +"Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes." + +"It is come now--I must give it to-night." + +"Then you _are_ going to be married, sir?" + +"Ex-act-ly--pre-cise-ly: with your usual acuteness, you have hit the nail +straight on the head." + +"Soon, sir?" + +"Very soon, my--that is, Miss Eyre: and you'll remember, Jane, the first +time I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it was my intention to +put my old bachelor's neck into the sacred noose, to enter into the holy +estate of matrimony--to take Miss Ingram to my bosom, in short (she's an +extensive armful: but that's not to the point--one can't have too much of +such a very excellent thing as my beautiful Blanche): well, as I was +saying--listen to me, Jane! You're not turning your head to look after +more moths, are you? That was only a lady-clock, child, 'flying away +home.' I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with +that discretion I respect in you--with that foresight, prudence, and +humility which befit your responsible and dependent position--that in +case I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele had better trot +forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion on +the character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I'll +try to forget it: I shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that I +have made it my law of action. Adele must go to school; and you, Miss +Eyre, must get a new situation." + +"Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately: and meantime, I suppose--" I was +going to say, "I suppose I may stay here, till I find another shelter to +betake myself to:" but I stopped, feeling it would not do to risk a long +sentence, for my voice was not quite under command. + +"In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom," continued Mr. Rochester; +"and in the interim, I shall myself look out for employment and an asylum +for you." + +"Thank you, sir; I am sorry to give--" + +"Oh, no need to apologise! I consider that when a dependent does her +duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim upon her +employer for any little assistance he can conveniently render her; indeed +I have already, through my future mother-in-law, heard of a place that I +think will suit: it is to undertake the education of the five daughters +of Mrs. Dionysius O'Gall of Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You'll +like Ireland, I think: they're such warm-hearted people there, they say." + +"It is a long way off, sir." + +"No matter--a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the +distance." + +"Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--" + +"From what, Jane?" + +"From England and from Thornfield: and--" + +"Well?" + +"From _you_, sir." + +I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free +will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I +avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O'Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck +cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, +destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I +now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean--wealth, +caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably +loved. + +"It is a long way," I again said. + +"It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, +Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that's morally certain. I +never go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for the +country. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the +little time that remains to them close to each other. Come! we'll talk +over the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while the +stars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is the +chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sit +there in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sit +there together." He seated me and himself. + +"It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my little +friend on such weary travels: but if I can't do better, how is it to be +helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?" + +I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still. + +"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to +you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string +somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a +similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little +frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of +land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be +snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. +As for you,--you'd forget me." + +"That I _never_ should, sir: you know--" Impossible to proceed. + +"Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!" + +In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could repress what I endured +no longer; I was obliged to yield, and I was shaken from head to foot +with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express an +impetuous wish that I had never been born, or never come to Thornfield. + +"Because you are sorry to leave it?" + +The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was +claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting a right to +predominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at last: yes,--and to +speak. + +"I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:--I love it, because I +have lived in it a full and delightful life,--momentarily at least. I +have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been +buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion +with what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face, +with what I reverence, with what I delight in,--with an original, a +vigorous, an expanded mind. I have known you, Mr. Rochester; and it +strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from +you for ever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking +on the necessity of death." + +"Where do you see the necessity?" he asked suddenly. + +"Where? You, sir, have placed it before me." + +"In what shape?" + +"In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman,--your bride." + +"My bride! What bride? I have no bride!" + +"But you will have." + +"Yes;--I will!--I will!" He set his teeth. + +"Then I must go:--you have said it yourself." + +"No: you must stay! I swear it--and the oath shall be kept." + +"I tell you I must go!" I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do +you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an +automaton?--a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of +bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my +cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am +soulless and heartless? You think wrong!--I have as much soul as +you,--and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty +and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it +is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the +medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;--it is my +spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the +grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal,--as we are!" + +"As we are!" repeated Mr. Rochester--"so," he added, enclosing me in his +arms. Gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: "so, +Jane!" + +"Yes, so, sir," I rejoined: "and yet not so; for you are a married man--or +as good as a married man, and wed to one inferior to you--to one with +whom you have no sympathy--whom I do not believe you truly love; for I +have seen and heard you sneer at her. I would scorn such a union: +therefore I am better than you--let me go!" + +"Where, Jane? To Ireland?" + +"Yes--to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now." + +"Jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is +rending its own plumage in its desperation." + +"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an +independent will, which I now exert to leave you." + +Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him. + +"And your will shall decide your destiny," he said: "I offer you my hand, +my heart, and a share of all my possessions." + +"You play a farce, which I merely laugh at." + +"I ask you to pass through life at my side--to be my second self, and +best earthly companion." + +"For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it." + +"Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will be still +too." + +A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through +the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away--away--to an indefinite +distance--it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the +hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking +at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last +said-- + +"Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another." + +"I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot +return." + +"But, Jane, I summon you as my wife: it is you only I intend to marry." + +I was silent: I thought he mocked me. + +"Come, Jane--come hither." + +"Your bride stands between us." + +He rose, and with a stride reached me. + +"My bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him, "because my equal +is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?" + +Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I +was still incredulous. + +"Do you doubt me, Jane?" + +"Entirely." + +"You have no faith in me?" + +"Not a whit." + +"Am I a liar in your eyes?" he asked passionately. "Little sceptic, you +_shall_ be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that +you know. What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to +prove: I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of +what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result; +it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not--I could +not--marry Miss Ingram. You--you strange, you almost unearthly thing!--I +love as my own flesh. You--poor and obscure, and small and plain as you +are--I entreat to accept me as a husband." + +"What, me!" I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness--and especially in +his incivility--to credit his sincerity: "me who have not a friend in the +world but you--if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have +given me?" + +"You, Jane, I must have you for my own--entirely my own. Will you be +mine? Say yes, quickly." + +"Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight." + +"Why?" + +"Because I want to read your countenance--turn!" + +"There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched +page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer." + +His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were +strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes. + +"Oh, Jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed. "With that searching and yet +faithful and generous look, you torture me!" + +"How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my only +feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion--they cannot torture." + +"Gratitude!" he ejaculated; and added wildly--"Jane accept me quickly. +Say, Edward--give me my name--Edward--I will marry you." + +"Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to +be your wife?" + +"I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it." + +"Then, sir, I will marry you." + +"Edward--my little wife!" + +"Dear Edward!" + +"Come to me--come to me entirely now," said he; and added, in his deepest +tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "Make my +happiness--I will make yours." + +"God pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man meddle not with me: I +have her, and will hold her." + +"There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere." + +"No--that is the best of it," he said. And if I had loved him less I +should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but, +sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting--called to the +paradise of union--I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so +abundant a flow. Again and again he said, "Are you happy, Jane?" And +again and again I answered, "Yes." After which he murmured, "It will +atone--it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and +comfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there +not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at +God's tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world's +judgment--I wash my hands thereof. For man's opinion--I defy it." + +But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were +all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master's face, near as I was. And +what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roared +in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us. + +"We must go in," said Mr. Rochester: "the weather changes. I could have +sat with thee till morning, Jane." + +"And so," thought I, "could I with you." I should have said so, perhaps, +but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and +there was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought only +of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester's shoulder. + +The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, +and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the +threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water +out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did +not observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. The +clock was on the stroke of twelve. + +"Hasten to take off your wet things," said he; "and before you go, good- +night--good-night, my darling!" + +He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, there +stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ran +upstairs. "Explanation will do for another time," thought I. Still, +when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even +temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every +other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder +crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as +the rain fell during a storm of two hours' duration, I experienced no +fear and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice to my door in the course +of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was +strength for anything. + +Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tell +me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been +struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +As I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and wondered if +it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till I had seen +Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise. + +While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt it +was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its colour; +and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and +borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling to +look at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look; +but I was sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool his +affection by its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summer +dress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no attire had ever so well +become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood. + +I was not surprised, when I ran down into the hall, to see that a +brilliant June morning had succeeded to the tempest of the night; and to +feel, through the open glass door, the breathing of a fresh and fragrant +breeze. Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A beggar-woman and +her little boy--pale, ragged objects both--were coming up the walk, and I +ran down and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse--some +three or four shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee. +The rooks cawed, and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or so +musical as my own rejoicing heart. + +Mrs. Fairfax surprised me by looking out of the window with a sad +countenance, and saying gravely--"Miss Eyre, will you come to breakfast?" +During the meal she was quiet and cool: but I could not undeceive her +then. I must wait for my master to give explanations; and so must she. I +ate what I could, and then I hastened upstairs. I met Adele leaving the +schoolroom. + +"Where are you going? It is time for lessons." + +"Mr. Rochester has sent me away to the nursery." + +"Where is he?" + +"In there," pointing to the apartment she had left; and I went in, and +there he stood. + +"Come and bid me good-morning," said he. I gladly advanced; and it was +not merely a cold word now, or even a shake of the hand that I received, +but an embrace and a kiss. It seemed natural: it seemed genial to be so +well loved, so caressed by him. + +"Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty," said he: "truly +pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard- +seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; +the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" (I had green +eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were +new-dyed, I suppose.) + +"It is Jane Eyre, sir." + +"Soon to be Jane Rochester," he added: "in four weeks, Janet; not a day +more. Do you hear that?" + +I did, and I could not quite comprehend it: it made me giddy. The +feeling, the announcement sent through me, was something stronger than +was consistent with joy--something that smote and stunned. It was, I +think almost fear. + +"You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that for?" + +"Because you gave me a new name--Jane Rochester; and it seems so +strange." + +"Yes, Mrs. Rochester," said he; "young Mrs. Rochester--Fairfax +Rochester's girl-bride." + +"It can never be, sir; it does not sound likely. Human beings never +enjoy complete happiness in this world. I was not born for a different +destiny to the rest of my species: to imagine such a lot befalling me is +a fairy tale--a day-dream." + +"Which I can and will realise. I shall begin to-day. This morning I +wrote to my banker in London to send me certain jewels he has in his +keeping,--heirlooms for the ladies of Thornfield. In a day or two I hope +to pour them into your lap: for every privilege, every attention shall be +yours that I would accord a peer's daughter, if about to marry her." + +"Oh, sir!--never rain jewels! I don't like to hear them spoken of. +Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather not +have them." + +"I will myself put the diamond chain round your neck, and the circlet on +your forehead,--which it will become: for nature, at least, has stamped +her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will clasp the bracelets +on these fine wrists, and load these fairy-like fingers with rings." + +"No, no, sir! think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and in +another strain. Don't address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain, +Quakerish governess." + +"You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after the desire of my +heart,--delicate and aerial." + +"Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir,--or you are +sneering. For God's sake don't be ironical!" + +"I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too," he went on, while +I really became uneasy at the strain he had adopted, because I felt he +was either deluding himself or trying to delude me. "I will attire my +Jane in satin and lace, and she shall have roses in her hair; and I will +cover the head I love best with a priceless veil." + +"And then you won't know me, sir; and I shall not be your Jane Eyre any +longer, but an ape in a harlequin's jacket--a jay in borrowed plumes. I +would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage-trappings, as +myself clad in a court-lady's robe; and I don't call you handsome, sir, +though I love you most dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don't +flatter me." + +He pursued his theme, however, without noticing my deprecation. "This +very day I shall take you in the carriage to Millcote, and you must +choose some dresses for yourself. I told you we shall be married in four +weeks. The wedding is to take place quietly, in the church down below +yonder; and then I shall waft you away at once to town. After a brief +stay there, I shall bear my treasure to regions nearer the sun: to French +vineyards and Italian plains; and she shall see whatever is famous in old +story and in modern record: she shall taste, too, of the life of cities; +and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison with others." + +"Shall I travel?--and with you, sir?" + +"You shall sojourn at Paris, Rome, and Naples: at Florence, Venice, and +Vienna: all the ground I have wandered over shall be re-trodden by you: +wherever I stamped my hoof, your sylph's foot shall step also. Ten years +since, I flew through Europe half mad; with disgust, hate, and rage as my +companions: now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angel +as my comforter." + +I laughed at him as he said this. "I am not an angel," I asserted; "and +I will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you must +neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me--for you will not get +it, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at all +anticipate." + +"What do you anticipate of me?" + +"For a little while you will perhaps be as you are now,--a very little +while; and then you will turn cool; and then you will be capricious; and +then you will be stern, and I shall have much ado to please you: but when +you get well used to me, you will perhaps like me again,--_like_ me, I +say, not _love_ me. I suppose your love will effervesce in six months, +or less. I have observed in books written by men, that period assigned +as the farthest to which a husband's ardour extends. Yet, after all, as +a friend and companion, I hope never to become quite distasteful to my +dear master." + +"Distasteful! and like you again! I think I shall like you again, and +yet again: and I will make you confess I do not only _like_, but _love_ +you--with truth, fervour, constancy." + +"Yet are you not capricious, sir?" + +"To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I +find out they have neither souls nor hearts--when they open to me a +perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness, +and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul +made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break--at once +supple and stable, tractable and consistent--I am ever tender and true." + +"Had you ever experience of such a character, sir? Did you ever love +such an one?" + +"I love it now." + +"But before me: if I, indeed, in any respect come up to your difficult +standard?" + +"I never met your likeness. Jane, you please me, and you master me--you +seem to submit, and I like the sense of pliancy you impart; and while I +am twining the soft, silken skein round my finger, it sends a thrill up +my arm to my heart. I am influenced--conquered; and the influence is +sweeter than I can express; and the conquest I undergo has a witchery +beyond any triumph I can win. Why do you smile, Jane? What does that +inexplicable, that uncanny turn of countenance mean?" + +"I was thinking, sir (you will excuse the idea; it was involuntary), I +was thinking of Hercules and Samson with their charmers--" + +"You were, you little elfish--" + +"Hush, sir! You don't talk very wisely just now; any more than those +gentlemen acted very wisely. However, had they been married, they would +no doubt by their severity as husbands have made up for their softness as +suitors; and so will you, I fear. I wonder how you will answer me a year +hence, should I ask a favour it does not suit your convenience or +pleasure to grant." + +"Ask me something now, Jane,--the least thing: I desire to be entreated--" + +"Indeed I will, sir; I have my petition all ready." + +"Speak! But if you look up and smile with that countenance, I shall +swear concession before I know to what, and that will make a fool of me." + +"Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don't send for the jewels, and don't +crown me with roses: you might as well put a border of gold lace round +that plain pocket handkerchief you have there." + +"I might as well 'gild refined gold.' I know it: your request is granted +then--for the time. I will remand the order I despatched to my banker. +But you have not yet asked for anything; you have prayed a gift to be +withdrawn: try again." + +"Well then, sir, have the goodness to gratify my curiosity, which is much +piqued on one point." + +He looked disturbed. "What? what?" he said hastily. "Curiosity is a +dangerous petition: it is well I have not taken a vow to accord every +request--" + +"But there can be no danger in complying with this, sir." + +"Utter it, Jane: but I wish that instead of a mere inquiry into, perhaps, +a secret, it was a wish for half my estate." + +"Now, King Ahasuerus! What do I want with half your estate? Do you +think I am a Jew-usurer, seeking good investment in land? I would much +rather have all your confidence. You will not exclude me from your +confidence if you admit me to your heart?" + +"You are welcome to all my confidence that is worth having, Jane; but for +God's sake, don't desire a useless burden! Don't long for poison--don't +turn out a downright Eve on my hands!" + +"Why not, sir? You have just been telling me how much you liked to be +conquered, and how pleasant over-persuasion is to you. Don't you think I +had better take advantage of the confession, and begin and coax and +entreat--even cry and be sulky if necessary--for the sake of a mere essay +of my power?" + +"I dare you to any such experiment. Encroach, presume, and the game is +up." + +"Is it, sir? You soon give in. How stern you look now! Your eyebrows +have become as thick as my finger, and your forehead resembles what, in +some very astonishing poetry, I once saw styled, 'a blue-piled +thunderloft.' That will be your married look, sir, I suppose?" + +"If that will be _your_ married look, I, as a Christian, will soon give +up the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander. But what +had you to ask, thing,--out with it?" + +"There, you are less than civil now; and I like rudeness a great deal +better than flattery. I had rather be a _thing_ than an angel. This is +what I have to ask,--Why did you take such pains to make me believe you +wished to marry Miss Ingram?" + +"Is that all? Thank God it is no worse!" And now he unknit his black +brows; looked down, smiling at me, and stroked my hair, as if well +pleased at seeing a danger averted. "I think I may confess," he +continued, "even although I should make you a little indignant, Jane--and +I have seen what a fire-spirit you can be when you are indignant. You +glowed in the cool moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate, +and claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-the-bye, it was you who +made me the offer." + +"Of course I did. But to the point if you please, sir--Miss Ingram?" + +"Well, I feigned courtship of Miss Ingram, because I wished to render you +as madly in love with me as I was with you; and I knew jealousy would be +the best ally I could call in for the furtherance of that end." + +"Excellent! Now you are small--not one whit bigger than the end of my +little finger. It was a burning shame and a scandalous disgrace to act +in that way. Did you think nothing of Miss Ingram's feelings, sir?" + +"Her feelings are concentrated in one--pride; and that needs humbling. +Were you jealous, Jane?" + +"Never mind, Mr. Rochester: it is in no way interesting to you to know +that. Answer me truly once more. Do you think Miss Ingram will not +suffer from your dishonest coquetry? Won't she feel forsaken and +deserted?" + +"Impossible!--when I told you how she, on the contrary, deserted me: the +idea of my insolvency cooled, or rather extinguished, her flame in a +moment." + +"You have a curious, designing mind, Mr. Rochester. I am afraid your +principles on some points are eccentric." + +"My principles were never trained, Jane: they may have grown a little +awry for want of attention." + +"Once again, seriously; may I enjoy the great good that has been +vouchsafed to me, without fearing that any one else is suffering the +bitter pain I myself felt a while ago?" + +"That you may, my good little girl: there is not another being in the +world has the same pure love for me as yourself--for I lay that pleasant +unction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your affection." + +I turned my lips to the hand that lay on my shoulder. I loved him very +much--more than I could trust myself to say--more than words had power to +express. + +"Ask something more," he said presently; "it is my delight to be +entreated, and to yield." + +I was again ready with my request. "Communicate your intentions to Mrs. +Fairfax, sir: she saw me with you last night in the hall, and she was +shocked. Give her some explanation before I see her again. It pains me +to be misjudged by so good a woman." + +"Go to your room, and put on your bonnet," he replied. "I mean you to +accompany me to Millcote this morning; and while you prepare for the +drive, I will enlighten the old lady's understanding. Did she think, +Janet, you had given the world for love, and considered it well lost?" + +"I believe she thought I had forgotten my station, and yours, sir." + +"Station! station!--your station is in my heart, and on the necks of +those who would insult you, now or hereafter.--Go." + +I was soon dressed; and when I heard Mr. Rochester quit Mrs. Fairfax's +parlour, I hurried down to it. The old lady, had been reading her +morning portion of Scripture--the Lesson for the day; her Bible lay open +before her, and her spectacles were upon it. Her occupation, suspended +by Mr. Rochester's announcement, seemed now forgotten: her eyes, fixed on +the blank wall opposite, expressed the surprise of a quiet mind stirred +by unwonted tidings. Seeing me, she roused herself: she made a sort of +effort to smile, and framed a few words of congratulation; but the smile +expired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished. She put up her +spectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair back from the table. + +"I feel so astonished," she began, "I hardly know what to say to you, +Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have I? Sometimes I half +fall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have never +happened. It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze, +that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat +down beside me; and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice, +as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true that +Mr. Rochester has asked you to marry him? Don't laugh at me. But I +really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month +you would be his wife." + +"He has said the same thing to me," I replied. + +"He has! Do you believe him? Have you accepted him?" + +"Yes." + +She looked at me bewildered. "I could never have thought it. He is a +proud man: all the Rochesters were proud: and his father, at least, liked +money. He, too, has always been called careful. He means to marry you?" + +"He tells me so." + +She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there +found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma. + +"It passes me!" she continued; "but no doubt, it is true since you say +so. How it will answer, I cannot tell: I really don't know. Equality of +position and fortune is often advisable in such cases; and there are +twenty years of difference in your ages. He might almost be your +father." + +"No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!" exclaimed I, nettled; "he is nothing like my +father! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant. +Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and- +twenty." + +"Is it really for love he is going to marry you?" she asked. + +I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to my +eyes. + +"I am sorry to grieve you," pursued the widow; "but you are so young, and +so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It is +an old saying that 'all is not gold that glitters;' and in this case I do +fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or +I expect." + +"Why?--am I a monster?" I said: "is it impossible that Mr. Rochester +should have a sincere affection for me?" + +"No: you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, I +daresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort of +pet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little +uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your +guard: but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong. I +knew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were so +discreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be +trusted to protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what I +suffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere, +nor the master either; and then, at twelve o'clock, saw you come in with +him." + +"Well, never mind that now," I interrupted impatiently; "it is enough +that all was right." + +"I hope all will be right in the end," she said: "but believe me, you +cannot be too careful. Try and keep Mr. Rochester at a distance: +distrust yourself as well as him. Gentlemen in his station are not +accustomed to marry their governesses." + +I was growing truly irritated: happily, Adele ran in. + +"Let me go,--let me go to Millcote too!" she cried. "Mr. Rochester +won't: though there is so much room in the new carriage. Beg him to let +me go mademoiselle." + +"That I will, Adele;" and I hastened away with her, glad to quit my +gloomy monitress. The carriage was ready: they were bringing it round to +the front, and my master was pacing the pavement, Pilot following him +backwards and forwards. + +"Adele may accompany us, may she not, sir?" + +"I told her no. I'll have no brats!--I'll have only you." + +"Do let her go, Mr. Rochester, if you please: it would be better." + +"Not it: she will be a restraint." + +He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of Mrs. +Fairfax's warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon me: something of +unsubstantiality and uncertainty had beset my hopes. I half lost the +sense of power over him. I was about mechanically to obey him, without +further remonstrance; but as he helped me into the carriage, he looked at +my face. + +"What is the matter?" he asked; "all the sunshine is gone. Do you really +wish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?" + +"I would far rather she went, sir." + +"Then off for your bonnet, and back like a flash of lightning!" cried he +to Adele. + +She obeyed him with what speed she might. + +"After all, a single morning's interruption will not matter much," said +he, "when I mean shortly to claim you--your thoughts, conversation, and +company--for life." + +Adele, when lifted in, commenced kissing me, by way of expressing her +gratitude for my intercession: she was instantly stowed away into a +corner on the other side of him. She then peeped round to where I sat; +so stern a neighbour was too restrictive to him, in his present fractious +mood, she dared whisper no observations, nor ask of him any information. + +"Let her come to me," I entreated: "she will, perhaps, trouble you, sir: +there is plenty of room on this side." + +He handed her over as if she had been a lapdog. "I'll send her to school +yet," he said, but now he was smiling. + +Adele heard him, and asked if she was to go to school "sans +mademoiselle?" + +"Yes," he replied, "absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take +mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the +white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me +there, and only me." + +"She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her," observed Adele. + +"I shall gather manna for her morning and night: the plains and hillsides +in the moon are bleached with manna, Adele." + +"She will want to warm herself: what will she do for a fire?" + +"Fire rises out of the lunar mountains: when she is cold, I'll carry her +up to a peak, and lay her down on the edge of a crater." + +"Oh, qu' elle y sera mal--peu comfortable! And her clothes, they will +wear out: how can she get new ones?" + +Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. "Hem!" said he. "What would you +do, Adele? Cudgel your brains for an expedient. How would a white or a +pink cloud answer for a gown, do you think? And one could cut a pretty +enough scarf out of a rainbow." + +"She is far better as she is," concluded Adele, after musing some time: +"besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If I +were mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you." + +"She has consented: she has pledged her word." + +"But you can't get her there; there is no road to the moon: it is all +air; and neither you nor she can fly." + +"Adele, look at that field." We were now outside Thornfield gates, and +bowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust was +well laid by the thunderstorm, and, where the low hedges and lofty timber +trees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed. + +"In that field, Adele, I was walking late one evening about a fortnight +since--the evening of the day you helped me to make hay in the orchard +meadows; and, as I was tired with raking swaths, I sat down to rest me on +a stile; and there I took out a little book and a pencil, and began to +write about a misfortune that befell me long ago, and a wish I had for +happy days to come: I was writing away very fast, though daylight was +fading from the leaf, when something came up the path and stopped two +yards off me. I looked at it. It was a little thing with a veil of +gossamer on its head. I beckoned it to come near me; it stood soon at my +knee. I never spoke to it, and it never spoke to me, in words; but I +read its eyes, and it read mine; and our speechless colloquy was to this +effect-- + +"It was a fairy, and come from Elf-land, it said; and its errand was to +make me happy: I must go with it out of the common world to a lonely +place--such as the moon, for instance--and it nodded its head towards her +horn, rising over Hay-hill: it told me of the alabaster cave and silver +vale where we might live. I said I should like to go; but reminded it, +as you did me, that I had no wings to fly. + +"'Oh,' returned the fairy, 'that does not signify! Here is a talisman +will remove all difficulties;' and she held out a pretty gold ring. 'Put +it,' she said, 'on the fourth finger of my left hand, and I am yours, and +you are mine; and we shall leave earth, and make our own heaven yonder.' +She nodded again at the moon. The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket, +under the disguise of a sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ring +again." + +"But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for the fairy: +you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?" + +"Mademoiselle is a fairy," he said, whispering mysteriously. Whereupon I +told her not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fund +of genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester "un vrai +menteur," and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his +"contes de fee," and that "du reste, il n'y avait pas de fees, et quand +meme il y en avait:" she was sure they would never appear to him, nor +ever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the moon. + +The hour spent at Millcote was a somewhat harassing one to me. Mr. +Rochester obliged me to go to a certain silk warehouse: there I was +ordered to choose half-a-dozen dresses. I hated the business, I begged +leave to defer it: no--it should be gone through with now. By dint of +entreaties expressed in energetic whispers, I reduced the half-dozen to +two: these however, he vowed he would select himself. With anxiety I +watched his eye rove over the gay stores: he fixed on a rich silk of the +most brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told him in a +new series of whispers, that he might as well buy me a gold gown and a +silver bonnet at once: I should certainly never venture to wear his +choice. With infinite difficulty, for he was stubborn as a stone, I +persuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a sober black satin and +pearl-grey silk. "It might pass for the present," he said; "but he would +yet see me glittering like a parterre." + +Glad was I to get him out of the silk warehouse, and then out of a +jewellers shop: the more he bought me, the more my cheek burned with a +sense of annoyance and degradation. As we re-entered the carriage, and I +sat back feverish and fagged, I remembered what, in the hurry of events, +dark and bright, I had wholly forgotten--the letter of my uncle, John +Eyre, to Mrs. Reed: his intention to adopt me and make me his legatee. +"It would, indeed, be a relief," I thought, "if I had ever so small an +independency; I never can bear being dressed like a doll by Mr. +Rochester, or sitting like a second Danae with the golden shower falling +daily round me. I will write to Madeira the moment I get home, and tell +my uncle John I am going to be married, and to whom: if I had but a +prospect of one day bringing Mr. Rochester an accession of fortune, I +could better endure to be kept by him now." And somewhat relieved by +this idea (which I failed not to execute that day), I ventured once more +to meet my master's and lover's eye, which most pertinaciously sought +mine, though I averted both face and gaze. He smiled; and I thought his +smile was such as a sultan might, in a blissful and fond moment, bestow +on a slave his gold and gems had enriched: I crushed his hand, which was +ever hunting mine, vigorously, and thrust it back to him red with the +passionate pressure. + +"You need not look in that way," I said; "if you do, I'll wear nothing +but my old Lowood frocks to the end of the chapter. I'll be married in +this lilac gingham: you may make a dressing-gown for yourself out of the +pearl-grey silk, and an infinite series of waistcoats out of the black +satin." + +He chuckled; he rubbed his hands. "Oh, it is rich to see and hear her?" +he exclaimed. "Is she original? Is she piquant? I would not exchange +this one little English girl for the Grand Turk's whole seraglio, gazelle- +eyes, houri forms, and all!" + +The Eastern allusion bit me again. "I'll not stand you an inch in the +stead of a seraglio," I said; "so don't consider me an equivalent for +one. If you have a fancy for anything in that line, away with you, sir, +to the bazaars of Stamboul without delay, and lay out in extensive slave- +purchases some of that spare cash you seem at a loss to spend +satisfactorily here." + +"And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so many tons of +flesh and such an assortment of black eyes?" + +"I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to +them that are enslaved--your harem inmates amongst the rest. I'll get +admitted there, and I'll stir up mutiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw as +you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands: +nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a +charter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred." + +"I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane." + +"I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an +eye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whatever +charter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released, +would be to violate its conditions." + +"Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel me to go through +a private marriage ceremony, besides that performed at the altar. You +will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms--what will they be?" + +"I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do +you remember what you said of Celine Varens?--of the diamonds, the +cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Celine Varens. I +shall continue to act as Adele's governess; by that I shall earn my board +and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I'll furnish my own +wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but--" + +"Well, but what?" + +"Your regard; and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit." + +"Well, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you haven't your +equal," said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. "Will it please +you to dine with me to-day?" he asked, as we re-entered the gates. + +"No, thank you, sir." + +"And what for, 'no, thank you?' if one may inquire." + +"I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now: +till--" + +"Till what? You delight in half-phrases." + +"Till I can't help it." + +"Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being the +companion of my repast?" + +"I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on as +usual for another month." + +"You will give up your governessing slavery at once." + +"Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with +it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have been +accustomed to do: you may send for me in the evening, when you feel +disposed to see me, and I'll come then; but at no other time." + +"I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this, +'pour me donner une contenance,' as Adele would say; and unfortunately I +have neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen--whisper. It +is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently; and when +once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I'll +just--figuratively speaking--attach you to a chain like this" (touching +his watch-guard). "Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lest +my jewel I should tyne." + +He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage, and while he +afterwards lifted out Adele, I entered the house, and made good my +retreat upstairs. + +He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared an +occupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a +_tete-a-tete_ conversation. I remembered his fine voice; I knew he liked +to sing--good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, in +his fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted in +listening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that +hour of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over the +lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the love +of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and that +he would rather sing another time; but I averred that no time was like +the present. + +"Did I like his voice?" he asked. + +"Very much." I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his; +but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e'en soothe and +stimulate it. + +"Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment." + +"Very well, sir, I will try." + +I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated "a +little bungler." Being pushed unceremoniously to one side--which was +precisely what I wished--he usurped my place, and proceeded to accompany +himself: for he could play as well as sing. I hied me to the +window-recess. And while I sat there and looked out on the still trees +and dim lawn, to a sweet air was sung in mellow tones the following +strain:-- + + "The truest love that ever heart + Felt at its kindled core, + Did through each vein, in quickened start, + The tide of being pour. + + Her coming was my hope each day, + Her parting was my pain; + The chance that did her steps delay + Was ice in every vein. + + I dreamed it would be nameless bliss, + As I loved, loved to be; + And to this object did I press + As blind as eagerly. + + But wide as pathless was the space + That lay our lives between, + And dangerous as the foamy race + Of ocean-surges green. + + And haunted as a robber-path + Through wilderness or wood; + For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath, + Between our spirits stood. + + I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned; + I omens did defy: + Whatever menaced, harassed, warned, + I passed impetuous by. + + On sped my rainbow, fast as light; + I flew as in a dream; + For glorious rose upon my sight + That child of Shower and Gleam. + + Still bright on clouds of suffering dim + Shines that soft, solemn joy; + Nor care I now, how dense and grim + Disasters gather nigh. + + I care not in this moment sweet, + Though all I have rushed o'er + Should come on pinion, strong and fleet, + Proclaiming vengeance sore: + + Though haughty Hate should strike me down, + Right, bar approach to me, + And grinding Might, with furious frown, + Swear endless enmity. + + My love has placed her little hand + With noble faith in mine, + And vowed that wedlock's sacred band + Our nature shall entwine. + + My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, + With me to live--to die; + I have at last my nameless bliss. + As I love--loved am I!" + +He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled, and his full +falcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in every lineament. I +quailed momentarily--then I rallied. Soft scene, daring demonstration, I +would not have; and I stood in peril of both: a weapon of defence must be +prepared--I whetted my tongue: as he reached me, I asked with asperity, +"whom he was going to marry now?" + +"That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane." + +"Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one: he had talked +of his future wife dying with him. What did he mean by such a pagan +idea? _I_ had no intention of dying with him--he might depend on that." + +"Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I might live with him! +Death was not for such as I." + +"Indeed it was: I had as good a right to die when my time came as he had: +but I should bide that time, and not be hurried away in a suttee." + +"Would I forgive him for the selfish idea, and prove my pardon by a +reconciling kiss?" + +"No: I would rather be excused." + +Here I heard myself apostrophised as a "hard little thing;" and it was +added, "any other woman would have been melted to marrow at hearing such +stanzas crooned in her praise." + +I assured him I was naturally hard--very flinty, and that he would often +find me so; and that, moreover, I was determined to show him divers +rugged points in my character before the ensuing four weeks elapsed: he +should know fully what sort of a bargain he had made, while there was yet +time to rescind it. + +"Would I be quiet and talk rationally?" + +"I would be quiet if he liked, and as to talking rationally, I flattered +myself I was doing that now." + +He fretted, pished, and pshawed. "Very good," I thought; "you may fume +and fidget as you please: but this is the best plan to pursue with you, I +am certain. I like you more than I can say; but I'll not sink into a +bathos of sentiment: and with this needle of repartee I'll keep you from +the edge of the gulf too; and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid that +distance between you and myself most conducive to our real mutual +advantage." + +From less to more, I worked him up to considerable irritation; then, +after he had retired, in dudgeon, quite to the other end of the room, I +got up, and saying, "I wish you good-night, sir," in my natural and +wonted respectful manner, I slipped out by the side-door and got away. + +The system thus entered on, I pursued during the whole season of +probation; and with the best success. He was kept, to be sure, rather +cross and crusty; but on the whole I could see he was excellently +entertained, and that a lamb-like submission and turtle-dove sensibility, +while fostering his despotism more, would have pleased his judgment, +satisfied his common-sense, and even suited his taste less. + +In other people's presence I was, as formerly, deferential and quiet; any +other line of conduct being uncalled for: it was only in the evening +conferences I thus thwarted and afflicted him. He continued to send for +me punctually the moment the clock struck seven; though when I appeared +before him now, he had no such honeyed terms as "love" and "darling" on +his lips: the best words at my service were "provoking puppet," +"malicious elf," "sprite," "changeling," &c. For caresses, too, I now +got grimaces; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm; for a kiss +on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was all right: at present I +decidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. Mrs. +Fairfax, I saw, approved me: her anxiety on my account vanished; +therefore I was certain I did well. Meantime, Mr. Rochester affirmed I +was wearing him to skin and bone, and threatened awful vengeance for my +present conduct at some period fast coming. I laughed in my sleeve at +his menaces. "I can keep you in reasonable check now," I reflected; "and +I don't doubt to be able to do it hereafter: if one expedient loses its +virtue, another must be devised." + +Yet after all my task was not an easy one; often I would rather have +pleased than teased him. My future husband was becoming to me my whole +world; and more than the world: almost my hope of heaven. He stood +between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes +between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for +His creature: of whom I had made an idol. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +The month of courtship had wasted: its very last hours were being +numbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced--the bridal +day; and all preparations for its arrival were complete. _I_, at least, +had nothing more to do: there were my trunks, packed, locked, corded, +ranged in a row along the wall of my little chamber; to-morrow, at this +time, they would be far on their road to London: and so should I +(D.V.),--or rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, a person whom as yet I +knew not. The cards of address alone remained to nail on: they lay, four +little squares, in the drawer. Mr. Rochester had himself written the +direction, "Mrs. Rochester, --- Hotel, London," on each: I could not +persuade myself to affix them, or to have them affixed. Mrs. Rochester! +She did not exist: she would not be born till to-morrow, some time after +eight o'clock a.m.; and I would wait to be assured she had come into the +world alive before I assigned to her all that property. It was enough +that in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, garments said to be +hers had already displaced my black stuff Lowood frock and straw bonnet: +for not to me appertained that suit of wedding raiment; the +pearl-coloured robe, the vapoury veil pendent from the usurped +portmanteau. I shut the closet to conceal the strange, wraith-like +apparel it contained; which, at this evening hour--nine o'clock--gave out +certainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. "I +will leave you by yourself, white dream," I said. "I am feverish: I hear +the wind blowing: I will go out of doors and feel it." + +It was not only the hurry of preparation that made me feverish; not only +the anticipation of the great change--the new life which was to commence +to-morrow: both these circumstances had their share, doubtless, in +producing that restless, excited mood which hurried me forth at this late +hour into the darkening grounds: but a third cause influenced my mind +more than they. + +I had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something had happened +which I could not comprehend; no one knew of or had seen the event but +myself: it had taken place the preceding night. Mr. Rochester that night +was absent from home; nor was he yet returned: business had called him to +a small estate of two or three farms he possessed thirty miles +off--business it was requisite he should settle in person, previous to +his meditated departure from England. I waited now his return; eager to +disburthen my mind, and to seek of him the solution of the enigma that +perplexed me. Stay till he comes, reader; and, when I disclose my secret +to him, you shall share the confidence. + +I sought the orchard, driven to its shelter by the wind, which all day +had blown strong and full from the south, without, however, bringing a +speck of rain. Instead of subsiding as night drew on, it seemed to +augment its rush and deepen its roar: the trees blew steadfastly one way, +never writhing round, and scarcely tossing back their boughs once in an +hour; so continuous was the strain bending their branchy heads +northward--the clouds drifted from pole to pole, fast following, mass on +mass: no glimpse of blue sky had been visible that July day. + +It was not without a certain wild pleasure I ran before the wind, +delivering my trouble of mind to the measureless air-torrent thundering +through space. Descending the laurel walk, I faced the wreck of the +chestnut-tree; it stood up black and riven: the trunk, split down the +centre, gasped ghastly. The cloven halves were not broken from each +other, for the firm base and strong roots kept them unsundered below; +though community of vitality was destroyed--the sap could flow no more: +their great boughs on each side were dead, and next winter's tempests +would be sure to fell one or both to earth: as yet, however, they might +be said to form one tree--a ruin, but an entire ruin. + +"You did right to hold fast to each other," I said: as if the monster- +splinters were living things, and could hear me. "I think, scathed as +you look, and charred and scorched, there must be a little sense of life +in you yet, rising out of that adhesion at the faithful, honest roots: +you will never have green leaves more--never more see birds making nests +and singing idyls in your boughs; the time of pleasure and love is over +with you: but you are not desolate: each of you has a comrade to +sympathise with him in his decay." As I looked up at them, the moon +appeared momentarily in that part of the sky which filled their fissure; +her disk was blood-red and half overcast; she seemed to throw on me one +bewildered, dreary glance, and buried herself again instantly in the deep +drift of cloud. The wind fell, for a second, round Thornfield; but far +away over wood and water, poured a wild, melancholy wail: it was sad to +listen to, and I ran off again. + +Here and there I strayed through the orchard, gathered up the apples with +which the grass round the tree roots was thickly strewn; then I employed +myself in dividing the ripe from the unripe; I carried them into the +house and put them away in the store-room. Then I repaired to the +library to ascertain whether the fire was lit, for, though summer, I knew +on such a gloomy evening Mr. Rochester would like to see a cheerful +hearth when he came in: yes, the fire had been kindled some time, and +burnt well. I placed his arm-chair by the chimney-corner: I wheeled the +table near it: I let down the curtain, and had the candles brought in +ready for lighting. More restless than ever, when I had completed these +arrangements I could not sit still, nor even remain in the house: a +little time-piece in the room and the old clock in the hall +simultaneously struck ten. + +"How late it grows!" I said. "I will run down to the gates: it is +moonlight at intervals; I can see a good way on the road. He may be +coming now, and to meet him will save some minutes of suspense." + +The wind roared high in the great trees which embowered the gates; but +the road as far as I could see, to the right hand and the left, was all +still and solitary: save for the shadows of clouds crossing it at +intervals as the moon looked out, it was but a long pale line, unvaried +by one moving speck. + +A puerile tear dimmed my eye while I looked--a tear of disappointment and +impatience; ashamed of it, I wiped it away. I lingered; the moon shut +herself wholly within her chamber, and drew close her curtain of dense +cloud: the night grew dark; rain came driving fast on the gale. + +"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" I exclaimed, seized with +hypochondriac foreboding. I had expected his arrival before tea; now it +was dark: what could keep him? Had an accident happened? The event of +last night again recurred to me. I interpreted it as a warning of +disaster. I feared my hopes were too bright to be realised; and I had +enjoyed so much bliss lately that I imagined my fortune had passed its +meridian, and must now decline. + +"Well, I cannot return to the house," I thought; "I cannot sit by the +fireside, while he is abroad in inclement weather: better tire my limbs +than strain my heart; I will go forward and meet him." + +I set out; I walked fast, but not far: ere I had measured a quarter of a +mile, I heard the tramp of hoofs; a horseman came on, full gallop; a dog +ran by his side. Away with evil presentiment! It was he: here he was, +mounted on Mesrour, followed by Pilot. He saw me; for the moon had +opened a blue field in the sky, and rode in it watery bright: he took his +hat off, and waved it round his head. I now ran to meet him. + +"There!" he exclaimed, as he stretched out his hand and bent from the +saddle: "You can't do without me, that is evident. Step on my boot-toe; +give me both hands: mount!" + +I obeyed: joy made me agile: I sprang up before him. A hearty kissing I +got for a welcome, and some boastful triumph, which I swallowed as well +as I could. He checked himself in his exultation to demand, "But is +there anything the matter, Janet, that you come to meet me at such an +hour? Is there anything wrong?" + +"No, but I thought you would never come. I could not bear to wait in the +house for you, especially with this rain and wind." + +"Rain and wind, indeed! Yes, you are dripping like a mermaid; pull my +cloak round you: but I think you are feverish, Jane: both your cheek and +hand are burning hot. I ask again, is there anything the matter?" + +"Nothing now; I am neither afraid nor unhappy." + +"Then you have been both?" + +"Rather: but I'll tell you all about it by-and-bye, sir; and I daresay +you will only laugh at me for my pains." + +"I'll laugh at you heartily when to-morrow is past; till then I dare not: +my prize is not certain. This is you, who have been as slippery as an +eel this last month, and as thorny as a briar-rose? I could not lay a +finger anywhere but I was pricked; and now I seem to have gathered up a +stray lamb in my arms. You wandered out of the fold to seek your +shepherd, did you, Jane?" + +"I wanted you: but don't boast. Here we are at Thornfield: now let me +get down." + +He landed me on the pavement. As John took his horse, and he followed me +into the hall, he told me to make haste and put something dry on, and +then return to him in the library; and he stopped me, as I made for the +staircase, to extort a promise that I would not be long: nor was I long; +in five minutes I rejoined him. I found him at supper. + +"Take a seat and bear me company, Jane: please God, it is the last meal +but one you will eat at Thornfield Hall for a long time." + +I sat down near him, but told him I could not eat. "Is it because you +have the prospect of a journey before you, Jane? Is it the thoughts of +going to London that takes away your appetite?" + +"I cannot see my prospects clearly to-night, sir; and I hardly know what +thoughts I have in my head. Everything in life seems unreal." + +"Except me: I am substantial enough--touch me." + +"You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all: you are a mere dream." + +He held out his hand, laughing. "Is that a dream?" said he, placing it +close to my eyes. He had a rounded, muscular, and vigorous hand, as well +as a long, strong arm. + +"Yes; though I touch it, it is a dream," said I, as I put it down from +before my face. "Sir, have you finished supper?" + +"Yes, Jane." + +I rang the bell and ordered away the tray. When we were again alone, I +stirred the fire, and then took a low seat at my master's knee. + +"It is near midnight," I said. + +"Yes: but remember, Jane, you promised to wake with me the night before +my wedding." + +"I did; and I will keep my promise, for an hour or two at least: I have +no wish to go to bed." + +"Are all your arrangements complete?" + +"All, sir." + +"And on my part likewise," he returned, "I have settled everything; and +we shall leave Thornfield to-morrow, within half-an-hour after our return +from church." + +"Very well, sir." + +"With what an extraordinary smile you uttered that word--'very well,' +Jane! What a bright spot of colour you have on each cheek! and how +strangely your eyes glitter! Are you well?" + +"I believe I am." + +"Believe! What is the matter? Tell me what you feel." + +"I could not, sir: no words could tell you what I feel. I wish this +present hour would never end: who knows with what fate the next may come +charged?" + +"This is hypochondria, Jane. You have been over-excited, or +over-fatigued." + +"Do you, sir, feel calm and happy?" + +"Calm?--no: but happy--to the heart's core." + +I looked up at him to read the signs of bliss in his face: it was ardent +and flushed. + +"Give me your confidence, Jane," he said: "relieve your mind of any +weight that oppresses it, by imparting it to me. What do you fear?--that +I shall not prove a good husband?" + +"It is the idea farthest from my thoughts." + +"Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to enter?--of the +new life into which you are passing?" + +"No." + +"You puzzle me, Jane: your look and tone of sorrowful audacity perplex +and pain me. I want an explanation." + +"Then, sir, listen. You were from home last night?" + +"I was: I know that; and you hinted a while ago at something which had +happened in my absence:--nothing, probably, of consequence; but, in +short, it has disturbed you. Let me hear it. Mrs. Fairfax has said +something, perhaps? or you have overheard the servants talk?--your +sensitive self-respect has been wounded?" + +"No, sir." It struck twelve--I waited till the time-piece had concluded +its silver chime, and the clock its hoarse, vibrating stroke, and then I +proceeded. + +"All day yesterday I was very busy, and very happy in my ceaseless +bustle; for I am not, as you seem to think, troubled by any haunting +fears about the new sphere, et cetera: I think it a glorious thing to +have the hope of living with you, because I love you. No, sir, don't +caress me now--let me talk undisturbed. Yesterday I trusted well in +Providence, and believed that events were working together for your good +and mine: it was a fine day, if you recollect--the calmness of the air +and sky forbade apprehensions respecting your safety or comfort on your +journey. I walked a little while on the pavement after tea, thinking of +you; and I beheld you in imagination so near me, I scarcely missed your +actual presence. I thought of the life that lay before me--_your_ life, +sir--an existence more expansive and stirring than my own: as much more +so as the depths of the sea to which the brook runs are than the shallows +of its own strait channel. I wondered why moralists call this world a +dreary wilderness: for me it blossomed like a rose. Just at sunset, the +air turned cold and the sky cloudy: I went in, Sophie called me upstairs +to look at my wedding-dress, which they had just brought; and under it in +the box I found your present--the veil which, in your princely +extravagance, you sent for from London: resolved, I suppose, since I +would not have jewels, to cheat me into accepting something as costly. I +smiled as I unfolded it, and devised how I would tease you about your +aristocratic tastes, and your efforts to masque your plebeian bride in +the attributes of a peeress. I thought how I would carry down to you the +square of unembroidered blond I had myself prepared as a covering for my +low-born head, and ask if that was not good enough for a woman who could +bring her husband neither fortune, beauty, nor connections. I saw +plainly how you would look; and heard your impetuous republican answers, +and your haughty disavowal of any necessity on your part to augment your +wealth, or elevate your standing, by marrying either a purse or a +coronet." + +"How well you read me, you witch!" interposed Mr. Rochester: "but what +did you find in the veil besides its embroidery? Did you find poison, or +a dagger, that you look so mournful now?" + +"No, no, sir; besides the delicacy and richness of the fabric, I found +nothing save Fairfax Rochester's pride; and that did not scare me, +because I am used to the sight of the demon. But, sir, as it grew dark, +the wind rose: it blew yesterday evening, not as it blows now--wild and +high--but 'with a sullen, moaning sound' far more eerie. I wished you +were at home. I came into this room, and the sight of the empty chair +and fireless hearth chilled me. For some time after I went to bed, I +could not sleep--a sense of anxious excitement distressed me. The gale +still rising, seemed to my ear to muffle a mournful under-sound; whether +in the house or abroad I could not at first tell, but it recurred, +doubtful yet doleful at every lull; at last I made out it must be some +dog howling at a distance. I was glad when it ceased. On sleeping, I +continued in dreams the idea of a dark and gusty night. I continued also +the wish to be with you, and experienced a strange, regretful +consciousness of some barrier dividing us. During all my first sleep, I +was following the windings of an unknown road; total obscurity environed +me; rain pelted me; I was burdened with the charge of a little child: a +very small creature, too young and feeble to walk, and which shivered in +my cold arms, and wailed piteously in my ear. I thought, sir, that you +were on the road a long way before me; and I strained every nerve to +overtake you, and made effort on effort to utter your name and entreat +you to stop--but my movements were fettered, and my voice still died away +inarticulate; while you, I felt, withdrew farther and farther every +moment." + +"And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am close to +you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and think only of +real happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes--I will not forget that; +and you cannot deny it. _Those_ words did not die inarticulate on your +lips. I heard them clear and soft: a thought too solemn perhaps, but +sweet as music--'I think it is a glorious thing to have the hope of +living with you, Edward, because I love you.' Do you love me, +Jane?--repeat it." + +"I do, sir--I do, with my whole heart." + +"Well," he said, after some minutes' silence, "it is strange; but that +sentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why? I think because you +said it with such an earnest, religious energy, and because your upward +gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and devotion: it is +too much as if some spirit were near me. Look wicked, Jane: as you know +well how to look: coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles; tell me +you hate me--tease me, vex me; do anything but move me: I would rather be +incensed than saddened." + +"I will tease you and vex you to your heart's content, when I have +finished my tale: but hear me to the end." + +"I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the source +of your melancholy in a dream." + +I shook my head. "What! is there more? But I will not believe it to be +anything important. I warn you of incredulity beforehand. Go on." + +The disquietude of his air, the somewhat apprehensive impatience of his +manner, surprised me: but I proceeded. + +"I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, the +retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all the stately front +nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and very +fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through the grass- +grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth, and there +over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped up in a shawl, I still +carried the unknown little child: I might not lay it down anywhere, +however tired were my arms--however much its weight impeded my progress, +I must retain it. I heard the gallop of a horse at a distance on the +road; I was sure it was you; and you were departing for many years and +for a distant country. I climbed the thin wall with frantic perilous +haste, eager to catch one glimpse of you from the top: the stones rolled +from under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clung +round my neck in terror, and almost strangled me; at last I gained the +summit. I saw you like a speck on a white track, lessening every moment. +The blast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrow +ledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle of the +road: I bent forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; I was +shaken; the child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell, and +woke." + +"Now, Jane, that is all." + +"All the preface, sir; the tale is yet to come. On waking, a gleam +dazzled my eyes; I thought--Oh, it is daylight! But I was mistaken; it +was only candlelight. Sophie, I supposed, had come in. There was a +light in the dressing-table, and the door of the closet, where, before +going to bed, I had hung my wedding-dress and veil, stood open; I heard a +rustling there. I asked, 'Sophie, what are you doing?' No one answered; +but a form emerged from the closet; it took the light, held it aloft, and +surveyed the garments pendent from the portmanteau. 'Sophie! Sophie!' I +again cried: and still it was silent. I had risen up in bed, I bent +forward: first surprise, then bewilderment, came over me; and then my +blood crept cold through my veins. Mr. Rochester, this was not Sophie, +it was not Leah, it was not Mrs. Fairfax: it was not--no, I was sure of +it, and am still--it was not even that strange woman, Grace Poole." + +"It must have been one of them," interrupted my master. + +"No, sir, I solemnly assure you to the contrary. The shape standing +before me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts of Thornfield +Hall before; the height, the contour were new to me." + +"Describe it, Jane." + +"It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hair +hanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: it was +white and straight; but whether gown, sheet, or shroud, I cannot tell." + +"Did you see her face?" + +"Not at first. But presently she took my veil from its place; she held +it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her own head, and +turned to the mirror. At that moment I saw the reflection of the visage +and features quite distinctly in the dark oblong glass." + +"And how were they?" + +"Fearful and ghastly to me--oh, sir, I never saw a face like it! It was +a discoloured face--it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the roll +of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!" + +"Ghosts are usually pale, Jane." + +"This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the brow +furrowed: the black eyebrows widely raised over the bloodshot eyes. Shall +I tell you of what it reminded me?" + +"You may." + +"Of the foul German spectre--the Vampyre." + +"Ah!--what did it do?" + +"Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and +flinging both on the floor, trampled on them." + +{It removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and +flinging both on the floor, trampled on them: p272.jpg} + +"Afterwards?" + +"It drew aside the window-curtain and looked out; perhaps it saw dawn +approaching, for, taking the candle, it retreated to the door. Just at +my bedside, the figure stopped: the fiery eyes glared upon me--she thrust +up her candle close to my face, and extinguished it under my eyes. I was +aware her lurid visage flamed over mine, and I lost consciousness: for +the second time in my life--only the second time--I became insensible +from terror." + +"Who was with you when you revived?" + +"No one, sir, but the broad day. I rose, bathed my head and face in +water, drank a long draught; felt that though enfeebled I was not ill, +and determined that to none but you would I impart this vision. Now, +sir, tell me who and what that woman was?" + +"The creature of an over-stimulated brain; that is certain. I must be +careful of you, my treasure: nerves like yours were not made for rough +handling." + +"Sir, depend on it, my nerves were not in fault; the thing was real: the +transaction actually took place." + +"And your previous dreams, were they real too? Is Thornfield Hall a +ruin? Am I severed from you by insuperable obstacles? Am I leaving you +without a tear--without a kiss--without a word?" + +"Not yet." + +"Am I about to do it? Why, the day is already commenced which is to bind +us indissolubly; and when we are once united, there shall be no +recurrence of these mental terrors: I guarantee that." + +"Mental terrors, sir! I wish I could believe them to be only such: I +wish it more now than ever; since even you cannot explain to me the +mystery of that awful visitant." + +"And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal." + +"But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and when I +looked round the room to gather courage and comfort from the cheerful +aspect of each familiar object in full daylight, there--on the carpet--I +saw what gave the distinct lie to my hypothesis,--the veil, torn from top +to bottom in two halves!" + +I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder; he hastily flung his arms round +me. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, "that if anything malignant did come near +you last night, it was only the veil that was harmed. Oh, to think what +might have happened!" + +He drew his breath short, and strained me so close to him, I could +scarcely pant. After some minutes' silence, he continued, cheerily-- + +"Now, Janet, I'll explain to you all about it. It was half dream, half +reality. A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and that woman +was--must have been--Grace Poole. You call her a strange being yourself: +from all you know, you have reason so to call her--what did she do to me? +what to Mason? In a state between sleeping and waking, you noticed her +entrance and her actions; but feverish, almost delirious as you were, you +ascribed to her a goblin appearance different from her own: the long +dishevelled hair, the swelled black face, the exaggerated stature, were +figments of imagination; results of nightmare: the spiteful tearing of +the veil was real: and it is like her. I see you would ask why I keep +such a woman in my house: when we have been married a year and a day, I +will tell you; but not now. Are you satisfied, Jane? Do you accept my +solution of the mystery?" + +I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one: +satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appear +so--relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contented +smile. And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him. + +"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery?" he asked, as I lit my +candle. + +"Yes, sir." + +"And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you. You must share +it with her to-night, Jane: it is no wonder that the incident you have +related should make you nervous, and I would rather you did not sleep +alone: promise me to go to the nursery." + +"I shall be very glad to do so, sir." + +"And fasten the door securely on the inside. Wake Sophie when you go +upstairs, under pretence of requesting her to rouse you in good time to- +morrow; for you must be dressed and have finished breakfast before eight. +And now, no more sombre thoughts: chase dull care away, Janet. Don't you +hear to what soft whispers the wind has fallen? and there is no more +beating of rain against the window-panes: look here" (he lifted up the +curtain)--"it is a lovely night!" + +It was. Half heaven was pure and stainless: the clouds, now trooping +before the wind, which had shifted to the west, were filing off eastward +in long, silvered columns. The moon shone peacefully. + +"Well," said Mr. Rochester, gazing inquiringly into my eyes, "how is my +Janet now?" + +"The night is serene, sir; and so am I." + +"And you will not dream of separation and sorrow to-night; but of happy +love and blissful union." + +This prediction was but half fulfilled: I did not indeed dream of sorrow, +but as little did I dream of joy; for I never slept at all. With little +Adele in my arms, I watched the slumber of childhood--so tranquil, so +passionless, so innocent--and waited for the coming day: all my life was +awake and astir in my frame: and as soon as the sun rose I rose too. I +remember Adele clung to me as I left her: I remember I kissed her as I +loosened her little hands from my neck; and I cried over her with strange +emotion, and quitted her because I feared my sobs would break her still +sound repose. She seemed the emblem of my past life; and here I was now +to array myself to meet, the dread, but adored, type of my unknown future +day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed in +accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose, +impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was just +fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to my hair with a +brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as I could. + +"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror: you have +not taken one peep." + +So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlike my +usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger. "Jane!" called +a voice, and I hastened down. I was received at the foot of the stairs +by Mr. Rochester. + +"Lingerer!" he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarry +so long!" + +He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over, pronounced +me "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life, but the desire of +his eyes," and then telling me he would give me but ten minutes to eat +some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of his lately hired servants, a +footman, answered it. + +"Is John getting the carriage ready?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Is the luggage brought down?" + +"They are bringing it down, sir." + +"Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and the clerk are +there: return and tell me." + +The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; the +footman soon returned. + +"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice." + +"And the carriage?" + +"The horses are harnessing." + +"We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the moment we +return: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped on, and the +coachman in his seat." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Jane, are you ready?" + +I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to wait +for or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax stood in the +hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her, but my hand was +held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a stride I could hardly +follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face was to feel that not a second +of delay would be tolerated for any purpose. I wonder what other +bridegroom ever looked as he did--so bent up to a purpose, so grimly +resolute: or who, under such steadfast brows, ever revealed such flaming +and flashing eyes. + +I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending the drive, I +gazed neither on sky nor earth: my heart was with my eyes; and both +seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted to see the +invisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared to fasten a +glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughts whose force he +seemed breasting and resisting. + +At the churchyard wicket he stopped: he discovered I was quite out of +breath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant: lean on +me, Jane." + +And now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God rising calm +before me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a ruddy morning sky +beyond. I remember something, too, of the green grave-mounds; and I have +not forgotten, either, two figures of strangers straying amongst the low +hillocks and reading the mementoes graven on the few mossy head-stones. I +noticed them, because, as they saw us, they passed round to the back of +the church; and I doubted not they were going to enter by the side-aisle +door and witness the ceremony. By Mr. Rochester they were not observed; +he was earnestly looking at my face from which the blood had, I daresay, +momentarily fled: for I felt my forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lips +cold. When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up the +path to the porch. + +We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his white +surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was still: two +shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture had been correct: +the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now stood by the vault +of the Rochesters, their backs towards us, viewing through the rails the +old time-stained marble tomb, where a kneeling angel guarded the remains +of Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in the time of the civil +wars, and of Elizabeth, his wife. + +Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a cautious step +behind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the strangers--a gentleman, +evidently--was advancing up the chancel. The service began. The +explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through; and then the +clergyman came a step further forward, and, bending slightly towards Mr. +Rochester, went on. + +"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful day of +judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed), that if +either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined +together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye well assured that +so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow, are +not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful." + +He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentence ever +broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. And the +clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and had held his +breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was already stretched +towards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this +woman for thy wedded wife?"--when a distinct and near voice said-- + +"The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment." + +The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did the +same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had rolled under +his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his head or eyes, he +said, "Proceed." + +Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but low +intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said-- + +"I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been asserted, +and evidence of its truth or falsehood." + +"The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice behind us. "I am +in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable impediment to this +marriage exists." + +Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid, making +no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot and strong +grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale, firm, massive +front at this moment! How his eye shone, still watchful, and yet wild +beneath! + +Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. "What is the nature of the impediment?" he +asked. "Perhaps it may be got over--explained away?" + +"Hardly," was the answer. "I have called it insuperable, and I speak +advisedly." + +The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued, uttering +each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly-- + +"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. +Rochester has a wife now living." + +My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never vibrated +to thunder--my blood felt their subtle violence as it had never felt +frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of swooning. I +looked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His whole face was +colourless rock: his eye was both spark and flint. He disavowed nothing: +he seemed as if he would defy all things. Without speaking, without +smiling, without seeming to recognise in me a human being, he only twined +my waist with his arm and riveted me to his side. + +"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder. + +"My name is Briggs, a solicitor of --- Street, London." + +"And you would thrust on me a wife?" + +"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law +recognises, if you do not." + +"Favour me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, her +place of abode." + +"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and read +out in a sort of official, nasal voice:-- + +"'I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October A.D. --- (a date of +fifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield Hall, in the +county of ---, and of Ferndean Manor, in ---shire, England, was married +to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter of Jonas Mason, merchant, +and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at --- church, Spanish Town, +Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be found in the register of +that church--a copy of it is now in my possession. Signed, Richard +Mason.'" + +"That--if a genuine document--may prove I have been married, but it does +not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is still living." + +"She was living three months ago," returned the lawyer. + +"How do you know?" + +"I have a witness to the fact, whose testimony even you, sir, will +scarcely controvert." + +"Produce him--or go to hell." + +"I will produce him first--he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have the +goodness to step forward." + +Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth; he experienced, too, a +sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I was, I felt the +spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through his frame. The second +stranger, who had hitherto lingered in the background, now drew near; a +pale face looked over the solicitor's shoulder--yes, it was Mason +himself. Mr. Rochester turned and glared at him. His eye, as I have +often said, was a black eye: it had now a tawny, nay, a bloody light in +its gloom; and his face flushed--olive cheek and hueless forehead +received a glow as from spreading, ascending heart-fire: and he stirred, +lifted his strong arm--he could have struck Mason, dashed him on the +church-floor, shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body--but +Mason shrank away, and cried faintly, "Good God!" Contempt fell cool on +Mr. Rochester--his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: he +only asked--"What have _you_ to say?" + +An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips. + +"The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand, +what have you to say?" + +"Sir--sir," interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in a sacred +place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are you aware, sir, +whether or not this gentleman's wife is still living?" + +"Courage," urged the lawyer,--"speak out." + +"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more articulate +tones: "I saw her there last April. I am her brother." + +"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I am an +old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard of a Mrs. +Rochester at Thornfield Hall." + +I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lips, and he muttered-- + +"No, by God! I took care that none should hear of it--or of her under +that name." He mused--for ten minutes he held counsel with himself: he +formed his resolve, and announced it-- + +"Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. +Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the +clerk), leave the church: there will be no wedding to-day." The man +obeyed. + +Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an ugly +word!--I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvred +me, or Providence has checked me,--perhaps the last. I am little better +than a devil at this moment; and, as my pastor there would tell me, +deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of God, even to the quenchless +fire and deathless worm. Gentlemen, my plan is broken up:--what this +lawyer and his client say is true: I have been married, and the woman to +whom I was married lives! You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at +the house up yonder, Wood; but I daresay you have many a time inclined +your ear to gossip about the mysterious lunatic kept there under watch +and ward. Some have whispered to you that she is my bastard half-sister: +some, my cast-off mistress. I now inform you that she is my wife, whom I +married fifteen years ago,--Bertha Mason by name; sister of this resolute +personage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and white cheeks, showing +you what a stout heart men may bear. Cheer up, Dick!--never fear me!--I'd +almost as soon strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came +of a mad family; idiots and maniacs through three generations! Her +mother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and a drunkard!--as I found out +after I had wed the daughter: for they were silent on family secrets +before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points. +I had a charming partner--pure, wise, modest: you can fancy I was a happy +man. I went through rich scenes! Oh! my experience has been heavenly, +if you only knew it! But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs, +Wood, Mason, I invite you all to come up to the house and visit Mrs. +Poole's patient, and _my wife_! You shall see what sort of a being I was +cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break +the compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. This +girl," he continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of the +disgusting secret: she thought all was fair and legal and never dreamt +she was going to be entrapped into a feigned union with a defrauded +wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner! Come all of +you--follow!" + +Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen came +after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage. + +"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester coolly; "it +will not be wanted to-day." + +At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and +greet us. + +"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master; "away with your +congratulations! Who wants them? Not I!--they are fifteen years too +late!" + +He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still +beckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted the +first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third storey: +the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us to +the tapestried room, with its great bed and its pictorial cabinet. + +"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbed you +here." + +He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door: this, +too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a fire guarded +by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by a +chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking something in a +saucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther end of the room, a figure +ran backwards and forwards. What it was, whether beast or human being, +one could not, at first sight, tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all +fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal: but it was +covered with clothing, and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a +mane, hid its head and face. + +"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!" said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is +your charge to-day?" + +"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling +mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not 'rageous." + +A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: the clothed +hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind-feet. + +"Ah! sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not stay." + +"Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few moments." + +"Take care then, sir!--for God's sake, take care!" + +The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, and +gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple face,--those +bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced. + +"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside: "she has +no knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard." + +"One never knows what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not in +mortal discretion to fathom her craft." + +"We had better leave her," whispered Mason. + +"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation. + +"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. +Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat +viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a +big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent +besides: she showed virile force in the contest--more than once she +almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with +a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At +last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned +them behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a +chair. The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the +most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators: he +looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate. + +"That is _my wife_," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am +ever to know--such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure +hours! And _this_ is what I wished to have" (laying his hand on my +shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth +of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, I wanted her just +as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the +difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder--this +face with that mask--this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of +the gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judge +ye shall be judged! Off with you now. I must shut up my prize." + +We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to give some +further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as he descended +the stair. + +"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame: your uncle will be +glad to hear it--if, indeed, he should be still living--when Mr. Mason +returns to Madeira." + +"My uncle! What of him? Do you know him?" + +"Mr. Mason does. Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of his +house for some years. When your uncle received your letter intimating +the contemplated union between yourself and Mr. Rochester, Mr. Mason, who +was staying at Madeira to recruit his health, on his way back to Jamaica, +happened to be with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he +knew that my client here was acquainted with a gentleman of the name of +Rochester. Mr. Mason, astonished and distressed as you may suppose, +revealed the real state of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is +now on a sick bed; from which, considering the nature of his +disease--decline--and the stage it has reached, it is unlikely he will +ever rise. He could not then hasten to England himself, to extricate you +from the snare into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason to +lose no time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referred +him to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful I was not +too late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not morally certain +that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you to +accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain in +England till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we +anything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason. + +"No, no--let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without waiting to +take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the hall door. The +clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either of admonition or +reproof, with his haughty parishioner; this duty done, he too departed. + +I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, to which +I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened the +bolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to weep, not to mourn, I +was yet too calm for that, but--mechanically to take off the wedding +dress, and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as I +thought, for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired. I +leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And now I +thought: till now I had only heard, seen, moved--followed up and down +where I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open +beyond disclosure: but _now_, _I thought_. + +The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the brief scene +with the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not been noisy; there +was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no dispute, no defiance +or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few words had been spoken, a calmly +pronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern, short questions +put by Mr. Rochester; answers, explanations given, evidence adduced; an +open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master; then the +living proof had been seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over. + +I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change: +nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet where was +the Jane Eyre of yesterday?--where was her life?--where were her +prospects? + +Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride, was a +cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were +desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December +storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed +the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay a frozen shroud: lanes +which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with +untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and +flagrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and +white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead--struck +with a subtle doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born in +the land of Egypt. I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so +blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that could +never revive. I looked at my love: that feeling which was my +master's--which he had created; it shivered in my heart, like a suffering +child in a cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not +seek Mr. Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast. +Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidence +destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was not +what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I would not say +he had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainless truth was gone from +his idea, and from his presence I must go: _that_ I perceived well. +When--how--whither, I could not yet discern; but he himself, I doubted +not, would hurry me from Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could +not have for me; it had been only fitful passion: that was balked; he +would want me no more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my view +must be hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak my +conduct! + +My eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim round +me, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned, +relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to have laid me down in the dried-up +bed of a great river; I heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, and +felt the torrent come: to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength. +I lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-like +within me--a remembrance of God: it begot an unuttered prayer: these +words went wandering up and down in my rayless mind, as something that +should be whispered, but no energy was found to express them-- + +"Be not far from me, for trouble is near: there is none to help." + +It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it--as I +had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved my lips--it +came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over me. The whole +consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my hope quenched, my faith +death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. That +bitter hour cannot be described: in truth, "the waters came into my soul; +I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the +floods overflowed me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Some time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking round and seeing +the western sun gilding the sign of its decline on the wall, I asked, +"What am I to do?" + +But the answer my mind gave--"Leave Thornfield at once"--was so prompt, +so dread, that I stopped my ears. I said I could not bear such words +now. "That I am not Edward Rochester's bride is the least part of my +woe," I alleged: "that I have wakened out of most glorious dreams, and +found them all void and vain, is a horror I could bear and master; but +that I must leave him decidedly, instantly, entirely, is intolerable. I +cannot do it." + +But, then, a voice within me averred that I could do it and foretold that +I should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution: I wanted to be weak +that I might avoid the awful passage of further suffering I saw laid out +for me; and Conscience, turned tyrant, held Passion by the throat, told +her tauntingly, she had yet but dipped her dainty foot in the slough, and +swore that with that arm of iron he would thrust her down to unsounded +depths of agony. + +"Let me be torn away," then I cried. "Let another help me!" + +"No; you shall tear yourself away, none shall help you: you shall +yourself pluck out your right eye; yourself cut off your right hand: your +heart shall be the victim, and you the priest to transfix it." + +I rose up suddenly, terror-struck at the solitude which so ruthless a +judge haunted,--at the silence which so awful a voice filled. My head +swam as I stood erect. I perceived that I was sickening from excitement +and inanition; neither meat nor drink had passed my lips that day, for I +had taken no breakfast. And, with a strange pang, I now reflected that, +long as I had been shut up here, no message had been sent to ask how I +was, or to invite me to come down: not even little Adele had tapped at +the door; not even Mrs. Fairfax had sought me. "Friends always forget +those whom fortune forsakes," I murmured, as I undrew the bolt and passed +out. I stumbled over an obstacle: my head was still dizzy, my sight was +dim, and my limbs were feeble. I could not soon recover myself. I fell, +but not on to the ground: an outstretched arm caught me. I looked up--I +was supported by Mr. Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamber +threshold. + +"You come out at last," he said. "Well, I have been waiting for you +long, and listening: yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob: five +minutes more of that death-like hush, and I should have forced the lock +like a burglar. So you shun me?--you shut yourself up and grieve alone! +I would rather you had come and upbraided me with vehemence. You are +passionate. I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hot +rain of tears; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast: now a +senseless floor has received them, or your drenched handkerchief. But I +err: you have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, but +no trace of tears. I suppose, then, your heart has been weeping blood?" + +"Well, Jane! not a word of reproach? Nothing bitter--nothing poignant? +Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sit quietly where I +have placed you, and regard me with a weary, passive look." + +"Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who had but one +little ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter, that ate of his bread +and drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom, had by some mistake +slaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued his bloody blunder +more than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?" + +Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot. There was such deep +remorse in his eye, such true pity in his tone, such manly energy in his +manner; and besides, there was such unchanged love in his whole look and +mien--I forgave him all: yet not in words, not outwardly; only at my +heart's core. + +"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane?" ere long he inquired +wistfully--wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and tameness, +the result rather of weakness than of will. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then tell me so roundly and sharply--don't spare me." + +"I cannot: I am tired and sick. I want some water." He heaved a sort of +shuddering sigh, and taking me in his arms, carried me downstairs. At +first I did not know to what room he had borne me; all was cloudy to my +glazed sight: presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire; for, summer +as it was, I had become icy cold in my chamber. He put wine to my lips; +I tasted it and revived; then I ate something he offered me, and was soon +myself. I was in the library--sitting in his chair--he was quite near. +"If I could go out of life now, without too sharp a pang, it would be +well for me," I thought; "then I should not have to make the effort of +cracking my heart-strings in rending them from among Mr. Rochester's. I +must leave him, it appears. I do not want to leave him--I cannot leave +him." + +"How are you now, Jane?" + +"Much better, sir; I shall be well soon." + +"Taste the wine again, Jane." + +I obeyed him; then he put the glass on the table, stood before me, and +looked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away, with an inarticulate +exclamation, full of passionate emotion of some kind; he walked fast +through the room and came back; he stooped towards me as if to kiss me; +but I remembered caresses were now forbidden. I turned my face away and +put his aside. + +"What!--How is this?" he exclaimed hastily. "Oh, I know! you won't kiss +the husband of Bertha Mason? You consider my arms filled and my embraces +appropriated?" + +"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir." + +"Why, Jane? I will spare you the trouble of much talking; I will answer +for you--Because I have a wife already, you would reply.--I guess +rightly?" + +"Yes." + +"If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you must regard +me as a plotting profligate--a base and low rake who has been simulating +disinterested love in order to draw you into a snare deliberately laid, +and strip you of honour and rob you of self-respect. What do you say to +that? I see you can say nothing in the first place, you are faint still, +and have enough to do to draw your breath; in the second place, you +cannot yet accustom yourself to accuse and revile me, and besides, the +flood-gates of tears are opened, and they would rush out if you spoke +much; and you have no desire to expostulate, to upbraid, to make a scene: +you are thinking how _to act_--_talking_ you consider is of no use. I +know you--I am on my guard." + +"Sir, I do not wish to act against you," I said; and my unsteady voice +warned me to curtail my sentence. + +"Not in your sense of the word, but in mine you are scheming to destroy +me. You have as good as said that I am a married man--as a married man +you will shun me, keep out of my way: just now you have refused to kiss +me. You intend to make yourself a complete stranger to me: to live under +this roof only as Adele's governess; if ever I say a friendly word to +you, if ever a friendly feeling inclines you again to me, you will +say,--'That man had nearly made me his mistress: I must be ice and rock +to him;' and ice and rock you will accordingly become." + +I cleared and steadied my voice to reply: "All is changed about me, sir; +I must change too--there is no doubt of that; and to avoid fluctuations +of feeling, and continual combats with recollections and associations, +there is only one way--Adele must have a new governess, sir." + +"Oh, Adele will go to school--I have settled that already; nor do I mean +to torment you with the hideous associations and recollections of +Thornfield Hall--this accursed place--this tent of Achan--this insolent +vault, offering the ghastliness of living death to the light of the open +sky--this narrow stone hell, with its one real fiend, worse than a legion +of such as we imagine. Jane, you shall not stay here, nor will I. I was +wrong ever to bring you to Thornfield Hall, knowing as I did how it was +haunted. I charged them to conceal from you, before I ever saw you, all +knowledge of the curse of the place; merely because I feared Adele never +would have a governess to stay if she knew with what inmate she was +housed, and my plans would not permit me to remove the maniac +elsewhere--though I possess an old house, Ferndean Manor, even more +retired and hidden than this, where I could have lodged her safely +enough, had not a scruple about the unhealthiness of the situation, in +the heart of a wood, made my conscience recoil from the arrangement. +Probably those damp walls would soon have eased me of her charge: but to +each villain his own vice; and mine is not a tendency to indirect +assassination, even of what I most hate. + +"Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, however, was +something like covering a child with a cloak and laying it down near a +upas-tree: that demon's vicinage is poisoned, and always was. But I'll +shut up Thornfield Hall: I'll nail up the front door and board the lower +windows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year to live here with _my +wife_, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will do much for money, and +she shall have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to bear her +company and be at hand to give her aid in the paroxysms, when _my wife_ +is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at night, to +stab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so on--" + +"Sir," I interrupted him, "you are inexorable for that unfortunate lady: +you speak of her with hate--with vindictive antipathy. It is cruel--she +cannot help being mad." + +"Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don't +know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not because +she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think I should hate you?" + +"I do indeed, sir." + +"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about +the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as +dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your +mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure +still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait +waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you +flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you +in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not +shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you +should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you +with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and +never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of +recognition for me.--But why do I follow that train of ideas? I was +talking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared for +prompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure one +more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its miseries and +terrors for ever! I have a place to repair to, which will be a secure +sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome intrusion--even from +falsehood and slander." + +"And take Adele with you, sir," I interrupted; "she will be a companion +for you." + +"What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school; and +what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own child,--a +French dancer's bastard? Why do you importune me about her! I say, why +do you assign Adele to me for a companion?" + +"You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are dull: +too dull for you." + +"Solitude! solitude!" he reiterated with irritation. "I see I must come +to an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like expression is forming +in your countenance. You are to share my solitude. Do you understand?" + +I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he was +becoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He had been walking +fast about the room, and he stopped, as if suddenly rooted to one spot. +He looked at me long and hard: I turned my eyes from him, fixed them on +the fire, and tried to assume and maintain a quiet, collected aspect. + +"Now for the hitch in Jane's character," he said at last, speaking more +calmly than from his look I had expected him to speak. "The reel of silk +has run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew there would come a knot +and a puzzle: here it is. Now for vexation, and exasperation, and +endless trouble! By God! I long to exert a fraction of Samson's +strength, and break the entanglement like tow!" + +He recommenced his walk, but soon again stopped, and this time just +before me. + +"Jane! will you hear reason?" (he stooped and approached his lips to my +ear); "because, if you won't, I'll try violence." His voice was hoarse; +his look that of a man who is just about to burst an insufferable bond +and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in another moment, and +with one impetus of frenzy more, I should be able to do nothing with him. +The present--the passing second of time--was all I had in which to +control and restrain him--a movement of repulsion, flight, fear would +have sealed my doom,--and his. But I was not afraid: not in the least. I +felt an inward power; a sense of influence, which supported me. The +crisis was perilous; but not without its charm: such as the Indian, +perhaps, feels when he slips over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of +his clenched hand, loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him, +soothingly-- + +"Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all you have to +say, whether reasonable or unreasonable." + +He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I had been +struggling with tears for some time: I had taken great pains to repress +them, because I knew he would not like to see me weep. Now, however, I +considered it well to let them flow as freely and as long as they liked. +If the flood annoyed him, so much the better. So I gave way and cried +heartily. + +Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said I could +not while he was in such a passion. + +"But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you had steeled +your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, I could not +endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes." + +His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn, +became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder, but +I would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no. + +"Jane! Jane!" he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it thrilled +along every nerve I had; "you don't love me, then? It was only my +station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now that you think me +disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my touch as if I +were some toad or ape." + +These words cut me: yet what could I do or I say? I ought probably to +have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse at +thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop balm +where I had wounded. + +"I _do_ love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show or +indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it." + +"The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and see +me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant?" + +"No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is but +one way: but you will be furious if I mention it." + +"Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping." + +"Mr. Rochester, I must leave you." + +"For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair--which +is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face--which looks feverish?" + +"I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my whole +life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange +scenes." + +"Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about parting +from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the new +existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not married. +You shall be Mrs. Rochester--both virtually and nominally. I shall keep +only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to a place I have in +the south of France: a whitewashed villa on the shores of the +Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and guarded, and most +innocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure you into error--to make +you my mistress. Why did you shake your head? Jane, you must be +reasonable, or in truth I shall again become frantic." + +His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye blazed: +still I dared to speak. + +"Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morning by +yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then be your +mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical--is false." + +"Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man--you forget that: I am not long- +enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to me and +yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and--beware!" + +He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking his +cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all hands. +To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred, was cruel: to +yield was out of the question. I did what human beings do instinctively +when they are driven to utter extremity--looked for aid to one higher +than man: the words "God help me!" burst involuntarily from my lips. + +"I am a fool!" cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. "I keep telling her I am +not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knows nothing +of the character of that woman, or of the circumstances attending my +infernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane will agree with me in +opinion, when she knows all that I know! Just put your hand in mine, +Janet--that I may have the evidence of touch as well as sight, to prove +you are near me--and I will in a few words show you the real state of the +case. Can you listen to me?" + +"Yes, sir; for hours if you will." + +"I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear or know that I was not the +eldest son of my house: that I had once a brother older than I?" + +"I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once." + +"And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious, grasping man?" + +"I have understood something to that effect." + +"Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the property +together; he could not bear the idea of dividing his estate and leaving +me a fair portion: all, he resolved, should go to my brother, Rowland. +Yet as little could he endure that a son of his should be a poor man. I +must be provided for by a wealthy marriage. He sought me a partner +betimes. Mr. Mason, a West India planter and merchant, was his old +acquaintance. He was certain his possessions were real and vast: he made +inquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had a son and daughter; and he learned +from him that he could and would give the latter a fortune of thirty +thousand pounds: that sufficed. When I left college, I was sent out to +Jamaica, to espouse a bride already courted for me. My father said +nothing about her money; but he told me Miss Mason was the boast of +Spanish Town for her beauty: and this was no lie. I found her a fine +woman, in the style of Blanche Ingram: tall, dark, and majestic. Her +family wished to secure me because I was of a good race; and so did she. +They showed her to me in parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her +alone, and had very little private conversation with her. She flattered +me, and lavishly displayed for my pleasure her charms and +accomplishments. All the men in her circle seemed to admire her and envy +me. I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; and being +ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is no +folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience, +the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to its +commission. Her relatives encouraged me; competitors piqued me; she +allured me: a marriage was achieved almost before I knew where I was. Oh, +I have no respect for myself when I think of that act!--an agony of +inward contempt masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did not +even know her. I was not sure of the existence of one virtue in her +nature: I had marked neither modesty, nor benevolence, nor candour, nor +refinement in her mind or manners--and, I married her:--gross, +grovelling, mole-eyed blockhead that I was! With less sin I might +have--But let me remember to whom I am speaking." + +"My bride's mother I had never seen: I understood she was dead. The +honeymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was only mad, and shut up in a +lunatic asylum. There was a younger brother, too--a complete dumb idiot. +The elder one, whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate, whilst I abhor +all his kindred, because he has some grains of affection in his feeble +mind, shown in the continued interest he takes in his wretched sister, +and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore me), will probably be in +the same state one day. My father and my brother Rowland knew all this; +but they thought only of the thirty thousand pounds, and joined in the +plot against me." + +"These were vile discoveries; but except for the treachery of +concealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to my wife, +even when I found her nature wholly alien to mine, her tastes obnoxious +to me, her cast of mind common, low, narrow, and singularly incapable of +being led to anything higher, expanded to anything larger--when I found +that I could not pass a single evening, nor even a single hour of the day +with her in comfort; that kindly conversation could not be sustained +between us, because whatever topic I started, immediately received from +her a turn at once coarse and trite, perverse and imbecile--when I +perceived that I should never have a quiet or settled household, because +no servant would bear the continued outbreaks of her violent and +unreasonable temper, or the vexations of her absurd, contradictory, +exacting orders--even then I restrained myself: I eschewed upbraiding, I +curtailed remonstrance; I tried to devour my repentance and disgust in +secret; I repressed the deep antipathy I felt. + +"Jane, I will not trouble you with abominable details: some strong words +shall express what I have to say. I lived with that woman upstairs four +years, and before that time she had tried me indeed: her character +ripened and developed with frightful rapidity; her vices sprang up fast +and rank: they were so strong, only cruelty could check them, and I would +not use cruelty. What a pigmy intellect she had, and what giant +propensities! How fearful were the curses those propensities entailed on +me! Bertha Mason, the true daughter of an infamous mother, dragged me +through all the hideous and degrading agonies which must attend a man +bound to a wife at once intemperate and unchaste. + +"My brother in the interval was dead, and at the end of the four years my +father died too. I was rich enough now--yet poor to hideous indigence: a +nature the most gross, impure, depraved I ever saw, was associated with +mine, and called by the law and by society a part of me. And I could not +rid myself of it by any legal proceedings: for the doctors now discovered +that _my wife_ was mad--her excesses had prematurely developed the germs +of insanity. Jane, you don't like my narrative; you look almost +sick--shall I defer the rest to another day?" + +"No, sir, finish it now; I pity you--I do earnestly pity you." + +"Pity, Jane, from some people is a noxious and insulting sort of tribute, +which one is justified in hurling back in the teeth of those who offer +it; but that is the sort of pity native to callous, selfish hearts; it is +a hybrid, egotistical pain at hearing of woes, crossed with ignorant +contempt for those who have endured them. But that is not your pity, +Jane; it is not the feeling of which your whole face is full at this +moment--with which your eyes are now almost overflowing--with which your +heart is heaving--with which your hand is trembling in mine. Your pity, +my darling, is the suffering mother of love: its anguish is the very +natal pang of the divine passion. I accept it, Jane; let the daughter +have free advent--my arms wait to receive her." + +"Now, sir, proceed; what did you do when you found she was mad?" + +"Jane, I approached the verge of despair; a remnant of self-respect was +all that intervened between me and the gulf. In the eyes of the world, I +was doubtless covered with grimy dishonour; but I resolved to be clean in +my own sight--and to the last I repudiated the contamination of her +crimes, and wrenched myself from connection with her mental defects. +Still, society associated my name and person with hers; I yet saw her and +heard her daily: something of her breath (faugh!) mixed with the air I +breathed; and besides, I remembered I had once been her husband--that +recollection was then, and is now, inexpressibly odious to me; moreover, +I knew that while she lived I could never be the husband of another and +better wife; and, though five years my senior (her family and her father +had lied to me even in the particular of her age), she was likely to live +as long as I, being as robust in frame as she was infirm in mind. Thus, +at the age of twenty-six, I was hopeless. + +"One night I had been awakened by her yells--(since the medical men had +pronounced her mad, she had, of course, been shut up)--it was a fiery +West Indian night; one of the description that frequently precede the +hurricanes of those climates. Being unable to sleep in bed, I got up and +opened the window. The air was like sulphur-steams--I could find no +refreshment anywhere. Mosquitoes came buzzing in and hummed sullenly +round the room; the sea, which I could hear from thence, rumbled dull +like an earthquake--black clouds were casting up over it; the moon was +setting in the waves, broad and red, like a hot cannon-ball--she threw +her last bloody glance over a world quivering with the ferment of +tempest. I was physically influenced by the atmosphere and scene, and my +ears were filled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein +she momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, with such +language!--no professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabulary than she: +though two rooms off, I heard every word--the thin partitions of the West +India house opposing but slight obstruction to her wolfish cries. + +"'This life,' said I at last, 'is hell: this is the air--those are the +sounds of the bottomless pit! I have a right to deliver myself from it +if I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave me with the +heavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the fanatic's burning eternity +I have no fear: there is not a future state worse than this present +one--let me break away, and go home to God!' + +"I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk which contained +a brace of loaded pistols: I mean to shoot myself. I only entertained +the intention for a moment; for, not being insane, the crisis of +exquisite and unalloyed despair, which had originated the wish and design +of self-destruction, was past in a second. + +"A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through the open +casement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, and the air grew +pure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While I walked under the +dripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongst its drenched +pomegranates and pine-apples, and while the refulgent dawn of the tropics +kindled round me--I reasoned thus, Jane--and now listen; for it was true +Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, and showed me the right path to +follow. + +"The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshed leaves, +and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; my heart, dried up +and scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone, and filled with living +blood--my being longed for renewal--my soul thirsted for a pure draught. +I saw hope revive--and felt regeneration possible. From a flowery arch +at the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea--bluer than the sky: the +old world was beyond; clear prospects opened thus:-- + +"'Go,' said Hope, 'and live again in Europe: there it is not known what a +sullied name you bear, nor what a filthy burden is bound to you. You may +take the maniac with you to England; confine her with due attendance and +precautions at Thornfield: then travel yourself to what clime you will, +and form what new tie you like. That woman, who has so abused your long- +suffering, so sullied your name, so outraged your honour, so blighted +your youth, is not your wife, nor are you her husband. See that she is +cared for as her condition demands, and you have done all that God and +humanity require of you. Let her identity, her connection with yourself, +be buried in oblivion: you are bound to impart them to no living being. +Place her in safety and comfort: shelter her degradation with secrecy, +and leave her.' + +"I acted precisely on this suggestion. My father and brother had not +made my marriage known to their acquaintance; because, in the very first +letter I wrote to apprise them of the union--having already begun to +experience extreme disgust of its consequences, and, from the family +character and constitution, seeing a hideous future opening to me--I +added an urgent charge to keep it secret: and very soon the infamous +conduct of the wife my father had selected for me was such as to make him +blush to own her as his daughter-in-law. Far from desiring to publish +the connection, he became as anxious to conceal it as myself. + +"To England, then, I conveyed her; a fearful voyage I had with such a +monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her to Thornfield, +and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room, of whose secret +inner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wild beast's den--a +goblin's cell. I had some trouble in finding an attendant for her, as it +was necessary to select one on whose fidelity dependence could be placed; +for her ravings would inevitably betray my secret: besides, she had lucid +intervals of days--sometimes weeks--which she filled up with abuse of me. +At last I hired Grace Poole from the Grimbsy Retreat. She and the +surgeon, Carter (who dressed Mason's wounds that night he was stabbed and +worried), are the only two I have ever admitted to my confidence. Mrs. +Fairfax may indeed have suspected something, but she could have gained no +precise knowledge as to facts. Grace has, on the whole, proved a good +keeper; though, owing partly to a fault of her own, of which it appears +nothing can cure her, and which is incident to her harassing profession, +her vigilance has been more than once lulled and baffled. The lunatic is +both cunning and malignant; she has never failed to take advantage of her +guardian's temporary lapses; once to secrete the knife with which she +stabbed her brother, and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell, +and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of these occasions, +she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed; on the second, she paid +that ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence, who watched over you, +that she then spent her fury on your wedding apparel, which perhaps +brought back vague reminiscences of her own bridal days: but on what +might have happened, I cannot endure to reflect. When I think of the +thing which flew at my throat this morning, hanging its black and scarlet +visage over the nest of my dove, my blood curdles--" + +"And what, sir," I asked, while he paused, "did you do when you had +settled her here? Where did you go?" + +"What did I do, Jane? I transformed myself into a will-o'-the-wisp. +Where did I go? I pursued wanderings as wild as those of the +March-spirit. I sought the Continent, and went devious through all its +lands. My fixed desire was to seek and find a good and intelligent +woman, whom I could love: a contrast to the fury I left at Thornfield--" + +"But you could not marry, sir." + +"I had determined and was convinced that I could and ought. It was not +my original intention to deceive, as I have deceived you. I meant to +tell my tale plainly, and make my proposals openly: and it appeared to me +so absolutely rational that I should be considered free to love and be +loved, I never doubted some woman might be found willing and able to +understand my case and accept me, in spite of the curse with which I was +burdened." + +"Well, sir?" + +"When you are inquisitive, Jane, you always make me smile. You open your +eyes like an eager bird, and make every now and then a restless movement, +as if answers in speech did not flow fast enough for you, and you wanted +to read the tablet of one's heart. But before I go on, tell me what you +mean by your 'Well, sir?' It is a small phrase very frequent with you; +and which many a time has drawn me on and on through interminable talk: I +don't very well know why." + +"I mean,--What next? How did you proceed? What came of such an event?" + +"Precisely! and what do you wish to know now?" + +"Whether you found any one you liked: whether you asked her to marry you; +and what she said." + +"I can tell you whether I found any one I liked, and whether I asked her +to marry me: but what she said is yet to be recorded in the book of Fate. +For ten long years I roved about, living first in one capital, then +another: sometimes in St. Petersburg; oftener in Paris; occasionally in +Rome, Naples, and Florence. Provided with plenty of money and the +passport of an old name, I could choose my own society: no circles were +closed against me. I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies, +French countesses, Italian signoras, and German grafinnen. I could not +find her. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, I thought I caught a glance, +heard a tone, beheld a form, which announced the realisation of my dream: +but I was presently undeserved. You are not to suppose that I desired +perfection, either of mind or person. I longed only for what suited +me--for the antipodes of the Creole: and I longed vainly. Amongst them +all I found not one whom, had I been ever so free, I--warned as I was of +the risks, the horrors, the loathings of incongruous unions--would have +asked to marry me. Disappointment made me reckless. I tried +dissipation--never debauchery: that I hated, and hate. That was my +Indian Messalina's attribute: rooted disgust at it and her restrained me +much, even in pleasure. Any enjoyment that bordered on riot seemed to +approach me to her and her vices, and I eschewed it. + +"Yet I could not live alone; so I tried the companionship of mistresses. +The first I chose was Celine Varens--another of those steps which make a +man spurn himself when he recalls them. You already know what she was, +and how my liaison with her terminated. She had two successors: an +Italian, Giacinta, and a German, Clara; both considered singularly +handsome. What was their beauty to me in a few weeks? Giacinta was +unprincipled and violent: I tired of her in three months. Clara was +honest and quiet; but heavy, mindless, and unimpressible: not one whit to +my taste. I was glad to give her a sufficient sum to set her up in a +good line of business, and so get decently rid of her. But, Jane, I see +by your face you are not forming a very favourable opinion of me just +now. You think me an unfeeling, loose-principled rake: don't you?" + +"I don't like you so well as I have done sometimes, indeed, sir. Did it +not seem to you in the least wrong to live in that way, first with one +mistress and then another? You talk of it as a mere matter of course." + +"It was with me; and I did not like it. It was a grovelling fashion of +existence: I should never like to return to it. Hiring a mistress is the +next worse thing to buying a slave: both are often by nature, and always +by position, inferior: and to live familiarly with inferiors is +degrading. I now hate the recollection of the time I passed with Celine, +Giacinta, and Clara." + +I felt the truth of these words; and I drew from them the certain +inference, that if I were so far to forget myself and all the teaching +that had ever been instilled into me, as--under any pretext--with any +justification--through any temptation--to become the successor of these +poor girls, he would one day regard me with the same feeling which now in +his mind desecrated their memory. I did not give utterance to this +conviction: it was enough to feel it. I impressed it on my heart, that +it might remain there to serve me as aid in the time of trial. + +"Now, Jane, why don't you say 'Well, sir?' I have not done. You are +looking grave. You disapprove of me still, I see. But let me come to +the point. Last January, rid of all mistresses--in a harsh, bitter frame +of mind, the result of a useless, roving, lonely life--corroded with +disappointment, sourly disposed against all men, and especially against +all womankind (for I began to regard the notion of an intellectual, +faithful, loving woman as a mere dream), recalled by business, I came +back to England. + +"On a frosty winter afternoon, I rode in sight of Thornfield Hall. +Abhorred spot! I expected no peace--no pleasure there. On a stile in +Hay Lane I saw a quiet little figure sitting by itself. I passed it as +negligently as I did the pollard willow opposite to it: I had no +presentiment of what it would be to me; no inward warning that the +arbitress of my life--my genius for good or evil--waited there in humble +guise. I did not know it, even when, on the occasion of Mesrour's +accident, it came up and gravely offered me help. Childish and slender +creature! It seemed as if a linnet had hopped to my foot and proposed to +bear me on its tiny wing. I was surly; but the thing would not go: it +stood by me with strange perseverance, and looked and spoke with a sort +of authority. I must be aided, and by that hand: and aided I was. + +"When once I had pressed the frail shoulder, something new--a fresh sap +and sense--stole into my frame. It was well I had learnt that this elf +must return to me--that it belonged to my house down below--or I could +not have felt it pass away from under my hand, and seen it vanish behind +the dim hedge, without singular regret. I heard you come home that +night, Jane, though probably you were not aware that I thought of you or +watched for you. The next day I observed you--myself unseen--for half-an- +hour, while you played with Adele in the gallery. It was a snowy day, I +recollect, and you could not go out of doors. I was in my room; the door +was ajar: I could both listen and watch. Adele claimed your outward +attention for a while; yet I fancied your thoughts were elsewhere: but +you were very patient with her, my little Jane; you talked to her and +amused her a long time. When at last she left you, you lapsed at once +into deep reverie: you betook yourself slowly to pace the gallery. Now +and then, in passing a casement, you glanced out at the thick-falling +snow; you listened to the sobbing wind, and again you paced gently on and +dreamed. I think those day visions were not dark: there was a +pleasurable illumination in your eye occasionally, a soft excitement in +your aspect, which told of no bitter, bilious, hypochondriac brooding: +your look revealed rather the sweet musings of youth when its spirit +follows on willing wings the flight of Hope up and on to an ideal heaven. +The voice of Mrs. Fairfax, speaking to a servant in the hall, wakened +you: and how curiously you smiled to and at yourself, Janet! There was +much sense in your smile: it was very shrewd, and seemed to make light of +your own abstraction. It seemed to say--'My fine visions are all very +well, but I must not forget they are absolutely unreal. I have a rosy +sky and a green flowery Eden in my brain; but without, I am perfectly +aware, lies at my feet a rough tract to travel, and around me gather +black tempests to encounter.' You ran downstairs and demanded of Mrs. +Fairfax some occupation: the weekly house accounts to make up, or +something of that sort, I think it was. I was vexed with you for getting +out of my sight. + +"Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you to my +presence. An unusual--to me--a perfectly new character I suspected was +yours: I desired to search it deeper and know it better. You entered the +room with a look and air at once shy and independent: you were quaintly +dressed--much as you are now. I made you talk: ere long I found you full +of strange contrasts. Your garb and manner were restricted by rule; your +air was often diffident, and altogether that of one refined by nature, +but absolutely unused to society, and a good deal afraid of making +herself disadvantageously conspicuous by some solecism or blunder; yet +when addressed, you lifted a keen, a daring, and a glowing eye to your +interlocutor's face: there was penetration and power in each glance you +gave; when plied by close questions, you found ready and round answers. +Very soon you seemed to get used to me: I believe you felt the existence +of sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for it was +astonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant ease tranquillised your +manner: snarl as I would, you showed no surprise, fear, annoyance, or +displeasure at my moroseness; you watched me, and now and then smiled at +me with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at once +content and stimulated with what I saw: I liked what I had seen, and +wished to see more. Yet, for a long time, I treated you distantly, and +sought your company rarely. I was an intellectual epicure, and wished to +prolong the gratification of making this novel and piquant acquaintance: +besides, I was for a while troubled with a haunting fear that if I +handled the flower freely its bloom would fade--the sweet charm of +freshness would leave it. I did not then know that it was no transitory +blossom, but rather the radiant resemblance of one, cut in an +indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see whether you would seek me +if I shunned you--but you did not; you kept in the schoolroom as still as +your own desk and easel; if by chance I met you, you passed me as soon, +and with as little token of recognition, as was consistent with respect. +Your habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; not +despondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had little +hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of me, or if +you ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out. + +"I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in your glance, +and genial in your manner, when you conversed: I saw you had a social +heart; it was the silent schoolroom--it was the tedium of your life--that +made you mournful. I permitted myself the delight of being kind to you; +kindness stirred emotion soon: your face became soft in expression, your +tones gentle; I liked my name pronounced by your lips in a grateful happy +accent. I used to enjoy a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time: +there was a curious hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with a +slight trouble--a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice might +be--whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friend +and be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to simulate the first +whim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom and light +and bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had much ado often to +avoid straining you then and there to my heart." + +"Don't talk any more of those days, sir," I interrupted, furtively +dashing away some tears from my eyes; his language was torture to me; for +I knew what I must do--and do soon--and all these reminiscences, and +these revelations of his feelings only made my work more difficult. + +"No, Jane," he returned: "what necessity is there to dwell on the Past, +when the Present is so much surer--the Future so much brighter?" + +I shuddered to hear the infatuated assertion. + +"You see now how the case stands--do you not?" he continued. "After a +youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary +solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I have +found you. You are my sympathy--my better self--my good angel. I am +bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: +a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, +draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, +and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one. + +"It was because I felt and knew this, that I resolved to marry you. To +tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery: you know now that I +had but a hideous demon. I was wrong to attempt to deceive you; but I +feared a stubbornness that exists in your character. I feared early +instilled prejudice: I wanted to have you safe before hazarding +confidences. This was cowardly: I should have appealed to your nobleness +and magnanimity at first, as I do now--opened to you plainly my life of +agony--described to you my hunger and thirst after a higher and worthier +existence--shown to you, not my _resolution_ (that word is weak), but my +resistless _bent_ to love faithfully and well, where I am faithfully and +well loved in return. Then I should have asked you to accept my pledge +of fidelity and to give me yours. Jane--give it me now." + +A pause. + +"Why are you silent, Jane?" + +I was experiencing an ordeal: a hand of fiery iron grasped my vitals. +Terrible moment: full of struggle, blackness, burning! Not a human being +that ever lived could wish to be loved better than I was loved; and him +who thus loved me I absolutely worshipped: and I must renounce love and +idol. One drear word comprised my intolerable duty--"Depart!" + +"Jane, you understand what I want of you? Just this promise--'I will be +yours, Mr. Rochester.'" + +"Mr. Rochester, I will _not_ be yours." + +Another long silence. + +"Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief, +and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror--for this still voice was +the pant of a lion rising--"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world, +and to let me go another?" + +"I do." + +"Jane" (bending towards and embracing me), "do you mean it now?" + +"I do." + +"And now?" softly kissing my forehead and cheek. + +"I do," extricating myself from restraint rapidly and completely. + +"Oh, Jane, this is bitter! This--this is wicked. It would not be wicked +to love me." + +"It would to obey you." + +A wild look raised his brows--crossed his features: he rose; but he +forebore yet. I laid my hand on the back of a chair for support: I +shook, I feared--but I resolved. + +"One instant, Jane. Give one glance to my horrible life when you are +gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left? For +a wife I have but the maniac upstairs: as well might you refer me to some +corpse in yonder churchyard. What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a +companion and for some hope?" + +"Do as I do: trust in God and yourself. Believe in heaven. Hope to meet +again there." + +"Then you will not yield?" + +"No." + +"Then you condemn me to live wretched and to die accursed?" His voice +rose. + +"I advise you to live sinless, and I wish you to die tranquil." + +"Then you snatch love and innocence from me? You fling me back on lust +for a passion--vice for an occupation?" + +"Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it for +myself. We were born to strive and endure--you as well as I: do so. You +will forget me before I forget you." + +"You make me a liar by such language: you sully my honour. I declared I +could not change: you tell me to my face I shall change soon. And what a +distortion in your judgment, what a perversity in your ideas, is proved +by your conduct! Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair than +to transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach? for +you have neither relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to offend +by living with me?" + +This was true: and while he spoke my very conscience and reason turned +traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They +spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. "Oh, +comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger--look at his +state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the +recklessness following on despair--soothe him; save him; love him; tell +him you love him and will be his. Who in the world cares for _you_? or +who will be injured by what you do?" + +Still indomitable was the reply--"_I_ care for myself. The more +solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will +respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I +will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not +mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there +is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul +rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they +shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would +be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I +cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my +veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its +throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have +at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot." + +I did. Mr. Rochester, reading my countenance, saw I had done so. His +fury was wrought to the highest: he must yield to it for a moment, +whatever followed; he crossed the floor and seized my arm and grasped my +waist. He seemed to devour me with his flaming glance: physically, I +felt, at the moment, powerless as stubble exposed to the draught and glow +of a furnace: mentally, I still possessed my soul, and with it the +certainty of ultimate safety. The soul, fortunately, has an +interpreter--often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter--in +the eye. My eye rose to his; and while I looked in his fierce face I +gave an involuntary sigh; his gripe was painful, and my over-taxed +strength almost exhausted. + +"Never," said he, as he ground his teeth, "never was anything at once so +frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And he +shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bend her with my finger +and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed +her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking +out of it, defying me, with more than courage--with a stern triumph. +Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it--the savage, beautiful +creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only +let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate +would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay +dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit--with will and energy, and virtue +and purity--that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you +could come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would: +seized against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence--you +will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance. Oh! come, Jane, come!" + +As he said this, he released me from his clutch, and only looked at me. +The look was far worse to resist than the frantic strain: only an idiot, +however, would have succumbed now. I had dared and baffled his fury; I +must elude his sorrow: I retired to the door. + +"You are going, Jane?" + +"I am going, sir." + +"You are leaving me?" + +"Yes." + +"You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep +love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?" + +What unutterable pathos was in his voice! How hard it was to reiterate +firmly, "I am going." + +"Jane!" + +"Mr. Rochester!" + +"Withdraw, then,--I consent; but remember, you leave me here in anguish. +Go up to your own room; think over all I have said, and, Jane, cast a +glance on my sufferings--think of me." + +He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. "Oh, Jane! my +hope--my love--my life!" broke in anguish from his lips. Then came a +deep, strong sob. + +I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back--walked back as +determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face +from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my +hand. + +"God bless you, my dear master!" I said. "God keep you from harm and +wrong--direct you, solace you--reward you well for your past kindness to +me." + +"Little Jane's love would have been my best reward," he answered; +"without it, my heart is broken. But Jane will give me her love: +yes--nobly, generously." + +Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes; +erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at +once quitted the room. + +"Farewell!" was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, +"Farewell for ever!" + +* * * * * + +That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as +I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to the scenes of +childhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead; that the night +was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. The light that long +ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly +to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured +ceiling. I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high +and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about +to sever. I watched her come--watched with the strangest anticipation; +as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She broke +forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the +sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form +shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. It gazed and +gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, +yet so near, it whispered in my heart-- + +"My daughter, flee temptation." + +"Mother, I will." + +So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream. It was yet +night, but July nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. "It +cannot be too early to commence the task I have to fulfil," thought I. I +rose: I was dressed; for I had taken off nothing but my shoes. I knew +where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. In seeking +these articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester +had forced me to accept a few days ago. I left that; it was not mine: it +was the visionary bride's who had melted in air. The other articles I +made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all I +had), I put in my pocket: I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, +took the parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stole +from my room. + +"Farewell, kind Mrs. Fairfax!" I whispered, as I glided past her door. +"Farewell, my darling Adele!" I said, as I glanced towards the nursery. +No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. I had to +deceive a fine ear: for aught I knew it might now be listening. + +I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; but my +heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced +to stop also. No sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from +wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened. There was +a heaven--a temporary heaven--in this room for me, if I chose: I had but +to go in and to say-- + +"Mr. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life till +death," and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. I thought of +this. + +That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience +for day. He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone. He +would have me sought for: vainly. He would feel himself forsaken; his +love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. I thought of +this too. My hand moved towards the lock: I caught it back, and glided +on. + +Drearily I wound my way downstairs: I knew what I had to do, and I did it +mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; I +sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled the key and the lock. +I got some water, I got some bread: for perhaps I should have to walk +far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. All +this I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut it +softly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed and +locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that I +departed: it, too, I shut; and now I was out of Thornfield. + +A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary +direction to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, but often noticed, +and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps. No reflection was to +be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. +Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. The +first was a page so heavenly sweet--so deadly sad--that to read one line +of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was +an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. + +I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. I believe it +was a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which I had put on when I +left the house, were soon wet with dew. But I looked neither to rising +sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. He who is taken out to pass +through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that +smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of +bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and I thought of drear +flight and homeless wandering--and oh! with agony I thought of what I +left. I could not help it. I thought of him now--in his room--watching +the sunrise; hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him and +be his. I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; I +could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, I +was sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter--his +pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. Oh, that fear of his +self-abandonment--far worse than my abandonment--how it goaded me! It +was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extract +it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. Birds began +singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds +were emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart and +frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace from +self-approbation: none even from self-respect. I had +injured--wounded--left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes. Still I +could not turn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to my +own will or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled +the other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast, +fast I went like one delirious. A weakness, beginning inwardly, +extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay on the ground some +minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear--or hope--that +here I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands and +knees, and then again raised to my feet--as eager and as determined as +ever to reach the road. + +When I got there, I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge; and +while I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come on. I stood up and +lifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: the driver named +a place a long way off, and where I was sure Mr. Rochester had no +connections. I asked for what sum he would take me there; he said thirty +shillings; I answered I had but twenty; well, he would try to make it do. +He further gave me leave to get into the inside, as the vehicle was +empty: I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way. + +Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never +shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May +you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in +that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the +instrument of evil to what you wholly love. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Two days are passed. It is a summer evening; the coachman has set me +down at a place called Whitcross; he could take me no farther for the sum +I had given, and I was not possessed of another shilling in the world. +The coach is a mile off by this time; I am alone. At this moment I +discover that I forgot to take my parcel out of the pocket of the coach, +where I had placed it for safety; there it remains, there it must remain; +and now, I am absolutely destitute. + +Whitcross is no town, nor even a hamlet; it is but a stone pillar set up +where four roads meet: whitewashed, I suppose, to be more obvious at a +distance and in darkness. Four arms spring from its summit: the nearest +town to which these point is, according to the inscription, distant ten +miles; the farthest, above twenty. From the well-known names of these +towns I learn in what county I have lighted; a north-midland shire, dusk +with moorland, ridged with mountain: this I see. There are great moors +behind and on each hand of me; there are waves of mountains far beyond +that deep valley at my feet. The population here must be thin, and I see +no passengers on these roads: they stretch out east, west, north, and +south--white, broad, lonely; they are all cut in the moor, and the +heather grows deep and wild to their very verge. Yet a chance traveller +might pass by; and I wish no eye to see me now: strangers would wonder +what I am doing, lingering here at the sign-post, evidently objectless +and lost. I might be questioned: I could give no answer but what would +sound incredible and excite suspicion. Not a tie holds me to human +society at this moment--not a charm or hope calls me where my +fellow-creatures are--none that saw me would have a kind thought or a +good wish for me. I have no relative but the universal mother, Nature: I +will seek her breast and ask repose. + +I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply +furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I +turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a +hidden angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; the +crag protected my head: the sky was over that. + +Some time passed before I felt tranquil even here: I had a vague dread +that wild cattle might be near, or that some sportsman or poacher might +discover me. If a gust of wind swept the waste, I looked up, fearing it +was the rush of a bull; if a plover whistled, I imagined it a man. +Finding my apprehensions unfounded, however, and calmed by the deep +silence that reigned as evening declined at nightfall, I took confidence. +As yet I had not thought; I had only listened, watched, dreaded; now I +regained the faculty of reflection. + +What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I could +do nothing and go nowhere!--when a long way must yet be measured by my +weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation--when cold +charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant +sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before my tale +could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved! + +I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of the summer +day. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star twinkled just above +the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breeze +whispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought she loved me, +outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, +rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To-night, at +least, I would be her guest, as I was her child: my mother would lodge me +without money and without price. I had one morsel of bread yet: the +remnant of a roll I had bought in a town we passed through at noon with a +stray penny--my last coin. I saw ripe bilberries gleaming here and +there, like jet beads in the heath: I gathered a handful and ate them +with the bread. My hunger, sharp before, was, if not satisfied, appeased +by this hermit's meal. I said my evening prayers at its conclusion, and +then chose my couch. + +{I said my evening prayers: p311.jpg} + +Beside the crag the heath was very deep: when I lay down my feet were +buried in it; rising high on each side, it left only a narrow space for +the night-air to invade. I folded my shawl double, and spread it over me +for a coverlet; a low, mossy swell was my pillow. Thus lodged, I was +not, at least--at the commencement of the night, cold. + +My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it. It +plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven chords. It +trembled for Mr. Rochester and his doom; it bemoaned him with bitter +pity; it demanded him with ceaseless longing; and, impotent as a bird +with both wings broken, it still quivered its shattered pinions in vain +attempts to seek him. + +Worn out with this torture of thought, I rose to my knees. Night was +come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the +companionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we +feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread +before us; and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel +their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His +omnipotence, His omnipresence. I had risen to my knees to pray for Mr. +Rochester. Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky- +way. Remembering what it was--what countless systems there swept space +like a soft trace of light--I felt the might and strength of God. Sure +was I of His efficiency to save what He had made: convinced I grew that +neither earth should perish, nor one of the souls it treasured. I turned +my prayer to thanksgiving: the Source of Life was also the Saviour of +spirits. Mr. Rochester was safe; he was God's, and by God would he be +guarded. I again nestled to the breast of the hill; and ere long in +sleep forgot sorrow. + +But next day, Want came to me pale and bare. Long after the little birds +had left their nests; long after bees had come in the sweet prime of day +to gather the heath honey before the dew was dried--when the long morning +shadows were curtailed, and the sun filled earth and sky--I got up, and I +looked round me. + +What a still, hot, perfect day! What a golden desert this spreading +moor! Everywhere sunshine. I wished I could live in it and on it. I +saw a lizard run over the crag; I saw a bee busy among the sweet +bilberries. I would fain at the moment have become bee or lizard, that I +might have found fitting nutriment, permanent shelter here. But I was a +human being, and had a human being's wants: I must not linger where there +was nothing to supply them. I rose; I looked back at the bed I had left. +Hopeless of the future, I wished but this--that my Maker had that night +thought good to require my soul of me while I slept; and that this weary +frame, absolved by death from further conflict with fate, had now but to +decay quietly, and mingle in peace with the soil of this wilderness. +Life, however, was yet in my possession, with all its requirements, and +pains, and responsibilities. The burden must be carried; the want +provided for; the suffering endured; the responsibility fulfilled. I set +out. + +Whitcross regained, I followed a road which led from the sun, now fervent +and high. By no other circumstance had I will to decide my choice. I +walked a long time, and when I thought I had nearly done enough, and +might conscientiously yield to the fatigue that almost overpowered +me--might relax this forced action, and, sitting down on a stone I saw +near, submit resistlessly to the apathy that clogged heart and limb--I +heard a bell chime--a church bell. + +I turned in the direction of the sound, and there, amongst the romantic +hills, whose changes and aspect I had ceased to note an hour ago, I saw a +hamlet and a spire. All the valley at my right hand was full of pasture- +fields, and cornfields, and wood; and a glittering stream ran zig-zag +through the varied shades of green, the mellowing grain, the sombre +woodland, the clear and sunny lea. Recalled by the rumbling of wheels to +the road before me, I saw a heavily-laden waggon labouring up the hill, +and not far beyond were two cows and their drover. Human life and human +labour were near. I must struggle on: strive to live and bend to toil +like the rest. + +About two o'clock p.m. I entered the village. At the bottom of its one +street there was a little shop with some cakes of bread in the window. I +coveted a cake of bread. With that refreshment I could perhaps regain a +degree of energy: without it, it would be difficult to proceed. The wish +to have some strength and some vigour returned to me as soon as I was +amongst my fellow-beings. I felt it would be degrading to faint with +hunger on the causeway of a hamlet. Had I nothing about me I could offer +in exchange for one of these rolls? I considered. I had a small silk +handkerchief tied round my throat; I had my gloves. I could hardly tell +how men and women in extremities of destitution proceeded. I did not +know whether either of these articles would be accepted: probably they +would not; but I must try. + +I entered the shop: a woman was there. Seeing a respectably-dressed +person, a lady as she supposed, she came forward with civility. How +could she serve me? I was seized with shame: my tongue would not utter +the request I had prepared. I dared not offer her the half-worn gloves, +the creased handkerchief: besides, I felt it would be absurd. I only +begged permission to sit down a moment, as I was tired. Disappointed in +the expectation of a customer, she coolly acceded to my request. She +pointed to a seat; I sank into it. I felt sorely urged to weep; but +conscious how unseasonable such a manifestation would be, I restrained +it. Soon I asked her "if there were any dressmaker or plain-workwoman in +the village?" + +"Yes; two or three. Quite as many as there was employment for." + +I reflected. I was driven to the point now. I was brought face to face +with Necessity. I stood in the position of one without a resource, +without a friend, without a coin. I must do something. What? I must +apply somewhere. Where? + +"Did she know of any place in the neighbourhood where a servant was +wanted?" + +"Nay; she couldn't say." + +"What was the chief trade in this place? What did most of the people +do?" + +"Some were farm labourers; a good deal worked at Mr. Oliver's +needle-factory, and at the foundry." + +"Did Mr. Oliver employ women?" + +"Nay; it was men's work." + +"And what do the women do?" + +"I knawn't," was the answer. "Some does one thing, and some another. +Poor folk mun get on as they can." + +She seemed to be tired of my questions: and, indeed, what claim had I to +importune her? A neighbour or two came in; my chair was evidently +wanted. I took leave. + +I passed up the street, looking as I went at all the houses to the right +hand and to the left; but I could discover no pretext, nor see an +inducement to enter any. I rambled round the hamlet, going sometimes to +a little distance and returning again, for an hour or more. Much +exhausted, and suffering greatly now for want of food, I turned aside +into a lane and sat down under the hedge. Ere many minutes had elapsed, +I was again on my feet, however, and again searching something--a +resource, or at least an informant. A pretty little house stood at the +top of the lane, with a garden before it, exquisitely neat and +brilliantly blooming. I stopped at it. What business had I to approach +the white door or touch the glittering knocker? In what way could it +possibly be the interest of the inhabitants of that dwelling to serve me? +Yet I drew near and knocked. A mild-looking, cleanly-attired young woman +opened the door. In such a voice as might be expected from a hopeless +heart and fainting frame--a voice wretchedly low and faltering--I asked +if a servant was wanted here? + +"No," said she; "we do not keep a servant." + +"Can you tell me where I could get employment of any kind?" I continued. +"I am a stranger, without acquaintance in this place. I want some work: +no matter what." + +But it was not her business to think for me, or to seek a place for me: +besides, in her eyes, how doubtful must have appeared my character, +position, tale. She shook her head, she "was sorry she could give me no +information," and the white door closed, quite gently and civilly: but it +shut me out. If she had held it open a little longer, I believe I should +have begged a piece of bread; for I was now brought low. + +I could not bear to return to the sordid village, where, besides, no +prospect of aid was visible. I should have longed rather to deviate to a +wood I saw not far off, which appeared in its thick shade to offer +inviting shelter; but I was so sick, so weak, so gnawed with nature's +cravings, instinct kept me roaming round abodes where there was a chance +of food. Solitude would be no solitude--rest no rest--while the vulture, +hunger, thus sank beak and talons in my side. + +I drew near houses; I left them, and came back again, and again I +wandered away: always repelled by the consciousness of having no claim to +ask--no right to expect interest in my isolated lot. Meantime, the +afternoon advanced, while I thus wandered about like a lost and starving +dog. In crossing a field, I saw the church spire before me: I hastened +towards it. Near the churchyard, and in the middle of a garden, stood a +well-built though small house, which I had no doubt was the parsonage. I +remembered that strangers who arrive at a place where they have no +friends, and who want employment, sometimes apply to the clergyman for +introduction and aid. It is the clergyman's function to help--at least +with advice--those who wished to help themselves. I seemed to have +something like a right to seek counsel here. Renewing then my courage, +and gathering my feeble remains of strength, I pushed on. I reached the +house, and knocked at the kitchen-door. An old woman opened: I asked was +this the parsonage? + +"Yes." + +"Was the clergyman in?" + +"No." + +"Would he be in soon?" + +"No, he was gone from home." + +"To a distance?" + +"Not so far--happen three mile. He had been called away by the sudden +death of his father: he was at Marsh End now, and would very likely stay +there a fortnight longer." + +"Was there any lady of the house?" + +"Nay, there was naught but her, and she was housekeeper;" and of her, +reader, I could not bear to ask the relief for want of which I was +sinking; I could not yet beg; and again I crawled away. + +Once more I took off my handkerchief--once more I thought of the cakes of +bread in the little shop. Oh, for but a crust! for but one mouthful to +allay the pang of famine! Instinctively I turned my face again to the +village; I found the shop again, and I went in; and though others were +there besides the woman I ventured the request--"Would she give me a roll +for this handkerchief?" + +She looked at me with evident suspicion: "Nay, she never sold stuff i' +that way." + +Almost desperate, I asked for half a cake; she again refused. "How could +she tell where I had got the handkerchief?" she said. + +"Would she take my gloves?" + +"No! what could she do with them?" + +Reader, it is not pleasant to dwell on these details. Some say there is +enjoyment in looking back to painful experience past; but at this day I +can scarcely bear to review the times to which I allude: the moral +degradation, blent with the physical suffering, form too distressing a +recollection ever to be willingly dwelt on. I blamed none of those who +repulsed me. I felt it was what was to be expected, and what could not +be helped: an ordinary beggar is frequently an object of suspicion; a +well-dressed beggar inevitably so. To be sure, what I begged was +employment; but whose business was it to provide me with employment? Not, +certainly, that of persons who saw me then for the first time, and who +knew nothing about my character. And as to the woman who would not take +my handkerchief in exchange for her bread, why, she was right, if the +offer appeared to her sinister or the exchange unprofitable. Let me +condense now. I am sick of the subject. + +A little before dark I passed a farm-house, at the open door of which the +farmer was sitting, eating his supper of bread and cheese. I stopped and +said-- + +"Will you give me a piece of bread? for I am very hungry." He cast on me +a glance of surprise; but without answering, he cut a thick slice from +his loaf, and gave it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar, +but only an eccentric sort of lady, who had taken a fancy to his brown +loaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house, I sat down and ate it. + +I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof, and sought it in the wood +I have before alluded to. But my night was wretched, my rest broken: the +ground was damp, the air cold: besides, intruders passed near me more +than once, and I had again and again to change my quarters; no sense of +safety or tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; the +whole of the following day was wet. Do not ask me, reader, to give a +minute account of that day; as before, I sought work; as before, I was +repulsed; as before, I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At the +door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold +porridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked. + +{"Will you give me that?" I asked: p316.jpg} + +She stared at me. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "there is a woman wants me to +give her these porridge." + +"Well lass," replied a voice within, "give it her if she's a beggar. T' +pig doesn't want it." + +The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand, and I devoured it +ravenously. + +As the wet twilight deepened, I stopped in a solitary bridle-path, which +I had been pursuing an hour or more. + +"My strength is quite failing me," I said in a soliloquy. "I feel I +cannot go much farther. Shall I be an outcast again this night? While +the rain descends so, must I lay my head on the cold, drenched ground? I +fear I cannot do otherwise: for who will receive me? But it will be very +dreadful, with this feeling of hunger, faintness, chill, and this sense +of desolation--this total prostration of hope. In all likelihood, +though, I should die before morning. And why cannot I reconcile myself +to the prospect of death? Why do I struggle to retain a valueless life? +Because I know, or believe, Mr. Rochester is living: and then, to die of +want and cold is a fate to which nature cannot submit passively. Oh, +Providence! sustain me a little longer! Aid!--direct me!" + +My glazed eye wandered over the dim and misty landscape. I saw I had +strayed far from the village: it was quite out of sight. The very +cultivation surrounding it had disappeared. I had, by cross-ways and by- +paths, once more drawn near the tract of moorland; and now, only a few +fields, almost as wild and unproductive as the heath from which they were +scarcely reclaimed, lay between me and the dusky hill. + +"Well, I would rather die yonder than in a street or on a frequented +road," I reflected. "And far better that crows and ravens--if any ravens +there be in these regions--should pick my flesh from my bones, than that +they should be prisoned in a workhouse coffin and moulder in a pauper's +grave." + +To the hill, then, I turned. I reached it. It remained now only to find +a hollow where I could lie down, and feel at least hidden, if not secure. +But all the surface of the waste looked level. It showed no variation +but of tint: green, where rush and moss overgrew the marshes; black, +where the dry soil bore only heath. Dark as it was getting, I could +still see these changes, though but as mere alternations of light and +shade; for colour had faded with the daylight. + +My eye still roved over the sullen swell and along the moor-edge, +vanishing amidst the wildest scenery, when at one dim point, far in among +the marshes and the ridges, a light sprang up. "That is an _ignis +fatuus_," was my first thought; and I expected it would soon vanish. It +burnt on, however, quite steadily, neither receding nor advancing. "Is +it, then, a bonfire just kindled?" I questioned. I watched to see +whether it would spread: but no; as it did not diminish, so it did not +enlarge. "It may be a candle in a house," I then conjectured; "but if +so, I can never reach it. It is much too far away: and were it within a +yard of me, what would it avail? I should but knock at the door to have +it shut in my face." + +And I sank down where I stood, and hid my face against the ground. I lay +still a while: the night-wind swept over the hill and over me, and died +moaning in the distance; the rain fell fast, wetting me afresh to the +skin. Could I but have stiffened to the still frost--the friendly +numbness of death--it might have pelted on; I should not have felt it; +but my yet living flesh shuddered at its chilling influence. I rose ere +long. + +The light was yet there, shining dim but constant through the rain. I +tried to walk again: I dragged my exhausted limbs slowly towards it. It +led me aslant over the hill, through a wide bog, which would have been +impassable in winter, and was splashy and shaking even now, in the height +of summer. Here I fell twice; but as often I rose and rallied my +faculties. This light was my forlorn hope: I must gain it. + +Having crossed the marsh, I saw a trace of white over the moor. I +approached it; it was a road or a track: it led straight up to the light, +which now beamed from a sort of knoll, amidst a clump of trees--firs, +apparently, from what I could distinguish of the character of their forms +and foliage through the gloom. My star vanished as I drew near: some +obstacle had intervened between me and it. I put out my hand to feel the +dark mass before me: I discriminated the rough stones of a low wall--above +it, something like palisades, and within, a high and prickly hedge. I +groped on. Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate--a +wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it. On each side stood a +sable bush-holly or yew. + +Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose +to view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shone +nowhere. All was obscurity. Were the inmates retired to rest? I feared +it must be so. In seeking the door, I turned an angle: there shot out +the friendly gleam again, from the lozenged panes of a very small +latticed window, within a foot of the ground, made still smaller by the +growth of ivy or some other creeping plant, whose leaves clustered thick +over the portion of the house wall in which it was set. The aperture was +so screened and narrow, that curtain or shutter had been deemed +unnecessary; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage +shooting over it, I could see all within. I could see clearly a room +with a sanded floor, clean scoured; a dresser of walnut, with pewter +plates ranged in rows, reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing +peat-fire. I could see a clock, a white deal table, some chairs. The +candle, whose ray had been my beacon, burnt on the table; and by its +light an elderly woman, somewhat rough-looking, but scrupulously clean, +like all about her, was knitting a stocking. + +I noticed these objects cursorily only--in them there was nothing +extraordinary. A group of more interest appeared near the hearth, +sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it. Two young, +graceful women--ladies in every point--sat, one in a low rocking-chair, +the other on a lower stool; both wore deep mourning of crape and +bombazeen, which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and +faces: a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one +girl--in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat. + +A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants! Who were +they? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the +table; for she looked like a rustic, and they were all delicacy and +cultivation. I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs: and yet, as I +gazed on them, I seemed intimate with every lineament. I cannot call +them handsome--they were too pale and grave for the word: as they each +bent over a book, they looked thoughtful almost to severity. A stand +between them supported a second candle and two great volumes, to which +they frequently referred, comparing them, seemingly, with the smaller +books they held in their hands, like people consulting a dictionary to +aid them in the task of translation. This scene was as silent as if all +the figures had been shadows and the firelit apartment a picture: so +hushed was it, I could hear the cinders fall from the grate, the clock +tick in its obscure corner; and I even fancied I could distinguish the +click-click of the woman's knitting-needles. When, therefore, a voice +broke the strange stillness at last, it was audible enough to me. + +"Listen, Diana," said one of the absorbed students; "Franz and old Daniel +are together in the night-time, and Franz is telling a dream from which +he has awakened in terror--listen!" And in a low voice she read +something, of which not one word was intelligible to me; for it was in an +unknown tongue--neither French nor Latin. Whether it were Greek or +German I could not tell. + +"That is strong," she said, when she had finished: "I relish it." The +other girl, who had lifted her head to listen to her sister, repeated, +while she gazed at the fire, a line of what had been read. At a later +day, I knew the language and the book; therefore, I will here quote the +line: though, when I first heard it, it was only like a stroke on +sounding brass to me--conveying no meaning:-- + +"'Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht.' Good! good!" +she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. "There you have a +dim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! The line is worth a +hundred pages of fustian. 'Ich wage die Gedanken in der Schale meines +Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms.' I like it!" + +Both were again silent. + +"Is there ony country where they talk i' that way?" asked the old woman, +looking up from her knitting. + +"Yes, Hannah--a far larger country than England, where they talk in no +other way." + +"Well, for sure case, I knawn't how they can understand t' one t'other: +and if either o' ye went there, ye could tell what they said, I guess?" + +"We could probably tell something of what they said, but not all--for we +are not as clever as you think us, Hannah. We don't speak German, and we +cannot read it without a dictionary to help us." + +"And what good does it do you?" + +"We mean to teach it some time--or at least the elements, as they say; +and then we shall get more money than we do now." + +"Varry like: but give ower studying; ye've done enough for to-night." + +"I think we have: at least I'm tired. Mary, are you?" + +"Mortally: after all, it's tough work fagging away at a language with no +master but a lexicon." + +"It is, especially such a language as this crabbed but glorious Deutsch. +I wonder when St. John will come home." + +"Surely he will not be long now: it is just ten (looking at a little gold +watch she drew from her girdle). It rains fast, Hannah: will you have +the goodness to look at the fire in the parlour?" + +The woman rose: she opened a door, through which I dimly saw a passage: +soon I heard her stir a fire in an inner room; she presently came back. + +"Ah, childer!" said she, "it fair troubles me to go into yond' room now: +it looks so lonesome wi' the chair empty and set back in a corner." + +She wiped her eyes with her apron: the two girls, grave before, looked +sad now. + +"But he is in a better place," continued Hannah: "we shouldn't wish him +here again. And then, nobody need to have a quieter death nor he had." + +"You say he never mentioned us?" inquired one of the ladies. + +"He hadn't time, bairn: he was gone in a minute, was your father. He had +been a bit ailing like the day before, but naught to signify; and when +Mr. St. John asked if he would like either o' ye to be sent for, he fair +laughed at him. He began again with a bit of a heaviness in his head the +next day--that is, a fortnight sin'--and he went to sleep and niver +wakened: he wor a'most stark when your brother went into t' chamber and +fand him. Ah, childer! that's t' last o' t' old stock--for ye and Mr. +St. John is like of different soart to them 'at's gone; for all your +mother wor mich i' your way, and a'most as book-learned. She wor the +pictur' o' ye, Mary: Diana is more like your father." + +I thought them so similar I could not tell where the old servant (for +such I now concluded her to be) saw the difference. Both were fair +complexioned and slenderly made; both possessed faces full of distinction +and intelligence. One, to be sure, had hair a shade darker than the +other, and there was a difference in their style of wearing it; Mary's +pale brown locks were parted and braided smooth: Diana's duskier tresses +covered her neck with thick curls. The clock struck ten. + +"Ye'll want your supper, I am sure," observed Hannah; "and so will Mr. +St. John when he comes in." + +And she proceeded to prepare the meal. The ladies rose; they seemed +about to withdraw to the parlour. Till this moment, I had been so intent +on watching them, their appearance and conversation had excited in me so +keen an interest, I had half-forgotten my own wretched position: now it +recurred to me. More desolate, more desperate than ever, it seemed from +contrast. And how impossible did it appear to touch the inmates of this +house with concern on my behalf; to make them believe in the truth of my +wants and woes--to induce them to vouchsafe a rest for my wanderings! As +I groped out the door, and knocked at it hesitatingly, I felt that last +idea to be a mere chimera. Hannah opened. + +"What do you want?" she inquired, in a voice of surprise, as she surveyed +me by the light of the candle she held. + +"May I speak to your mistresses?" I said. + +"You had better tell me what you have to say to them. Where do you come +from?" + +"I am a stranger." + +"What is your business here at this hour?" + +"I want a night's shelter in an out-house or anywhere, and a morsel of +bread to eat." + +Distrust, the very feeling I dreaded, appeared in Hannah's face. "I'll +give you a piece of bread," she said, after a pause; "but we can't take +in a vagrant to lodge. It isn't likely." + +"Do let me speak to your mistresses." + +"No, not I. What can they do for you? You should not be roving about +now; it looks very ill." + +"But where shall I go if you drive me away? What shall I do?" + +"Oh, I'll warrant you know where to go and what to do. Mind you don't do +wrong, that's all. Here is a penny; now go--" + +"A penny cannot feed me, and I have no strength to go farther. Don't +shut the door:--oh, don't, for God's sake!" + +"I must; the rain is driving in--" + +"Tell the young ladies. Let me see them--" + +"Indeed, I will not. You are not what you ought to be, or you wouldn't +make such a noise. Move off." + +"But I must die if I am turned away." + +"Not you. I'm fear'd you have some ill plans agate, that bring you about +folk's houses at this time o' night. If you've any +followers--housebreakers or such like--anywhere near, you may tell them +we are not by ourselves in the house; we have a gentleman, and dogs, and +guns." Here the honest but inflexible servant clapped the door to and +bolted it within. + +This was the climax. A pang of exquisite suffering--a throe of true +despair--rent and heaved my heart. Worn out, indeed, I was; not another +step could I stir. I sank on the wet doorstep: I groaned--I wrung my +hands--I wept in utter anguish. Oh, this spectre of death! Oh, this +last hour, approaching in such horror! Alas, this isolation--this +banishment from my kind! Not only the anchor of hope, but the footing of +fortitude was gone--at least for a moment; but the last I soon +endeavoured to regain. + +"I can but die," I said, "and I believe in God. Let me try to wait His +will in silence." + +These words I not only thought, but uttered; and thrusting back all my +misery into my heart, I made an effort to compel it to remain there--dumb +and still. + +"All men must die," said a voice quite close at hand; "but all are not +condemned to meet a lingering and premature doom, such as yours would be +if you perished here of want." + +"Who or what speaks?" I asked, terrified at the unexpected sound, and +incapable now of deriving from any occurrence a hope of aid. A form was +near--what form, the pitch-dark night and my enfeebled vision prevented +me from distinguishing. With a loud long knock, the new-comer appealed +to the door. + +"Is it you, Mr. St. John?" cried Hannah. + +"Yes--yes; open quickly." + +"Well, how wet and cold you must be, such a wild night as it is! Come +in--your sisters are quite uneasy about you, and I believe there are bad +folks about. There has been a beggar-woman--I declare she is not gone +yet!--laid down there. Get up! for shame! Move off, I say!" + +"Hush, Hannah! I have a word to say to the woman. You have done your +duty in excluding, now let me do mine in admitting her. I was near, and +listened to both you and her. I think this is a peculiar case--I must at +least examine into it. Young woman, rise, and pass before me into the +house." + +{Hush, Hannah; I have a word to say to the woman: p323.jpg} + +With difficulty I obeyed him. Presently I stood within that clean, +bright kitchen--on the very hearth--trembling, sickening; conscious of an +aspect in the last degree ghastly, wild, and weather-beaten. The two +ladies, their brother, Mr. St. John, the old servant, were all gazing at +me. + +"St. John, who is it?" I heard one ask. + +"I cannot tell: I found her at the door," was the reply. + +"She does look white," said Hannah. + +"As white as clay or death," was responded. "She will fall: let her +sit." + +And indeed my head swam: I dropped, but a chair received me. I still +possessed my senses, though just now I could not speak. + +"Perhaps a little water would restore her. Hannah, fetch some. But she +is worn to nothing. How very thin, and how very bloodless!" + +"A mere spectre!" + +"Is she ill, or only famished?" + +"Famished, I think. Hannah, is that milk? Give it me, and a piece of +bread." + +Diana (I knew her by the long curls which I saw drooping between me and +the fire as she bent over me) broke some bread, dipped it in milk, and +put it to my lips. Her face was near mine: I saw there was pity in it, +and I felt sympathy in her hurried breathing. In her simple words, too, +the same balm-like emotion spoke: "Try to eat." + +"Yes--try," repeated Mary gently; and Mary's hand removed my sodden +bonnet and lifted my head. I tasted what they offered me: feebly at +first, eagerly soon. + +"Not too much at first--restrain her," said the brother; "she has had +enough." And he withdrew the cup of milk and the plate of bread. + +"A little more, St. John--look at the avidity in her eyes." + +"No more at present, sister. Try if she can speak now--ask her her +name." + +I felt I could speak, and I answered--"My name is Jane Elliott." Anxious +as ever to avoid discovery, I had before resolved to assume an _alias_. + +"And where do you live? Where are your friends?" + +I was silent. + +"Can we send for any one you know?" + +I shook my head. + +"What account can you give of yourself?" + +Somehow, now that I had once crossed the threshold of this house, and +once was brought face to face with its owners, I felt no longer outcast, +vagrant, and disowned by the wide world. I dared to put off the +mendicant--to resume my natural manner and character. I began once more +to know myself; and when Mr. St. John demanded an account--which at +present I was far too weak to render--I said after a brief pause-- + +"Sir, I can give you no details to-night." + +"But what, then," said he, "do you expect me to do for you?" + +"Nothing," I replied. My strength sufficed for but short answers. Diana +took the word-- + +"Do you mean," she asked, "that we have now given you what aid you +require? and that we may dismiss you to the moor and the rainy night?" + +I looked at her. She had, I thought, a remarkable countenance, instinct +both with power and goodness. I took sudden courage. Answering her +compassionate gaze with a smile, I said--"I will trust you. If I were a +masterless and stray dog, I know that you would not turn me from your +hearth to-night: as it is, I really have no fear. Do with me and for me +as you like; but excuse me from much discourse--my breath is short--I +feel a spasm when I speak." All three surveyed me, and all three were +silent. + +"Hannah," said Mr. St. John, at last, "let her sit there at present, and +ask her no questions; in ten minutes more, give her the remainder of that +milk and bread. Mary and Diana, let us go into the parlour and talk the +matter over." + +They withdrew. Very soon one of the ladies returned--I could not tell +which. A kind of pleasant stupor was stealing over me as I sat by the +genial fire. In an undertone she gave some directions to Hannah. Ere +long, with the servant's aid, I contrived to mount a staircase; my +dripping clothes were removed; soon a warm, dry bed received me. I +thanked God--experienced amidst unutterable exhaustion a glow of grateful +joy--and slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is very +dim in my mind. I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but +few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was in a small +room and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on +it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been +almost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time--of the change +from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any one +entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could +understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could +not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible. +Hannah, the servant, was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed +me. I had a feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understand +me or my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana and +Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would whisper +sentences of this sort at my bedside-- + +"It is very well we took her in." + +"Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the morning +had she been left out all night. I wonder what she has gone through?" + +"Strange hardships, I imagine--poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?" + +"She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner of +speaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off, though +splashed and wet, were little worn and fine." + +"She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather like +it; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her physiognomy +would be agreeable." + +Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the +hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to, +myself. I was comforted. + +Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of +lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted +fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was +sure, would manage best, left to herself. He said every nerve had been +overstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. +There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when +once commenced. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, +low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man little +accustomed to expansive comment, "Rather an unusual physiognomy; +certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation." + +"Far otherwise," responded Diana. "To speak truth, St. John, my heart +rather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we may be able to benefit +her permanently." + +"That is hardly likely," was the reply. "You will find she is some young +lady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends, and has probably +injudiciously left them. We may, perhaps, succeed in restoring her to +them, if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her face +which make me sceptical of her tractability." He stood considering me +some minutes; then added, "She looks sensible, but not at all handsome." + +"She is so ill, St. John." + +"Ill or well, she would always be plain. The grace and harmony of beauty +are quite wanting in those features." + +On the third day I was better; on the fourth, I could speak, move, rise +in bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about, +as I supposed, the dinner-hour. I had eaten with relish: the food was +good--void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had +swallowed. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived: +ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. I wished to +rise; but what could I put on? Only my damp and bemired apparel; in +which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. I felt ashamed +to appear before my benefactors so clad. I was spared the humiliation. + +On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and dry. My +black silk frock hung against the wall. The traces of the bog were +removed from it; the creases left by the wet smoothed out: it was quite +decent. My very shoes and stockings were purified and rendered +presentable. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb and +brush to smooth my hair. After a weary process, and resting every five +minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. My clothes hung loose on me; +for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl, and once +more, clean and respectable looking--no speck of the dirt, no trace of +the disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to degrade me, left--I crept +down a stone staircase with the aid of the banisters, to a narrow low +passage, and found my way presently to the kitchen. + +It was full of the fragrance of new bread and the warmth of a generous +fire. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well known, are most +difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened +or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones. +Hannah had been cold and stiff, indeed, at the first: latterly she had +begun to relent a little; and when she saw me come in tidy and +well-dressed, she even smiled. + +"What, you have got up!" she said. "You are better, then. You may sit +you down in my chair on the hearthstone, if you will." + +She pointed to the rocking-chair: I took it. She bustled about, +examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye. Turning to +me, as she took some loaves from the oven, she asked bluntly-- + +"Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here?" + +I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger was out of the +question, and that I had indeed appeared as a beggar to her, I answered +quietly, but still not without a certain marked firmness-- + +"You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar. I am no beggar; any more +than yourself or your young ladies." + +After a pause she said, "I dunnut understand that: you've like no house, +nor no brass, I guess?" + +"The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean money) does not +make a beggar in your sense of the word." + +"Are you book-learned?" she inquired presently. + +"Yes, very." + +"But you've never been to a boarding-school?" + +"I was at a boarding-school eight years." + +She opened her eyes wide. "Whatever cannot ye keep yourself for, then?" + +"I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again. What are you +going to do with these gooseberries?" I inquired, as she brought out a +basket of the fruit. + +"Mak' 'em into pies." + +"Give them to me and I'll pick them." + +"Nay; I dunnut want ye to do nought." + +"But I must do something. Let me have them." + +She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over my +dress, "lest," as she said, "I should mucky it." + +"Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands," she +remarked. "Happen ye've been a dressmaker?" + +"No, you are wrong. And now, never mind what I have been: don't trouble +your head further about me; but tell me the name of the house where we +are." + +"Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House." + +"And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St. John?" + +"Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while. When he is at +home, he is in his own parish at Morton." + +"That village a few miles off? + +"Aye." + +"And what is he?" + +"He is a parson." + +I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when I +had asked to see the clergyman. "This, then, was his father's +residence?" + +"Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather, and +gurt (great) grandfather afore him." + +"The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St. John Rivers?" + +"Aye; St. John is like his kirstened name." + +"And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?" + +"Yes." + +"Their father is dead?" + +"Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke." + +"They have no mother?" + +"The mistress has been dead this mony a year." + +"Have you lived with the family long?" + +"I've lived here thirty year. I nursed them all three." + +"That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant. I will +say so much for you, though you have had the incivility to call me a +beggar." + +She again regarded me with a surprised stare. "I believe," she said, "I +was quite mista'en in my thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheats +goes about, you mun forgie me." + +"And though," I continued, rather severely, "you wished to turn me from +the door, on a night when you should not have shut out a dog." + +"Well, it was hard: but what can a body do? I thought more o' th' +childer nor of mysel: poor things! They've like nobody to tak' care on +'em but me. I'm like to look sharpish." + +I maintained a grave silence for some minutes. + +"You munnut think too hardly of me," she again remarked. + +"But I do think hardly of you," I said; "and I'll tell you why--not so +much because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as an +impostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I +had no 'brass' and no house. Some of the best people that ever lived +have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought not +to consider poverty a crime." + +"No more I ought," said she: "Mr. St. John tells me so too; and I see I +wor wrang--but I've clear a different notion on you now to what I had. +You look a raight down dacent little crater." + +"That will do--I forgive you now. Shake hands." + +She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile +illumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends. + +Hannah was evidently fond of talking. While I picked the fruit, and she +made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry details +about her deceased master and mistress, and "the childer," as she called +the young people. + +Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and of +as ancient a family as could be found. Marsh End had belonged to the +Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, "aboon two +hundred year old--for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught to +compare wi' Mr. Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. But she could +remember Bill Oliver's father a journeyman needlemaker; and th' Rivers +wor gentry i' th' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might see by looking +into th' registers i' Morton Church vestry." Still, she allowed, "the +owd maister was like other folk--naught mich out o' t' common way: stark +mad o' shooting, and farming, and sich like." The mistress was +different. She was a great reader, and studied a deal; and the "bairns" +had taken after her. There was nothing like them in these parts, nor +ever had been; they had liked learning, all three, almost from the time +they could speak; and they had always been "of a mak' of their own." Mr. +St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and be a parson; and the +girls, as soon as they left school, would seek places as governesses: for +they had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal of +money by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now not +rich enough to give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. They +had lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now to +stay a few weeks on account of their father's death; but they did so like +Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. They had been +in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no +place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other--never +fell out nor "threaped." She did not know where there was such a family +for being united. + +Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the two +ladies and their brother were now. + +"Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half-an-hour +to tea." + +They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered by +the kitchen door. Mr. St. John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passed +through; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly +expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to +come down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me. + +"You should have waited for my leave to descend," she said. "You still +look very pale--and so thin! Poor child!--poor girl!" + +Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. She +possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Her whole face +seemed to me full of charm. Mary's countenance was equally +intelligent--her features equally pretty; but her expression was more +reserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Diana looked and +spoke with a certain authority: she had a will, evidently. It was my +nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers, +and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active +will. + +"And what business have you here?" she continued. "It is not your place. +Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes, because at home we like to be +free, even to license--but you are a visitor, and must go into the +parlour." + +"I am very well here." + +"Not at all, with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour." + +"Besides, the fire is too hot for you," interposed Mary. + +"To be sure," added her sister. "Come, you must be obedient." And still +holding my hand she made me rise, and led me into the inner room. + +"Sit there," she said, placing me on the sofa, "while we take our things +off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our +little moorland home--to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined, +or when Hannah is baking, brewing, washing, or ironing." + +She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St. John, who sat +opposite, a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined first, the +parlour, and then its occupant. + +The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished, yet +comfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned chairs were very +bright, and the walnut-wood table was like a looking-glass. A few +strange, antique portraits of the men and women of other days decorated +the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and +an ancient set of china. There was no superfluous ornament in the +room--not one modern piece of furniture, save a brace of workboxes and a +lady's desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table: +everything--including the carpet and curtains--looked at once well worn +and well saved. + +Mr. St. John--sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls, +keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and his lips mutely +sealed--was easy enough to examine. Had he been a statue instead of a +man, he could not have been easier. He was young--perhaps from twenty- +eight to thirty--tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a +Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite +an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes +so near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked +at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His +eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, +colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of +fair hair. + +This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? Yet he whom it +describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding, +an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent as he now sat, +there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my +perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or +eager. He did not speak to me one word, nor even direct to me one +glance, till his sisters returned. Diana, as she passed in and out, in +the course of preparing tea, brought me a little cake, baked on the top +of the oven. + +"Eat that now," she said: "you must be hungry. Hannah says you have had +nothing but some gruel since breakfast." + +I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen. Mr. Rivers +now closed his book, approached the table, and, as he took a seat, fixed +his blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me. There was an unceremonious +directness, a searching, decided steadfastness in his gaze now, which +told that intention, and not diffidence, had hitherto kept it averted +from the stranger. + +"You are very hungry," he said. + +"I am, sir." It is my way--it always was my way, by instinct--ever to +meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness. + +"It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the +last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings +of your appetite at first. Now you may eat, though still not +immoderately." + +"I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir," was my very clumsily- +contrived, unpolished answer. + +"No," he said coolly: "when you have indicated to us the residence of +your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home." + +"That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being +absolutely without home and friends." + +The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was no +suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speak +particularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though clear enough +in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. He +seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's +thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of +keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass than +to encourage. + +"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you are completely isolated from +every connection?" + +"I do. Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I possess +to admittance under any roof in England." + +"A most singular position at your age!" + +Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on the +table before me. I wondered what he sought there: his words soon +explained the quest. + +"You have never been married? You are a spinster?" + +Diana laughed. "Why, she can't be above seventeen or eighteen years old, +St. John," said she. + +"I am near nineteen: but I am not married. No." + +I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitating +recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all saw +the embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by turning +their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder and +sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced +out tears as well as colour. + +"Where did you last reside?" he now asked. + +"You are too inquisitive, St. John," murmured Mary in a low voice; but he +leaned over the table and required an answer by a second firm and +piercing look. + +"The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I lived, is my +secret," I replied concisely. + +"Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both from +St. John and every other questioner," remarked Diana. + +"Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help you," he +said. "And you need help, do you not?" + +"I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true philanthropist will +put me in the way of getting work which I can do, and the remuneration +for which will keep me, if but in the barest necessaries of life." + +"I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aid +you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. First, then, tell +me what you have been accustomed to do, and what you _can_ do." + +I had now swallowed my tea. I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; as +much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, and +enabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily. + +"Mr. Rivers," I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked at +me, openly and without diffidence, "you and your sisters have done me a +great service--the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescued +me, by your noble hospitality, from death. This benefit conferred gives +you an unlimited claim on my gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent, +on my confidence. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer +you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of +mind--my own security, moral and physical, and that of others. + +"I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman. My parents died before I +could know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in a charitable +institution. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where I +passed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher--Lowood Orphan Asylum, +---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?--the Rev. Robert +Brocklehurst is the treasurer." + +"I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school." + +"I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. I +obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged to +leave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I cannot +and ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and would sound +incredible. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability as +any one of you three. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for the +catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of a +strange and direful nature. I observed but two points in planning my +departure--speed, secrecy: to secure these, I had to leave behind me +everything I possessed except a small parcel; which, in my hurry and +trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the coach that brought me to +Whitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I came, quite destitute. I +slept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days without +crossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food; +and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the +last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your +door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I know all your +sisters have done for me since--for I have not been insensible during my +seeming torpor--and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial +compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity." + +"Don't make her talk any more now, St. John," said Diana, as I paused; +"she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come to the sofa and sit +down now, Miss Elliott." + +I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the _alias_: I had forgotten +my new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape, noticed it at +once. + +"You said your name was Jane Elliott?" he observed. + +"I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient to be +called at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear it, it +sounds strange to me." + +"Your real name you will not give?" + +"No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure would +lead to it, I avoid." + +"You are quite right, I am sure," said Diana. "Now do, brother, let her +be at peace a while." + +But when St. John had mused a few moments he recommenced as imperturbably +and with as much acumen as ever. + +"You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality--you would +wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters' compassion, +and, above all, with my _charity_ (I am quite sensible of the distinction +drawn, nor do I resent it--it is just): you desire to be independent of +us?" + +"I do: I have already said so. Show me how to work, or how to seek work: +that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanest +cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay of +the horrors of homeless destitution." + +"Indeed you _shall_ stay here," said Diana, putting her white hand on my +head. "You _shall_," repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrative +sincerity which seemed natural to her. + +"My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you," said Mr. St. John, +"as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a half-frozen +bird, some wintry wind might have driven through their casement. I feel +more inclination to put you in the way of keeping yourself, and shall +endeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is narrow. I am but the +incumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must be of the humblest sort. +And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek some +more efficient succour than such as I can offer." + +"She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she can +do," answered Diana for me; "and you know, St. John, she has no choice of +helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you." + +"I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a +servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better," I answered. + +"Right," said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. "If such is your spirit, I +promise to aid you, in my own time and way." + +He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea. I +soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my +present strength would permit. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +The more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked them. In +a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could sit up all day, +and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and Mary in all their +occupations; converse with them as much as they wished, and aid them when +and where they would allow me. There was a reviving pleasure in this +intercourse, of a kind now tasted by me for the first time--the pleasure +arising from perfect congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles. + +I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed, delighted me; +what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their sequestered home. I, +too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with its low roof, its +latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its avenue of aged firs--all +grown aslant under the stress of mountain winds; its garden, dark with +yew and holly--and where no flowers but of the hardiest species would +bloom--found a charm both potent and permanent. They clung to the purple +moors behind and around their dwelling--to the hollow vale into which the +pebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended, and which wound +between fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest little +pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or gave +sustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little mossy- +faced lambs:--they clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect enthusiasm +of attachment. I could comprehend the feeling, and share both its +strength and truth. I saw the fascination of the locality. I felt the +consecration of its loneliness: my eye feasted on the outline of swell +and sweep--on the wild colouring communicated to ridge and dell by moss, +by heath-bell, by flower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellow +granite crag. These details were just to me what they were to them--so +many pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and the soft +breeze; the rough and the halcyon day; the hours of sunrise and sunset; +the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me, in these regions, +the same attraction as for them--wound round my faculties the same spell +that entranced theirs. + +Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accomplished and +better read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in the path of +knowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured the books they lent me: +then it was full satisfaction to discuss with them in the evening what I +had perused during the day. Thought fitted thought; opinion met opinion: +we coincided, in short, perfectly. + +If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana. +Physically, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous. In +her animal spirits there was an affluence of life and certainty of flow, +such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension. I could +talk a while when the evening commenced, but the first gush of vivacity +and fluency gone, I was fain to sit on a stool at Diana's feet, to rest +my head on her knee, and listen alternately to her and Mary, while they +sounded thoroughly the topic on which I had but touched. Diana offered +to teach me German. I liked to learn of her: I saw the part of +instructress pleased and suited her; that of scholar pleased and suited +me no less. Our natures dovetailed: mutual affection--of the strongest +kind--was the result. They discovered I could draw: their pencils and +colour-boxes were immediately at my service. My skill, greater in this +one point than theirs, surprised and charmed them. Mary would sit and +watch me by the hour together: then she would take lessons; and a docile, +intelligent, assiduous pupil she made. Thus occupied, and mutually +entertained, days passed like hours, and weeks like days. + +As to Mr. St John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally and rapidly +between me and his sisters did not extend to him. One reason of the +distance yet observed between us was, that he was comparatively seldom at +home: a large proportion of his time appeared devoted to visiting the +sick and poor among the scattered population of his parish. + +No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions: rain or +fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over, take his hat, +and, followed by his father's old pointer, Carlo, go out on his mission +of love or duty--I scarcely know in which light he regarded it. +Sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable, his sisters would +expostulate. He would then say, with a peculiar smile, more solemn than +cheerful-- + +"And if I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside from +these easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be for the future I +propose to myself?" + +Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, and some +minutes of apparently mournful meditation. + +But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to +friendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and even of +a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labours, blameless in his +life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental serenity, +that inward content, which should be the reward of every sincere +Christian and practical philanthropist. Often, of an evening, when he +sat at the window, his desk and papers before him, he would cease reading +or writing, rest his chin on his hand, and deliver himself up to I know +not what course of thought; but that it was perturbed and exciting might +be seen in the frequent flash and changeful dilation of his eye. + +I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury of delight it +was to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once in my hearing, a +strong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, and an inborn affection +for the dark roof and hoary walls he called his home; but there was more +of gloom than pleasure in the tone and words in which the sentiment was +manifested; and never did he seem to roam the moors for the sake of their +soothing silence--never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful +delights they could yield. + +Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I had an opportunity +of gauging his mind. I first got an idea of its calibre when I heard him +preach in his own church at Morton. I wish I could describe that sermon: +but it is past my power. I cannot even render faithfully the effect it +produced on me. + +It began calm--and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voice went, it +was calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet strictly restrained zeal +breathed soon in the distinct accents, and prompted the nervous language. +This grew to force--compressed, condensed, controlled. The heart was +thrilled, the mind astonished, by the power of the preacher: neither were +softened. Throughout there was a strange bitterness; an absence of +consolatory gentleness; stern allusions to Calvinistic +doctrines--election, predestination, reprobation--were frequent; and each +reference to these points sounded like a sentence pronounced for doom. +When he had done, instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by +his discourse, I experienced an inexpressible sadness; for it seemed to +me--I know not whether equally so to others--that the eloquence to which +I had been listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregs of +disappointment--where moved troubling impulses of insatiate yearnings and +disquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John Rivers--pure-lived, +conscientious, zealous as he was--had not yet found that peace of God +which passeth all understanding: he had no more found it, I thought, than +had I with my concealed and racking regrets for my broken idol and lost +elysium--regrets to which I have latterly avoided referring, but which +possessed me and tyrannised over me ruthlessly. + +Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to leave Moor House, +and return to the far different life and scene which awaited them, as +governesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-England city, where each +held a situation in families by whose wealthy and haughty members they +were regarded only as humble dependants, and who neither knew nor sought +out their innate excellences, and appreciated only their acquired +accomplishments as they appreciated the skill of their cook or the taste +of their waiting-woman. Mr. St. John had said nothing to me yet about +the employment he had promised to obtain for me; yet it became urgent +that I should have a vocation of some kind. One morning, being left +alone with him a few minutes in the parlour, I ventured to approach the +window-recess--which his table, chair, and desk consecrated as a kind of +study--and I was going to speak, though not very well knowing in what +words to frame my inquiry--for it is at all times difficult to break the +ice of reserve glassing over such natures as his--when he saved me the +trouble by being the first to commence a dialogue. + +Looking up as I drew near--"You have a question to ask of me?" he said. + +"Yes; I wish to know whether you have heard of any service I can offer +myself to undertake?" + +"I found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but as you seemed +both useful and happy here--as my sisters had evidently become attached +to you, and your society gave them unusual pleasure--I deemed it +inexpedient to break in on your mutual comfort till their approaching +departure from Marsh End should render yours necessary." + +"And they will go in three days now?" I said. + +"Yes; and when they go, I shall return to the parsonage at Morton: Hannah +will accompany me; and this old house will be shut up." + +I waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the subject first +broached: but he seemed to have entered another train of reflection: his +look denoted abstraction from me and my business. I was obliged to +recall him to a theme which was of necessity one of close and anxious +interest to me. + +"What is the employment you had in view, Mr. Rivers? I hope this delay +will not have increased the difficulty of securing it." + +"Oh, no; since it is an employment which depends only on me to give, and +you to accept." + +He again paused: there seemed a reluctance to continue. I grew +impatient: a restless movement or two, and an eager and exacting glance +fastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him as effectually as words +could have done, and with less trouble. + +"You need be in no hurry to hear," he said: "let me frankly tell you, I +have nothing eligible or profitable to suggest. Before I explain, +recall, if you please, my notice, clearly given, that if I helped you, it +must be as the blind man would help the lame. I am poor; for I find +that, when I have paid my father's debts, all the patrimony remaining to +me will be this crumbling grange, the row of scathed firs behind, and the +patch of moorish soil, with the yew-trees and holly-bushes in front. I +am obscure: Rivers is an old name; but of the three sole descendants of +the race, two earn the dependant's crust among strangers, and the third +considers himself an alien from his native country--not only for life, +but in death. Yes, and deems, and is bound to deem, himself honoured by +the lot, and aspires but after the day when the cross of separation from +fleshly ties shall be laid on his shoulders, and when the Head of that +church-militant of whose humblest members he is one, shall give the word, +'Rise, follow Me!'" + +St. John said these words as he pronounced his sermons, with a quiet, +deep voice; with an unflushed cheek, and a coruscating radiance of +glance. He resumed-- + +"And since I am myself poor and obscure, I can offer you but a service of +poverty and obscurity. _You_ may even think it degrading--for I see now +your habits have been what the world calls refined: your tastes lean to +the ideal, and your society has at least been amongst the educated; but +_I_ consider that no service degrades which can better our race. I hold +that the more arid and unreclaimed the soil where the Christian +labourer's task of tillage is appointed him--the scantier the meed his +toil brings--the higher the honour. His, under such circumstances, is +the destiny of the pioneer; and the first pioneers of the Gospel were the +Apostles--their captain was Jesus, the Redeemer, Himself." + +"Well?" I said, as he again paused--"proceed." + +He looked at me before he proceeded: indeed, he seemed leisurely to read +my face, as if its features and lines were characters on a page. The +conclusions drawn from this scrutiny he partially expressed in his +succeeding observations. + +"I believe you will accept the post I offer you," said he, "and hold it +for a while: not permanently, though: any more than I could permanently +keep the narrow and narrowing--the tranquil, hidden office of English +country incumbent; for in your nature is an alloy as detrimental to +repose as that in mine, though of a different kind." + +"Do explain," I urged, when he halted once more. + +"I will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is,--how trivial--how +cramping. I shall not stay long at Morton, now that my father is dead, +and that I am my own master. I shall leave the place probably in the +course of a twelve-month; but while I do stay, I will exert myself to the +utmost for its improvement. Morton, when I came to it two years ago, had +no school: the children of the poor were excluded from every hope of +progress. I established one for boys: I mean now to open a second school +for girls. I have hired a building for the purpose, with a cottage of +two rooms attached to it for the mistress's house. Her salary will be +thirty pounds a year: her house is already furnished, very simply, but +sufficiently, by the kindness of a lady, Miss Oliver; the only daughter +of the sole rich man in my parish--Mr. Oliver, the proprietor of a needle- +factory and iron-foundry in the valley. The same lady pays for the +education and clothing of an orphan from the workhouse, on condition that +she shall aid the mistress in such menial offices connected with her own +house and the school as her occupation of teaching will prevent her +having time to discharge in person. Will you be this mistress?" + +He put the question rather hurriedly; he seemed half to expect an +indignant, or at least a disdainful rejection of the offer: not knowing +all my thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, he could not tell in +what light the lot would appear to me. In truth it was humble--but then +it was sheltered, and I wanted a safe asylum: it was plodding--but then, +compared with that of a governess in a rich house, it was independent; +and the fear of servitude with strangers entered my soul like iron: it +was not ignoble--not unworthy--not mentally degrading, I made my +decision. + +"I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers, and I accept it with all my +heart." + +"But you comprehend me?" he said. "It is a village school: your scholars +will be only poor girls--cottagers' children--at the best, farmers' +daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing, ciphering, will be all +you will have to teach. What will you do with your accomplishments? +What, with the largest portion of your mind--sentiments--tastes?" + +"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep." + +"You know what you undertake, then?" + +"I do." + +He now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one well pleased and +deeply gratified. + +"And when will you commence the exercise of your function?" + +"I will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like, next +week." + +"Very well: so be it." + +He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he again looked at +me. He shook his head. + +"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked. + +"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no!" + +"Why? What is your reason for saying so?" + +"I read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promises the +maintenance of an even tenor in life." + +"I am not ambitious." + +He started at the word "ambitious." He repeated, "No. What made you +think of ambition? Who is ambitious? I know I am: but how did you find +it out?" + +"I was speaking of myself." + +"Well, if you are not ambitious, you are--" He paused. + +"What?" + +"I was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would have +misunderstood the word, and been displeased. I mean, that human +affections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you. I am sure +you cannot long be content to pass your leisure in solitude, and to +devote your working hours to a monotonous labour wholly void of stimulus: +any more than I can be content," he added, with emphasis, "to live here +buried in morass, pent in with mountains--my nature, that God gave me, +contravened; my faculties, heaven-bestowed, paralysed--made useless. You +hear now how I contradict myself. I, who preached contentment with a +humble lot, and justified the vocation even of hewers of wood and drawers +of water in God's service--I, His ordained minister, almost rave in my +restlessness. Well, propensities and principles must be reconciled by +some means." + +He left the room. In this brief hour I had learnt more of him than in +the whole previous month: yet still he puzzled me. + +Diana and Mary Rivers became more sad and silent as the day approached +for leaving their brother and their home. They both tried to appear as +usual; but the sorrow they had to struggle against was one that could not +be entirely conquered or concealed. Diana intimated that this would be a +different parting from any they had ever yet known. It would probably, +as far as St. John was concerned, be a parting for years: it might be a +parting for life. + +"He will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves," she said: "natural +affection and feelings more potent still. St. John looks quiet, Jane; +but he hides a fever in his vitals. You would think him gentle, yet in +some things he is inexorable as death; and the worst of it is, my +conscience will hardly permit me to dissuade him from his severe +decision: certainly, I cannot for a moment blame him for it. It is +right, noble, Christian: yet it breaks my heart!" And the tears gushed +to her fine eyes. Mary bent her head low over her work. + +"We are now without father: we shall soon be without home and brother," +she murmured. + +At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreed by fate +purposely to prove the truth of the adage, that "misfortunes never come +singly," and to add to their distresses the vexing one of the slip +between the cup and the lip. St. John passed the window reading a +letter. He entered. + +"Our uncle John is dead," said he. + +Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; the tidings +appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting. + +"Dead?" repeated Diana. + +"Yes." + +She riveted a searching gaze on her brother's face. "And what then?" she +demanded, in a low voice. + +"What then, Die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility of feature. +"What then? Why--nothing. Read." + +He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and handed it to +Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to her brother. All +three looked at each other, and all three smiled--a dreary, pensive smile +enough. + +"Amen! We can yet live," said Diana at last. + +"At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before," remarked +Mary. + +"Only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of what _might +have been_," said Mr. Rivers, "and contrasts it somewhat too vividly with +what _is_." + +He folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out. + +For some minutes no one spoke. Diana then turned to me. + +"Jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries," she said, "and think us +hard-hearted beings not to be more moved at the death of so near a +relation as an uncle; but we have never seen him or known him. He was my +mother's brother. My father and he quarrelled long ago. It was by his +advice that my father risked most of his property in the speculation that +ruined him. Mutual recrimination passed between them: they parted in +anger, and were never reconciled. My uncle engaged afterwards in more +prosperous undertakings: it appears he realised a fortune of twenty +thousand pounds. He was never married, and had no near kindred but +ourselves and one other person, not more closely related than we. My +father always cherished the idea that he would atone for his error by +leaving his possessions to us; that letter informs us that he has +bequeathed every penny to the other relation, with the exception of +thirty guineas, to be divided between St. John, Diana, and Mary Rivers, +for the purchase of three mourning rings. He had a right, of course, to +do as he pleased: and yet a momentary damp is cast on the spirits by the +receipt of such news. Mary and I would have esteemed ourselves rich with +a thousand pounds each; and to St. John such a sum would have been +valuable, for the good it would have enabled him to do." + +This explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no further reference +made to it by either Mr. Rivers or his sisters. The next day I left +Marsh End for Morton. The day after, Diana and Mary quitted it for +distant B-. In a week, Mr. Rivers and Hannah repaired to the parsonage: +and so the old grange was abandoned. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +My home, then, when I at last find a home,--is a cottage; a little room +with whitewashed walls and a sanded floor, containing four painted chairs +and a table, a clock, a cupboard, with two or three plates and dishes, +and a set of tea-things in delf. Above, a chamber of the same dimensions +as the kitchen, with a deal bedstead and chest of drawers; small, yet too +large to be filled with my scanty wardrobe: though the kindness of my +gentle and generous friends has increased that, by a modest stock of such +things as are necessary. + +It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the little +orphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone on the hearth. +This morning, the village school opened. I had twenty scholars. But +three of the number can read: none write or cipher. Several knit, and a +few sew a little. They speak with the broadest accent of the district. +At present, they and I have a difficulty in understanding each other's +language. Some of them are unmannered, rough, intractable, as well as +ignorant; but others are docile, have a wish to learn, and evince a +disposition that pleases me. I must not forget that these coarsely-clad +little peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlest +genealogy; and that the germs of native excellence, refinement, +intelligence, kind feeling, are as likely to exist in their hearts as in +those of the best-born. My duty will be to develop these germs: surely I +shall find some happiness in discharging that office. Much enjoyment I +do not expect in the life opening before me: yet it will, doubtless, if I +regulate my mind, and exert my powers as I ought, yield me enough to live +on from day to day. + +Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed in yonder +bare, humble schoolroom this morning and afternoon? Not to deceive +myself, I must reply--No: I felt desolate to a degree. I felt--yes, +idiot that I am--I felt degraded. I doubted I had taken a step which +sank instead of raising me in the scale of social existence. I was +weakly dismayed at the ignorance, the poverty, the coarseness of all I +heard and saw round me. But let me not hate and despise myself too much +for these feelings; I know them to be wrong--that is a great step gained; +I shall strive to overcome them. To-morrow, I trust, I shall get the +better of them partially; and in a few weeks, perhaps, they will be quite +subdued. In a few months, it is possible, the happiness of seeing +progress, and a change for the better in my scholars may substitute +gratification for disgust. + +Meantime, let me ask myself one question--Which is better?--To have +surrendered to temptation; listened to passion; made no painful effort--no +struggle;--but to have sunk down in the silken snare; fallen asleep on +the flowers covering it; wakened in a southern clime, amongst the +luxuries of a pleasure villa: to have been now living in France, Mr. +Rochester's mistress; delirious with his love half my time--for he +would--oh, yes, he would have loved me well for a while. He _did_ love +me--no one will ever love me so again. I shall never more know the sweet +homage given to beauty, youth, and grace--for never to any one else shall +I seem to possess these charms. He was fond and proud of me--it is what +no man besides will ever be.--But where am I wandering, and what am I +saying, and above all, feeling? Whether is it better, I ask, to be a +slave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles--fevered with delusive bliss one +hour--suffocating with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the +next--or to be a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezy +mountain nook in the healthy heart of England? + +Yes; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle and law, and +scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied moment. God +directed me to a correct choice: I thank His providence for the guidance! + +Having brought my eventide musings to this point, I rose, went to my +door, and looked at the sunset of the harvest-day, and at the quiet +fields before my cottage, which, with the school, was distant half a mile +from the village. The birds were singing their last strains-- + + "The air was mild, the dew was balm." + +While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find myself +ere long weeping--and why? For the doom which had reft me from adhesion +to my master: for him I was no more to see; for the desperate grief and +fatal fury--consequences of my departure--which might now, perhaps, be +dragging him from the path of right, too far to leave hope of ultimate +restoration thither. At this thought, I turned my face aside from the +lovely sky of eve and lonely vale of Morton--I say _lonely_, for in that +bend of it visible to me there was no building apparent save the church +and the parsonage, half-hid in trees, and, quite at the extremity, the +roof of Vale Hall, where the rich Mr. Oliver and his daughter lived. I +hid my eyes, and leant my head against the stone frame of my door; but +soon a slight noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden from the +meadow beyond it made me look up. A dog--old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer, +as I saw in a moment--was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. John +himself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, grave +almost to displeasure, fixed on me. I asked him to come in. + +"No, I cannot stay; I have only brought you a little parcel my sisters +left for you. I think it contains a colour-box, pencils, and paper." + +I approached to take it: a welcome gift it was. He examined my face, I +thought, with austerity, as I came near: the traces of tears were +doubtless very visible upon it. + +"Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?" he +asked. + +"Oh, no! On the contrary, I think in time I shall get on with my +scholars very well." + +"But perhaps your accommodations--your cottage--your furniture--have +disappointed your expectations? They are, in truth, scanty enough; but--" +I interrupted-- + +"My cottage is clean and weather-proof; my furniture sufficient and +commodious. All I see has made me thankful, not despondent. I am not +absolutely such a fool and sensualist as to regret the absence of a +carpet, a sofa, and silver plate; besides, five weeks ago I had nothing--I +was an outcast, a beggar, a vagrant; now I have acquaintance, a home, a +business. I wonder at the goodness of God; the generosity of my friends; +the bounty of my lot. I do not repine." + +"But you feel solitude an oppression? The little house there behind you +is dark and empty." + +"I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquillity, much less +to grow impatient under one of loneliness." + +"Very well; I hope you feel the content you express: at any rate, your +good sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield to the +vacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before I saw you, of +course I do not know; but I counsel you to resist firmly every temptation +which would incline you to look back: pursue your present career +steadily, for some months at least." + +"It is what I mean to do," I answered. St. John continued-- + +"It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bent +of nature; but that it may be done, I know from experience. God has +given us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate; and when our +energies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get--when our will +strains after a path we may not follow--we need neither starve from +inanition, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek another +nourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed to +taste--and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road +as direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if +rougher than it. + +"A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I had +made a mistake in entering the ministry: its uniform duties wearied me to +death. I burnt for the more active life of the world--for the more +exciting toils of a literary career--for the destiny of an artist, +author, orator; anything rather than that of a priest: yes, the heart of +a politician, of a soldier, of a votary of glory, a lover of renown, a +luster after power, beat under my curate's surplice. I considered; my +life was so wretched, it must be changed, or I must die. After a season +of darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell: my cramped +existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds--my powers +heard a call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength, spread +their wings, and mount beyond ken. God had an errand for me; to bear +which afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength, courage and +eloquence, the best qualifications of soldier, statesman, and orator, +were all needed: for these all centre in the good missionary. + +"A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state of mind +changed; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty, leaving +nothing of bondage but its galling soreness--which time only can heal. My +father, indeed, imposed the determination, but since his death, I have +not a legitimate obstacle to contend with; some affairs settled, a +successor for Morton provided, an entanglement or two of the feelings +broken through or cut asunder--a last conflict with human weakness, in +which I know I shall overcome, because I have vowed that I _will_ +overcome--and I leave Europe for the East." + +He said this, in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice; looking, when +he had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the setting sun, at which I +looked too. Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up the +field to the wicket. We had heard no step on that grass-grown track; the +water running in the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour and +scene; we might well then start when a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell, +exclaimed-- + +"Good evening, Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog is +quicker to recognise his friends than you are, sir; he pricked his ears +and wagged his tail when I was at the bottom of the field, and you have +your back towards me now." + +It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of those musical +accents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over his head, he stood +yet, at the close of the sentence, in the same attitude in which the +speaker had surprised him--his arm resting on the gate, his face directed +towards the west. He turned at last, with measured deliberation. A +vision, as it seemed to me, had risen at his side. There appeared, +within three feet of him, a form clad in pure white--a youthful, graceful +form: full, yet fine in contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo, +it lifted up its head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed under +his glance a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong +expression; but I do not retrace or qualify it: as sweet features as ever +the temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily as +ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified, +in this instance, the term. No charm was wanting, no defect was +perceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes +shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, +and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so +soft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the +white smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties of +tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too, +ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw; +the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses--all +advantages, in short, which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were +fully hers. I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired her +with my whole heart. Nature had surely formed her in a partial mood; +and, forgetting her usual stinted step-mother dole of gifts, had endowed +this, her darling, with a grand-dame's bounty. + +What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I naturally asked +myself that question as I saw him turn to her and look at her; and, as +naturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry in his countenance. He had +already withdrawn his eye from the Peri, and was looking at a humble tuft +of daisies which grew by the wicket. + +"A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone," he said, as he +crushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot. + +"Oh, I only came home from S-" (she mentioned the name of a large town +some twenty miles distant) "this afternoon. Papa told me you had opened +your school, and that the new mistress was come; and so I put on my +bonnet after tea, and ran up the valley to see her: this is she?" +pointing to me. + +"It is," said St. John. + +"Do you think you shall like Morton?" she asked of me, with a direct and +naive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child-like. + +"I hope I shall. I have many inducements to do so." + +"Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected?" + +"Quite." + +"Do you like your house?" + +"Very much." + +"Have I furnished it nicely?" + +"Very nicely, indeed." + +"And made a good choice of an attendant for you in Alice Wood?" + +"You have indeed. She is teachable and handy." (This then, I thought, +is Miss Oliver, the heiress; favoured, it seems, in the gifts of fortune, +as well as in those of nature! What happy combination of the planets +presided over her birth, I wonder?) + +"I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes," she added. "It will +be a change for me to visit you now and then; and I like a change. Mr. +Rivers, I have been _so_ gay during my stay at S-. Last night, or rather +this morning, I was dancing till two o'clock. The ---th regiment are +stationed there since the riots; and the officers are the most agreeable +men in the world: they put all our young knife-grinders and scissor +merchants to shame." + +It seemed to me that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and his upper +lip curled a moment. His mouth certainly looked a good deal compressed, +and the lower part of his face unusually stern and square, as the +laughing girl gave him this information. He lifted his gaze, too, from +the daisies, and turned it on her. An unsmiling, a searching, a meaning +gaze it was. She answered it with a second laugh, and laughter well +became her youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright eyes. + +As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo. "Poor +Carlo loves me," said she. "_He_ is not stern and distant to his +friends; and if he could speak, he would not be silent." + +As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace before his young +and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master's face. I saw his +solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion. +Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she +for a woman. His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of +despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a +vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think, +as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed. He responded neither by +word nor movement to the gentle advances made him. + +"Papa says you never come to see us now," continued Miss Oliver, looking +up. "You are quite a stranger at Vale Hall. He is alone this evening, +and not very well: will you return with me and visit him?" + +"It is not a seasonable hour to intrude on Mr. Oliver," answered St. +John. + +"Not a seasonable hour! But I declare it is. It is just the hour when +papa most wants company: when the works are closed and he has no business +to occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivers, _do_ come. Why are you so very shy, and +so very sombre?" She filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply of +her own. + +"I forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head, as if +shocked at herself. "I am so giddy and thoughtless! _Do_ excuse me. It +had slipped my memory that you have good reasons to be indisposed for +joining in my chatter. Diana and Mary have left you, and Moor House is +shut up, and you are so lonely. I am sure I pity you. Do come and see +papa." + +"Not to-night, Miss Rosamond, not to-night." + +Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only knew the effort +it cost him thus to refuse. + +"Well, if you are so obstinate, I will leave you; for I dare not stay any +longer: the dew begins to fall. Good evening!" + +She held out her hand. He just touched it. "Good evening!" he repeated, +in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned, but in a moment +returned. + +"Are you well?" she asked. Well might she put the question: his face was +blanched as her gown. + +"Quite well," he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the gate. She went +one way; he another. She turned twice to gaze after him as she tripped +fairy-like down the field; he, as he strode firmly across, never turned +at all. + +This spectacle of another's suffering and sacrifice rapt my thoughts from +exclusive meditation on my own. Diana Rivers had designated her brother +"inexorable as death." She had not exaggerated. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +I continued the labours of the village-school as actively and faithfully +as I could. It was truly hard work at first. Some time elapsed before, +with all my efforts, I could comprehend my scholars and their nature. +Wholly untaught, with faculties quite torpid, they seemed to me +hopelessly dull; and, at first sight, all dull alike: but I soon found I +was mistaken. There was a difference amongst them as amongst the +educated; and when I got to know them, and they me, this difference +rapidly developed itself. Their amazement at me, my language, my rules, +and ways, once subsided, I found some of these heavy-looking, gaping +rustics wake up into sharp-witted girls enough. Many showed themselves +obliging, and amiable too; and I discovered amongst them not a few +examples of natural politeness, and innate self-respect, as well as of +excellent capacity, that won both my goodwill and my admiration. These +soon took a pleasure in doing their work well, in keeping their persons +neat, in learning their tasks regularly, in acquiring quiet and orderly +manners. The rapidity of their progress, in some instances, was even +surprising; and an honest and happy pride I took in it: besides, I began +personally to like some of the best girls; and they liked me. I had +amongst my scholars several farmers' daughters: young women grown, +almost. These could already read, write, and sew; and to them I taught +the elements of grammar, geography, history, and the finer kinds of +needlework. I found estimable characters amongst them--characters +desirous of information and disposed for improvement--with whom I passed +many a pleasant evening hour in their own homes. Their parents then (the +farmer and his wife) loaded me with attentions. There was an enjoyment +in accepting their simple kindness, and in repaying it by a +consideration--a scrupulous regard to their feelings--to which they were +not, perhaps, at all times accustomed, and which both charmed and +benefited them; because, while it elevated them in their own eyes, it +made them emulous to merit the deferential treatment they received. + +I felt I became a favourite in the neighbourhood. Whenever I went out, I +heard on all sides cordial salutations, and was welcomed with friendly +smiles. To live amidst general regard, though it be but the regard of +working people, is like "sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet;" serene +inward feelings bud and bloom under the ray. At this period of my life, +my heart far oftener swelled with thankfulness than sank with dejection: +and yet, reader, to tell you all, in the midst of this calm, this useful +existence--after a day passed in honourable exertion amongst my scholars, +an evening spent in drawing or reading contentedly alone--I used to rush +into strange dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of the +ideal, the stirring, the stormy--dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, +charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I still +again and again met Mr. Rochester, always at some exciting crisis; and +then the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye, +touching his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him--the hope of +passing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed, with all its first +force and fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where I was, and how +situated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed, trembling and quivering; +and then the still, dark night witnessed the convulsion of despair, and +heard the burst of passion. By nine o'clock the next morning I was +punctually opening the school; tranquil, settled, prepared for the steady +duties of the day. + +Rosamond Oliver kept her word in coming to visit me. Her call at the +school was generally made in the course of her morning ride. She would +canter up to the door on her pony, followed by a mounted livery servant. +Anything more exquisite than her appearance, in her purple habit, with +her Amazon's cap of black velvet placed gracefully above the long curls +that kissed her cheek and floated to her shoulders, can scarcely be +imagined: and it was thus she would enter the rustic building, and glide +through the dazzled ranks of the village children. She generally came at +the hour when Mr. Rivers was engaged in giving his daily catechising +lesson. Keenly, I fear, did the eye of the visitress pierce the young +pastor's heart. A sort of instinct seemed to warn him of her entrance, +even when he did not see it; and when he was looking quite away from the +door, if she appeared at it, his cheek would glow, and his marble-seeming +features, though they refused to relax, changed indescribably, and in +their very quiescence became expressive of a repressed fervour, stronger +than working muscle or darting glance could indicate. + +Of course, she knew her power: indeed, he did not, because he could not, +conceal it from her. In spite of his Christian stoicism, when she went +up and addressed him, and smiled gaily, encouragingly, even fondly in his +face, his hand would tremble and his eye burn. He seemed to say, with +his sad and resolute look, if he did not say it with his lips, "I love +you, and I know you prefer me. It is not despair of success that keeps +me dumb. If I offered my heart, I believe you would accept it. But that +heart is already laid on a sacred altar: the fire is arranged round it. +It will soon be no more than a sacrifice consumed." + +And then she would pout like a disappointed child; a pensive cloud would +soften her radiant vivacity; she would withdraw her hand hastily from +his, and turn in transient petulance from his aspect, at once so heroic +and so martyr-like. St. John, no doubt, would have given the world to +follow, recall, retain her, when she thus left him; but he would not give +one chance of heaven, nor relinquish, for the elysium of her love, one +hope of the true, eternal Paradise. Besides, he could not bind all that +he had in his nature--the rover, the aspirant, the poet, the priest--in +the limits of a single passion. He could not--he would not--renounce his +wild field of mission warfare for the parlours and the peace of Vale +Hall. I learnt so much from himself in an inroad I once, despite his +reserve, had the daring to make on his confidence. + +Miss Oliver already honoured me with frequent visits to my cottage. I +had learnt her whole character, which was without mystery or disguise: +she was coquettish but not heartless; exacting, but not worthlessly +selfish. She had been indulged from her birth, but was not absolutely +spoilt. She was hasty, but good-humoured; vain (she could not help it, +when every glance in the glass showed her such a flush of loveliness), +but not affected; liberal-handed; innocent of the pride of wealth; +ingenuous; sufficiently intelligent; gay, lively, and unthinking: she was +very charming, in short, even to a cool observer of her own sex like me; +but she was not profoundly interesting or thoroughly impressive. A very +different sort of mind was hers from that, for instance, of the sisters +of St. John. Still, I liked her almost as I liked my pupil Adele; except +that, for a child whom we have watched over and taught, a closer +affection is engendered than we can give an equally attractive adult +acquaintance. + +She had taken an amiable caprice to me. She said I was like Mr. Rivers, +only, certainly, she allowed, "not one-tenth so handsome, though I was a +nice neat little soul enough, but he was an angel." I was, however, +good, clever, composed, and firm, like him. I was a _lusus naturae_, she +affirmed, as a village schoolmistress: she was sure my previous history, +if known, would make a delightful romance. + +One evening, while, with her usual child-like activity, and thoughtless +yet not offensive inquisitiveness, she was rummaging the cupboard and the +table-drawer of my little kitchen, she discovered first two French books, +a volume of Schiller, a German grammar and dictionary, and then my +drawing-materials and some sketches, including a pencil-head of a pretty +little cherub-like girl, one of my scholars, and sundry views from +nature, taken in the Vale of Morton and on the surrounding moors. She +was first transfixed with surprise, and then electrified with delight. + +"Had I done these pictures? Did I know French and German? What a +love--what a miracle I was! I drew better than her master in the first +school in S-. Would I sketch a portrait of her, to show to papa?" + +"With pleasure," I replied; and I felt a thrill of artist-delight at the +idea of copying from so perfect and radiant a model. She had then on a +dark-blue silk dress; her arms and her neck were bare; her only ornament +was her chestnut tresses, which waved over her shoulders with all the +wild grace of natural curls. I took a sheet of fine card-board, and drew +a careful outline. I promised myself the pleasure of colouring it; and, +as it was getting late then, I told her she must come and sit another +day. + +She made such a report of me to her father, that Mr. Oliver himself +accompanied her next evening--a tall, massive-featured, middle-aged, and +grey-headed man, at whose side his lovely daughter looked like a bright +flower near a hoary turret. He appeared a taciturn, and perhaps a proud +personage; but he was very kind to me. The sketch of Rosamond's portrait +pleased him highly: he said I must make a finished picture of it. He +insisted, too, on my coming the next day to spend the evening at Vale +Hall. + +I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing abundant +evidences of wealth in the proprietor. Rosamond was full of glee and +pleasure all the time I stayed. Her father was affable; and when he +entered into conversation with me after tea, he expressed in strong terms +his approbation of what I had done in Morton school, and said he only +feared, from what he saw and heard, I was too good for the place, and +would soon quit it for one more suitable. + +"Indeed," cried Rosamond, "she is clever enough to be a governess in a +high family, papa." + +I thought I would far rather be where I am than in any high family in the +land. Mr. Oliver spoke of Mr. Rivers--of the Rivers family--with great +respect. He said it was a very old name in that neighbourhood; that the +ancestors of the house were wealthy; that all Morton had once belonged to +them; that even now he considered the representative of that house might, +if he liked, make an alliance with the best. He accounted it a pity that +so fine and talented a young man should have formed the design of going +out as a missionary; it was quite throwing a valuable life away. It +appeared, then, that her father would throw no obstacle in the way of +Rosamond's union with St. John. Mr. Oliver evidently regarded the young +clergyman's good birth, old name, and sacred profession as sufficient +compensation for the want of fortune. + +It was the 5th of November, and a holiday. My little servant, after +helping me to clean my house, was gone, well satisfied with the fee of a +penny for her aid. All about me was spotless and bright--scoured floor, +polished grate, and well-rubbed chairs. I had also made myself neat, and +had now the afternoon before me to spend as I would. + +The translation of a few pages of German occupied an hour; then I got my +palette and pencils, and fell to the more soothing, because easier +occupation, of completing Rosamond Oliver's miniature. The head was +finished already: there was but the background to tint and the drapery to +shade off; a touch of carmine, too, to add to the ripe lips--a soft curl +here and there to the tresses--a deeper tinge to the shadow of the lash +under the azured eyelid. I was absorbed in the execution of these nice +details, when, after one rapid tap, my door unclosed, admitting St. John +Rivers. + +"I am come to see how you are spending your holiday," he said. "Not, I +hope, in thought? No, that is well: while you draw you will not feel +lonely. You see, I mistrust you still, though you have borne up +wonderfully so far. I have brought you a book for evening solace," and +he laid on the table a new publication--a poem: one of those genuine +productions so often vouchsafed to the fortunate public of those days--the +golden age of modern literature. Alas! the readers of our era are less +favoured. But courage! I will not pause either to accuse or repine. I +know poetry is not dead, nor genius lost; nor has Mammon gained power +over either, to bind or slay: they will both assert their existence, +their presence, their liberty and strength again one day. Powerful +angels, safe in heaven! they smile when sordid souls triumph, and feeble +ones weep over their destruction. Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? +No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they +not only live, but reign and redeem: and without their divine influence +spread everywhere, you would be in hell--the hell of your own meanness. + +While I was eagerly glancing at the bright pages of "Marmion" (for +"Marmion" it was), St. John stooped to examine my drawing. His tall +figure sprang erect again with a start: he said nothing. I looked up at +him: he shunned my eye. I knew his thoughts well, and could read his +heart plainly; at the moment I felt calmer and cooler than he: I had then +temporarily the advantage of him, and I conceived an inclination to do +him some good, if I could. + +"With all his firmness and self-control," thought I, "he tasks himself +too far: locks every feeling and pang within--expresses, confesses, +imparts nothing. I am sure it would benefit him to talk a little about +this sweet Rosamond, whom he thinks he ought not to marry: I will make +him talk." + +I said first, "Take a chair, Mr. Rivers." But he answered, as he always +did, that he could not stay. "Very well," I responded, mentally, "stand +if you like; but you shall not go just yet, I am determined: solitude is +at least as bad for you as it is for me. I'll try if I cannot discover +the secret spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in that marble +breast through which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy." + +"Is this portrait like?" I asked bluntly. + +"Like! Like whom? I did not observe it closely." + +"You did, Mr. Rivers." + +He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness: he looked at me +astonished. "Oh, that is nothing yet," I muttered within. "I don't mean +to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I'm prepared to go to +considerable lengths." I continued, "You observed it closely and +distinctly; but I have no objection to your looking at it again," and I +rose and placed it in his hand. + +"A well-executed picture," he said; "very soft, clear colouring; very +graceful and correct drawing." + +"Yes, yes; I know all that. But what of the resemblance? Who is it +like?" + +Mastering some hesitation, he answered, "Miss Oliver, I presume." + +"Of course. And now, sir, to reward you for the accurate guess, I will +promise to paint you a careful and faithful duplicate of this very +picture, provided you admit that the gift would be acceptable to you. I +don't wish to throw away my time and trouble on an offering you would +deem worthless." + +He continued to gaze at the picture: the longer he looked, the firmer he +held it, the more he seemed to covet it. "It is like!" he murmured; "the +eye is well managed: the colour, light, expression, are perfect. It +smiles!" + +"Would it comfort, or would it wound you to have a similar painting? Tell +me that. When you are at Madagascar, or at the Cape, or in India, would +it be a consolation to have that memento in your possession? or would the +sight of it bring recollections calculated to enervate and distress?" + +He now furtively raised his eyes: he glanced at me, irresolute, +disturbed: he again surveyed the picture. + +"That I should like to have it is certain: whether it would be judicious +or wise is another question." + +Since I had ascertained that Rosamond really preferred him, and that her +father was not likely to oppose the match, I--less exalted in my views +than St. John--had been strongly disposed in my own heart to advocate +their union. It seemed to me that, should he become the possessor of Mr. +Oliver's large fortune, he might do as much good with it as if he went +and laid his genius out to wither, and his strength to waste, under a +tropical sun. With this persuasion I now answered-- + +"As far as I can see, it would be wiser and more judicious if you were to +take to yourself the original at once." + +By this time he had sat down: he had laid the picture on the table before +him, and with his brow supported on both hands, hung fondly over it. I +discerned he was now neither angry nor shocked at my audacity. I saw +even that to be thus frankly addressed on a subject he had deemed +unapproachable--to hear it thus freely handled--was beginning to be felt +by him as a new pleasure--an unhoped-for relief. Reserved people often +really need the frank discussion of their sentiments and griefs more than +the expansive. The sternest-seeming stoic is human after all; and to +"burst" with boldness and good-will into "the silent sea" of their souls +is often to confer on them the first of obligations. + +"She likes you, I am sure," said I, as I stood behind his chair, "and her +father respects you. Moreover, she is a sweet girl--rather thoughtless; +but you would have sufficient thought for both yourself and her. You +ought to marry her." + +"_Does_ she like me?" he asked. + +"Certainly; better than she likes any one else. She talks of you +continually: there is no subject she enjoys so much or touches upon so +often." + +"It is very pleasant to hear this," he said--"very: go on for another +quarter of an hour." And he actually took out his watch and laid it upon +the table to measure the time. + +"But where is the use of going on," I asked, "when you are probably +preparing some iron blow of contradiction, or forging a fresh chain to +fetter your heart?" + +"Don't imagine such hard things. Fancy me yielding and melting, as I am +doing: human love rising like a freshly opened fountain in my mind and +overflowing with sweet inundation all the field I have so carefully and +with such labour prepared--so assiduously sown with the seeds of good +intentions, of self-denying plans. And now it is deluged with a +nectarous flood--the young germs swamped--delicious poison cankering +them: now I see myself stretched on an ottoman in the drawing-room at +Vale Hall at my bride Rosamond Oliver's feet: she is talking to me with +her sweet voice--gazing down on me with those eyes your skilful hand has +copied so well--smiling at me with these coral lips. She is mine--I am +hers--this present life and passing world suffice to me. Hush! say +nothing--my heart is full of delight--my senses are entranced--let the +time I marked pass in peace." + +I humoured him: the watch ticked on: he breathed fast and low: I stood +silent. Amidst this hush the quartet sped; he replaced the watch, laid +the picture down, rose, and stood on the hearth. + +"Now," said he, "that little space was given to delirium and delusion. I +rested my temples on the breast of temptation, and put my neck +voluntarily under her yoke of flowers. I tasted her cup. The pillow was +burning: there is an asp in the garland: the wine has a bitter taste: her +promises are hollow--her offers false: I see and know all this." + +I gazed at him in wonder. + +"It is strange," pursued he, "that while I love Rosamond Oliver so +wildly--with all the intensity, indeed, of a first passion, the object of +which is exquisitely beautiful, graceful, fascinating--I experience at +the same time a calm, unwarped consciousness that she would not make me a +good wife; that she is not the partner suited to me; that I should +discover this within a year after marriage; and that to twelve months' +rapture would succeed a lifetime of regret. This I know." + +"Strange indeed!" I could not help ejaculating. + +"While something in me," he went on, "is acutely sensible to her charms, +something else is as deeply impressed with her defects: they are such +that she could sympathise in nothing I aspired to--co-operate in nothing +I undertook. Rosamond a sufferer, a labourer, a female apostle? Rosamond +a missionary's wife? No!" + +"But you need not be a missionary. You might relinquish that scheme." + +"Relinquish! What! my vocation? My great work? My foundation laid on +earth for a mansion in heaven? My hopes of being numbered in the band +who have merged all ambitions in the glorious one of bettering their +race--of carrying knowledge into the realms of ignorance--of substituting +peace for war--freedom for bondage--religion for superstition--the hope +of heaven for the fear of hell? Must I relinquish that? It is dearer +than the blood in my veins. It is what I have to look forward to, and to +live for." + +After a considerable pause, I said--"And Miss Oliver? Are her +disappointment and sorrow of no interest to you?" + +"Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers: in less than a +month, my image will be effaced from her heart. She will forget me; and +will marry, probably, some one who will make her far happier than I +should do." + +"You speak coolly enough; but you suffer in the conflict. You are +wasting away." + +"No. If I get a little thin, it is with anxiety about my prospects, yet +unsettled--my departure, continually procrastinated. Only this morning, +I received intelligence that the successor, whose arrival I have been so +long expecting, cannot be ready to replace me for three months to come +yet; and perhaps the three months may extend to six." + +"You tremble and become flushed whenever Miss Oliver enters the +schoolroom." + +Again the surprised expression crossed his face. He had not imagined +that a woman would dare to speak so to a man. For me, I felt at home in +this sort of discourse. I could never rest in communication with strong, +discreet, and refined minds, whether male or female, till I had passed +the outworks of conventional reserve, and crossed the threshold of +confidence, and won a place by their heart's very hearthstone. + +"You are original," said he, "and not timid. There is something brave in +your spirit, as well as penetrating in your eye; but allow me to assure +you that you partially misinterpret my emotions. You think them more +profound and potent than they are. You give me a larger allowance of +sympathy than I have a just claim to. When I colour, and when I shade +before Miss Oliver, I do not pity myself. I scorn the weakness. I know +it is ignoble: a mere fever of the flesh: not, I declare, the convulsion +of the soul. _That_ is just as fixed as a rock, firm set in the depths +of a restless sea. Know me to be what I am--a cold hard man." + +I smiled incredulously. + +"You have taken my confidence by storm," he continued, "and now it is +much at your service. I am simply, in my original state--stripped of +that blood-bleached robe with which Christianity covers human deformity--a +cold, hard, ambitious man. Natural affection only, of all the +sentiments, has permanent power over me. Reason, and not feeling, is my +guide; my ambition is unlimited: my desire to rise higher, to do more +than others, insatiable. I honour endurance, perseverance, industry, +talent; because these are the means by which men achieve great ends and +mount to lofty eminence. I watch your career with interest, because I +consider you a specimen of a diligent, orderly, energetic woman: not +because I deeply compassionate what you have gone through, or what you +still suffer." + +"You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher," I said. + +"No. There is this difference between me and deistic philosophers: I +believe; and I believe the Gospel. You missed your epithet. I am not a +pagan, but a Christian philosopher--a follower of the sect of Jesus. As +His disciple I adopt His pure, His merciful, His benignant doctrines. I +advocate them: I am sworn to spread them. Won in youth to religion, she +has cultivated my original qualities thus:--From the minute germ, natural +affection, she has developed the overshadowing tree, philanthropy. From +the wild stringy root of human uprightness, she has reared a due sense of +the Divine justice. Of the ambition to win power and renown for my +wretched self, she has formed the ambition to spread my Master's kingdom; +to achieve victories for the standard of the cross. So much has religion +done for me; turning the original materials to the best account; pruning +and training nature. But she could not eradicate nature: nor will it be +eradicated 'till this mortal shall put on immortality.'" + +Having said this, he took his hat, which lay on the table beside my +palette. Once more he looked at the portrait. + +"She _is_ lovely," he murmured. "She is well named the Rose of the +World, indeed!" + +"And may I not paint one like it for you?" + +"_Cui bono_? No." + +He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I was +accustomed to rest my hand in painting, to prevent the cardboard from +being sullied. What he suddenly saw on this blank paper, it was +impossible for me to tell; but something had caught his eye. He took it +up with a snatch; he looked at the edge; then shot a glance at me, +inexpressibly peculiar, and quite incomprehensible: a glance that seemed +to take and make note of every point in my shape, face, and dress; for it +traversed all, quick, keen as lightning. His lips parted, as if to +speak: but he checked the coming sentence, whatever it was. + +"What is the matter?" I asked. + +"Nothing in the world," was the reply; and, replacing the paper, I saw +him dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin. It disappeared in +his glove; and, with one hasty nod and "good-afternoon," he vanished. + +"Well!" I exclaimed, using an expression of the district, "that caps the +globe, however!" + +I, in my turn, scrutinised the paper; but saw nothing on it save a few +dingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my pencil. I +pondered the mystery a minute or two; but finding it insolvable, and +being certain it could not be of much moment, I dismissed, and soon +forgot it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +When Mr. St. John went, it was beginning to snow; the whirling storm +continued all night. The next day a keen wind brought fresh and blinding +falls; by twilight the valley was drifted up and almost impassable. I +had closed my shutter, laid a mat to the door to prevent the snow from +blowing in under it, trimmed my fire, and after sitting nearly an hour on +the hearth listening to the muffled fury of the tempest, I lit a candle, +took down "Marmion," and beginning-- + + "Day set on Norham's castled steep, + And Tweed's fair river broad and deep, + And Cheviot's mountains lone; + The massive towers, the donjon keep, + The flanking walls that round them sweep, + In yellow lustre shone"-- + +I soon forgot storm in music. + +I heard a noise: the wind, I thought, shook the door. No; it was St. +John Rivers, who, lifting the latch, came in out of the frozen +hurricane--the howling darkness--and stood before me: the cloak that +covered his tall figure all white as a glacier. I was almost in +consternation, so little had I expected any guest from the blocked-up +vale that night. + +"Any ill news?" I demanded. "Has anything happened?" + +"No. How very easily alarmed you are!" he answered, removing his cloak +and hanging it up against the door, towards which he again coolly pushed +the mat which his entrance had deranged. He stamped the snow from his +boots. + +"I shall sully the purity of your floor," said he, "but you must excuse +me for once." Then he approached the fire. "I have had hard work to get +here, I assure you," he observed, as he warmed his hands over the flame. +"One drift took me up to the waist; happily the snow is quite soft yet." + +"But why are you come?" I could not forbear saying. + +"Rather an inhospitable question to put to a visitor; but since you ask +it, I answer simply to have a little talk with you; I got tired of my +mute books and empty rooms. Besides, since yesterday I have experienced +the excitement of a person to whom a tale has been half-told, and who is +impatient to hear the sequel." + +He sat down. I recalled his singular conduct of yesterday, and really I +began to fear his wits were touched. If he were insane, however, his was +a very cool and collected insanity: I had never seen that +handsome-featured face of his look more like chiselled marble than it did +just now, as he put aside his snow-wet hair from his forehead and let the +firelight shine free on his pale brow and cheek as pale, where it grieved +me to discover the hollow trace of care or sorrow now so plainly graved. +I waited, expecting he would say something I could at least comprehend; +but his hand was now at his chin, his finger on his lip: he was thinking. +It struck me that his hand looked wasted like his face. A perhaps +uncalled-for gush of pity came over my heart: I was moved to say-- + +"I wish Diana or Mary would come and live with you: it is too bad that +you should be quite alone; and you are recklessly rash about your own +health." + +"Not at all," said he: "I care for myself when necessary. I am well now. +What do you see amiss in me?" + +This was said with a careless, abstracted indifference, which showed that +my solicitude was, at least in his opinion, wholly superfluous. I was +silenced. + +He still slowly moved his finger over his upper lip, and still his eye +dwelt dreamily on the glowing grate; thinking it urgent to say something, +I asked him presently if he felt any cold draught from the door, which +was behind him. + +"No, no!" he responded shortly and somewhat testily. + +"Well," I reflected, "if you won't talk, you may be still; I'll let you +alone now, and return to my book." + +So I snuffed the candle and resumed the perusal of "Marmion." He soon +stirred; my eye was instantly drawn to his movements; he only took out a +morocco pocket-book, thence produced a letter, which he read in silence, +folded it, put it back, relapsed into meditation. It was vain to try to +read with such an inscrutable fixture before me; nor could I, in +impatience, consent to be dumb; he might rebuff me if he liked, but talk +I would. + +"Have you heard from Diana and Mary lately?" + +"Not since the letter I showed you a week ago." + +"There has not been any change made about your own arrangements? You +will not be summoned to leave England sooner than you expected?" + +"I fear not, indeed: such chance is too good to befall me." Baffled so +far, I changed my ground. I bethought myself to talk about the school +and my scholars. + +"Mary Garrett's mother is better, and Mary came back to the school this +morning, and I shall have four new girls next week from the Foundry +Close--they would have come to-day but for the snow." + +"Indeed!" + +"Mr. Oliver pays for two." + +"Does he?" + +"He means to give the whole school a treat at Christmas." + +"I know." + +"Was it your suggestion?" + +"No." + +"Whose, then?" + +"His daughter's, I think." + +"It is like her: she is so good-natured." + +"Yes." + +Again came the blank of a pause: the clock struck eight strokes. It +aroused him; he uncrossed his legs, sat erect, turned to me. + +"Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the fire," he said. + +Wondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied. + +"Half-an-hour ago," he pursued, "I spoke of my impatience to hear the +sequel of a tale: on reflection, I find the matter will be better managed +by my assuming the narrator's part, and converting you into a listener. +Before commencing, it is but fair to warn you that the story will sound +somewhat hackneyed in your ears; but stale details often regain a degree +of freshness when they pass through new lips. For the rest, whether +trite or novel, it is short. + +"Twenty years ago, a poor curate--never mind his name at this moment--fell +in love with a rich man's daughter; she fell in love with him, and +married him, against the advice of all her friends, who consequently +disowned her immediately after the wedding. Before two years passed, the +rash pair were both dead, and laid quietly side by side under one slab. +(I have seen their grave; it formed part of the pavement of a huge +churchyard surrounding the grim, soot-black old cathedral of an overgrown +manufacturing town in ---shire.) They left a daughter, which, at its +very birth, Charity received in her lap--cold as that of the snow-drift I +almost stuck fast in to-night. Charity carried the friendless thing to +the house of its rich maternal relations; it was reared by an aunt-in- +law, called (I come to names now) Mrs. Reed of Gateshead. You start--did +you hear a noise? I daresay it is only a rat scrambling along the +rafters of the adjoining schoolroom: it was a barn before I had it +repaired and altered, and barns are generally haunted by rats.--To +proceed. Mrs. Reed kept the orphan ten years: whether it was happy or +not with her, I cannot say, never having been told; but at the end of +that time she transferred it to a place you know--being no other than +Lowood School, where you so long resided yourself. It seems her career +there was very honourable: from a pupil, she became a teacher, like +yourself--really it strikes me there are parallel points in her history +and yours--she left it to be a governess: there, again, your fates were +analogous; she undertook the education of the ward of a certain Mr. +Rochester." + +"Mr. Rivers!" I interrupted. + +"I can guess your feelings," he said, "but restrain them for a while: I +have nearly finished; hear me to the end. Of Mr. Rochester's character I +know nothing, but the one fact that he professed to offer honourable +marriage to this young girl, and that at the very altar she discovered he +had a wife yet alive, though a lunatic. What his subsequent conduct and +proposals were is a matter of pure conjecture; but when an event +transpired which rendered inquiry after the governess necessary, it was +discovered she was gone--no one could tell when, where, or how. She had +left Thornfield Hall in the night; every research after her course had +been vain: the country had been scoured far and wide; no vestige of +information could be gathered respecting her. Yet that she should be +found is become a matter of serious urgency: advertisements have been put +in all the papers; I myself have received a letter from one Mr. Briggs, a +solicitor, communicating the details I have just imparted. Is it not an +odd tale?" + +"Just tell me this," said I, "and since you know so much, you surely can +tell it me--what of Mr. Rochester? How and where is he? What is he +doing? Is he well?" + +"I am ignorant of all concerning Mr. Rochester: the letter never mentions +him but to narrate the fraudulent and illegal attempt I have adverted to. +You should rather ask the name of the governess--the nature of the event +which requires her appearance." + +"Did no one go to Thornfield Hall, then? Did no one see Mr. Rochester?" + +"I suppose not." + +"But they wrote to him?" + +"Of course." + +"And what did he say? Who has his letters?" + +"Mr. Briggs intimates that the answer to his application was not from Mr. +Rochester, but from a lady: it is signed 'Alice Fairfax.'" + +I felt cold and dismayed: my worst fears then were probably true: he had +in all probability left England and rushed in reckless desperation to +some former haunt on the Continent. And what opiate for his severe +sufferings--what object for his strong passions--had he sought there? I +dared not answer the question. Oh, my poor master--once almost my +husband--whom I had often called "my dear Edward!" + +"He must have been a bad man," observed Mr. Rivers. + +"You don't know him--don't pronounce an opinion upon him," I said, with +warmth. + +"Very well," he answered quietly: "and indeed my head is otherwise +occupied than with him: I have my tale to finish. Since you won't ask +the governess's name, I must tell it of my own accord. Stay! I have it +here--it is always more satisfactory to see important points written +down, fairly committed to black and white." + +And the pocket-book was again deliberately produced, opened, sought +through; from one of its compartments was extracted a shabby slip of +paper, hastily torn off: I recognised in its texture and its stains of +ultra-marine, and lake, and vermillion, the ravished margin of the +portrait-cover. He got up, held it close to my eyes: and I read, traced +in Indian ink, in my own handwriting, the words "JANE EYRE"--the work +doubtless of some moment of abstraction. + +"Briggs wrote to me of a Jane Eyre:" he said, "the advertisements +demanded a Jane Eyre: I knew a Jane Elliott.--I confess I had my +suspicions, but it was only yesterday afternoon they were at once +resolved into certainty. You own the name and renounce the _alias_?" + +"Yes--yes; but where is Mr. Briggs? He perhaps knows more of Mr. +Rochester than you do." + +"Briggs is in London. I should doubt his knowing anything at all about +Mr. Rochester; it is not in Mr. Rochester he is interested. Meantime, +you forget essential points in pursuing trifles: you do not inquire why +Mr. Briggs sought after you--what he wanted with you." + +"Well, what did he want?" + +"Merely to tell you that your uncle, Mr. Eyre of Madeira, is dead; that +he has left you all his property, and that you are now rich--merely +that--nothing more." + +"I!--rich?" + +"Yes, you, rich--quite an heiress." + +Silence succeeded. + +"You must prove your identity of course," resumed St. John presently: "a +step which will offer no difficulties; you can then enter on immediate +possession. Your fortune is vested in the English funds; Briggs has the +will and the necessary documents." + +Here was a new card turned up! It is a fine thing, reader, to be lifted +in a moment from indigence to wealth--a very fine thing; but not a matter +one can comprehend, or consequently enjoy, all at once. And then there +are other chances in life far more thrilling and rapture-giving: _this_ +is solid, an affair of the actual world, nothing ideal about it: all its +associations are solid and sober, and its manifestations are the same. +One does not jump, and spring, and shout hurrah! at hearing one has got a +fortune; one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder business; +on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares, and we contain +ourselves, and brood over our bliss with a solemn brow. + +Besides, the words Legacy, Bequest, go side by side with the words, +Death, Funeral. My uncle I had heard was dead--my only relative; ever +since being made aware of his existence, I had cherished the hope of one +day seeing him: now, I never should. And then this money came only to +me: not to me and a rejoicing family, but to my isolated self. It was a +grand boon doubtless; and independence would be glorious--yes, I felt +that--that thought swelled my heart. + +"You unbend your forehead at last," said Mr. Rivers. "I thought Medusa +had looked at you, and that you were turning to stone. Perhaps now you +will ask how much you are worth?" + +"How much am I worth?" + +"Oh, a trifle! Nothing of course to speak of--twenty thousand pounds, I +think they say--but what is that?" + +"Twenty thousand pounds?" + +Here was a new stunner--I had been calculating on four or five thousand. +This news actually took my breath for a moment: Mr. St. John, whom I had +never heard laugh before, laughed now. + +"Well," said he, "if you had committed a murder, and I had told you your +crime was discovered, you could scarcely look more aghast." + +"It is a large sum--don't you think there is a mistake?" + +"No mistake at all." + +"Perhaps you have read the figures wrong--it may be two thousand!" + +"It is written in letters, not figures,--twenty thousand." + +I again felt rather like an individual of but average gastronomical +powers sitting down to feast alone at a table spread with provisions for +a hundred. Mr. Rivers rose now and put his cloak on. + +"If it were not such a very wild night," he said, "I would send Hannah +down to keep you company: you look too desperately miserable to be left +alone. But Hannah, poor woman! could not stride the drifts so well as I: +her legs are not quite so long: so I must e'en leave you to your sorrows. +Good-night." + +He was lifting the latch: a sudden thought occurred to me. "Stop one +minute!" I cried. + +"Well?" + +"It puzzles me to know why Mr. Briggs wrote to you about me; or how he +knew you, or could fancy that you, living in such an out-of-the-way +place, had the power to aid in my discovery." + +"Oh! I am a clergyman," he said; "and the clergy are often appealed to +about odd matters." Again the latch rattled. + +"No; that does not satisfy me!" I exclaimed: and indeed there was +something in the hasty and unexplanatory reply which, instead of +allaying, piqued my curiosity more than ever. + +"It is a very strange piece of business," I added; "I must know more +about it." + +"Another time." + +"No; to-night!--to-night!" and as he turned from the door, I placed +myself between it and him. He looked rather embarrassed. + +"You certainly shall not go till you have told me all," I said. + +"I would rather not just now." + +"You shall!--you must!" + +"I would rather Diana or Mary informed you." + +Of course these objections wrought my eagerness to a climax: gratified it +must be, and that without delay; and I told him so. + +"But I apprised you that I was a hard man," said he, "difficult to +persuade." + +"And I am a hard woman,--impossible to put off." + +{And I am a hard woman,--impossible to put off: p369.jpg} + +"And then," he pursued, "I am cold: no fervour infects me." + +"Whereas I am hot, and fire dissolves ice. The blaze there has thawed +all the snow from your cloak; by the same token, it has streamed on to my +floor, and made it like a trampled street. As you hope ever to be +forgiven, Mr. Rivers, the high crime and misdemeanour of spoiling a +sanded kitchen, tell me what I wish to know." + +"Well, then," he said, "I yield; if not to your earnestness, to your +perseverance: as stone is worn by continual dropping. Besides, you must +know some day,--as well now as later. Your name is Jane Eyre?" + +"Of course: that was all settled before." + +"You are not, perhaps, aware that I am your namesake?--that I was +christened St. John Eyre Rivers?" + +"No, indeed! I remember now seeing the letter E. comprised in your +initials written in books you have at different times lent me; but I +never asked for what name it stood. But what then? Surely--" + +I stopped: I could not trust myself to entertain, much less to express, +the thought that rushed upon me--that embodied itself,--that, in a +second, stood out a strong, solid probability. Circumstances knit +themselves, fitted themselves, shot into order: the chain that had been +lying hitherto a formless lump of links was drawn out straight,--every +ring was perfect, the connection complete. I knew, by instinct, how the +matter stood, before St. John had said another word; but I cannot expect +the reader to have the same intuitive perception, so I must repeat his +explanation. + +"My mother's name was Eyre; she had two brothers; one a clergyman, who +married Miss Jane Reed, of Gateshead; the other, John Eyre, Esq., +merchant, late of Funchal, Madeira. Mr. Briggs, being Mr. Eyre's +solicitor, wrote to us last August to inform us of our uncle's death, and +to say that he had left his property to his brother the clergyman's +orphan daughter, overlooking us, in consequence of a quarrel, never +forgiven, between him and my father. He wrote again a few weeks since, +to intimate that the heiress was lost, and asking if we knew anything of +her. A name casually written on a slip of paper has enabled me to find +her out. You know the rest." Again he was going, but I set my back +against the door. + +"Do let me speak," I said; "let me have one moment to draw breath and +reflect." I paused--he stood before me, hat in hand, looking composed +enough. I resumed-- + +"Your mother was my father's sister?" + +"Yes." + +"My aunt, consequently?" + +He bowed. + +"My uncle John was your uncle John? You, Diana, and Mary are his +sister's children, as I am his brother's child?" + +"Undeniably." + +"You three, then, are my cousins; half our blood on each side flows from +the same source?" + +"We are cousins; yes." + +I surveyed him. It seemed I had found a brother: one I could be proud +of,--one I could love; and two sisters, whose qualities were such, that, +when I knew them but as mere strangers, they had inspired me with genuine +affection and admiration. The two girls, on whom, kneeling down on the +wet ground, and looking through the low, latticed window of Moor House +kitchen, I had gazed with so bitter a mixture of interest and despair, +were my near kinswomen; and the young and stately gentleman who had found +me almost dying at his threshold was my blood relation. Glorious +discovery to a lonely wretch! This was wealth indeed!--wealth to the +heart!--a mine of pure, genial affections. This was a blessing, bright, +vivid, and exhilarating;--not like the ponderous gift of gold: rich and +welcome enough in its way, but sobering from its weight. I now clapped +my hands in sudden joy--my pulse bounded, my veins thrilled. + +"Oh, I am glad!--I am glad!" I exclaimed. + +St. John smiled. "Did I not say you neglected essential points to pursue +trifles?" he asked. "You were serious when I told you you had got a +fortune; and now, for a matter of no moment, you are excited." + +"What can you mean? It may be of no moment to you; you have sisters and +don't care for a cousin; but I had nobody; and now three relations,--or +two, if you don't choose to be counted,--are born into my world +full-grown. I say again, I am glad!" + +I walked fast through the room: I stopped, half suffocated with the +thoughts that rose faster than I could receive, comprehend, settle +them:--thoughts of what might, could, would, and should be, and that ere +long. I looked at the blank wall: it seemed a sky thick with ascending +stars,--every one lit me to a purpose or delight. Those who had saved my +life, whom, till this hour, I had loved barrenly, I could now benefit. +They were under a yoke,--I could free them: they were scattered,--I could +reunite them: the independence, the affluence which was mine, might be +theirs too. Were we not four? Twenty thousand pounds shared equally +would be five thousand each, justice--enough and to spare: justice would +be done,--mutual happiness secured. Now the wealth did not weigh on me: +now it was not a mere bequest of coin,--it was a legacy of life, hope, +enjoyment. + +How I looked while these ideas were taking my spirit by storm, I cannot +tell; but I perceived soon that Mr. Rivers had placed a chair behind me, +and was gently attempting to make me sit down on it. He also advised me +to be composed; I scorned the insinuation of helplessness and +distraction, shook off his hand, and began to walk about again. + +"Write to Diana and Mary to-morrow," I said, "and tell them to come home +directly. Diana said they would both consider themselves rich with a +thousand pounds, so with five thousand they will do very well." + +"Tell me where I can get you a glass of water," said St. John; "you must +really make an effort to tranquillise your feelings." + +"Nonsense! and what sort of an effect will the bequest have on you? Will +it keep you in England, induce you to marry Miss Oliver, and settle down +like an ordinary mortal?" + +"You wander: your head becomes confused. I have been too abrupt in +communicating the news; it has excited you beyond your strength." + +"Mr. Rivers! you quite put me out of patience: I am rational enough; it +is you who misunderstand, or rather who affect to misunderstand." + +"Perhaps, if you explained yourself a little more fully, I should +comprehend better." + +"Explain! What is there to explain? You cannot fail to see that twenty +thousand pounds, the sum in question, divided equally between the nephew +and three nieces of our uncle, will give five thousand to each? What I +want is, that you should write to your sisters and tell them of the +fortune that has accrued to them." + +"To you, you mean." + +"I have intimated my view of the case: I am incapable of taking any +other. I am not brutally selfish, blindly unjust, or fiendishly +ungrateful. Besides, I am resolved I will have a home and connections. I +like Moor House, and I will live at Moor House; I like Diana and Mary, +and I will attach myself for life to Diana and Mary. It would please and +benefit me to have five thousand pounds; it would torment and oppress me +to have twenty thousand; which, moreover, could never be mine in justice, +though it might in law. I abandon to you, then, what is absolutely +superfluous to me. Let there be no opposition, and no discussion about +it; let us agree amongst each other, and decide the point at once." + +"This is acting on first impulses; you must take days to consider such a +matter, ere your word can be regarded as valid." + +"Oh! if all you doubt is my sincerity, I am easy: you see the justice of +the case?" + +"I _do_ see a certain justice; but it is contrary to all custom. Besides, +the entire fortune is your right: my uncle gained it by his own efforts; +he was free to leave it to whom he would: he left it to you. After all, +justice permits you to keep it: you may, with a clear conscience, +consider it absolutely your own." + +"With me," said I, "it is fully as much a matter of feeling as of +conscience: I must indulge my feelings; I so seldom have had an +opportunity of doing so. Were you to argue, object, and annoy me for a +year, I could not forego the delicious pleasure of which I have caught a +glimpse--that of repaying, in part, a mighty obligation, and winning to +myself lifelong friends." + +"You think so now," rejoined St. John, "because you do not know what it +is to possess, nor consequently to enjoy wealth: you cannot form a notion +of the importance twenty thousand pounds would give you; of the place it +would enable you to take in society; of the prospects it would open to +you: you cannot--" + +"And you," I interrupted, "cannot at all imagine the craving I have for +fraternal and sisterly love. I never had a home, I never had brothers or +sisters; I must and will have them now: you are not reluctant to admit me +and own me, are you?" + +"Jane, I will be your brother--my sisters will be your sisters--without +stipulating for this sacrifice of your just rights." + +"Brother? Yes; at the distance of a thousand leagues! Sisters? Yes; +slaving amongst strangers! I, wealthy--gorged with gold I never earned +and do not merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation! +Close union! Intimate attachment!" + +"But, Jane, your aspirations after family ties and domestic happiness may +be realised otherwise than by the means you contemplate: you may marry." + +"Nonsense, again! Marry! I don't want to marry, and never shall marry." + +"That is saying too much: such hazardous affirmations are a proof of the +excitement under which you labour." + +"It is not saying too much: I know what I feel, and how averse are my +inclinations to the bare thought of marriage. No one would take me for +love; and I will not be regarded in the light of a mere money +speculation. And I do not want a stranger--unsympathising, alien, +different from me; I want my kindred: those with whom I have full fellow- +feeling. Say again you will be my brother: when you uttered the words I +was satisfied, happy; repeat them, if you can, repeat them sincerely." + +"I think I can. I know I have always loved my own sisters; and I know on +what my affection for them is grounded,--respect for their worth and +admiration of their talents. You too have principle and mind: your +tastes and habits resemble Diana's and Mary's; your presence is always +agreeable to me; in your conversation I have already for some time found +a salutary solace. I feel I can easily and naturally make room in my +heart for you, as my third and youngest sister." + +"Thank you: that contents me for to-night. Now you had better go; for if +you stay longer, you will perhaps irritate me afresh by some mistrustful +scruple." + +"And the school, Miss Eyre? It must now be shut up, I suppose?" + +"No. I will retain my post of mistress till you get a substitute." + +He smiled approbation: we shook hands, and he took leave. + +I need not narrate in detail the further struggles I had, and arguments I +used, to get matters regarding the legacy settled as I wished. My task +was a very hard one; but, as I was absolutely resolved--as my cousins saw +at length that my mind was really and immutably fixed on making a just +division of the property--as they must in their own hearts have felt the +equity of the intention; and must, besides, have been innately conscious +that in my place they would have done precisely what I wished to do--they +yielded at length so far as to consent to put the affair to arbitration. +The judges chosen were Mr. Oliver and an able lawyer: both coincided in +my opinion: I carried my point. The instruments of transfer were drawn +out: St. John, Diana, Mary, and I, each became possessed of a competency. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +It was near Christmas by the time all was settled: the season of general +holiday approached. I now closed Morton school, taking care that the +parting should not be barren on my side. Good fortune opens the hand as +well as the heart wonderfully; and to give somewhat when we have largely +received, is but to afford a vent to the unusual ebullition of the +sensations. I had long felt with pleasure that many of my rustic +scholars liked me, and when we parted, that consciousness was confirmed: +they manifested their affection plainly and strongly. Deep was my +gratification to find I had really a place in their unsophisticated +hearts: I promised them that never a week should pass in future that I +did not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching in their school. + +Mr. Rivers came up as, having seen the classes, now numbering sixty +girls, file out before me, and locked the door, I stood with the key in +my hand, exchanging a few words of special farewell with some half-dozen +of my best scholars: as decent, respectable, modest, and well-informed +young women as could be found in the ranks of the British peasantry. And +that is saying a great deal; for after all, the British peasantry are the +best taught, best mannered, most self-respecting of any in Europe: since +those days I have seen paysannes and Bauerinnen; and the best of them +seemed to me ignorant, coarse, and besotted, compared with my Morton +girls. + +"Do you consider you have got your reward for a season of exertion?" +asked Mr. Rivers, when they were gone. "Does not the consciousness of +having done some real good in your day and generation give pleasure?" + +"Doubtless." + +"And you have only toiled a few months! Would not a life devoted to the +task of regenerating your race be well spent?" + +"Yes," I said; "but I could not go on for ever so: I want to enjoy my own +faculties as well as to cultivate those of other people. I must enjoy +them now; don't recall either my mind or body to the school; I am out of +it and disposed for full holiday." + +He looked grave. "What now? What sudden eagerness is this you evince? +What are you going to do?" + +"To be active: as active as I can. And first I must beg you to set +Hannah at liberty, and get somebody else to wait on you." + +"Do you want her?" + +"Yes, to go with me to Moor House. Diana and Mary will be at home in a +week, and I want to have everything in order against their arrival." + +"I understand. I thought you were for flying off on some excursion. It +is better so: Hannah shall go with you." + +"Tell her to be ready by to-morrow then; and here is the schoolroom key: +I will give you the key of my cottage in the morning." + +He took it. "You give it up very gleefully," said he; "I don't quite +understand your light-heartedness, because I cannot tell what employment +you propose to yourself as a substitute for the one you are +relinquishing. What aim, what purpose, what ambition in life have you +now?" + +"My first aim will be to _clean down_ (do you comprehend the full force +of the expression?)--to _clean down_ Moor House from chamber to cellar; +my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number of +cloths, till it glitters again; my third, to arrange every chair, table, +bed, carpet, with mathematical precision; afterwards I shall go near to +ruin you in coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; and +lastly, the two days preceding that on which your sisters are expected +will be devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting of +currants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes, chopping up +of materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, as +words can convey but an inadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you. +My purpose, in short, is to have all things in an absolutely perfect +state of readiness for Diana and Mary before next Thursday; and my +ambition is to give them a beau-ideal of a welcome when they come." + +St. John smiled slightly: still he was dissatisfied. + +"It is all very well for the present," said he; "but seriously, I trust +that when the first flush of vivacity is over, you will look a little +higher than domestic endearments and household joys." + +"The best things the world has!" I interrupted. + +"No, Jane, no: this world is not the scene of fruition; do not attempt to +make it so: nor of rest; do not turn slothful." + +"I mean, on the contrary, to be busy." + +"Jane, I excuse you for the present: two months' grace I allow you for +the full enjoyment of your new position, and for pleasing yourself with +this late-found charm of relationship; but _then_, I hope you will begin +to look beyond Moor House and Morton, and sisterly society, and the +selfish calm and sensual comfort of civilised affluence. I hope your +energies will then once more trouble you with their strength." + +I looked at him with surprise. "St. John," I said, "I think you are +almost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be as content as a queen, and +you try to stir me up to restlessness! To what end?" + +"To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has committed to +your keeping; and of which He will surely one day demand a strict +account. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anxiously--I warn you of +that. And try to restrain the disproportionate fervour with which you +throw yourself into commonplace home pleasures. Don't cling so +tenaciously to ties of the flesh; save your constancy and ardour for an +adequate cause; forbear to waste them on trite transient objects. Do you +hear, Jane?" + +"Yes; just as if you were speaking Greek. I feel I have adequate cause +to be happy, and I _will_ be happy. Goodbye!" + +Happy at Moor House I was, and hard I worked; and so did Hannah: she was +charmed to see how jovial I could be amidst the bustle of a house turned +topsy-turvy--how I could brush, and dust, and clean, and cook. And +really, after a day or two of confusion worse confounded, it was +delightful by degrees to invoke order from the chaos ourselves had made. +I had previously taken a journey to S--- to purchase some new furniture: +my cousins having given me _carte blanche_ to effect what alterations I +pleased, and a sum having been set aside for that purpose. The ordinary +sitting-room and bedrooms I left much as they were: for I knew Diana and +Mary would derive more pleasure from seeing again the old homely tables, +and chairs, and beds, than from the spectacle of the smartest +innovations. Still some novelty was necessary, to give to their return +the piquancy with which I wished it to be invested. Dark handsome new +carpets and curtains, an arrangement of some carefully selected antique +ornaments in porcelain and bronze, new coverings, and mirrors, and +dressing-cases, for the toilet tables, answered the end: they looked +fresh without being glaring. A spare parlour and bedroom I refurnished +entirely, with old mahogany and crimson upholstery: I laid canvas on the +passage, and carpets on the stairs. When all was finished, I thought +Moor House as complete a model of bright modest snugness within, as it +was, at this season, a specimen of wintry waste and desert dreariness +without. + +The eventful Thursday at length came. They were expected about dark, and +ere dusk fires were lit upstairs and below; the kitchen was in perfect +trim; Hannah and I were dressed, and all was in readiness. + +St. John arrived first. I had entreated him to keep quite clear of the +house till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea of the +commotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its walls sufficed +to scare him to estrangement. He found me in the kitchen, watching the +progress of certain cakes for tea, then baking. Approaching the hearth, +he asked, "If I was at last satisfied with housemaid's work?" I answered +by inviting him to accompany me on a general inspection of the result of +my labours. With some difficulty, I got him to make the tour of the +house. He just looked in at the doors I opened; and when he had wandered +upstairs and downstairs, he said I must have gone through a great deal of +fatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable changes in so +short a time: but not a syllable did he utter indicating pleasure in the +improved aspect of his abode. + +This silence damped me. I thought perhaps the alterations had disturbed +some old associations he valued. I inquired whether this was the case: +no doubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone. + +"Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had scrupulously +respected every association: he feared, indeed, I must have bestowed more +thought on the matter than it was worth. How many minutes, for instance, +had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room?--By-the-bye, +could I tell him where such a book was?" + +I showed him the volume on the shelf: he took it down, and withdrawing to +his accustomed window recess, he began to read it. + +Now, I did not like this, reader. St. John was a good man; but I began +to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold. +The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him--its +peaceful enjoyments no charm. Literally, he lived only to aspire--after +what was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, nor +approve of others resting round him. As I looked at his lofty forehead, +still and pale as a white stone--at his fine lineaments fixed in study--I +comprehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband: that +it would be a trying thing to be his wife. I understood, as by +inspiration, the nature of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with him +that it was but a love of the senses. I comprehended how he should +despise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he +should wish to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever +conducting permanently to his happiness or hers. I saw he was of the +material from which nature hews her heroes--Christian and Pagan--her +lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors: a steadfast bulwark for great +interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrous +column, gloomy and out of place. + +"This parlour is not his sphere," I reflected: "the Himalayan ridge or +Caffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit him +better. Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life; it is not his +element: there his faculties stagnate--they cannot develop or appear to +advantage. It is in scenes of strife and danger--where courage is +proved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked--that he will speak +and move, the leader and superior. A merry child would have the +advantage of him on this hearth. He is right to choose a missionary's +career--I see it now." + +"They are coming! they are coming!" cried Hannah, throwing open the +parlour door. At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully. Out I ran. +It was now dark; but a rumbling of wheels was audible. Hannah soon had a +lantern lit. The vehicle had stopped at the wicket; the driver opened +the door: first one well-known form, then another, stepped out. In a +minute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with Mary's +soft cheek, then with Diana's flowing curls. They laughed--kissed +me--then Hannah: patted Carlo, who was half wild with delight; asked +eagerly if all was well; and being assured in the affirmative, hastened +into the house. + +They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whitcross, and +chilled with the frosty night air; but their pleasant countenances +expanded to the cheerful firelight. While the driver and Hannah brought +in the boxes, they demanded St. John. At this moment he advanced from +the parlour. They both threw their arms round his neck at once. He gave +each one quiet kiss, said in a low tone a few words of welcome, stood a +while to be talked to, and then, intimating that he supposed they would +soon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a place of refuge. + +I had lit their candles to go upstairs, but Diana had first to give +hospitable orders respecting the driver; this done, both followed me. +They were delighted with the renovation and decorations of their rooms; +with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and rich tinted china vases: +they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly. I had the pleasure of +feeling that my arrangements met their wishes exactly, and that what I +had done added a vivid charm to their joyous return home. + +Sweet was that evening. My cousins, full of exhilaration, were so +eloquent in narrative and comment, that their fluency covered St. John's +taciturnity: he was sincerely glad to see his sisters; but in their glow +of fervour and flow of joy he could not sympathise. The event of the +day--that is, the return of Diana and Mary--pleased him; but the +accompaniments of that event, the glad tumult, the garrulous glee of +reception irked him: I saw he wished the calmer morrow was come. In the +very meridian of the night's enjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rap +was heard at the door. Hannah entered with the intimation that "a poor +lad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch Mr. Rivers to see his +mother, who was drawing away." + +"Where does she live, Hannah?" + +"Clear up at Whitcross Brow, almost four miles off, and moor and moss all +the way." + +"Tell him I will go." + +"I'm sure, sir, you had better not. It's the worst road to travel after +dark that can be: there's no track at all over the bog. And then it is +such a bitter night--the keenest wind you ever felt. You had better send +word, sir, that you will be there in the morning." + +But he was already in the passage, putting on his cloak; and without one +objection, one murmur, he departed. It was then nine o'clock: he did not +return till midnight. Starved and tired enough he was: but he looked +happier than when he set out. He had performed an act of duty; made an +exertion; felt his own strength to do and deny, and was on better terms +with himself. + +I am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience. It was +Christmas week: we took to no settled employment, but spent it in a sort +of merry domestic dissipation. The air of the moors, the freedom of +home, the dawn of prosperity, acted on Diana and Mary's spirits like some +life-giving elixir: they were gay from morning till noon, and from noon +till night. They could always talk; and their discourse, witty, pithy, +original, had such charms for me, that I preferred listening to, and +sharing in it, to doing anything else. St. John did not rebuke our +vivacity; but he escaped from it: he was seldom in the house; his parish +was large, the population scattered, and he found daily business in +visiting the sick and poor in its different districts. + +One morning at breakfast, Diana, after looking a little pensive for some +minutes, asked him, "If his plans were yet unchanged." + +"Unchanged and unchangeable," was the reply. And he proceeded to inform +us that his departure from England was now definitively fixed for the +ensuing year. + +"And Rosamond Oliver?" suggested Mary, the words seeming to escape her +lips involuntarily: for no sooner had she uttered them, than she made a +gesture as if wishing to recall them. St. John had a book in his hand--it +was his unsocial custom to read at meals--he closed it, and looked up. + +"Rosamond Oliver," said he, "is about to be married to Mr. Granby, one of +the best connected and most estimable residents in S-, grandson and heir +to Sir Frederic Granby: I had the intelligence from her father +yesterday." + +His sisters looked at each other and at me; we all three looked at him: +he was serene as glass. + +"The match must have been got up hastily," said Diana: "they cannot have +known each other long." + +"But two months: they met in October at the county ball at S-. But where +there are no obstacles to a union, as in the present case, where the +connection is in every point desirable, delays are unnecessary: they will +be married as soon as S--- Place, which Sir Frederic gives up to them, +can he refitted for their reception." + +The first time I found St. John alone after this communication, I felt +tempted to inquire if the event distressed him: but he seemed so little +to need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to offer him more, I +experienced some shame at the recollection of what I had already +hazarded. Besides, I was out of practice in talking to him: his reserve +was again frozen over, and my frankness was congealed beneath it. He had +not kept his promise of treating me like his sisters; he continually made +little chilling differences between us, which did not at all tend to the +development of cordiality: in short, now that I was acknowledged his +kinswoman, and lived under the same roof with him, I felt the distance +between us to be far greater than when he had known me only as the +village schoolmistress. When I remembered how far I had once been +admitted to his confidence, I could hardly comprehend his present +frigidity. + +Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised his +head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping, and said-- + +"You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory won." + +Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply: after a +moment's hesitation I answered-- + +"But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whose +triumphs have cost them too dear? Would not such another ruin you?" + +"I think not; and if I were, it does not much signify; I shall never be +called upon to contend for such another. The event of the conflict is +decisive: my way is now clear; I thank God for it!" So saying, he +returned to his papers and his silence. + +As our mutual happiness (_i.e._, Diana's, Mary's, and mine) settled into +a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies, +St. John stayed more at home: he sat with us in the same room, sometimes +for hours together. While Mary drew, Diana pursued a course of +encyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and I +fagged away at German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own: that of some +Eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to his +plans. + +Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet and absorbed +enough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish- +looking grammar, and wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, his +fellow-students, with a curious intensity of observation: if caught, it +would be instantly withdrawn; yet ever and anon, it returned searchingly +to our table. I wondered what it meant: I wondered, too, at the punctual +satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to me +of small moment, namely, my weekly visit to Morton school; and still more +was I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable, if there was snow, or +rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me not to go, he would +invariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to accomplish +the task without regard to the elements. + +"Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her," he would say: "she +can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a few flakes of snow, as well +as any of us. Her constitution is both sound and elastic;--better +calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust." + +And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a little +weather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that to murmur +would be to vex him: on all occasions fortitude pleased him; the reverse +was a special annoyance. + +One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I really had +a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: I sat reading +Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls. As I exchanged a +translation for an exercise, I happened to look his way: there I found +myself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue eye. How long it +had been searching me through and through, and over and over, I cannot +tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the moment +superstitious--as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny. + +"Jane, what are you doing?" + +"Learning German." + +"I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee." + +"You are not in earnest?" + +"In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why." + +He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language he was +himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was apt to forget +the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil with +whom he might again and again go over the elements, and so fix them +thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for some time between +me and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me because he saw I could +sit at a task the longest of the three. Would I do him this favour? I +should not, perhaps, have to make the sacrifice long, as it wanted now +barely three months to his departure. + +St. John was not a man to be lightly refused: you felt that every +impression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was deep-graved and +permanent. I consented. When Diana and Mary returned, the former found +her scholar transferred from her to her brother: she laughed, and both +she and Mary agreed that St. John should never have persuaded them to +such a step. He answered quietly-- + +"I know it." + +I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting master: +he expected me to do a great deal; and when I fulfilled his expectations, +he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation. By degrees, he +acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind: +his praise and notice were more restraining than his indifference. I +could no longer talk or laugh freely when he was by, because a tiresomely +importunate instinct reminded me that vivacity (at least in me) was +distasteful to him. I was so fully aware that only serious moods and +occupations were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustain +or follow any other became vain: I fell under a freezing spell. When he +said "go," I went; "come," I came; "do this," I did it. But I did not +love my servitude: I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me. + +One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round him, bidding +him good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his custom; and, as was +equally his custom, he gave me his hand. Diana, who chanced to be in a +frolicsome humour (_she_ was not painfully controlled by his will; for +hers, in another way, was as strong), exclaimed-- + +"St. John! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you don't treat +her as such: you should kiss her too." + +She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking, and felt +uncomfortably confused; and while I was thus thinking and feeling, St. +John bent his head; his Greek face was brought to a level with mine, his +eyes questioned my eyes piercingly--he kissed me. There are no such +things as marble kisses or ice kisses, or I should say my ecclesiastical +cousin's salute belonged to one of these classes; but there may be +experiment kisses, and his was an experiment kiss. When given, he viewed +me to learn the result; it was not striking: I am sure I did not blush; +perhaps I might have turned a little pale, for I felt as if this kiss +were a seal affixed to my fetters. He never omitted the ceremony +afterwards, and the gravity and quiescence with which I underwent it, +seemed to invest it for him with a certain charm. + +As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I felt daily +more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle half my +faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to the +adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. He wanted to +train me to an elevation I could never reach; it racked me hourly to +aspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing was as impossible as to +mould my irregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to give +to my changeable green eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his +own. + +Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present. Of late +it had been easy enough for me to look sad: a cankering evil sat at my +heart and drained my happiness at its source--the evil of suspense. + +Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidst these +changes of place and fortune. Not for a moment. His idea was still with +me, because it was not a vapour sunshine could disperse, nor a +sand-traced effigy storms could wash away; it was a name graven on a +tablet, fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed. The craving to +know what had become of him followed me everywhere; when I was at Morton, +I re-entered my cottage every evening to think of that; and now at Moor +House, I sought my bedroom each night to brood over it. + +In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs about the +will, I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr. Rochester's present +residence and state of health; but, as St. John had conjectured, he was +quite ignorant of all concerning him. I then wrote to Mrs. Fairfax, +entreating information on the subject. I had calculated with certainty +on this step answering my end: I felt sure it would elicit an early +answer. I was astonished when a fortnight passed without reply; but when +two months wore away, and day after day the post arrived and brought +nothing for me, I fell a prey to the keenest anxiety. + +I wrote again: there was a chance of my first letter having missed. +Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like the former for some +weeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered: not a line, not a word reached +me. When half a year wasted in vain expectancy, my hope died out, and +then I felt dark indeed. + +A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy. Summer +approached; Diana tried to cheer me: she said I looked ill, and wished to +accompany me to the sea-side. This St. John opposed; he said I did not +want dissipation, I wanted employment; my present life was too +purposeless, I required an aim; and, I suppose, by way of supplying +deficiencies, he prolonged still further my lessons in Hindostanee, and +grew more urgent in requiring their accomplishment: and I, like a fool, +never thought of resisting him--I could not resist him. + +One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual; the ebb was +occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. Hannah had told me in +the morning there was a letter for me, and when I went down to take it, +almost certain that the long-looked for tidings were vouchsafed me at +last, I found only an unimportant note from Mr. Briggs on business. The +bitter check had wrung from me some tears; and now, as I sat poring over +the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe, my +eyes filled again. + +St. John called me to his side to read; in attempting to do this my voice +failed me: words were lost in sobs. He and I were the only occupants of +the parlour: Diana was practising her music in the drawing-room, Mary was +gardening--it was a very fine May day, clear, sunny, and breezy. My +companion expressed no surprise at this emotion, nor did he question me +as to its cause; he only said-- + +"We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more composed." And +while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he sat calm and patient, +leaning on his desk, and looking like a physician watching with the eye +of science an expected and fully understood crisis in a patient's malady. +Having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes, and muttered something about not +being very well that morning, I resumed my task, and succeeded in +completing it. St. John put away my books and his, locked his desk, and +said-- + +"Now, Jane, you shall take a walk; and with me." + +"I will call Diana and Mary." + +"No; I want only one companion this morning, and that must be you. Put +on your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the road towards the +head of Marsh Glen: I will join you in a moment." + +I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in my dealings +with positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own, between absolute +submission and determined revolt. I have always faithfully observed the +one, up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic +vehemence, into the other; and as neither present circumstances +warranted, nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny, I observed careful +obedience to St. John's directions; and in ten minutes I was treading the +wild track of the glen, side by side with him. + +The breeze was from the west: it came over the hills, sweet with scents +of heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; the stream descending +the ravine, swelled with past spring rains, poured along plentiful and +clear, catching golden gleams from the sun, and sapphire tints from the +firmament. As we advanced and left the track, we trod a soft turf, mossy +fine and emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny white flower, and +spangled with a star-like yellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut us +quite in; for the glen, towards its head, wound to their very core. + +"Let us rest here," said St. John, as we reached the first stragglers of +a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which the beck +rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountain +shook off turf and flower, had only heath for raiment and crag for +gem--where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, and exchanged the fresh +for the frowning--where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and a +last refuge for silence. + +I took a seat: St. John stood near me. He looked up the pass and down +the hollow; his glance wandered away with the stream, and returned to +traverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it: he removed his hat, let +the breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow. He seemed in communion with +the genius of the haunt: with his eye he bade farewell to something. + +"And I shall see it again," he said aloud, "in dreams when I sleep by the +Ganges: and again in a more remote hour--when another slumber overcomes +me--on the shore of a darker stream!" + +Strange words of a strange love! An austere patriot's passion for his +fatherland! He sat down; for half-an-hour we never spoke; neither he to +me nor I to him: that interval past, he recommenced-- + +"Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East Indiaman which +sails on the 20th of June." + +"God will protect you; for you have undertaken His work," I answered. + +"Yes," said he, "there is my glory and joy. I am the servant of an +infallible Master. I am not going out under human guidance, subject to +the defective laws and erring control of my feeble fellow-worms: my king, +my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-perfect. It seems strange to me that +all round me do not burn to enlist under the same banner,--to join in the +same enterprise." + +"All have not your powers, and it would be folly for the feeble to wish +to march with the strong." + +"I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address only such as +are worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it." + +"Those are few in number, and difficult to discover." + +"You say truly; but when found, it is right to stir them up--to urge and +exhort them to the effort--to show them what their gifts are, and why +they were given--to speak Heaven's message in their ear,--to offer them, +direct from God, a place in the ranks of His chosen." + +"If they are really qualified for the task, will not their own hearts be +the first to inform them of it?" + +I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering over me: I +trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at once declare and +rivet the spell. + +"And what does _your_ heart say?" demanded St. John. + +"My heart is mute,--my heart is mute," I answered, struck and thrilled. + +"Then I must speak for it," continued the deep, relentless voice. "Jane, +come with me to India: come as my helpmeet and fellow-labourer." + +The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had heard +a summons from Heaven--as if a visionary messenger, like him of +Macedonia, had enounced, "Come over and help us!" But I was no +apostle,--I could not behold the herald,--I could not receive his call. + +"Oh, St. John!" I cried, "have some mercy!" + +I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his duty, +knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued-- + +"God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is not +personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for +labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must--shall be. You shall +be mine: I claim you--not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign's +service." + +"I am not fit for it: I have no vocation," I said. + +He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated by +them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him, folded his +arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw he was prepared for a +long and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of patience to last +him to its close--resolved, however, that that close should be conquest +for him. + +"Humility, Jane," said he, "is the groundwork of Christian virtues: you +say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit for it? Or who, +that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the summons? I, +for instance, am but dust and ashes. With St. Paul, I acknowledge myself +the chiefest of sinners; but I do not suffer this sense of my personal +vileness to daunt me. I know my Leader: that He is just as well as +mighty; and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great +task, He will, from the boundless stores of His providence, supply the +inadequacy of the means to the end. Think like me, Jane--trust like me. +It is the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean on: do not doubt but it will +bear the weight of your human weakness." + +"I do not understand a missionary life: I have never studied missionary +labours." + +"There I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want: I can set you +your task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help you from moment to +moment. This I could do in the beginning: soon (for I know your powers) +you would be as strong and apt as myself, and would not require my help." + +"But my powers--where are they for this undertaking? I do not feel them. +Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I am sensible of no light +kindling--no life quickening--no voice counselling or cheering. Oh, I +wish I could make you see how much my mind is at this moment like a +rayless dungeon, with one shrinking fear fettered in its depths--the fear +of being persuaded by you to attempt what I cannot accomplish!" + +"I have an answer for you--hear it. I have watched you ever since we +first met: I have made you my study for ten months. I have proved you in +that time by sundry tests: and what have I seen and elicited? In the +village school I found you could perform well, punctually, uprightly, +labour uncongenial to your habits and inclinations; I saw you could +perform it with capacity and tact: you could win while you controlled. In +the calm with which you learnt you had become suddenly rich, I read a +mind clear of the vice of Demas:--lucre had no undue power over you. In +the resolute readiness with which you cut your wealth into four shares, +keeping but one to yourself, and relinquishing the three others to the +claim of abstract justice, I recognised a soul that revelled in the flame +and excitement of sacrifice. In the tractability with which, at my wish, +you forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted another +because it interested me; in the untiring assiduity with which you have +since persevered in it--in the unflagging energy and unshaken temper with +which you have met its difficulties--I acknowledge the complement of the +qualities I seek. Jane, you are docile, diligent, disinterested, +faithful, constant, and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic: cease +to mistrust yourself--I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress of +Indian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistance will +be to me invaluable." + +My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced with slow sure +step. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words of his succeeded in +making the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparatively clear. My +work, which had appeared so vague, so hopelessly diffuse, condensed +itself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite form under his shaping +hand. He waited for an answer. I demanded a quarter of an hour to +think, before I again hazarded a reply. + +"Very willingly," he rejoined; and rising, he strode a little distance up +the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still. + +{He threw himself down on a swell of heath, and there lay still: +p389.jpg} + +"I _can_ do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledge +that," I meditated,--"that is, if life be spared me. But I feel mine is +not the existence to be long protracted under an Indian sun. What then? +He does not care for that: when my time came to die, he would resign me, +in all serenity and sanctity, to the God who gave me. The case is very +plain before me. In leaving England, I should leave a loved but empty +land--Mr. Rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can that +ever be to me? My business is to live without him now: nothing so +absurd, so weak as to drag on from day to day, as if I were waiting some +impossible change in circumstances, which might reunite me to him. Of +course (as St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life to +replace the one lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly the +most glorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble cares +and sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void left by +uptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say, Yes--and +yet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandon half myself: if I go +to India, I go to premature death. And how will the interval between +leaving England for India, and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, I +know well! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining to +satisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I _shall_ satisfy him--to the +finest central point and farthest outward circle of his expectations. If +I _do_ go with him--if I _do_ make the sacrifice he urges, I will make it +absolutely: I will throw all on the altar--heart, vitals, the entire +victim. He will never love me; but he shall approve me; I will show him +energies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, I +can work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging. + +"Consent, then, to his demand is possible: but for one item--one dreadful +item. It is--that he asks me to be his wife, and has no more of a +husband's heart for me than that frowning giant of a rock, down which the +stream is foaming in yonder gorge. He prizes me as a soldier would a +good weapon; and that is all. Unmarried to him, this would never grieve +me; but can I let him complete his calculations--coolly put into practice +his plans--go through the wedding ceremony? Can I receive from him the +bridal ring, endure all the forms of love (which I doubt not he would +scrupulously observe) and know that the spirit was quite absent? Can I +bear the consciousness that every endearment he bestows is a sacrifice +made on principle? No: such a martyrdom would be monstrous. I will +never undergo it. As his sister, I might accompany him--not as his wife: +I will tell him so." + +I looked towards the knoll: there he lay, still as a prostrate column; +his face turned to me: his eye beaming watchful and keen. He started to +his feet and approached me. + +"I am ready to go to India, if I may go free." + +"Your answer requires a commentary," he said; "it is not clear." + +"You have hitherto been my adopted brother--I, your adopted sister: let +us continue as such: you and I had better not marry." + +He shook his head. "Adopted fraternity will not do in this case. If you +were my real sister it would be different: I should take you, and seek no +wife. But as it is, either our union must be consecrated and sealed by +marriage, or it cannot exist: practical obstacles oppose themselves to +any other plan. Do you not see it, Jane? Consider a moment--your strong +sense will guide you." + +I did consider; and still my sense, such as it was, directed me only to +the fact that we did not love each other as man and wife should: and +therefore it inferred we ought not to marry. I said so. "St. John," I +returned, "I regard you as a brother--you, me as a sister: so let us +continue." + +"We cannot--we cannot," he answered, with short, sharp determination: "it +would not do. You have said you will go with me to India: remember--you +have said that." + +"Conditionally." + +"Well--well. To the main point--the departure with me from England, the +co-operation with me in my future labours--you do not object. You have +already as good as put your hand to the plough: you are too consistent to +withdraw it. You have but one end to keep in view--how the work you have +undertaken can best be done. Simplify your complicated interests, +feelings, thoughts, wishes, aims; merge all considerations in one +purpose: that of fulfilling with effect--with power--the mission of your +great Master. To do so, you must have a coadjutor: not a brother--that +is a loose tie--but a husband. I, too, do not want a sister: a sister +might any day be taken from me. I want a wife: the sole helpmeet I can +influence efficiently in life, and retain absolutely till death." + +I shuddered as he spoke: I felt his influence in my marrow--his hold on +my limbs. + +"Seek one elsewhere than in me, St. John: seek one fitted to you." + +"One fitted to my purpose, you mean--fitted to my vocation. Again I tell +you it is not the insignificant private individual--the mere man, with +the man's selfish senses--I wish to mate: it is the missionary." + +"And I will give the missionary my energies--it is all he wants--but not +myself: that would be only adding the husk and shell to the kernel. For +them he has no use: I retain them." + +"You cannot--you ought not. Do you think God will be satisfied with half +an oblation? Will He accept a mutilated sacrifice? It is the cause of +God I advocate: it is under His standard I enlist you. I cannot accept +on His behalf a divided allegiance: it must be entire." + +"Oh! I will give my heart to God," I said. "_You_ do not want it." + +I will not swear, reader, that there was not something of repressed +sarcasm both in the tone in which I uttered this sentence, and in the +feeling that accompanied it. I had silently feared St. John till now, +because I had not understood him. He had held me in awe, because he had +held me in doubt. How much of him was saint, how much mortal, I could +not heretofore tell: but revelations were being made in this conference: +the analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. I saw his +fallibilities: I comprehended them. I understood that, sitting there +where I did, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me, +I sat at the feet of a man, caring as I. The veil fell from his hardness +and despotism. Having felt in him the presence of these qualities, I +felt his imperfection and took courage. I was with an equal--one with +whom I might argue--one whom, if I saw good, I might resist. + +He was silent after I had uttered the last sentence, and I presently +risked an upward glance at his countenance. + +His eye, bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry. +"Is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to _me_!" it seemed to say. "What does +this signify?" + +"Do not let us forget that this is a solemn matter," he said ere long; +"one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly without sin. I +trust, Jane, you are in earnest when you say you will serve your heart to +God: it is all I want. Once wrench your heart from man, and fix it on +your Maker, the advancement of that Maker's spiritual kingdom on earth +will be your chief delight and endeavour; you will be ready to do at once +whatever furthers that end. You will see what impetus would be given to +your efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage: the +only union that gives a character of permanent conformity to the +destinies and designs of human beings; and, passing over all minor +caprices--all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling--all scruple +about the degree, kind, strength or tenderness of mere personal +inclination--you will hasten to enter into that union at once." + +"Shall I?" I said briefly; and I looked at his features, beautiful in +their harmony, but strangely formidable in their still severity; at his +brow, commanding but not open; at his eyes, bright and deep and +searching, but never soft; at his tall imposing figure; and fancied +myself in idea _his wife_. Oh! it would never do! As his curate, his +comrade, all would be right: I would cross oceans with him in that +capacity; toil under Eastern suns, in Asian deserts with him in that +office; admire and emulate his courage and devotion and vigour; +accommodate quietly to his masterhood; smile undisturbed at his +ineradicable ambition; discriminate the Christian from the man: +profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. I should suffer +often, no doubt, attached to him only in this capacity: my body would be +under rather a stringent yoke, but my heart and mind would be free. I +should still have my unblighted self to turn to: my natural unenslaved +feelings with which to communicate in moments of loneliness. There would +be recesses in my mind which would be only mine, to which he never came, +and sentiments growing there fresh and sheltered which his austerity +could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but as +his wife--at his side always, and always restrained, and always +checked--forced to keep the fire of my nature continually low, to compel +it to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame +consumed vital after vital--_this_ would be unendurable. + +"St. John!" I exclaimed, when I had got so far in my meditation. + +"Well?" he answered icily. + +"I repeat I freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary, but +not as your wife; I cannot marry you and become part of you." + +"A part of me you must become," he answered steadily; "otherwise the +whole bargain is void. How can I, a man not yet thirty, take out with me +to India a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me? How can we be +for ever together--sometimes in solitudes, sometimes amidst savage +tribes--and unwed?" + +"Very well," I said shortly; "under the circumstances, quite as well as +if I were either your real sister, or a man and a clergyman like +yourself." + +"It is known that you are not my sister; I cannot introduce you as such: +to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions on us both. And +for the rest, though you have a man's vigorous brain, you have a woman's +heart and--it would not do." + +"It would do," I affirmed with some disdain, "perfectly well. I have a +woman's heart, but not where you are concerned; for you I have only a +comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier's frankness, fidelity, fraternity, +if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant: +nothing more--don't fear." + +"It is what I want," he said, speaking to himself; "it is just what I +want. And there are obstacles in the way: they must be hewn down. Jane, +you would not repent marrying me--be certain of that; we _must_ be +married. I repeat it: there is no other way; and undoubtedly enough of +love would follow upon marriage to render the union right even in your +eyes." + +"I scorn your idea of love," I could not help saying, as I rose up and +stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. "I scorn the +counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you +offer it." + +He looked at me fixedly, compressing his well-cut lips while he did so. +Whether he was incensed or surprised, or what, it was not easy to tell: +he could command his countenance thoroughly. + +"I scarcely expected to hear that expression from you," he said: "I think +I have done and uttered nothing to deserve scorn." + +I was touched by his gentle tone, and overawed by his high, calm mien. + +"Forgive me the words, St. John; but it is your own fault that I have +been roused to speak so unguardedly. You have introduced a topic on +which our natures are at variance--a topic we should never discuss: the +very name of love is an apple of discord between us. If the reality were +required, what should we do? How should we feel? My dear cousin, +abandon your scheme of marriage--forget it." + +"No," said he; "it is a long-cherished scheme, and the only one which can +secure my great end: but I shall urge you no further at present. +To-morrow, I leave home for Cambridge: I have many friends there to whom +I should wish to say farewell. I shall be absent a fortnight--take that +space of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you reject +it, it is not me you deny, but God. Through my means, He opens to you a +noble career; as my wife only can you enter upon it. Refuse to be my +wife, and you limit yourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and +barren obscurity. Tremble lest in that case you should be numbered with +those who have denied the faith, and are worse than infidels!" + +He had done. Turning from me, he once more + + "Looked to river, looked to hill." + +But this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: I was not worthy +to hear them uttered. As I walked by his side homeward, I read well in +his iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of an austere +and despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expected +submission--the disapprobation of a cool, inflexible judgment, which has +detected in another feelings and views in which it has no power to +sympathise: in short, as a man, he would have wished to coerce me into +obedience: it was only as a sincere Christian he bore so patiently with +my perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection and repentance. + +That night, after he had kissed his sisters, he thought proper to forget +even to shake hands with me, but left the room in silence. I--who, +though I had no love, had much friendship for him--was hurt by the marked +omission: so much hurt that tears started to my eyes. + +"I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane," said Diana, "during +your walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now lingering in the +passage expecting you--he will make it up." + +I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be +happy than dignified; and I ran after him--he stood at the foot of the +stairs. + +"Good-night, St. John," said I. + +"Good-night, Jane," he replied calmly. + +"Then shake hands," I added. + +What a cold, loose touch, he impressed on my fingers! He was deeply +displeased by what had occurred that day; cordiality would not warm, nor +tears move him. No happy reconciliation was to be had with him--no +cheering smile or generous word: but still the Christian was patient and +placid; and when I asked him if he forgave me, he answered that he was +not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance of vexation; that he had +nothing to forgive, not having been offended. + +And with that answer he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me +down. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would. He +deferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feel +what severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacable +man can inflict on one who has offended him. Without one overt act of +hostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me momently with +the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour. + +Not that St. John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness--not +that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in his +power to do so. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to the +mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned +him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he +and I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he +turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and +him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their +echo toned every answer he gave me. + +He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usual +each morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man within +him had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, in +evincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparently +just as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of +interest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austere +charm to his language and manner. To me, he was in reality become no +longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; his +tongue a speaking instrument--nothing more. + +All this was torture to me--refined, lingering torture. It kept up a +slow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassed +and crushed me altogether. I felt how--if I were his wife, this good +man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing +from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal +conscience the faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when I +made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. _He_ +experienced no suffering from estrangement--no yearning after +reconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears +blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effect +on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. To +his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid +that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely I +was banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I am +sure he did not by force, but on principle. + +The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the garden +about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man, +alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were near +relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. I +went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I +spoke to the point at once. + +"St. John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be +friends." + +"I hope we are friends," was the unmoved reply; while he still watched +the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached. + +"No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know that." + +"Are we not? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and all +good." + +"I believe you, St. John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing any +one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more of +affection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to mere +strangers." + +"Of course," he said. "Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from +regarding you as a stranger." + +This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and baffling +enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I should +immediately have left him; but something worked within me more strongly +than those feelings could. I deeply venerated my cousin's talent and +principle. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried me +severely. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it. + +"Must we part in this way, St. John? And when you go to India, will you +leave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?" + +He now turned quite from the moon and faced me. + +"When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you! What! do you not go to +India?" + +"You said I could not unless I married you." + +"And you will not marry me! You adhere to that resolution?" + +Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into +the ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in +their anger? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure? + +"No. St. John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution." + +The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yet +crash down. + +"Once more, why this refusal?" he asked. + +"Formerly," I answered, "because you did not love me; now, I reply, +because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you, you would kill me. +You are killing me now." + +His lips and cheeks turned white--quite white. + +"_I should kill you_--_I am killing you_? Your words are such as ought +not to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They betray an +unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would seem +inexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow even +until seventy-and-seven times." + +I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to erase from +his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacious +surface another and far deeper impression, I had burnt it in. + +"Now you will indeed hate me," I said. "It is useless to attempt to +conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you." + +A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched on +the truth. That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. I knew the +steely ire I had whetted. I was heart-wrung. + +"You utterly misinterpret my words," I said, at once seizing his hand: "I +have no intention to grieve or pain you--indeed, I have not." + +Most bitterly he smiled--most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine. +"And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, I +presume?" said he, after a considerable pause. + +"Yes, I will, as your assistant," I answered. + +A very long silence succeeded. What struggle there was in him between +Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleams +scintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. He +spoke at last. + +"I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your age +proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. I proved it to you +in such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your ever +again alluding to the plan. That you have done so, I regret--for your +sake." + +I interrupted him. Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage at +once. "Keep to common sense, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. You +pretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked: +for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or so +conceited as to misunderstand my meaning. I say again, I will be your +curate, if you like, but never your wife." + +Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passion +perfectly. He answered emphatically but calmly-- + +"A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me, +then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I +will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a +coadjutor. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society's +aid; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking your +promise and deserting the band you engaged to join." + +Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise or +entered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard and +much too despotic for the occasion. I replied-- + +"There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. I +am not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially with +strangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire, +confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, go +when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate." + +"Ah! you are afraid of yourself," he said, curling his lip. + +"I am. God did not give me my life to throw away; and to do as you wish +me would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent to committing suicide. +Moreover, before I definitively resolve on quitting England, I will know +for certain whether I cannot be of greater use by remaining in it than by +leaving it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point on +which I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till by +some means that doubt is removed." + +"I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. The interest you +cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since you ought to have +crushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. You think of Mr. +Rochester?" + +It was true. I confessed it by silence. + +"Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?" + +"I must find out what is become of him." + +"It remains for me, then," he said, "to remember you in my prayers, and +to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeed +become a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen. +But God sees not as man sees: _His_ will be done--" + +He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. He +was soon out of sight. + +On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking +very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her hand +on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face. + +"Jane," she said, "you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there +is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on +hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must +forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly +know what. St. John is a strange being--" + +She paused--I did not speak: soon she resumed-- + +"That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting +you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he +never showed to any one else--to what end? I wish he loved you--does he, +Jane?" + +I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; "No, Die, not one whit." + +"Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequently +alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I had +both concluded he wished you to marry him." + +"He does--he has asked me to be his wife." + +Diana clapped her hands. "That is just what we hoped and thought! And +you will marry him, Jane, won't you? And then he will stay in England." + +"Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a +fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils." + +"What! He wishes you to go to India?" + +"Yes." + +"Madness!" she exclaimed. "You would not live three months there, I am +certain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?" + +"I have refused to marry him--" + +"And have consequently displeased him?" she suggested. + +"Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him +as his sister." + +"It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task you +undertook--one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong, +and you are weak. St. John--you know him--would urge you to +impossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during the +hot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you +force yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refuse +his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?" + +"Not as a husband." + +"Yet he is a handsome fellow." + +"And I am so plain, you see, Die. We should never suit." + +"Plain! You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, +to be grilled alive in Calcutta." And again she earnestly conjured me to +give up all thoughts of going out with her brother. + +"I must indeed," I said; "for when just now I repeated the offer of +serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of +decency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing +to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find +in him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such." + +"What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?" + +"You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and again +explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He +has told me I am formed for labour--not for love: which is true, no +doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that +I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be +chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?" + +"Insupportable--unnatural--out of the question!" + +"And then," I continued, "though I have only sisterly affection for him +now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of +conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him, +because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur +in his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would become +unspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed +the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity, +unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would." + +"And yet St. John is a good man," said Diana. + +"He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings +and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It is +better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, in +his progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leave +you, Diana." And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden. + +But I was forced to meet him again at supper. During that meal he +appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speak +to me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonial +scheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points. He addressed me +precisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinary +manner--one scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of the +Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed he +had forgiven me once more. + +For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-first +chapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen while from +his lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound at +once so sweet and full--never did his manner become so impressive in its +noble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-night +that voice took a more solemn tone--that manner a more thrilling +meaning--as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moon +shining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almost +unnecessary the light of the candle on the table): as he sat there, +bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision +of the new heaven and the new earth--told how God would come to dwell +with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promised +that there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor any +more pain, because the former things were passed away. + +The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especially +as I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that in +uttering them, his eye had turned on me. + +"He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and +he shall be my son. But," was slowly, distinctly read, "the fearful, the +unbelieving, &c., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with +fire and brimstone, which is the second death." + +Henceforward, I knew what fate St. John feared for me. + +A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked his +enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. The reader +believed his name was already written in the Lamb's book of life, and he +yearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which the +kings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sun +or moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the +Lamb is the light thereof. + +In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered--all his +stern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolved +on a conquest. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance +for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for +those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from +the narrow path. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand +snatched from the burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, as +I listened to that prayer, I wondered at his; then, when it continued and +rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the greatness and +goodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it, +could not but feel it too. + +The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hour +in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room--in +compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand, +and wished him a pleasant journey. + +"Thank you, Jane. As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in a +fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If I +listened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me; +but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim--to do +all things to the glory of God. My Master was long-suffering: so will I +be. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath: +repent--resolve, while there is yet time. Remember, we are bid to work +while it is day--warned that 'the night cometh when no man shall work.' +Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. God +give you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken +from you!" + +He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spoken +earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding +his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering +sheep--or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is +responsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not; +whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots--provided only they be +sincere--have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I felt +veneration for St. John--veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me +at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease +struggling with him--to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf +of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by +him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was +a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of +principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So +I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet +medium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant. + +I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals were +forgotten--my fears overcome--my wrestlings paralysed. The +Impossible--_i.e._, my marriage with St. John--was fast becoming the +Possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion +called--Angels beckoned--God commanded--life rolled together like a +scroll--death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that +for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The +dim room was full of visions. + +"Could you decide now?" asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in +gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far +more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grew +pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I +yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my +former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn +prayer: it was only elevated. + +"I could decide if I were but certain," I answered: "were I but convinced +that it is God's will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you here +and now--come afterwards what would!" + +"My prayers are heard!" ejaculated St. John. He pressed his hand firmer +on my head, as if he claimed me: he surrounded me with his arm, _almost_ +as if he loved me (I say _almost_--I knew the difference--for I had felt +what it was to be loved; but, like him, I had now put love out of the +question, and thought only of duty). I contended with my inward dimness +of vision, before which clouds yet rolled. I sincerely, deeply, +fervently longed to do what was right; and only that. "Show me, show me +the path!" I entreated of Heaven. I was excited more than I had ever +been; and whether what followed was the effect of excitement the reader +shall judge. + +All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself, +were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was +full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. +Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it +through, and passed at once to my head and extremities. The feeling was +not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as +startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had +been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. +They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my +bones. + +"What have you heard? What do you see?" asked St. John. I saw nothing, +but I heard a voice somewhere cry-- + +"Jane! Jane! Jane!"--nothing more. + +"O God! what is it?" I gasped. + +I might have said, "Where is it?" for it did not seem in the room--nor in +the house--nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air--nor from +under the earth--nor from overhead. I had heard it--where, or whence, +for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being--a +known, loved, well-remembered voice--that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; +and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently. + +"I am coming!" I cried. "Wait for me! Oh, I will come!" I flew to the +door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the +garden: it was void. + +"Where are you?" I exclaimed. + +The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back--"Where are +you?" I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland +loneliness and midnight hush. + +"Down superstition!" I commented, as that spectre rose up black by the +black yew at the gate. "This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft: +it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did--no miracle--but her +best." + +I broke from St. John, who had followed, and would have detained me. It +was _my_ time to assume ascendency. _My_ powers were in play and in +force. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leave +me: I must and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy +to command well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my chamber; +locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my way--a different way +to St. John's, but effective in its own fashion. I seemed to penetrate +very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed out in gratitude at His +feet. I rose from the thanksgiving--took a resolve--and lay down, +unscared, enlightened--eager but for the daylight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +The daylight came. I rose at dawn. I busied myself for an hour or two +with arranging my things in my chamber, drawers, and wardrobe, in the +order wherein I should wish to leave them during a brief absence. +Meantime, I heard St. John quit his room. He stopped at my door: I +feared he would knock--no, but a slip of paper was passed under the door. +I took it up. It bore these words-- + +"You left me too suddenly last night. Had you stayed but a little +longer, you would have laid your hand on the Christian's cross and the +angel's crown. I shall expect your clear decision when I return this day +fortnight. Meantime, watch and pray that you enter not into temptation: +the spirit, I trust, is willing, but the flesh, I see, is weak. I shall +pray for you hourly.--Yours, ST. JOHN." + +"My spirit," I answered mentally, "is willing to do what is right; and my +flesh, I hope, is strong enough to accomplish the will of Heaven, when +once that will is distinctly known to me. At any rate, it shall be +strong enough to search--inquire--to grope an outlet from this cloud of +doubt, and find the open day of certainty." + +It was the first of June; yet the morning was overcast and chilly: rain +beat fast on my casement. I heard the front-door open, and St. John pass +out. Looking through the window, I saw him traverse the garden. He took +the way over the misty moors in the direction of Whitcross--there he +would meet the coach. + +"In a few more hours I shall succeed you in that track, cousin," thought +I: "I too have a coach to meet at Whitcross. I too have some to see and +ask after in England, before I depart for ever." + +It wanted yet two hours of breakfast-time. I filled the interval in +walking softly about my room, and pondering the visitation which had +given my plans their present bent. I recalled that inward sensation I +had experienced: for I could recall it, with all its unspeakable +strangeness. I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence +it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in _me_--not in the external +world. I asked was it a mere nervous impression--a delusion? I could +not conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration. The wondrous +shock of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the foundations +of Paul and Silas's prison; it had opened the doors of the soul's cell +and loosed its bands--it had wakened it out of its sleep, whence it +sprang trembling, listening, aghast; then vibrated thrice a cry on my +startled ear, and in my quaking heart and through my spirit, which +neither feared nor shook, but exulted as if in joy over the success of +one effort it had been privileged to make, independent of the cumbrous +body. + +"Ere many days," I said, as I terminated my musings, "I will know +something of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me. Letters +have proved of no avail--personal inquiry shall replace them." + +At breakfast I announced to Diana and Mary that I was going a journey, +and should be absent at least four days. + +"Alone, Jane?" they asked. + +"Yes; it was to see or hear news of a friend about whom I had for some +time been uneasy." + +They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that they had +believed me to be without any friends save them: for, indeed, I had often +said so; but, with their true natural delicacy, they abstained from +comment, except that Diana asked me if I was sure I was well enough to +travel. I looked very pale, she observed. I replied, that nothing ailed +me save anxiety of mind, which I hoped soon to alleviate. + +It was easy to make my further arrangements; for I was troubled with no +inquiries--no surmises. Having once explained to them that I could not +now be explicit about my plans, they kindly and wisely acquiesced in the +silence with which I pursued them, according to me the privilege of free +action I should under similar circumstances have accorded them. + +I left Moor House at three o'clock p.m., and soon after four I stood at +the foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the arrival of the coach +which was to take me to distant Thornfield. Amidst the silence of those +solitary roads and desert hills, I heard it approach from a great +distance. It was the same vehicle whence, a year ago, I had alighted one +summer evening on this very spot--how desolate, and hopeless, and +objectless! It stopped as I beckoned. I entered--not now obliged to +part with my whole fortune as the price of its accommodation. Once more +on the road to Thornfield, I felt like the messenger-pigeon flying home. + +It was a journey of six-and-thirty hours. I had set out from Whitcross +on a Tuesday afternoon, and early on the succeeding Thursday morning the +coach stopped to water the horses at a wayside inn, situated in the midst +of scenery whose green hedges and large fields and low pastoral hills +(how mild of feature and verdant of hue compared with the stern North- +Midland moors of Morton!) met my eye like the lineaments of a once +familiar face. Yes, I knew the character of this landscape: I was sure +we were near my bourne. + +"How far is Thornfield Hall from here?" I asked of the ostler. + +"Just two miles, ma'am, across the fields." + +"My journey is closed," I thought to myself. I got out of the coach, +gave a box I had into the ostler's charge, to be kept till I called for +it; paid my fare; satisfied the coachman, and was going: the brightening +day gleamed on the sign of the inn, and I read in gilt letters, "The +Rochester Arms." My heart leapt up: I was already on my master's very +lands. It fell again: the thought struck it:-- + +"Your master himself may be beyond the British Channel, for aught you +know: and then, if he is at Thornfield Hall, towards which you hasten, +who besides him is there? His lunatic wife: and you have nothing to do +with him: you dare not speak to him or seek his presence. You have lost +your labour--you had better go no farther," urged the monitor. "Ask +information of the people at the inn; they can give you all you seek: +they can solve your doubts at once. Go up to that man, and inquire if +Mr. Rochester be at home." + +The suggestion was sensible, and yet I could not force myself to act on +it. I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolong +doubt was to prolong hope. I might yet once more see the Hall under the +ray of her star. There was the stile before me--the very fields through +which I had hurried, blind, deaf, distracted with a revengeful fury +tracking and scourging me, on the morning I fled from Thornfield: ere I +well knew what course I had resolved to take, I was in the midst of them. +How fast I walked! How I ran sometimes! How I looked forward to catch +the first view of the well-known woods! With what feelings I welcomed +single trees I knew, and familiar glimpses of meadow and hill between +them! + +At last the woods rose; the rookery clustered dark; a loud cawing broke +the morning stillness. Strange delight inspired me: on I hastened. +Another field crossed--a lane threaded--and there were the courtyard +walls--the back offices: the house itself, the rookery still hid. "My +first view of it shall be in front," I determined, "where its bold +battlements will strike the eye nobly at once, and where I can single out +my master's very window: perhaps he will be standing at it--he rises +early: perhaps he is now walking in the orchard, or on the pavement in +front. Could I but see him!--but a moment! Surely, in that case, I +should not be so mad as to run to him? I cannot tell--I am not certain. +And if I did--what then? God bless him! What then? Who would be hurt +by my once more tasting the life his glance can give me? I rave: perhaps +at this moment he is watching the sun rise over the Pyrenees, or on the +tideless sea of the south." + +I had coasted along the lower wall of the orchard--turned its angle: +there was a gate just there, opening into the meadow, between two stone +pillars crowned by stone balls. From behind one pillar I could peep +round quietly at the full front of the mansion. I advanced my head with +precaution, desirous to ascertain if any bedroom window-blinds were yet +drawn up: battlements, windows, long front--all from this sheltered +station were at my command. + +The crows sailing overhead perhaps watched me while I took this survey. I +wonder what they thought. They must have considered I was very careful +and timid at first, and that gradually I grew very bold and reckless. A +peep, and then a long stare; and then a departure from my niche and a +straying out into the meadow; and a sudden stop full in front of the +great mansion, and a protracted, hardy gaze towards it. "What +affectation of diffidence was this at first?" they might have demanded; +"what stupid regardlessness now?" + +Hear an illustration, reader. + +A lover finds his mistress asleep on a mossy bank; he wishes to catch a +glimpse of her fair face without waking her. He steals softly over the +grass, careful to make no sound; he pauses--fancying she has stirred: he +withdraws: not for worlds would he be seen. All is still: he again +advances: he bends above her; a light veil rests on her features: he +lifts it, bends lower; now his eyes anticipate the vision of beauty--warm, +and blooming, and lovely, in rest. How hurried was their first glance! +But how they fix! How he starts! How he suddenly and vehemently clasps +in both arms the form he dared not, a moment since, touch with his +finger! How he calls aloud a name, and drops his burden, and gazes on it +wildly! He thus grasps and cries, and gazes, because he no longer fears +to waken by any sound he can utter--by any movement he can make. He +thought his love slept sweetly: he finds she is stone dead. + +I looked with timorous joy towards a stately house: I saw a blackened +ruin. + +No need to cower behind a gate-post, indeed!--to peep up at chamber +lattices, fearing life was astir behind them! No need to listen for +doors opening--to fancy steps on the pavement or the gravel-walk! The +lawn, the grounds were trodden and waste: the portal yawned void. The +front was, as I had once seen it in a dream, but a well-like wall, very +high and very fragile-looking, perforated with paneless windows: no roof, +no battlements, no chimneys--all had crashed in. + +And there was the silence of death about it: the solitude of a lonesome +wild. No wonder that letters addressed to people here had never received +an answer: as well despatch epistles to a vault in a church aisle. The +grim blackness of the stones told by what fate the Hall had fallen--by +conflagration: but how kindled? What story belonged to this disaster? +What loss, besides mortar and marble and wood-work had followed upon it? +Had life been wrecked as well as property? If so, whose? Dreadful +question: there was no one here to answer it--not even dumb sign, mute +token. + +In wandering round the shattered walls and through the devastated +interior, I gathered evidence that the calamity was not of late +occurrence. Winter snows, I thought, had drifted through that void arch, +winter rains beaten in at those hollow casements; for, amidst the +drenched piles of rubbish, spring had cherished vegetation: grass and +weed grew here and there between the stones and fallen rafters. And oh! +where meantime was the hapless owner of this wreck? In what land? Under +what auspices? My eye involuntarily wandered to the grey church tower +near the gates, and I asked, "Is he with Damer de Rochester, sharing the +shelter of his narrow marble house?" + +Some answer must be had to these questions. I could find it nowhere but +at the inn, and thither, ere long, I returned. The host himself brought +my breakfast into the parlour. I requested him to shut the door and sit +down: I had some questions to ask him. But when he complied, I scarcely +knew how to begin; such horror had I of the possible answers. And yet +the spectacle of desolation I had just left prepared me in a measure for +a tale of misery. The host was a respectable-looking, middle-aged man. + +"You know Thornfield Hall, of course?" I managed to say at last. + +"Yes, ma'am; I lived there once." + +"Did you?" Not in my time, I thought: you are a stranger to me. + +"I was the late Mr. Rochester's butler," he added. + +The late! I seem to have received, with full force, the blow I had been +trying to evade. + +"The late!" I gasped. "Is he dead?" + +"I mean the present gentleman, Mr. Edward's father," he explained. I +breathed again: my blood resumed its flow. Fully assured by these words +that Mr. Edward--_my_ Mr. Rochester (God bless him, wherever he was!)--was +at least alive: was, in short, "the present gentleman." Gladdening +words! It seemed I could hear all that was to come--whatever the +disclosures might be--with comparative tranquillity. Since he was not in +the grave, I could bear, I thought, to learn that he was at the +Antipodes. + +"Is Mr. Rochester living at Thornfield Hall now?" I asked, knowing, of +course, what the answer would be, but yet desirous of deferring the +direct question as to where he really was. + +"No, ma'am--oh, no! No one is living there. I suppose you are a +stranger in these parts, or you would have heard what happened last +autumn,--Thornfield Hall is quite a ruin: it was burnt down just about +harvest-time. A dreadful calamity! such an immense quantity of valuable +property destroyed: hardly any of the furniture could be saved. The fire +broke out at dead of night, and before the engines arrived from Millcote, +the building was one mass of flame. It was a terrible spectacle: I +witnessed it myself." + +"At dead of night!" I muttered. Yes, that was ever the hour of fatality +at Thornfield. "Was it known how it originated?" I demanded. + +"They guessed, ma'am: they guessed. Indeed, I should say it was +ascertained beyond a doubt. You are not perhaps aware," he continued, +edging his chair a little nearer the table, and speaking low, "that there +was a lady--a--a lunatic, kept in the house?" + +"I have heard something of it." + +"She was kept in very close confinement, ma'am: people even for some +years was not absolutely certain of her existence. No one saw her: they +only knew by rumour that such a person was at the Hall; and who or what +she was it was difficult to conjecture. They said Mr. Edward had brought +her from abroad, and some believed she had been his mistress. But a +queer thing happened a year since--a very queer thing." + +I feared now to hear my own story. I endeavoured to recall him to the +main fact. + +"And this lady?" + +"This lady, ma'am," he answered, "turned out to be Mr. Rochester's wife! +The discovery was brought about in the strangest way. There was a young +lady, a governess at the Hall, that Mr. Rochester fell in--" + +"But the fire," I suggested. + +"I'm coming to that, ma'am--that Mr. Edward fell in love with. The +servants say they never saw anybody so much in love as he was: he was +after her continually. They used to watch him--servants will, you know, +ma'am--and he set store on her past everything: for all, nobody but him +thought her so very handsome. She was a little small thing, they say, +almost like a child. I never saw her myself; but I've heard Leah, the +house-maid, tell of her. Leah liked her well enough. Mr. Rochester was +about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen +of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were +bewitched. Well, he would marry her." + +"You shall tell me this part of the story another time," I said; "but now +I have a particular reason for wishing to hear all about the fire. Was +it suspected that this lunatic, Mrs. Rochester, had any hand in it?" + +"You've hit it, ma'am: it's quite certain that it was her, and nobody but +her, that set it going. She had a woman to take care of her called Mrs. +Poole--an able woman in her line, and very trustworthy, but for one +fault--a fault common to a deal of them nurses and matrons--she _kept a +private bottle of gin by her_, and now and then took a drop over-much. It +is excusable, for she had a hard life of it: but still it was dangerous; +for when Mrs. Poole was fast asleep after the gin and water, the mad +lady, who was as cunning as a witch, would take the keys out of her +pocket, let herself out of her chamber, and go roaming about the house, +doing any wild mischief that came into her head. They say she had nearly +burnt her husband in his bed once: but I don't know about that. However, +on this night, she set fire first to the hangings of the room next her +own, and then she got down to a lower storey, and made her way to the +chamber that had been the governess's--(she was like as if she knew +somehow how matters had gone on, and had a spite at her)--and she kindled +the bed there; but there was nobody sleeping in it, fortunately. The +governess had run away two months before; and for all Mr. Rochester +sought her as if she had been the most precious thing he had in the +world, he never could hear a word of her; and he grew savage--quite +savage on his disappointment: he never was a wild man, but he got +dangerous after he lost her. He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. +Fairfax, the housekeeper, away to her friends at a distance; but he did +it handsomely, for he settled an annuity on her for life: and she +deserved it--she was a very good woman. Miss Adele, a ward he had, was +put to school. He broke off acquaintance with all the gentry, and shut +himself up like a hermit at the Hall." + +"What! did he not leave England?" + +"Leave England? Bless you, no! He would not cross the door-stones of +the house, except at night, when he walked just like a ghost about the +grounds and in the orchard as if he had lost his senses--which it is my +opinion he had; for a more spirited, bolder, keener gentleman than he was +before that midge of a governess crossed him, you never saw, ma'am. He +was not a man given to wine, or cards, or racing, as some are, and he was +not so very handsome; but he had a courage and a will of his own, if ever +man had. I knew him from a boy, you see: and for my part, I have often +wished that Miss Eyre had been sunk in the sea before she came to +Thornfield Hall." + +"Then Mr. Rochester was at home when the fire broke out?" + +"Yes, indeed was he; and he went up to the attics when all was burning +above and below, and got the servants out of their beds and helped them +down himself, and went back to get his mad wife out of her cell. And +then they called out to him that she was on the roof, where she was +standing, waving her arms, above the battlements, and shouting out till +they could hear her a mile off: I saw her and heard her with my own eyes. +She was a big woman, and had long black hair: we could see it streaming +against the flames as she stood. I witnessed, and several more +witnessed, Mr. Rochester ascend through the sky-light on to the roof; we +heard him call 'Bertha!' We saw him approach her; and then, ma'am, she +yelled and gave a spring, and the next minute she lay smashed on the +pavement." + +{The next minute she lay smashed on the pavement: p413.jpg} + +"Dead?" + +"Dead! Ay, dead as the stones on which her brains and blood were +scattered." + +"Good God!" + +"You may well say so, ma'am: it was frightful!" + +He shuddered. + +"And afterwards?" I urged. + +"Well, ma'am, afterwards the house was burnt to the ground: there are +only some bits of walls standing now." + +"Were any other lives lost?" + +"No--perhaps it would have been better if there had." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Poor Mr. Edward!" he ejaculated, "I little thought ever to have seen it! +Some say it was a just judgment on him for keeping his first marriage +secret, and wanting to take another wife while he had one living: but I +pity him, for my part." + +"You said he was alive?" I exclaimed. + +"Yes, yes: he is alive; but many think he had better be dead." + +"Why? How?" My blood was again running cold. "Where is he?" I +demanded. "Is he in England?" + +"Ay--ay--he's in England; he can't get out of England, I fancy--he's a +fixture now." + +What agony was this! And the man seemed resolved to protract it. + +"He is stone-blind," he said at last. "Yes, he is stone-blind, is Mr. +Edward." + +I had dreaded worse. I had dreaded he was mad. I summoned strength to +ask what had caused this calamity. + +"It was all his own courage, and a body may say, his kindness, in a way, +ma'am: he wouldn't leave the house till every one else was out before +him. As he came down the great staircase at last, after Mrs. Rochester +had flung herself from the battlements, there was a great crash--all +fell. He was taken out from under the ruins, alive, but sadly hurt: a +beam had fallen in such a way as to protect him partly; but one eye was +knocked out, and one hand so crushed that Mr. Carter, the surgeon, had to +amputate it directly. The other eye inflamed: he lost the sight of that +also. He is now helpless, indeed--blind and a cripple." + +"Where is he? Where does he now live?" + +"At Ferndean, a manor-house on a farm he has, about thirty miles off: +quite a desolate spot." + +"Who is with him?" + +"Old John and his wife: he would have none else. He is quite broken +down, they say." + +"Have you any sort of conveyance?" + +"We have a chaise, ma'am, a very handsome chaise." + +"Let it be got ready instantly; and if your post-boy can drive me to +Ferndean before dark this day, I'll pay both you and him twice the hire +you usually demand." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity, +moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried in a wood. I +had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke of it, and sometimes +went there. His father had purchased the estate for the sake of the game +covers. He would have let the house, but could find no tenant, in +consequence of its ineligible and insalubrious site. Ferndean then +remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with the exception of some two or +three rooms fitted up for the accommodation of the squire when he went +there in the season to shoot. + +To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by the +characteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetrating +rain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed the chaise and +driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Even when within a +very short distance of the manor-house, you could see nothing of it, so +thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomy wood about it. Iron gates +between granite pillars showed me where to enter, and passing through +them, I found myself at once in the twilight of close-ranked trees. There +was a grass-grown track descending the forest aisle between hoar and +knotty shafts and under branched arches. I followed it, expecting soon +to reach the dwelling; but it stretched on and on, it wound far and +farther: no sign of habitation or grounds was visible. + +I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. The darkness of +natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. I looked round in +search of another road. There was none: all was interwoven stem, +columnar trunk, dense summer foliage--no opening anywhere. + +I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little; presently +I beheld a railing, then the house--scarce, by this dim light, +distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green were its decaying +walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch, I stood amidst a +space of enclosed ground, from which the wood swept away in a semicircle. +There were no flowers, no garden-beds; only a broad gravel-walk girdling +a grass-plat, and this set in the heavy frame of the forest. The house +presented two pointed gables in its front; the windows were latticed and +narrow: the front door was narrow too, one step led up to it. The whole +looked, as the host of the Rochester Arms had said, "quite a desolate +spot." It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain on +the forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage. + +"Can there be life here?" I asked. + +Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement--that narrow +front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issue from the +grange. + +It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stood on the +step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand as if to feel +whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognised him--it was my +master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other. + +I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him--to examine +him, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible. It was a sudden meeting, +and one in which rapture was kept well in check by pain. I had no +difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation, my step from hasty +advance. + +His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: his port +was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features +altered or sunk: not in one year's space, by any sorrow, could his +athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted. But in his +countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate and brooding--that +reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to +approach in his sullen woe. The caged eagle, whose gold-ringed eyes +cruelty has extinguished, might look as looked that sightless Samson. + +And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity?--if you do, +you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrow that soon I should +dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, and on those lips so sternly +sealed beneath it: but not yet. I would not accost him yet. + +He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towards the +grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused, as if he +knew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and opened his eyelids; +gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky, and toward the +amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to him was void darkness. He +stretched his right hand (the left arm, the mutilated one, he kept hidden +in his bosom); he seemed to wish by touch to gain an idea of what lay +around him: he met but vacancy still; for the trees were some yards off +where he stood. He relinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and +stood quiet and mute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. +At this moment John approached him from some quarter. + +"Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy shower coming on: +had you not better go in?" + +"Let me alone," was the answer. + +John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now tried to +walk about: vainly,--all was too uncertain. He groped his way back to +the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door. + +I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary," I said, +"how are you?" + +She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her. To her hurried "Is +it really you, miss, come at this late hour to this lonely place?" I +answered by taking her hand; and then I followed her into the kitchen, +where John now sat by a good fire. I explained to them, in few words, +that I had heard all which had happened since I left Thornfield, and that +I was come to see Mr. Rochester. I asked John to go down to the turn- +pike-house, where I had dismissed the chaise, and bring my trunk, which I +had left there: and then, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I +questioned Mary as to whether I could be accommodated at the Manor House +for the night; and finding that arrangements to that effect, though +difficult, would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just +at this moment the parlour-bell rang. + +"When you go in," said I, "tell your master that a person wishes to speak +to him, but do not give my name." + +"I don't think he will see you," she answered; "he refuses everybody." + +When she returned, I inquired what he had said. "You are to send in your +name and your business," she replied. She then proceeded to fill a glass +with water, and place it on a tray, together with candles. + +"Is that what he rang for?" I asked. + +"Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he is blind." + +"Give the tray to me; I will carry it in." + +I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. The tray +shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heart struck my +ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, and shut it behind me. + +This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt low in the +grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported against the high, +old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenant of the room. His +old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out of the way, and coiled up as +if afraid of being inadvertently trodden upon. Pilot pricked up his ears +when I came in: then he jumped up with a yelp and a whine, and bounded +towards me: he almost knocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the +table; then patted him, and said softly, "Lie down!" Mr. Rochester +turned mechanically to _see_ what the commotion was: but as he _saw_ +nothing, he returned and sighed. + +"Give me the water, Mary," he said. + +I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followed me, +still excited. + +"What is the matter?" he inquired. + +"Down, Pilot!" I again said. He checked the water on its way to his +lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. "This is +you, Mary, is it not?" + +"Mary is in the kitchen," I answered. + +He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, +he did not touch me. "Who is this? Who is this?" he demanded, trying, +as it seemed, to _see_ with those sightless eyes--unavailing and +distressing attempt! "Answer me--speak again!" he ordered, imperiously +and aloud. + +"Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the +glass," I said. + +"_Who_ is it? _What_ is it? Who speaks?" + +"Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this +evening," I answered. + +"Great God!--what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has +seized me?" + +"No delusion--no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, +your health too sound for frenzy." + +"And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I _cannot_ see, but +I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst. Whatever--whoever +you are--be perceptible to the touch or I cannot live!" + +He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in both mine. + +"Her very fingers!" he cried; "her small, slight fingers! If so there +must be more of her." + +The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, my +shoulder--neck--waist--I was entwined and gathered to him. + +"Is it Jane? _What_ is it? This is her shape--this is her size--" + +"And this her voice," I added. "She is all here: her heart, too. God +bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again." + +"Jane Eyre!--Jane Eyre," was all he said. + +"My dear master," I answered, "I am Jane Eyre: I have found you out--I am +come back to you." + +"In truth?--in the flesh? My living Jane?" + +"You touch me, sir,--you hold me, and fast enough: I am not cold like a +corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?" + +"My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these her +features; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is a dream; +such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped her once more to +my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus--and felt that she loved +me, and trusted that she would not leave me." + +"Which I never will, sir, from this day." + +"Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it an empty +mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned--my life dark, lonely, +hopeless--my soul athirst and forbidden to drink--my heart famished and +never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will +fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before +you go--embrace me, Jane." + +"There, sir--and there!"' + +I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes--I swept his +hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenly seemed to arouse +himself: the conviction of the reality of all this seized him. + +"It is you--is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?" + +"I am." + +"And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And you are +not a pining outcast amongst strangers?" + +"No, sir! I am an independent woman now." + +"Independent! What do you mean, Jane?" + +"My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds." + +"Ah! this is practical--this is real!" he cried: "I should never dream +that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers, so animating and +piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my withered heart; it puts life into +it.--What, Janet! Are you an independent woman? A rich woman?" + +"If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my own close +up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour when you want +company of an evening." + +"But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends who will look +after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to a blind lameter like +me?" + +"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my own +mistress." + +"And you will stay with me?" + +"Certainly--unless you object. I will be your neighbour, your nurse, +your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be your companion--to read +to you, to walk with you, to sit with you, to wait on you, to be eyes and +hands to you. Cease to look so melancholy, my dear master; you shall not +be left desolate, so long as I live." + +He replied not: he seemed serious--abstracted; he sighed; he half-opened +his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. I felt a little +embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leaped conventionalities; and +he, like St. John, saw impropriety in my inconsiderateness. I had indeed +made my proposal from the idea that he wished and would ask me to be his +wife: an expectation, not the less certain because unexpressed, had +buoyed me up, that he would claim me at once as his own. But no hint to +that effect escaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I +suddenly remembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps +playing the fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself from +his arms--but he eagerly snatched me closer. + +"No--no--Jane; you must not go. No--I have touched you, heard you, felt +the comfort of your presence--the sweetness of your consolation: I cannot +give up these joys. I have little left in myself--I must have you. The +world may laugh--may call me absurd, selfish--but it does not signify. My +very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly +vengeance on its frame." + +"Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so." + +"Yes--but you understand one thing by staying with me; and I understand +another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to be about my hand and +chair--to wait on me as a kind little nurse (for you have an affectionate +heart and a generous spirit, which prompt you to make sacrifices for +those you pity), and that ought to suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I +should now entertain none but fatherly feelings for you: do you think so? +Come--tell me." + +"I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only your nurse, if +you think it better." + +"But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young--you must marry +one day." + +"I don't care about being married." + +"You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would try to make +you care--but--a sightless block!" + +He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became more cheerful, +and took fresh courage: these last words gave me an insight as to where +the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quite +relieved from my previous embarrassment. I resumed a livelier vein of +conversation. + +"It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you," said I, parting his +thick and long uncut locks; "for I see you are being metamorphosed into a +lion, or something of that sort. You have a 'faux air' of Nebuchadnezzar +in the fields about you, that is certain: your hair reminds me of eagles' +feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds' claws or not, I have +not yet noticed." + +"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, drawing the +mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a mere +stump--a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?" + +"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes--and the scar of +fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving +you too well for all this; and making too much of you." + +"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my +cicatrised visage." + +"Did you? Don't tell me so--lest I should say something disparaging to +your judgment. Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire, +and have the hearth swept up. Can you tell when there is a good fire?" + +"Yes; with the right eye I see a glow--a ruddy haze." + +"And you see the candles?" + +"Very dimly--each is a luminous cloud." + +"Can you see me?" + +"No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you." + +"When do you take supper?" + +"I never take supper." + +"But you shall have some to-night. I am hungry: so are you, I daresay, +only you forget." + +Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order: I prepared +him, likewise, a comfortable repast. My spirits were excited, and with +pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time +after. There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and +vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I +suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him. +Delightful consciousness! It brought to life and light my whole nature: +in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine. Blind as he +was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead: his +lineaments softened and warmed. + +After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, +what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very +partial replies: it was too late to enter into particulars that night. +Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord--to open no fresh well +of emotion in his heart: my sole present aim was to cheer him. Cheered, +as I have said, he was: and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence broke +the conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, "Jane." + +"You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?" + +{You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?: +p422.jpg} + +"I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester." + +"Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenly rise on +my lone hearth? I stretched my hand to take a glass of water from a +hireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question, expecting +John's wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at my ear." + +"Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray." + +"And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending with you. +Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have dragged on for +months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging night in day; +feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire go out, of hunger +when I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow, and, at times, a very +delirium of desire to behold my Jane again. Yes: for her restoration I +longed, far more than for that of my lost sight. How can it be that Jane +is with me, and says she loves me? Will she not depart as suddenly as +she came? To-morrow, I fear I shall find her no more." + +A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his own disturbed +ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring for him in this +frame of mind. I passed my finger over his eyebrows, and remarked that +they were scorched, and that I would apply something which would make +them grow as broad and black as ever. + +"Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit, when, +at some fatal moment, you will again desert me--passing like a shadow, +whither and how to me unknown, and for me remaining afterwards +undiscoverable? + +"Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?" + +"What for, Jane?" + +"Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you rather alarming, +when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my being a fairy, but I am +sure, you are more like a brownie." + +"Am I hideous, Jane?" + +"Very, sir: you always were, you know." + +"Humph! The wickedness has not been taken out of you, wherever you have +sojourned." + +"Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundred times +better people; possessed of ideas and views you never entertained in your +life: quite more refined and exalted." + +"Who the deuce have you been with?" + +"If you twist in that way you will make me pull the hair out of your +head; and then I think you will cease to entertain doubts of my +substantiality." + +"Who have you been with, Jane?" + +"You shall not get it out of me to-night, sir; you must wait till +to-morrow; to leave my tale half told, will, you know, be a sort of +security that I shall appear at your breakfast table to finish it. By +the bye, I must mind not to rise on your hearth with only a glass of +water then: I must bring an egg at the least, to say nothing of fried +ham." + +"You mocking changeling--fairy-born and human-bred! You make me feel as +I have not felt these twelve months. If Saul could have had you for his +David, the evil spirit would have been exorcised without the aid of the +harp." + +"There, sir, you are redd up and made decent. Now I'll leave you: I have +been travelling these last three days, and I believe I am tired. Good +night." + +"Just one word, Jane: were there only ladies in the house where you have +been?" + +I laughed and made my escape, still laughing as I ran upstairs. "A good +idea!" I thought with glee. "I see I have the means of fretting him out +of his melancholy for some time to come." + +Very early the next morning I heard him up and astir, wandering from one +room to another. As soon as Mary came down I heard the question: "Is +Miss Eyre here?" Then: "Which room did you put her into? Was it dry? Is +she up? Go and ask if she wants anything; and when she will come down." + +I came down as soon as I thought there was a prospect of breakfast. +Entering the room very softly, I had a view of him before he discovered +my presence. It was mournful, indeed, to witness the subjugation of that +vigorous spirit to a corporeal infirmity. He sat in his chair--still, +but not at rest: expectant evidently; the lines of now habitual sadness +marking his strong features. His countenance reminded one of a lamp +quenched, waiting to be re-lit--and alas! it was not himself that could +now kindle the lustre of animated expression: he was dependent on another +for that office! I had meant to be gay and careless, but the +powerlessness of the strong man touched my heart to the quick: still I +accosted him with what vivacity I could. + +"It is a bright, sunny morning, sir," I said. "The rain is over and +gone, and there is a tender shining after it: you shall have a walk +soon." + +I had wakened the glow: his features beamed. + +"Oh, you are indeed there, my skylark! Come to me. You are not gone: +not vanished? I heard one of your kind an hour ago, singing high over +the wood: but its song had no music for me, any more than the rising sun +had rays. All the melody on earth is concentrated in my Jane's tongue to +my ear (I am glad it is not naturally a silent one): all the sunshine I +can feel is in her presence." + +The water stood in my eyes to hear this avowal of his dependence; just as +if a royal eagle, chained to a perch, should be forced to entreat a +sparrow to become its purveyor. But I would not be lachrymose: I dashed +off the salt drops, and busied myself with preparing breakfast. + +Most of the morning was spent in the open air. I led him out of the wet +and wild wood into some cheerful fields: I described to him how +brilliantly green they were; how the flowers and hedges looked refreshed; +how sparklingly blue was the sky. I sought a seat for him in a hidden +and lovely spot, a dry stump of a tree; nor did I refuse to let him, when +seated, place me on his knee. Why should I, when both he and I were +happier near than apart? Pilot lay beside us: all was quiet. He broke +out suddenly while clasping me in his arms-- + +"Cruel, cruel deserter! Oh, Jane, what did I feel when I discovered you +had fled from Thornfield, and when I could nowhere find you; and, after +examining your apartment, ascertained that you had taken no money, nor +anything which could serve as an equivalent! A pearl necklace I had +given you lay untouched in its little casket; your trunks were left +corded and locked as they had been prepared for the bridal tour. What +could my darling do, I asked, left destitute and penniless? And what did +she do? Let me hear now." + +Thus urged, I began the narrative of my experience for the last year. I +softened considerably what related to the three days of wandering and +starvation, because to have told him all would have been to inflict +unnecessary pain: the little I did say lacerated his faithful heart +deeper than I wished. + +I should not have left him thus, he said, without any means of making my +way: I should have told him my intention. I should have confided in him: +he would never have forced me to be his mistress. Violent as he had +seemed in his despair, he, in truth, loved me far too well and too +tenderly to constitute himself my tyrant: he would have given me half his +fortune, without demanding so much as a kiss in return, rather than I +should have flung myself friendless on the wide world. I had endured, he +was certain, more than I had confessed to him. + +"Well, whatever my sufferings had been, they were very short," I +answered: and then I proceeded to tell him how I had been received at +Moor House; how I had obtained the office of schoolmistress, &c. The +accession of fortune, the discovery of my relations, followed in due +order. Of course, St. John Rivers' name came in frequently in the +progress of my tale. When I had done, that name was immediately taken +up. + +"This St. John, then, is your cousin?" + +"Yes." + +"You have spoken of him often: do you like him?" + +"He was a very good man, sir; I could not help liking him." + +"A good man. Does that mean a respectable well-conducted man of fifty? +Or what does it mean?" + +"St John was only twenty-nine, sir." + +"'_Jeune encore_,' as the French say. Is he a person of low stature, +phlegmatic, and plain. A person whose goodness consists rather in his +guiltlessness of vice, than in his prowess in virtue." + +"He is untiringly active. Great and exalted deeds are what he lives to +perform." + +"But his brain? That is probably rather soft? He means well: but you +shrug your shoulders to hear him talk?" + +"He talks little, sir: what he does say is ever to the point. His brain +is first-rate, I should think not impressible, but vigorous." + +"Is he an able man, then?" + +"Truly able." + +"A thoroughly educated man?" + +"St. John is an accomplished and profound scholar." + +"His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste?--priggish and +parsonic?" + +"I never mentioned his manners; but, unless I had a very bad taste, they +must suit it; they are polished, calm, and gentlemanlike." + +"His appearance,--I forget what description you gave of his appearance;--a +sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stilted +up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?" + +"St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue +eyes, and a Grecian profile." + +(Aside.) "Damn him!"--(To me.) "Did you like him, Jane?" + +"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before." + +I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy had got +hold of him: she stung him; but the sting was salutary: it gave him +respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I would not, therefore, +immediately charm the snake. + +"Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?" was +the next somewhat unexpected observation. + +"Why not, Mr. Rochester?" + +"The picture you have just drawn is suggestive of a rather too +overwhelming contrast. Your words have delineated very prettily a +graceful Apollo: he is present to your imagination,--tall, fair, blue- +eyed, and with a Grecian profile. Your eyes dwell on a Vulcan,--a real +blacksmith, brown, broad-shouldered: and blind and lame into the +bargain." + +"I never thought of it, before; but you certainly are rather like Vulcan, +sir." + +"Well, you can leave me, ma'am: but before you go" (and he retained me by +a firmer grasp than ever), "you will be pleased just to answer me a +question or two." He paused. + +"What questions, Mr. Rochester?" + +Then followed this cross-examination. + +"St. John made you schoolmistress of Morton before he knew you were his +cousin?" + +"Yes." + +"You would often see him? He would visit the school sometimes?" + +"Daily." + +"He would approve of your plans, Jane? I know they would be clever, for +you are a talented creature!" + +"He approved of them--yes." + +"He would discover many things in you he could not have expected to find? +Some of your accomplishments are not ordinary." + +"I don't know about that." + +"You had a little cottage near the school, you say: did he ever come +there to see you?" + +"Now and then?" + +"Of an evening?" + +"Once or twice." + +A pause. + +"How long did you reside with him and his sisters after the cousinship +was discovered?" + +"Five months." + +"Did Rivers spend much time with the ladies of his family?" + +"Yes; the back parlour was both his study and ours: he sat near the +window, and we by the table." + +"Did he study much?" + +"A good deal." + +"What?" + +"Hindostanee." + +"And what did you do meantime?" + +"I learnt German, at first." + +"Did he teach you?" + +"He did not understand German." + +"Did he teach you nothing?" + +"A little Hindostanee." + +"Rivers taught you Hindostanee?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And his sisters also?" + +"No." + +"Only you?" + +"Only me." + +"Did you ask to learn?" + +"No." + +"He wished to teach you?" + +"Yes." + +A second pause. + +"Why did he wish it? Of what use could Hindostanee be to you?" + +"He intended me to go with him to India." + +"Ah! here I reach the root of the matter. He wanted you to marry him?" + +"He asked me to marry him." + +"That is a fiction--an impudent invention to vex me." + +"I beg your pardon, it is the literal truth: he asked me more than once, +and was as stiff about urging his point as ever you could be." + +"Miss Eyre, I repeat it, you can leave me. How often am I to say the +same thing? Why do you remain pertinaciously perched on my knee, when I +have given you notice to quit?" + +"Because I am comfortable there." + +"No, Jane, you are not comfortable there, because your heart is not with +me: it is with this cousin--this St. John. Oh, till this moment, I +thought my little Jane was all mine! I had a belief she loved me even +when she left me: that was an atom of sweet in much bitter. Long as we +have been parted, hot tears as I have wept over our separation, I never +thought that while I was mourning her, she was loving another! But it is +useless grieving. Jane, leave me: go and marry Rivers." + +"Shake me off, then, sir,--push me away, for I'll not leave you of my own +accord." + +"Jane, I ever like your tone of voice: it still renews hope, it sounds so +truthful. When I hear it, it carries me back a year. I forget that you +have formed a new tie. But I am not a fool--go--" + +"Where must I go, sir?" + +"Your own way--with the husband you have chosen." + +"Who is that?" + +"You know--this St. John Rivers." + +"He is not my husband, nor ever will be. He does not love me: I do not +love him. He loves (as he _can_ love, and that is not as you love) a +beautiful young lady called Rosamond. He wanted to marry me only because +he thought I should make a suitable missionary's wife, which she would +not have done. He is good and great, but severe; and, for me, cold as an +iceberg. He is not like you, sir: I am not happy at his side, nor near +him, nor with him. He has no indulgence for me--no fondness. He sees +nothing attractive in me; not even youth--only a few useful mental +points.--Then I must leave you, sir, to go to him?" + +I shuddered involuntarily, and clung instinctively closer to my blind but +beloved master. He smiled. + +"What, Jane! Is this true? Is such really the state of matters between +you and Rivers?" + +"Absolutely, sir! Oh, you need not be jealous! I wanted to tease you a +little to make you less sad: I thought anger would be better than grief. +But if you wish me to love you, could you but see how much I _do_ love +you, you would be proud and content. All my heart is yours, sir: it +belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest +of me from your presence for ever." + +Again, as he kissed me, painful thoughts darkened his aspect. + +"My seared vision! My crippled strength!" he murmured regretfully. + +I caressed, in order to soothe him. I knew of what he was thinking, and +wanted to speak for him, but dared not. As he turned aside his face a +minute, I saw a tear slide from under the sealed eyelid, and trickle down +the manly cheek. My heart swelled. + +"I am no better than the old lightning-struck chestnut-tree in Thornfield +orchard," he remarked ere long. "And what right would that ruin have to +bid a budding woodbine cover its decay with freshness?" + +"You are no ruin, sir--no lightning-struck tree: you are green and +vigorous. Plants will grow about your roots, whether you ask them or +not, because they take delight in your bountiful shadow; and as they grow +they will lean towards you, and wind round you, because your strength +offers them so safe a prop." + +Again he smiled: I gave him comfort. + +"You speak of friends, Jane?" he asked. + +"Yes, of friends," I answered rather hesitatingly: for I knew I meant +more than friends, but could not tell what other word to employ. He +helped me. + +"Ah! Jane. But I want a wife." + +"Do you, sir?" + +"Yes: is it news to you?" + +"Of course: you said nothing about it before." + +"Is it unwelcome news?" + +"That depends on circumstances, sir--on your choice." + +"Which you shall make for me, Jane. I will abide by your decision." + +"Choose then, sir--_her who loves you best_." + +"I will at least choose--_her I love best_. Jane, will you marry me?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"A poor blind man, whom you will have to lead about by the hand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"A crippled man, twenty years older than you, whom you will have to wait +on?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Truly, Jane?" + +"Most truly, sir." + +"Oh! my darling! God bless you and reward you!" + +"Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life--if ever I thought a +good thought--if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer--if ever I +wished a righteous wish,--I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me, +to be as happy as I can be on earth." + +"Because you delight in sacrifice." + +"Sacrifice! What do I sacrifice? Famine for food, expectation for +content. To be privileged to put my arms round what I value--to press my +lips to what I love--to repose on what I trust: is that to make a +sacrifice? If so, then certainly I delight in sacrifice." + +"And to bear with my infirmities, Jane: to overlook my deficiencies." + +"Which are none, sir, to me. I love you better now, when I can really be +useful to you, than I did in your state of proud independence, when you +disdained every part but that of the giver and protector." + +"Hitherto I have hated to be helped--to be led: henceforth, I feel I +shall hate it no more. I did not like to put my hand into a hireling's, +but it is pleasant to feel it circled by Jane's little fingers. I +preferred utter loneliness to the constant attendance of servants; but +Jane's soft ministry will be a perpetual joy. Jane suits me: do I suit +her?" + +"To the finest fibre of my nature, sir." + +"The case being so, we have nothing in the world to wait for: we must be +married instantly." + +He looked and spoke with eagerness: his old impetuosity was rising. + +"We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane: there is but the +licence to get--then we marry." + +"Mr. Rochester, I have just discovered the sun is far declined from its +meridian, and Pilot is actually gone home to his dinner. Let me look at +your watch." + +"Fasten it into your girdle, Janet, and keep it henceforward: I have no +use for it." + +"It is nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, sir. Don't you feel +hungry?" + +"The third day from this must be our wedding-day, Jane. Never mind fine +clothes and jewels, now: all that is not worth a fillip." + +"The sun has dried up all the rain-drops, sir. The breeze is still: it +is quite hot." + +"Do you know, Jane, I have your little pearl necklace at this moment +fastened round my bronze scrag under my cravat? I have worn it since the +day I lost my only treasure, as a memento of her." + +"We will go home through the wood: that will be the shadiest way." + +He pursued his own thoughts without heeding me. + +"Jane! you think me, I daresay, an irreligious dog: but my heart swells +with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees not +as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more +wisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower--breathed +guilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff- +necked rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending to +the decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course; disasters +came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadow +of death. _His_ chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which has +humbled me for ever. You know I was proud of my strength: but what is it +now, when I must give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does its +weakness? Of late, Jane--only--only of late--I began to see and +acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, +repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. I began sometimes to +pray: very brief prayers they were, but very sincere. + +"Some days since: nay, I can number them--four; it was last Monday night, +a singular mood came over me: one in which grief replaced frenzy--sorrow, +sullenness. I had long had the impression that since I could nowhere +find you, you must be dead. Late that night--perhaps it might be between +eleven and twelve o'clock--ere I retired to my dreary rest, I supplicated +God, that, if it seemed good to Him, I might soon be taken from this +life, and admitted to that world to come, where there was still hope of +rejoining Jane. + +"I was in my own room, and sitting by the window, which was open: it +soothed me to feel the balmy night-air; though I could see no stars and +only by a vague, luminous haze, knew the presence of a moon. I longed +for thee, Janet! Oh, I longed for thee both with soul and flesh! I +asked of God, at once in anguish and humility, if I had not been long +enough desolate, afflicted, tormented; and might not soon taste bliss and +peace once more. That I merited all I endured, I acknowledged--that I +could scarcely endure more, I pleaded; and the alpha and omega of my +heart's wishes broke involuntarily from my lips in the words--'Jane! +Jane! Jane!'" + +"Did you speak these words aloud?" + +"I did, Jane. If any listener had heard me, he would have thought me +mad: I pronounced them with such frantic energy." + +"And it was last Monday night, somewhere near midnight?" + +"Yes; but the time is of no consequence: what followed is the strange +point. You will think me superstitious,--some superstition I have in my +blood, and always had: nevertheless, this is true--true at least it is +that I heard what I now relate. + +"As I exclaimed 'Jane! Jane! Jane!' a voice--I cannot tell whence the +voice came, but I know whose voice it was--replied, 'I am coming: wait +for me;' and a moment after, went whispering on the wind the words--'Where +are you?' + +"I'll tell you, if I can, the idea, the picture these words opened to my +mind: yet it is difficult to express what I want to express. Ferndean is +buried, as you see, in a heavy wood, where sound falls dull, and dies +unreverberating. 'Where are you?' seemed spoken amongst mountains; for I +heard a hill-sent echo repeat the words. Cooler and fresher at the +moment the gale seemed to visit my brow: I could have deemed that in some +wild, lone scene, I and Jane were meeting. In spirit, I believe we must +have met. You no doubt were, at that hour, in unconscious sleep, Jane: +perhaps your soul wandered from its cell to comfort mine; for those were +your accents--as certain as I live--they were yours!" + +Reader, it was on Monday night--near midnight--that I too had received +the mysterious summons: those were the very words by which I replied to +it. I listened to Mr. Rochester's narrative, but made no disclosure in +return. The coincidence struck me as too awful and inexplicable to be +communicated or discussed. If I told anything, my tale would be such as +must necessarily make a profound impression on the mind of my hearer: and +that mind, yet from its sufferings too prone to gloom, needed not the +deeper shade of the supernatural. I kept these things then, and pondered +them in my heart. + +"You cannot now wonder," continued my master, "that when you rose upon me +so unexpectedly last night, I had difficulty in believing you any other +than a mere voice and vision, something that would melt to silence and +annihilation, as the midnight whisper and mountain echo had melted +before. Now, I thank God! I know it to be otherwise. Yes, I thank +God!" + +He put me off his knee, rose, and reverently lifting his hat from his +brow, and bending his sightless eyes to the earth, he stood in mute +devotion. Only the last words of the worship were audible. + +"I thank my Maker, that, in the midst of judgment, he has remembered +mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead +henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto!" + +Then he stretched his hand out to be led. I took that dear hand, held it +a moment to my lips, then let it pass round my shoulder: being so much +lower of stature than he, I served both for his prop and guide. We +entered the wood, and wended homeward. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII--CONCLUSION + + +Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and +clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the +kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John +cleaning the knives, and I said-- + +"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning." The +housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of +people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece +of news without incurring the danger of having one's ears pierced by some +shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy +wonderment. Mary did look up, and she did stare at me: the ladle with +which she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did for +some three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same space of time +John's knives also had rest from the polishing process: but Mary, bending +again over the roast, said only-- + +"Have you, Miss? Well, for sure!" + +A short time after she pursued--"I seed you go out with the master, but I +didn't know you were gone to church to be wed;" and she basted away. +John, when I turned to him, was grinning from ear to ear. + +"I telled Mary how it would be," he said: "I knew what Mr. Edward" (John +was an old servant, and had known his master when he was the cadet of the +house, therefore, he often gave him his Christian name)--"I knew what Mr. +Edward would do; and I was certain he would not wait long neither: and +he's done right, for aught I know. I wish you joy, Miss!" and he +politely pulled his forelock. + +"Thank you, John. Mr. Rochester told me to give you and Mary this." I +put into his hand a five-pound note. Without waiting to hear more, I +left the kitchen. In passing the door of that sanctum some time after, I +caught the words-- + +"She'll happen do better for him nor ony o't' grand ladies." And again, +"If she ben't one o' th' handsomest, she's noan faal and varry +good-natured; and i' his een she's fair beautiful, onybody may see that." + +I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I had +done: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Mary +approved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just give +me time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me. + +"She had better not wait till then, Jane," said Mr. Rochester, when I +read her letter to him; "if she does, she will be too late, for our +honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your +grave or mine." + +How St. John received the news, I don't know: he never answered the +letter in which I communicated it: yet six months after he wrote to me, +without, however, mentioning Mr. Rochester's name or alluding to my +marriage. His letter was then calm, and, though very serious, kind. He +has maintained a regular, though not frequent, correspondence ever since: +he hopes I am happy, and trusts I am not of those who live without God in +the world, and only mind earthly things. + +You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader? I had not; +I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester, to go and see her at +the school where he had placed her. Her frantic joy at beholding me +again moved me much. She looked pale and thin: she said she was not +happy. I found the rules of the establishment were too strict, its +course of study too severe for a child of her age: I took her home with +me. I meant to become her governess once more, but I soon found this +impracticable; my time and cares were now required by another--my husband +needed them all. So I sought out a school conducted on a more indulgent +system, and near enough to permit of my visiting her often, and bringing +her home sometimes. I took care she should never want for anything that +could contribute to her comfort: she soon settled in her new abode, +became very happy there, and made fair progress in her studies. As she +grew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure her +French defects; and when she left school, I found in her a pleasing and +obliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and well-principled. By her +grateful attention to me and mine, she has long since well repaid any +little kindness I ever had it in my power to offer her. + +My tale draws to its close: one word respecting my experience of married +life, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those whose names have most +frequently recurred in this narrative, and I have done. + +I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely +for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely +blest--blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's +life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I +am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know +no weariness of my Edward's society: he knows none of mine, any more than +we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate +bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to +be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I +believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and +an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his +confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character--perfect +concord is the result. + +Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps +it was that circumstance that drew us so very near--that knit us so very +close: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand. +Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He saw +nature--he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his +behalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, +cloud, sunbeam--of the landscape before us; of the weather round us--and +impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his +eye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of +conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to +be done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most +exquisite, even though sad--because he claimed these services without +painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew +no reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him so +fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes. + +One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his +dictation, he came and bent over me, and said--"Jane, have you a +glittering ornament round your neck?" + +I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes." + +"And have you a pale blue dress on?" + +{And have you a pale blue dress on?: p435.jpg} + +I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the +obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was +sure of it. + +He and I went up to London. He had the advice of an eminent oculist; and +he eventually recovered the sight of that one eye. He cannot now see +very distinctly: he cannot read or write much; but he can find his way +without being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him--the +earth no longer a void. When his first-born was put into his arms, he +could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once +were--large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with a +full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with mercy. + +My Edward and I, then, are happy: and the more so, because those we most +love are happy likewise. Diana and Mary Rivers are both married: +alternately, once every year, they come to see us, and we go to see them. +Diana's husband is a captain in the navy, a gallant officer and a good +man. Mary's is a clergyman, a college friend of her brother's, and, from +his attainments and principles, worthy of the connection. Both Captain +Fitzjames and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them. + +As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India. He entered on +the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more +resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amidst rocks and dangers. +Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, he +labours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews +down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. He +may be stern; he may be exacting; he may be ambitious yet; but his is the +sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy from +the onslaught of Apollyon. His is the exaction of the apostle, who +speaks but for Christ, when he says--"Whosoever will come after me, let +him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me." His is the +ambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in the +first rank of those who are redeemed from the earth--who stand without +fault before the throne of God, who share the last mighty victories of +the Lamb, who are called, and chosen, and faithful. + +St. John is unmarried: he never will marry now. Himself has hitherto +sufficed to the toil, and the toil draws near its close: his glorious sun +hastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from my +eyes human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipated +his sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger's hand +will write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has been +called at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? No +fear of death will darken St. John's last hour: his mind will be +unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith +steadfast. His own words are a pledge of this-- + +"My Master," he says, "has forewarned me. Daily He announces more +distinctly,--'Surely I come quickly!' and hourly I more eagerly +respond,--'Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!'" diff --git a/pg145.txt b/pg145.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d1d0ea --- /dev/null +++ b/pg145.txt @@ -0,0 +1,33280 @@ +Middlemarch + + +By + +George Eliot + + + + +New York and Boston + +H. M. Caldwell Company Publishers + + + + +To my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes, in this nineteenth year of our +blessed union. + + + + +CONTENTS + +BOOK I + +CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI +CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII + + +BOOK II + +CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII +CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII + + +BOOK III + +CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI CHAPTER XXVII +CHAPTER XXVIII CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXX CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +BOOK IV + +CHAPTER XXXIV CHAPTER XXXV CHAPTER XXXVI CHAPTER XXXVII CHAPTER XXXVIII +CHAPTER XXXIX CHAPTER XL CHAPTER XLI CHAPTER XLII + + +BOOK V + +CHAPTER XLIII CHAPTER XLIV CHAPTER XLV CHAPTER XLVI CHAPTER XLVII +CHAPTER XLVIII CHAPTER XLIX CHAPTER L CHAPTER LI CHAPTER LII +CHAPTER LIII + + +BOOK VI + +CHAPTER LIV CHAPTER LV CHAPTER LVI CHAPTER LVII CHAPTER LVIII +CHAPTER LIX CHAPTER LX CHAPTER LXI CHAPTER LXII + + +BOOK VII + +CHAPTER LXIII CHAPTER LXIV CHAPTER LXV CHAPTER LXVI CHAPTER LXVII +CHAPTER LXVIII CHAPTER LXIX CHAPTER LXX CHAPTER LXXI + + +BOOK VIII + +CHAPTER LXXII CHAPTER LXXIII CHAPTER LXXIV CHAPTER LXXV CHAPTER LXXVI +CHAPTER LXXVII CHAPTER LXXVIII CHAPTER LXXIX CHAPTER LXXX CHAPTER LXXXI + + + + +PRELUDE + + +Who that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious +mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time, has not dwelt, +at least briefly, on the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with +some gentleness at the thought of the little girl walking forth one +morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and seek +martyrdom in the country of the Moors? Out they toddled from rugged +Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two fawns, but with human +hearts, already beating to a national idea; until domestic reality met +them in the shape of uncles, and turned them back from their great +resolve. That child-pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Theresa's +passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were many-volumed +romances of chivalry and the social conquests of a brilliant girl to +her? Her flame quickly burned up that light fuel; and, fed from +within, soared after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which +would never justify weariness, which would reconcile self-despair with +the rapturous consciousness of life beyond self. She found her epos in +the reform of a religious order. + +That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not +the last of her kind. Many Theresas have been born who found for +themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of +far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of +a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of +opportunity; perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred poet and +sank unwept into oblivion. With dim lights and tangled circumstance +they tried to shape their thought and deed in noble agreement; but +after all, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and +formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent +social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge +for the ardently willing soul. Their ardor alternated between a vague +ideal and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the one was +disapproved as extravagance, and the other condemned as a lapse. + +Some have felt that these blundering lives are due to the inconvenient +indefiniteness with which the Supreme Power has fashioned the natures +of women: if there were one level of feminine incompetence as strict as +the ability to count three and no more, the social lot of women might +be treated with scientific certitude. Meanwhile the indefiniteness +remains, and the limits of variation are really much wider than any one +would imagine from the sameness of women's coiffure and the favorite +love-stories in prose and verse. Here and there a cygnet is reared +uneasily among the ducklings in the brown pond, and never finds the +living stream in fellowship with its own oary-footed kind. Here and +there is born a Saint Theresa, foundress of nothing, whose loving +heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness tremble off and are +dispersed among hindrances, instead of centring in some +long-recognizable deed. + + + + + +BOOK I. + +MISS BROOKE. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "Since I can do no good because a woman, + Reach constantly at something that is near it. + --The Maid's Tragedy: BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. + + +Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into +relief by poor dress. Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that +she could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the +Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile as well as +her stature and bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain +garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her the +impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible,--or from one of our +elder poets,--in a paragraph of to-day's newspaper. She was usually +spoken of as being remarkably clever, but with the addition that her +sister Celia had more common-sense. Nevertheless, Celia wore scarcely +more trimmings; and it was only to close observers that her dress +differed from her sister's, and had a shade of coquetry in its +arrangements; for Miss Brooke's plain dressing was due to mixed +conditions, in most of which her sister shared. The pride of being +ladies had something to do with it: the Brooke connections, though not +exactly aristocratic, were unquestionably "good:" if you inquired +backward for a generation or two, you would not find any yard-measuring +or parcel-tying forefathers--anything lower than an admiral or a +clergyman; and there was even an ancestor discernible as a Puritan +gentleman who served under Cromwell, but afterwards conformed, and +managed to come out of all political troubles as the proprietor of a +respectable family estate. Young women of such birth, living in a +quiet country-house, and attending a village church hardly larger than +a parlor, naturally regarded frippery as the ambition of a huckster's +daughter. Then there was well-bred economy, which in those days made +show in dress the first item to be deducted from, when any margin was +required for expenses more distinctive of rank. Such reasons would +have been enough to account for plain dress, quite apart from religious +feeling; but in Miss Brooke's case, religion alone would have +determined it; and Celia mildly acquiesced in all her sister's +sentiments, only infusing them with that common-sense which is able to +accept momentous doctrines without any eccentric agitation. Dorothea +knew many passages of Pascal's Pensees and of Jeremy Taylor by heart; +and to her the destinies of mankind, seen by the light of Christianity, +made the solicitudes of feminine fashion appear an occupation for +Bedlam. She could not reconcile the anxieties of a spiritual life +involving eternal consequences, with a keen interest in gimp and +artificial protrusions of drapery. Her mind was theoretic, and yearned +by its nature after some lofty conception of the world which might +frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own rule of conduct there; +she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and rash in embracing +whatever seemed to her to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom, +to make retractations, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a +quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly such elements in the +character of a marriageable girl tended to interfere with her lot, and +hinder it from being decided according to custom, by good looks, +vanity, and merely canine affection. With all this, she, the elder of +the sisters, was not yet twenty, and they had both been educated, since +they were about twelve years old and had lost their parents, on plans +at once narrow and promiscuous, first in an English family and +afterwards in a Swiss family at Lausanne, their bachelor uncle and +guardian trying in this way to remedy the disadvantages of their +orphaned condition. + +It was hardly a year since they had come to live at Tipton Grange with +their uncle, a man nearly sixty, of acquiescent temper, miscellaneous +opinions, and uncertain vote. He had travelled in his younger years, +and was held in this part of the county to have contracted a too +rambling habit of mind. Mr. Brooke's conclusions were as difficult to +predict as the weather: it was only safe to say that he would act with +benevolent intentions, and that he would spend as little money as +possible in carrying them out. For the most glutinously indefinite +minds enclose some hard grains of habit; and a man has been seen lax +about all his own interests except the retention of his snuff-box, +concerning which he was watchful, suspicious, and greedy of clutch. + +In Mr. Brooke the hereditary strain of Puritan energy was clearly in +abeyance; but in his niece Dorothea it glowed alike through faults and +virtues, turning sometimes into impatience of her uncle's talk or his +way of "letting things be" on his estate, and making her long all the +more for the time when she would be of age and have some command of +money for generous schemes. She was regarded as an heiress; for not +only had the sisters seven hundred a-year each from their parents, but +if Dorothea married and had a son, that son would inherit Mr. Brooke's +estate, presumably worth about three thousand a-year--a rental which +seemed wealth to provincial families, still discussing Mr. Peel's late +conduct on the Catholic question, innocent of future gold-fields, and +of that gorgeous plutocracy which has so nobly exalted the necessities +of genteel life. + +And how should Dorothea not marry?--a girl so handsome and with such +prospects? Nothing could hinder it but her love of extremes, and her +insistence on regulating life according to notions which might cause a +wary man to hesitate before he made her an offer, or even might lead +her at last to refuse all offers. A young lady of some birth and +fortune, who knelt suddenly down on a brick floor by the side of a sick +laborer and prayed fervidly as if she thought herself living in the +time of the Apostles--who had strange whims of fasting like a Papist, +and of sitting up at night to read old theological books! Such a wife +might awaken you some fine morning with a new scheme for the +application of her income which would interfere with political economy +and the keeping of saddle-horses: a man would naturally think twice +before he risked himself in such fellowship. Women were expected to +have weak opinions; but the great safeguard of society and of domestic +life was, that opinions were not acted on. Sane people did what their +neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know +and avoid them. + +The rural opinion about the new young ladies, even among the cottagers, +was generally in favor of Celia, as being so amiable and +innocent-looking, while Miss Brooke's large eyes seemed, like her +religion, too unusual and striking. Poor Dorothea! compared with her, +the innocent-looking Celia was knowing and worldly-wise; so much +subtler is a human mind than the outside tissues which make a sort of +blazonry or clock-face for it. + +Yet those who approached Dorothea, though prejudiced against her by +this alarming hearsay, found that she had a charm unaccountably +reconcilable with it. Most men thought her bewitching when she was on +horseback. She loved the fresh air and the various aspects of the +country, and when her eyes and cheeks glowed with mingled pleasure she +looked very little like a devotee. Riding was an indulgence which she +allowed herself in spite of conscientious qualms; she felt that she +enjoyed it in a pagan sensuous way, and always looked forward to +renouncing it. + +She was open, ardent, and not in the least self-admiring; indeed, it +was pretty to see how her imagination adorned her sister Celia with +attractions altogether superior to her own, and if any gentleman +appeared to come to the Grange from some other motive than that of +seeing Mr. Brooke, she concluded that he must be in love with Celia: +Sir James Chettam, for example, whom she constantly considered from +Celia's point of view, inwardly debating whether it would be good for +Celia to accept him. That he should be regarded as a suitor to herself +would have seemed to her a ridiculous irrelevance. Dorothea, with all +her eagerness to know the truths of life, retained very childlike ideas +about marriage. She felt sure that she would have accepted the +judicious Hooker, if she had been born in time to save him from that +wretched mistake he made in matrimony; or John Milton when his +blindness had come on; or any of the other great men whose odd habits +it would have been glorious piety to endure; but an amiable handsome +baronet, who said "Exactly" to her remarks even when she expressed +uncertainty,--how could he affect her as a lover? The really +delightful marriage must be that where your husband was a sort of +father, and could teach you even Hebrew, if you wished it. + +These peculiarities of Dorothea's character caused Mr. Brooke to be all +the more blamed in neighboring families for not securing some +middle-aged lady as guide and companion to his nieces. But he himself +dreaded so much the sort of superior woman likely to be available for +such a position, that he allowed himself to be dissuaded by Dorothea's +objections, and was in this case brave enough to defy the world--that +is to say, Mrs. Cadwallader the Rector's wife, and the small group of +gentry with whom he visited in the northeast corner of Loamshire. So +Miss Brooke presided in her uncle's household, and did not at all +dislike her new authority, with the homage that belonged to it. + +Sir James Chettam was going to dine at the Grange to-day with another +gentleman whom the girls had never seen, and about whom Dorothea felt +some venerating expectation. This was the Reverend Edward Casaubon, +noted in the county as a man of profound learning, understood for many +years to be engaged on a great work concerning religious history; also +as a man of wealth enough to give lustre to his piety, and having views +of his own which were to be more clearly ascertained on the publication +of his book. His very name carried an impressiveness hardly to be +measured without a precise chronology of scholarship. + +Early in the day Dorothea had returned from the infant school which she +had set going in the village, and was taking her usual place in the +pretty sitting-room which divided the bedrooms of the sisters, bent on +finishing a plan for some buildings (a kind of work which she delighted +in), when Celia, who had been watching her with a hesitating desire to +propose something, said-- + +"Dorothea, dear, if you don't mind--if you are not very busy--suppose +we looked at mamma's jewels to-day, and divided them? It is exactly +six months to-day since uncle gave them to you, and you have not looked +at them yet." + +Celia's face had the shadow of a pouting expression in it, the full +presence of the pout being kept back by an habitual awe of Dorothea and +principle; two associated facts which might show a mysterious +electricity if you touched them incautiously. To her relief, +Dorothea's eyes were full of laughter as she looked up. + +"What a wonderful little almanac you are, Celia! Is it six calendar or +six lunar months?" + +"It is the last day of September now, and it was the first of April +when uncle gave them to you. You know, he said that he had forgotten +them till then. I believe you have never thought of them since you +locked them up in the cabinet here." + +"Well, dear, we should never wear them, you know." Dorothea spoke in a +full cordial tone, half caressing, half explanatory. She had her +pencil in her hand, and was making tiny side-plans on a margin. + +Celia colored, and looked very grave. "I think, dear, we are wanting +in respect to mamma's memory, to put them by and take no notice of +them. And," she added, after hesitating a little, with a rising sob of +mortification, "necklaces are quite usual now; and Madame Poincon, who +was stricter in some things even than you are, used to wear ornaments. +And Christians generally--surely there are women in heaven now who wore +jewels." Celia was conscious of some mental strength when she really +applied herself to argument. + +"You would like to wear them?" exclaimed Dorothea, an air of astonished +discovery animating her whole person with a dramatic action which she +had caught from that very Madame Poincon who wore the ornaments. "Of +course, then, let us have them out. Why did you not tell me before? +But the keys, the keys!" She pressed her hands against the sides of her +head and seemed to despair of her memory. + +"They are here," said Celia, with whom this explanation had been long +meditated and prearranged. + +"Pray open the large drawer of the cabinet and get out the jewel-box." + +The casket was soon open before them, and the various jewels spread +out, making a bright parterre on the table. It was no great +collection, but a few of the ornaments were really of remarkable +beauty, the finest that was obvious at first being a necklace of purple +amethysts set in exquisite gold work, and a pearl cross with five +brilliants in it. Dorothea immediately took up the necklace and +fastened it round her sister's neck, where it fitted almost as closely +as a bracelet; but the circle suited the Henrietta-Maria style of +Celia's head and neck, and she could see that it did, in the pier-glass +opposite. + +"There, Celia! you can wear that with your Indian muslin. But this +cross you must wear with your dark dresses." + +Celia was trying not to smile with pleasure. "O Dodo, you must keep +the cross yourself." + +"No, no, dear, no," said Dorothea, putting up her hand with careless +deprecation. + +"Yes, indeed you must; it would suit you--in your black dress, now," +said Celia, insistingly. "You _might_ wear that." + +"Not for the world, not for the world. A cross is the last thing I +would wear as a trinket." Dorothea shuddered slightly. + +"Then you will think it wicked in me to wear it," said Celia, uneasily. + +"No, dear, no," said Dorothea, stroking her sister's cheek. "Souls +have complexions too: what will suit one will not suit another." + +"But you might like to keep it for mamma's sake." + +"No, I have other things of mamma's--her sandal-wood box which I am so +fond of--plenty of things. In fact, they are all yours, dear. We need +discuss them no longer. There--take away your property." + +Celia felt a little hurt. There was a strong assumption of superiority +in this Puritanic toleration, hardly less trying to the blond flesh of +an unenthusiastic sister than a Puritanic persecution. + +"But how can I wear ornaments if you, who are the elder sister, will +never wear them?" + +"Nay, Celia, that is too much to ask, that I should wear trinkets to +keep you in countenance. If I were to put on such a necklace as that, +I should feel as if I had been pirouetting. The world would go round +with me, and I should not know how to walk." + +Celia had unclasped the necklace and drawn it off. "It would be a +little tight for your neck; something to lie down and hang would suit +you better," she said, with some satisfaction. The complete unfitness +of the necklace from all points of view for Dorothea, made Celia +happier in taking it. She was opening some ring-boxes, which disclosed +a fine emerald with diamonds, and just then the sun passing beyond a +cloud sent a bright gleam over the table. + +"How very beautiful these gems are!" said Dorothea, under a new current +of feeling, as sudden as the gleam. "It is strange how deeply colors +seem to penetrate one, like scent. I suppose that is the reason why +gems are used as spiritual emblems in the Revelation of St. John. They +look like fragments of heaven. I think that emerald is more beautiful +than any of them." + +"And there is a bracelet to match it," said Celia. "We did not notice +this at first." + +"They are lovely," said Dorothea, slipping the ring and bracelet on her +finely turned finger and wrist, and holding them towards the window on +a level with her eyes. All the while her thought was trying to justify +her delight in the colors by merging them in her mystic religious joy. + +"You _would_ like those, Dorothea," said Celia, rather falteringly, +beginning to think with wonder that her sister showed some weakness, +and also that emeralds would suit her own complexion even better than +purple amethysts. "You must keep that ring and bracelet--if nothing +else. But see, these agates are very pretty and quiet." + +"Yes! I will keep these--this ring and bracelet," said Dorothea. +Then, letting her hand fall on the table, she said in another +tone--"Yet what miserable men find such things, and work at them, and +sell them!" She paused again, and Celia thought that her sister was +going to renounce the ornaments, as in consistency she ought to do. + +"Yes, dear, I will keep these," said Dorothea, decidedly. "But take +all the rest away, and the casket." + +She took up her pencil without removing the jewels, and still looking +at them. She thought of often having them by her, to feed her eye at +these little fountains of pure color. + +"Shall you wear them in company?" said Celia, who was watching her with +real curiosity as to what she would do. + +Dorothea glanced quickly at her sister. Across all her imaginative +adornment of those whom she loved, there darted now and then a keen +discernment, which was not without a scorching quality. If Miss Brooke +ever attained perfect meekness, it would not be for lack of inward fire. + +"Perhaps," she said, rather haughtily. "I cannot tell to what level I +may sink." + +Celia blushed, and was unhappy: she saw that she had offended her +sister, and dared not say even anything pretty about the gift of the +ornaments which she put back into the box and carried away. Dorothea +too was unhappy, as she went on with her plan-drawing, questioning the +purity of her own feeling and speech in the scene which had ended with +that little explosion. + +Celia's consciousness told her that she had not been at all in the +wrong: it was quite natural and justifiable that she should have asked +that question, and she repeated to herself that Dorothea was +inconsistent: either she should have taken her full share of the +jewels, or, after what she had said, she should have renounced them +altogether. + +"I am sure--at least, I trust," thought Celia, "that the wearing of a +necklace will not interfere with my prayers. And I do not see that I +should be bound by Dorothea's opinions now we are going into society, +though of course she herself ought to be bound by them. But Dorothea +is not always consistent." + +Thus Celia, mutely bending over her tapestry, until she heard her +sister calling her. + +"Here, Kitty, come and look at my plan; I shall think I am a great +architect, if I have not got incompatible stairs and fireplaces." + +As Celia bent over the paper, Dorothea put her cheek against her +sister's arm caressingly. Celia understood the action. Dorothea saw +that she had been in the wrong, and Celia pardoned her. Since they +could remember, there had been a mixture of criticism and awe in the +attitude of Celia's mind towards her elder sister. The younger had +always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature without its private +opinions? + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "'Dime; no ves aquel caballero que hacia nosotros viene + sobre un caballo rucio rodado que trae puesto en la cabeza + un yelmo de oro?' 'Lo que veo y columbro,' respondio Sancho, + 'no es sino un hombre sobre un as no pardo como el mio, que + trae sobre la cabeza una cosa que relumbra.' 'Pues ese es el + yelmo de Mambrino,' dijo Don Quijote."--CERVANTES. + + "'Seest thou not yon cavalier who cometh toward us on a + dapple-gray steed, and weareth a golden helmet?' 'What I + see,' answered Sancho, 'is nothing but a man on a gray ass + like my own, who carries something shiny on his head.' 'Just + so,' answered Don Quixote: 'and that resplendent object is + the helmet of Mambrino.'" + + +"Sir Humphry Davy?" said Mr. Brooke, over the soup, in his easy smiling +way, taking up Sir James Chettam's remark that he was studying Davy's +Agricultural Chemistry. "Well, now, Sir Humphry Davy; I dined with him +years ago at Cartwright's, and Wordsworth was there too--the poet +Wordsworth, you know. Now there was something singular. I was at +Cambridge when Wordsworth was there, and I never met him--and I dined +with him twenty years afterwards at Cartwright's. There's an oddity in +things, now. But Davy was there: he was a poet too. Or, as I may say, +Wordsworth was poet one, and Davy was poet two. That was true in every +sense, you know." + +Dorothea felt a little more uneasy than usual. In the beginning of +dinner, the party being small and the room still, these motes from the +mass of a magistrate's mind fell too noticeably. She wondered how a +man like Mr. Casaubon would support such triviality. His manners, she +thought, were very dignified; the set of his iron-gray hair and his +deep eye-sockets made him resemble the portrait of Locke. He had the +spare form and the pale complexion which became a student; as different +as possible from the blooming Englishman of the red-whiskered type +represented by Sir James Chettam. + +"I am reading the Agricultural Chemistry," said this excellent baronet, +"because I am going to take one of the farms into my own hands, and see +if something cannot be done in setting a good pattern of farming among +my tenants. Do you approve of that, Miss Brooke?" + +"A great mistake, Chettam," interposed Mr. Brooke, "going into +electrifying your land and that kind of thing, and making a parlor of +your cow-house. It won't do. I went into science a great deal myself +at one time; but I saw it would not do. It leads to everything; you +can let nothing alone. No, no--see that your tenants don't sell their +straw, and that kind of thing; and give them draining-tiles, you know. +But your fancy farming will not do--the most expensive sort of whistle +you can buy: you may as well keep a pack of hounds." + +"Surely," said Dorothea, "it is better to spend money in finding out +how men can make the most of the land which supports them all, than in +keeping dogs and horses only to gallop over it. It is not a sin to +make yourself poor in performing experiments for the good of all." + +She spoke with more energy than is expected of so young a lady, but Sir +James had appealed to her. He was accustomed to do so, and she had +often thought that she could urge him to many good actions when he was +her brother-in-law. + +Mr. Casaubon turned his eyes very markedly on Dorothea while she was +speaking, and seemed to observe her newly. + +"Young ladies don't understand political economy, you know," said Mr. +Brooke, smiling towards Mr. Casaubon. "I remember when we were all +reading Adam Smith. _There_ is a book, now. I took in all the new +ideas at one time--human perfectibility, now. But some say, history +moves in circles; and that may be very well argued; I have argued it +myself. The fact is, human reason may carry you a little too far--over +the hedge, in fact. It carried me a good way at one time; but I saw it +would not do. I pulled up; I pulled up in time. But not too hard. I +have always been in favor of a little theory: we must have Thought; +else we shall be landed back in the dark ages. But talking of books, +there is Southey's 'Peninsular War.' I am reading that of a morning. +You know Southey?" + +"No" said Mr. Casaubon, not keeping pace with Mr. Brooke's impetuous +reason, and thinking of the book only. "I have little leisure for such +literature just now. I have been using up my eyesight on old +characters lately; the fact is, I want a reader for my evenings; but I +am fastidious in voices, and I cannot endure listening to an imperfect +reader. It is a misfortune, in some senses: I feed too much on the +inward sources; I live too much with the dead. My mind is something +like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying +mentally to construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and +confusing changes. But I find it necessary to use the utmost caution +about my eyesight." + +This was the first time that Mr. Casaubon had spoken at any length. He +delivered himself with precision, as if he had been called upon to make +a public statement; and the balanced sing-song neatness of his speech, +occasionally corresponded to by a movement of his head, was the more +conspicuous from its contrast with good Mr. Brooke's scrappy +slovenliness. Dorothea said to herself that Mr. Casaubon was the most +interesting man she had ever seen, not excepting even Monsieur Liret, +the Vaudois clergyman who had given conferences on the history of the +Waldenses. To reconstruct a past world, doubtless with a view to the +highest purposes of truth--what a work to be in any way present at, to +assist in, though only as a lamp-holder! This elevating thought lifted +her above her annoyance at being twitted with her ignorance of +political economy, that never-explained science which was thrust as an +extinguisher over all her lights. + +"But you are fond of riding, Miss Brooke," Sir James presently took an +opportunity of saying. "I should have thought you would enter a little +into the pleasures of hunting. I wish you would let me send over a +chestnut horse for you to try. It has been trained for a lady. I saw +you on Saturday cantering over the hill on a nag not worthy of you. My +groom shall bring Corydon for you every day, if you will only mention +the time." + +"Thank you, you are very good. I mean to give up riding. I shall not +ride any more," said Dorothea, urged to this brusque resolution by a +little annoyance that Sir James would be soliciting her attention when +she wanted to give it all to Mr. Casaubon. + +"No, that is too hard," said Sir James, in a tone of reproach that +showed strong interest. "Your sister is given to self-mortification, +is she not?" he continued, turning to Celia, who sat at his right hand. + +"I think she is," said Celia, feeling afraid lest she should say +something that would not please her sister, and blushing as prettily as +possible above her necklace. "She likes giving up." + +"If that were true, Celia, my giving-up would be self-indulgence, not +self-mortification. But there may be good reasons for choosing not to +do what is very agreeable," said Dorothea. + +Mr. Brooke was speaking at the same time, but it was evident that Mr. +Casaubon was observing Dorothea, and she was aware of it. + +"Exactly," said Sir James. "You give up from some high, generous +motive." + +"No, indeed, not exactly. I did not say that of myself," answered +Dorothea, reddening. Unlike Celia, she rarely blushed, and only from +high delight or anger. At this moment she felt angry with the perverse +Sir James. Why did he not pay attention to Celia, and leave her to +listen to Mr. Casaubon?--if that learned man would only talk, instead +of allowing himself to be talked to by Mr. Brooke, who was just then +informing him that the Reformation either meant something or it did +not, that he himself was a Protestant to the core, but that Catholicism +was a fact; and as to refusing an acre of your ground for a Romanist +chapel, all men needed the bridle of religion, which, properly +speaking, was the dread of a Hereafter. + +"I made a great study of theology at one time," said Mr. Brooke, as if +to explain the insight just manifested. "I know something of all +schools. I knew Wilberforce in his best days. Do you know +Wilberforce?" + +Mr. Casaubon said, "No." + +"Well, Wilberforce was perhaps not enough of a thinker; but if I went +into Parliament, as I have been asked to do, I should sit on the +independent bench, as Wilberforce did, and work at philanthropy." + +Mr. Casaubon bowed, and observed that it was a wide field. + +"Yes," said Mr. Brooke, with an easy smile, "but I have documents. I +began a long while ago to collect documents. They want arranging, but +when a question has struck me, I have written to somebody and got an +answer. I have documents at my back. But now, how do you arrange your +documents?" + +"In pigeon-holes partly," said Mr. Casaubon, with rather a startled air +of effort. + +"Ah, pigeon-holes will not do. I have tried pigeon-holes, but +everything gets mixed in pigeon-holes: I never know whether a paper is +in A or Z." + +"I wish you would let me sort your papers for you, uncle," said +Dorothea. "I would letter them all, and then make a list of subjects +under each letter." + +Mr. Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr. Brooke, "You have +an excellent secretary at hand, you perceive." + +"No, no," said Mr. Brooke, shaking his head; "I cannot let young ladies +meddle with my documents. Young ladies are too flighty." + +Dorothea felt hurt. Mr. Casaubon would think that her uncle had some +special reason for delivering this opinion, whereas the remark lay in +his mind as lightly as the broken wing of an insect among all the other +fragments there, and a chance current had sent it alighting on _her_. + +When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone, Celia said-- + +"How very ugly Mr. Casaubon is!" + +"Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking men I ever saw. +He is remarkably like the portrait of Locke. He has the same deep +eye-sockets." + +"Had Locke those two white moles with hairs on them?" + +"Oh, I dare say! when people of a certain sort looked at him," said +Dorothea, walking away a little. + +"Mr. Casaubon is so sallow." + +"All the better. I suppose you admire a man with the complexion of a +cochon de lait." + +"Dodo!" exclaimed Celia, looking after her in surprise. "I never heard +you make such a comparison before." + +"Why should I make it before the occasion came? It is a good +comparison: the match is perfect." + +Miss Brooke was clearly forgetting herself, and Celia thought so. + +"I wonder you show temper, Dorothea." + +"It is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at human beings as +if they were merely animals with a toilet, and never see the great soul +in a man's face." + +"Has Mr. Casaubon a great soul?" Celia was not without a touch of naive +malice. + +"Yes, I believe he has," said Dorothea, with the full voice of +decision. "Everything I see in him corresponds to his pamphlet on +Biblical Cosmology." + +"He talks very little," said Celia + +"There is no one for him to talk to." + +Celia thought privately, "Dorothea quite despises Sir James Chettam; I +believe she would not accept him." Celia felt that this was a pity. +She had never been deceived as to the object of the baronet's interest. +Sometimes, indeed, she had reflected that Dodo would perhaps not make a +husband happy who had not her way of looking at things; and stifled in +the depths of her heart was the feeling that her sister was too +religious for family comfort. Notions and scruples were like spilt +needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, or even eating. + +When Miss Brooke was at the tea-table, Sir James came to sit down by +her, not having felt her mode of answering him at all offensive. Why +should he? He thought it probable that Miss Brooke liked him, and +manners must be very marked indeed before they cease to be interpreted +by preconceptions either confident or distrustful. She was thoroughly +charming to him, but of course he theorized a little about his +attachment. He was made of excellent human dough, and had the rare +merit of knowing that his talents, even if let loose, would not set the +smallest stream in the county on fire: hence he liked the prospect of a +wife to whom he could say, "What shall we do?" about this or that; who +could help her husband out with reasons, and would also have the +property qualification for doing so. As to the excessive religiousness +alleged against Miss Brooke, he had a very indefinite notion of what it +consisted in, and thought that it would die out with marriage. In +short, he felt himself to be in love in the right place, and was ready +to endure a great deal of predominance, which, after all, a man could +always put down when he liked. Sir James had no idea that he should +ever like to put down the predominance of this handsome girl, in whose +cleverness he delighted. Why not? A man's mind--what there is of +it--has always the advantage of being masculine,--as the smallest +birch-tree is of a higher kind than the most soaring palm,--and even +his ignorance is of a sounder quality. Sir James might not have +originated this estimate; but a kind Providence furnishes the limpest +personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition. + +"Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution about the horse, +Miss Brooke," said the persevering admirer. "I assure you, riding is +the most healthy of exercises." + +"I am aware of it," said Dorothea, coldly. "I think it would do Celia +good--if she would take to it." + +"But you are such a perfect horsewoman." + +"Excuse me; I have had very little practice, and I should be easily +thrown." + +"Then that is a reason for more practice. Every lady ought to be a +perfect horsewoman, that she may accompany her husband." + +"You see how widely we differ, Sir James. I have made up my mind that +I ought not to be a perfect horsewoman, and so I should never +correspond to your pattern of a lady." Dorothea looked straight before +her, and spoke with cold brusquerie, very much with the air of a +handsome boy, in amusing contrast with the solicitous amiability of her +admirer. + +"I should like to know your reasons for this cruel resolution. It is +not possible that you should think horsemanship wrong." + +"It is quite possible that I should think it wrong for me." + +"Oh, why?" said Sir James, in a tender tone of remonstrance. + +Mr. Casaubon had come up to the table, teacup in hand, and was +listening. + +"We must not inquire too curiously into motives," he interposed, in his +measured way. "Miss Brooke knows that they are apt to become feeble in +the utterance: the aroma is mixed with the grosser air. We must keep +the germinating grain away from the light." + +Dorothea colored with pleasure, and looked up gratefully to the +speaker. Here was a man who could understand the higher inward life, +and with whom there could be some spiritual communion; nay, who could +illuminate principle with the widest knowledge a man whose learning +almost amounted to a proof of whatever he believed! + +Dorothea's inferences may seem large; but really life could never have +gone on at any period but for this liberal allowance of conclusions, +which has facilitated marriage under the difficulties of civilization. +Has any one ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of +pre-matrimonial acquaintanceship? + +"Certainly," said good Sir James. "Miss Brooke shall not be urged to +tell reasons she would rather be silent upon. I am sure her reasons +would do her honor." + +He was not in the least jealous of the interest with which Dorothea had +looked up at Mr. Casaubon: it never occurred to him that a girl to whom +he was meditating an offer of marriage could care for a dried bookworm +towards fifty, except, indeed, in a religious sort of way, as for a +clergyman of some distinction. + +However, since Miss Brooke had become engaged in a conversation with +Mr. Casaubon about the Vaudois clergy, Sir James betook himself to +Celia, and talked to her about her sister; spoke of a house in town, +and asked whether Miss Brooke disliked London. Away from her sister, +Celia talked quite easily, and Sir James said to himself that the +second Miss Brooke was certainly very agreeable as well as pretty, +though not, as some people pretended, more clever and sensible than the +elder sister. He felt that he had chosen the one who was in all +respects the superior; and a man naturally likes to look forward to +having the best. He would be the very Mawworm of bachelors who +pretended not to expect it. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael, + The affable archangel . . . + Eve + The story heard attentive, and was filled + With admiration, and deep muse, to hear + Of things so high and strange." + --Paradise Lost, B. vii. + + +If it had really occurred to Mr. Casaubon to think of Miss Brooke as a +suitable wife for him, the reasons that might induce her to accept him +were already planted in her mind, and by the evening of the next day +the reasons had budded and bloomed. For they had had a long +conversation in the morning, while Celia, who did not like the company +of Mr. Casaubon's moles and sallowness, had escaped to the vicarage to +play with the curate's ill-shod but merry children. + +Dorothea by this time had looked deep into the ungauged reservoir of +Mr. Casaubon's mind, seeing reflected there in vague labyrinthine +extension every quality she herself brought; had opened much of her own +experience to him, and had understood from him the scope of his great +work, also of attractively labyrinthine extent. For he had been as +instructive as Milton's "affable archangel;" and with something of the +archangelic manner he told her how he had undertaken to show (what +indeed had been attempted before, but not with that thoroughness, +justice of comparison, and effectiveness of arrangement at which Mr. +Casaubon aimed) that all the mythical systems or erratic mythical +fragments in the world were corruptions of a tradition originally +revealed. Having once mastered the true position and taken a firm +footing there, the vast field of mythical constructions became +intelligible, nay, luminous with the reflected light of +correspondences. But to gather in this great harvest of truth was no +light or speedy work. His notes already made a formidable range of +volumes, but the crowning task would be to condense these voluminous +still-accumulating results and bring them, like the earlier vintage of +Hippocratic books, to fit a little shelf. In explaining this to +Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he would have done +to a fellow-student, for he had not two styles of talking at command: +it is true that when he used a Greek or Latin phrase he always gave the +English with scrupulous care, but he would probably have done this in +any case. A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to think of his +acquaintances as of "lords, knyghtes, and other noble and worthi men, +that conne Latyn but lytille." + +Dorothea was altogether captivated by the wide embrace of this +conception. Here was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school +literature: here was a living Bossuet, whose work would reconcile +complete knowledge with devoted piety; here was a modern Augustine who +united the glories of doctor and saint. + +The sanctity seemed no less clearly marked than the learning, for when +Dorothea was impelled to open her mind on certain themes which she +could speak of to no one whom she had before seen at Tipton, especially +on the secondary importance of ecclesiastical forms and articles of +belief compared with that spiritual religion, that submergence of self +in communion with Divine perfection which seemed to her to be expressed +in the best Christian books of widely distant ages, she found in Mr. +Casaubon a listener who understood her at once, who could assure her of +his own agreement with that view when duly tempered with wise +conformity, and could mention historical examples before unknown to her. + +"He thinks with me," said Dorothea to herself, "or rather, he thinks a +whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his +feelings too, his whole experience--what a lake compared with my little +pool!" + +Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly +than other young ladies of her age. Signs are small measurable things, +but interpretations are illimitable, and in girls of sweet, ardent +nature, every sign is apt to conjure up wonder, hope, belief, vast as a +sky, and colored by a diffused thimbleful of matter in the shape of +knowledge. They are not always too grossly deceived; for Sinbad +himself may have fallen by good-luck on a true description, and wrong +reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a +long way off the true point, and proceeding by loops and zigzags, we +now and then arrive just where we ought to be. Because Miss Brooke was +hasty in her trust, it is not therefore clear that Mr. Casaubon was +unworthy of it. + +He stayed a little longer than he had intended, on a slight pressure of +invitation from Mr. Brooke, who offered no bait except his own +documents on machine-breaking and rick-burning. Mr. Casaubon was called +into the library to look at these in a heap, while his host picked up +first one and then the other to read aloud from in a skipping and +uncertain way, passing from one unfinished passage to another with a +"Yes, now, but here!" and finally pushing them all aside to open the +journal of his youthful Continental travels. + +"Look here--here is all about Greece. Rhamnus, the ruins of +Rhamnus--you are a great Grecian, now. I don't know whether you have +given much study to the topography. I spent no end of time in making +out these things--Helicon, now. Here, now!--'We started the next +morning for Parnassus, the double-peaked Parnassus.' All this volume is +about Greece, you know," Mr. Brooke wound up, rubbing his thumb +transversely along the edges of the leaves as he held the book forward. + +Mr. Casaubon made a dignified though somewhat sad audience; bowed in +the right place, and avoided looking at anything documentary as far as +possible, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this +desultoriness was associated with the institutions of the country, and +that the man who took him on this severe mental scamper was not only an +amiable host, but a landholder and custos rotulorum. Was his endurance +aided also by the reflection that Mr. Brooke was the uncle of Dorothea? + +Certainly he seemed more and more bent on making her talk to him, on +drawing her out, as Celia remarked to herself; and in looking at her +his face was often lit up by a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Before +he left the next morning, while taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke +along the gravelled terrace, he had mentioned to her that he felt the +disadvantage of loneliness, the need of that cheerful companionship +with which the presence of youth can lighten or vary the serious toils +of maturity. And he delivered this statement with as much careful +precision as if he had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be +attended with results. Indeed, Mr. Casaubon was not used to expect +that he should have to repeat or revise his communications of a +practical or personal kind. The inclinations which he had deliberately +stated on the 2d of October he would think it enough to refer to by the +mention of that date; judging by the standard of his own memory, which +was a volume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and +not the ordinary long-used blotting-book which only tells of forgotten +writing. But in this case Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to +be falsified, for Dorothea heard and retained what he said with the +eager interest of a fresh young nature to which every variety in +experience is an epoch. + +It was three o'clock in the beautiful breezy autumn day when Mr. +Casaubon drove off to his Rectory at Lowick, only five miles from +Tipton; and Dorothea, who had on her bonnet and shawl, hurried along +the shrubbery and across the park that she might wander through the +bordering wood with no other visible companionship than that of Monk, +the Great St. Bernard dog, who always took care of the young ladies in +their walks. There had risen before her the girl's vision of a +possible future for herself to which she looked forward with trembling +hope, and she wanted to wander on in that visionary future without +interruption. She walked briskly in the brisk air, the color rose in +her cheeks, and her straw bonnet (which our contemporaries might look +at with conjectural curiosity as at an obsolete form of basket) fell a +little backward. She would perhaps be hardly characterized enough if +it were omitted that she wore her brown hair flatly braided and coiled +behind so as to expose the outline of her head in a daring manner at a +time when public feeling required the meagreness of nature to be +dissimulated by tall barricades of frizzed curls and bows, never +surpassed by any great race except the Feejeean. This was a trait of +Miss Brooke's asceticism. But there was nothing of an ascetic's +expression in her bright full eyes, as she looked before her, not +consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of her mood, the +solemn glory of the afternoon with its long swathes of light between +the far-off rows of limes, whose shadows touched each other. + +All people, young or old (that is, all people in those ante-reform +times), would have thought her an interesting object if they had +referred the glow in her eyes and cheeks to the newly awakened ordinary +images of young love: the illusions of Chloe about Strephon have been +sufficiently consecrated in poetry, as the pathetic loveliness of all +spontaneous trust ought to be. Miss Pippin adoring young Pumpkin, and +dreaming along endless vistas of unwearying companionship, was a little +drama which never tired our fathers and mothers, and had been put into +all costumes. Let but Pumpkin have a figure which would sustain the +disadvantages of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and everybody felt it +not only natural but necessary to the perfection of womanhood, that a +sweet girl should be at once convinced of his virtue, his exceptional +ability, and above all, his perfect sincerity. But perhaps no persons +then living--certainly none in the neighborhood of Tipton--would have +had a sympathetic understanding for the dreams of a girl whose notions +about marriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm +about the ends of life, an enthusiasm which was lit chiefly by its own +fire, and included neither the niceties of the trousseau, the pattern +of plate, nor even the honors and sweet joys of the blooming matron. + +It had now entered Dorothea's mind that Mr. Casaubon might wish to make +her his wife, and the idea that he would do so touched her with a sort +of reverential gratitude. How good of him--nay, it would be almost as +if a winged messenger had suddenly stood beside her path and held out +his hand towards her! For a long while she had been oppressed by the +indefiniteness which hung in her mind, like a thick summer haze, over +all her desire to make her life greatly effective. What could she do, +what ought she to do?--she, hardly more than a budding woman, but yet +with an active conscience and a great mental need, not to be satisfied +by a girlish instruction comparable to the nibblings and judgments of a +discursive mouse. With some endowment of stupidity and conceit, she +might have thought that a Christian young lady of fortune should find +her ideal of life in village charities, patronage of the humbler +clergy, the perusal of "Female Scripture Characters," unfolding the +private experience of Sara under the Old Dispensation, and Dorcas under +the New, and the care of her soul over her embroidery in her own +boudoir--with a background of prospective marriage to a man who, if +less strict than herself, as being involved in affairs religiously +inexplicable, might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted. From such +contentment poor Dorothea was shut out. The intensity of her religious +disposition, the coercion it exercised over her life, was but one +aspect of a nature altogether ardent, theoretic, and intellectually +consequent: and with such a nature struggling in the bands of a narrow +teaching, hemmed in by a social life which seemed nothing but a +labyrinth of petty courses, a walled-in maze of small paths that led no +whither, the outcome was sure to strike others as at once exaggeration +and inconsistency. The thing which seemed to her best, she wanted to +justify by the completest knowledge; and not to live in a pretended +admission of rules which were never acted on. Into this soul-hunger as +yet all her youthful passion was poured; the union which attracted her +was one that would deliver her from her girlish subjection to her own +ignorance, and give her the freedom of voluntary submission to a guide +who would take her along the grandest path. + +"I should learn everything then," she said to herself, still walking +quickly along the bridle road through the wood. "It would be my duty +to study that I might help him the better in his great works. There +would be nothing trivial about our lives. Every-day things with us +would mean the greatest things. It would be like marrying Pascal. I +should learn to see the truth by the same light as great men have seen +it by. And then I should know what to do, when I got older: I should +see how it was possible to lead a grand life here--now--in England. I +don't feel sure about doing good in any way now: everything seems like +going on a mission to a people whose language I don't know;--unless it +were building good cottages--there can be no doubt about that. Oh, I +hope I should be able to get the people well housed in Lowick! I will +draw plenty of plans while I have time." + +Dorothea checked herself suddenly with self-rebuke for the presumptuous +way in which she was reckoning on uncertain events, but she was spared +any inward effort to change the direction of her thoughts by the +appearance of a cantering horseman round a turning of the road. The +well-groomed chestnut horse and two beautiful setters could leave no +doubt that the rider was Sir James Chettam. He discerned Dorothea, +jumped off his horse at once, and, having delivered it to his groom, +advanced towards her with something white on his arm, at which the two +setters were barking in an excited manner. + +"How delightful to meet you, Miss Brooke," he said, raising his hat and +showing his sleekly waving blond hair. "It has hastened the pleasure I +was looking forward to." + +Miss Brooke was annoyed at the interruption. This amiable baronet, +really a suitable husband for Celia, exaggerated the necessity of +making himself agreeable to the elder sister. Even a prospective +brother-in-law may be an oppression if he will always be presupposing +too good an understanding with you, and agreeing with you even when you +contradict him. The thought that he had made the mistake of paying his +addresses to herself could not take shape: all her mental activity was +used up in persuasions of another kind. But he was positively +obtrusive at this moment, and his dimpled hands were quite +disagreeable. Her roused temper made her color deeply, as she returned +his greeting with some haughtiness. + +Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the way most gratifying +to himself, and thought he never saw Miss Brooke looking so handsome. + +"I have brought a little petitioner," he said, "or rather, I have +brought him to see if he will be approved before his petition is +offered." He showed the white object under his arm, which was a tiny +Maltese puppy, one of nature's most naive toys. + +"It is painful to me to see these creatures that are bred merely as +pets," said Dorothea, whose opinion was forming itself that very moment +(as opinions will) under the heat of irritation. + +"Oh, why?" said Sir James, as they walked forward. + +"I believe all the petting that is given them does not make them happy. +They are too helpless: their lives are too frail. A weasel or a mouse +that gets its own living is more interesting. I like to think that the +animals about us have souls something like our own, and either carry on +their own little affairs or can be companions to us, like Monk here. +Those creatures are parasitic." + +"I am so glad I know that you do not like them," said good Sir James. +"I should never keep them for myself, but ladies usually are fond of +these Maltese dogs. Here, John, take this dog, will you?" + +The objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were equally black and +expressive, was thus got rid of, since Miss Brooke decided that it had +better not have been born. But she felt it necessary to explain. + +"You must not judge of Celia's feeling from mine. I think she likes +these small pets. She had a tiny terrier once, which she was very fond +of. It made me unhappy, because I was afraid of treading on it. I am +rather short-sighted." + +"You have your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke, and it is +always a good opinion." + +What answer was possible to such stupid complimenting? + +"Do you know, I envy you that," Sir James said, as they continued +walking at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea. + +"I don't quite understand what you mean." + +"Your power of forming an opinion. I can form an opinion of persons. +I know when I like people. But about other matters, do you know, I +have often a difficulty in deciding. One hears very sensible things +said on opposite sides." + +"Or that seem sensible. Perhaps we don't always discriminate between +sense and nonsense." + +Dorothea felt that she was rather rude. + +"Exactly," said Sir James. "But you seem to have the power of +discrimination." + +"On the contrary, I am often unable to decide. But that is from +ignorance. The right conclusion is there all the same, though I am +unable to see it." + +"I think there are few who would see it more readily. Do you know, +Lovegood was telling me yesterday that you had the best notion in the +world of a plan for cottages--quite wonderful for a young lady, he +thought. You had a real _genus_, to use his expression. He said you +wanted Mr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but he seemed to +think it hardly probable that your uncle would consent. Do you know, +that is one of the things I wish to do--I mean, on my own estate. I +should be so glad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me +see it. Of course, it is sinking money; that is why people object to +it. Laborers can never pay rent to make it answer. But, after all, it +is worth doing." + +"Worth doing! yes, indeed," said Dorothea, energetically, forgetting +her previous small vexations. "I think we deserve to be beaten out of +our beautiful houses with a scourge of small cords--all of us who let +tenants live in such sties as we see round us. Life in cottages might +be happier than ours, if they were real houses fit for human beings +from whom we expect duties and affections." + +"Will you show me your plan?" + +"Yes, certainly. I dare say it is very faulty. But I have been +examining all the plans for cottages in Loudon's book, and picked out +what seem the best things. Oh what a happiness it would be to set the +pattern about here! I think instead of Lazarus at the gate, we should +put the pigsty cottages outside the park-gate." + +Dorothea was in the best temper now. Sir James, as brother in-law, +building model cottages on his estate, and then, perhaps, others being +built at Lowick, and more and more elsewhere in imitation--it would be +as if the spirit of Oberlin had passed over the parishes to make the +life of poverty beautiful! + +Sir James saw all the plans, and took one away to consult upon with +Lovegood. He also took away a complacent sense that he was making +great progress in Miss Brooke's good opinion. The Maltese puppy was +not offered to Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought of +with surprise; but she blamed herself for it. She had been engrossing +Sir James. After all, it was a relief that there was no puppy to tread +upon. + +Celia was present while the plans were being examined, and observed Sir +James's illusion. "He thinks that Dodo cares about him, and she only +cares about her plans. Yet I am not certain that she would refuse him +if she thought he would let her manage everything and carry out all her +notions. And how very uncomfortable Sir James would be! I cannot bear +notions." + +It was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this dislike. She dared +not confess it to her sister in any direct statement, for that would be +laying herself open to a demonstration that she was somehow or other at +war with all goodness. But on safe opportunities, she had an indirect +mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, and calling her +down from her rhapsodic mood by reminding her that people were staring, +not listening. Celia was not impulsive: what she had to say could +wait, and came from her always with the same quiet staccato evenness. +When people talked with energy and emphasis she watched their faces and +features merely. She never could understand how well-bred persons +consented to sing and open their mouths in the ridiculous manner +requisite for that vocal exercise. + +It was not many days before Mr. Casaubon paid a morning visit, on which +he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay the night. +Thus Dorothea had three more conversations with him, and was convinced +that her first impressions had been just. He was all she had at first +imagined him to be: almost everything he had said seemed like a +specimen from a mine, or the inscription on the door of a museum which +might open on the treasures of past ages; and this trust in his mental +wealth was all the deeper and more effective on her inclination because +it was now obvious that his visits were made for her sake. This +accomplished man condescended to think of a young girl, and take the +pains to talk to her, not with absurd compliment, but with an appeal to +her understanding, and sometimes with instructive correction. What +delightful companionship! Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that +trivialities existed, and never handed round that small-talk of heavy +men which is as acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an +odor of cupboard. He talked of what he was interested in, or else he +was silent and bowed with sad civility. To Dorothea this was adorable +genuineness, and religious abstinence from that artificiality which +uses up the soul in the efforts of pretence. For she looked as +reverently at Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she +did at his intellect and learning. He assented to her expressions of +devout feeling, and usually with an appropriate quotation; he allowed +himself to say that he had gone through some spiritual conflicts in his +youth; in short, Dorothea saw that here she might reckon on +understanding, sympathy, and guidance. On one--only one--of her +favorite themes she was disappointed. Mr. Casaubon apparently did not +care about building cottages, and diverted the talk to the extremely +narrow accommodation which was to be had in the dwellings of the +ancient Egyptians, as if to check a too high standard. After he was +gone, Dorothea dwelt with some agitation on this indifference of his; +and her mind was much exercised with arguments drawn from the varying +conditions of climate which modify human needs, and from the admitted +wickedness of pagan despots. Should she not urge these arguments on +Mr. Casaubon when he came again? But further reflection told her that +she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a subject; he +would not disapprove of her occupying herself with it in leisure +moments, as other women expected to occupy themselves with their dress +and embroidery--would not forbid it when--Dorothea felt rather ashamed +as she detected herself in these speculations. But her uncle had been +invited to go to Lowick to stay a couple of days: was it reasonable to +suppose that Mr. Casaubon delighted in Mr. Brooke's society for its own +sake, either with or without documents? + +Meanwhile that little disappointment made her delight the more in Sir +James Chettam's readiness to set on foot the desired improvements. He +came much oftener than Mr. Casaubon, and Dorothea ceased to find him +disagreeable since he showed himself so entirely in earnest; for he had +already entered with much practical ability into Lovegood's estimates, +and was charmingly docile. She proposed to build a couple of cottages, +and transfer two families from their old cabins, which could then be +pulled down, so that new ones could be built on the old sites. Sir +James said "Exactly," and she bore the word remarkably well. + +Certainly these men who had so few spontaneous ideas might be very +useful members of society under good feminine direction, if they were +fortunate in choosing their sisters-in-law! It is difficult to say +whether there was or was not a little wilfulness in her continuing +blind to the possibility that another sort of choice was in question in +relation to her. But her life was just now full of hope and action: +she was not only thinking of her plans, but getting down learned books +from the library and reading many things hastily (that she might be a +little less ignorant in talking to Mr. Casaubon), all the while being +visited with conscientious questionings whether she were not exalting +these poor doings above measure and contemplating them with that +self-satisfaction which was the last doom of ignorance and folly. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + 1st Gent. Our deeds are fetters that we forge ourselves. + 2d Gent. Ay, truly: but I think it is the world + That brings the iron. + + +"Sir James seems determined to do everything you wish," said Celia, as +they were driving home from an inspection of the new building-site. + +"He is a good creature, and more sensible than any one would imagine," +said Dorothea, inconsiderately. + +"You mean that he appears silly." + +"No, no," said Dorothea, recollecting herself, and laying her hand on +her sister's a moment, "but he does not talk equally well on all +subjects." + +"I should think none but disagreeable people do," said Celia, in her +usual purring way. "They must be very dreadful to live with. Only +think! at breakfast, and always." + +Dorothea laughed. "O Kitty, you are a wonderful creature!" She pinched +Celia's chin, being in the mood now to think her very winning and +lovely--fit hereafter to be an eternal cherub, and if it were not +doctrinally wrong to say so, hardly more in need of salvation than a +squirrel. "Of course people need not be always talking well. Only one +tells the quality of their minds when they try to talk well." + +"You mean that Sir James tries and fails." + +"I was speaking generally. Why do you catechise me about Sir James? +It is not the object of his life to please me." + +"Now, Dodo, can you really believe that?" + +"Certainly. He thinks of me as a future sister--that is all." Dorothea +had never hinted this before, waiting, from a certain shyness on such +subjects which was mutual between the sisters, until it should be +introduced by some decisive event. Celia blushed, but said at once-- + +"Pray do not make that mistake any longer, Dodo. When Tantripp was +brushing my hair the other day, she said that Sir James's man knew from +Mrs. Cadwallader's maid that Sir James was to marry the eldest Miss +Brooke." + +"How can you let Tantripp talk such gossip to you, Celia?" said +Dorothea, indignantly, not the less angry because details asleep in her +memory were now awakened to confirm the unwelcome revelation. "You +must have asked her questions. It is degrading." + +"I see no harm at all in Tantripp's talking to me. It is better to +hear what people say. You see what mistakes you make by taking up +notions. I am quite sure that Sir James means to make you an offer; +and he believes that you will accept him, especially since you have +been so pleased with him about the plans. And uncle too--I know he +expects it. Every one can see that Sir James is very much in love with +you." + +The revulsion was so strong and painful in Dorothea's mind that the +tears welled up and flowed abundantly. All her dear plans were +embittered, and she thought with disgust of Sir James's conceiving that +she recognized him as her lover. There was vexation too on account of +Celia. + +"How could he expect it?" she burst forth in her most impetuous manner. +"I have never agreed with him about anything but the cottages: I was +barely polite to him before." + +"But you have been so pleased with him since then; he has begun to feel +quite sure that you are fond of him." + +"Fond of him, Celia! How can you choose such odious expressions?" said +Dorothea, passionately. + +"Dear me, Dorothea, I suppose it would be right for you to be fond of a +man whom you accepted for a husband." + +"It is offensive to me to say that Sir James could think I was fond of +him. Besides, it is not the right word for the feeling I must have +towards the man I would accept as a husband." + +"Well, I am sorry for Sir James. I thought it right to tell you, +because you went on as you always do, never looking just where you are, +and treading in the wrong place. You always see what nobody else sees; +it is impossible to satisfy you; yet you never see what is quite plain. +That's your way, Dodo." Something certainly gave Celia unusual courage; +and she was not sparing the sister of whom she was occasionally in awe. +Who can tell what just criticisms Murr the Cat may be passing on us +beings of wider speculation? + +"It is very painful," said Dorothea, feeling scourged. "I can have no +more to do with the cottages. I must be uncivil to him. I must tell +him I will have nothing to do with them. It is very painful." Her eyes +filled again with tears. + +"Wait a little. Think about it. You know he is going away for a day +or two to see his sister. There will be nobody besides Lovegood." +Celia could not help relenting. "Poor Dodo," she went on, in an +amiable staccato. "It is very hard: it is your favorite _fad_ to draw +plans." + +"_Fad_ to draw plans! Do you think I only care about my +fellow-creatures' houses in that childish way? I may well make +mistakes. How can one ever do anything nobly Christian, living among +people with such petty thoughts?" + +No more was said; Dorothea was too much jarred to recover her temper +and behave so as to show that she admitted any error in herself. She +was disposed rather to accuse the intolerable narrowness and the +purblind conscience of the society around her: and Celia was no longer +the eternal cherub, but a thorn in her spirit, a pink-and-white +nullifidian, worse than any discouraging presence in the "Pilgrim's +Progress." The _fad_ of drawing plans! What was life worth--what great +faith was possible when the whole effect of one's actions could be +withered up into such parched rubbish as that? When she got out of the +carriage, her cheeks were pale and her eyelids red. She was an image +of sorrow, and her uncle who met her in the hall would have been +alarmed, if Celia had not been close to her looking so pretty and +composed, that he at once concluded Dorothea's tears to have their +origin in her excessive religiousness. He had returned, during their +absence, from a journey to the county town, about a petition for the +pardon of some criminal. + +"Well, my dears," he said, kindly, as they went up to kiss him, "I hope +nothing disagreeable has happened while I have been away." + +"No, uncle," said Celia, "we have been to Freshitt to look at the +cottages. We thought you would have been at home to lunch." + +"I came by Lowick to lunch--you didn't know I came by Lowick. And I +have brought a couple of pamphlets for you, Dorothea--in the library, +you know; they lie on the table in the library." + +It seemed as if an electric stream went through Dorothea, thrilling her +from despair into expectation. They were pamphlets about the early +Church. The oppression of Celia, Tantripp, and Sir James was shaken +off, and she walked straight to the library. Celia went up-stairs. Mr. +Brooke was detained by a message, but when he re-entered the library, +he found Dorothea seated and already deep in one of the pamphlets which +had some marginal manuscript of Mr. Casaubon's,--taking it in as +eagerly as she might have taken in the scent of a fresh bouquet after a +dry, hot, dreary walk. + +She was getting away from Tipton and Freshitt, and her own sad +liability to tread in the wrong places on her way to the New Jerusalem. + +Mr. Brooke sat down in his arm-chair, stretched his legs towards the +wood-fire, which had fallen into a wondrous mass of glowing dice +between the dogs, and rubbed his hands gently, looking very mildly +towards Dorothea, but with a neutral leisurely air, as if he had +nothing particular to say. Dorothea closed her pamphlet, as soon as +she was aware of her uncle's presence, and rose as if to go. Usually +she would have been interested about her uncle's merciful errand on +behalf of the criminal, but her late agitation had made her +absent-minded. + +"I came back by Lowick, you know," said Mr. Brooke, not as if with any +intention to arrest her departure, but apparently from his usual +tendency to say what he had said before. This fundamental principle of +human speech was markedly exhibited in Mr. Brooke. "I lunched there +and saw Casaubon's library, and that kind of thing. There's a sharp +air, driving. Won't you sit down, my dear? You look cold." + +Dorothea felt quite inclined to accept the invitation. Some times, +when her uncle's easy way of taking things did not happen to be +exasperating, it was rather soothing. She threw off her mantle and +bonnet, and sat down opposite to him, enjoying the glow, but lifting up +her beautiful hands for a screen. They were not thin hands, or small +hands; but powerful, feminine, maternal hands. She seemed to be +holding them up in propitiation for her passionate desire to know and +to think, which in the unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt had +issued in crying and red eyelids. + +She bethought herself now of the condemned criminal. "What news have +you brought about the sheep-stealer, uncle?" + +"What, poor Bunch?--well, it seems we can't get him off--he is to be +hanged." + +Dorothea's brow took an expression of reprobation and pity. + +"Hanged, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with a quiet nod. "Poor Romilly! +he would have helped us. I knew Romilly. Casaubon didn't know +Romilly. He is a little buried in books, you know, Casaubon is." + +"When a man has great studies and is writing a great work, he must of +course give up seeing much of the world. How can he go about making +acquaintances?" + +"That's true. But a man mopes, you know. I have always been a +bachelor too, but I have that sort of disposition that I never moped; +it was my way to go about everywhere and take in everything. I never +moped: but I can see that Casaubon does, you know. He wants a +companion--a companion, you know." + +"It would be a great honor to any one to be his companion," said +Dorothea, energetically. + +"You like him, eh?" said Mr. Brooke, without showing any surprise, or +other emotion. "Well, now, I've known Casaubon ten years, ever since +he came to Lowick. But I never got anything out of him--any ideas, you +know. However, he is a tiptop man and may be a bishop--that kind of +thing, you know, if Peel stays in. And he has a very high opinion of +you, my dear." + +Dorothea could not speak. + +"The fact is, he has a very high opinion indeed of you. And he speaks +uncommonly well--does Casaubon. He has deferred to me, you not being +of age. In short, I have promised to speak to you, though I told him I +thought there was not much chance. I was bound to tell him that. I +said, my niece is very young, and that kind of thing. But I didn't +think it necessary to go into everything. However, the long and the +short of it is, that he has asked my permission to make you an offer of +marriage--of marriage, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with his explanatory +nod. "I thought it better to tell you, my dear." + +No one could have detected any anxiety in Mr. Brooke's manner, but he +did really wish to know something of his niece's mind, that, if there +were any need for advice, he might give it in time. What feeling he, +as a magistrate who had taken in so many ideas, could make room for, +was unmixedly kind. Since Dorothea did not speak immediately, he +repeated, "I thought it better to tell you, my dear." + +"Thank you, uncle," said Dorothea, in a clear unwavering tone. "I am +very grateful to Mr. Casaubon. If he makes me an offer, I shall accept +him. I admire and honor him more than any man I ever saw." + +Mr. Brooke paused a little, and then said in a lingering low tone, "Ah? +. . . Well! He is a good match in some respects. But now, Chettam is +a good match. And our land lies together. I shall never interfere +against your wishes, my dear. People should have their own way in +marriage, and that sort of thing--up to a certain point, you know. I +have always said that, up to a certain point. I wish you to marry +well; and I have good reason to believe that Chettam wishes to marry +you. I mention it, you know." + +"It is impossible that I should ever marry Sir James Chettam," said +Dorothea. "If he thinks of marrying me, he has made a great mistake." + +"That is it, you see. One never knows. I should have thought Chettam +was just the sort of man a woman would like, now." + +"Pray do not mention him in that light again, uncle," said Dorothea, +feeling some of her late irritation revive. + +Mr. Brooke wondered, and felt that women were an inexhaustible subject +of study, since even he at his age was not in a perfect state of +scientific prediction about them. Here was a fellow like Chettam with +no chance at all. + +"Well, but Casaubon, now. There is no hurry--I mean for you. It's +true, every year will tell upon him. He is over five-and-forty, you +know. I should say a good seven-and-twenty years older than you. To +be sure,--if you like learning and standing, and that sort of thing, we +can't have everything. And his income is good--he has a handsome +property independent of the Church--his income is good. Still he is +not young, and I must not conceal from you, my dear, that I think his +health is not over-strong. I know nothing else against him." + +"I should not wish to have a husband very near my own age," said +Dorothea, with grave decision. "I should wish to have a husband who +was above me in judgment and in all knowledge." + +Mr. Brooke repeated his subdued, "Ah?--I thought you had more of your +own opinion than most girls. I thought you liked your own +opinion--liked it, you know." + +"I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions, but I should +wish to have good reasons for them, and a wise man could help me to see +which opinions had the best foundation, and would help me to live +according to them." + +"Very true. You couldn't put the thing better--couldn't put it better, +beforehand, you know. But there are oddities in things," continued Mr. +Brooke, whose conscience was really roused to do the best he could for +his niece on this occasion. "Life isn't cast in a mould--not cut out +by rule and line, and that sort of thing. I never married myself, and +it will be the better for you and yours. The fact is, I never loved +any one well enough to put myself into a noose for them. It _is_ a +noose, you know. Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes +to be master." + +"I know that I must expect trials, uncle. Marriage is a state of +higher duties. I never thought of it as mere personal ease," said poor +Dorothea. + +"Well, you are not fond of show, a great establishment, balls, dinners, +that kind of thing. I can see that Casaubon's ways might suit you +better than Chettam's. And you shall do as you like, my dear. I would +not hinder Casaubon; I said so at once; for there is no knowing how +anything may turn out. You have not the same tastes as every young +lady; and a clergyman and scholar--who may be a bishop--that kind of +thing--may suit you better than Chettam. Chettam is a good fellow, a +good sound-hearted fellow, you know; but he doesn't go much into ideas. +I did, when I was his age. But Casaubon's eyes, now. I think he has +hurt them a little with too much reading." + +"I should be all the happier, uncle, the more room there was for me to +help him," said Dorothea, ardently. + +"You have quite made up your mind, I see. Well, my dear, the fact is, +I have a letter for you in my pocket." Mr. Brooke handed the letter to +Dorothea, but as she rose to go away, he added, "There is not too much +hurry, my dear. Think about it, you know." + +When Dorothea had left him, he reflected that he had certainly spoken +strongly: he had put the risks of marriage before her in a striking +manner. It was his duty to do so. But as to pretending to be wise for +young people,--no uncle, however much he had travelled in his youth, +absorbed the new ideas, and dined with celebrities now deceased, could +pretend to judge what sort of marriage would turn out well for a young +girl who preferred Casaubon to Chettam. In short, woman was a problem +which, since Mr. Brooke's mind felt blank before it, could be hardly +less complicated than the revolutions of an irregular solid. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Hard students are commonly troubled with gowts, catarrhs, + rheums, cachexia, bradypepsia, bad eyes, stone, and collick, + crudities, oppilations, vertigo, winds, consumptions, and + all such diseases as come by over-much sitting: they are + most part lean, dry, ill-colored . . . and all through + immoderate pains and extraordinary studies. If you will not + believe the truth of this, look upon great Tostatus and + Thomas Aquainas' works; and tell me whether those men took + pains."--BURTON'S Anatomy of Melancholy, P. I, s. 2. + + +This was Mr. Casaubon's letter. + + +MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,--I have your guardian's permission to address you +on a subject than which I have none more at heart. I am not, I trust, +mistaken in the recognition of some deeper correspondence than that of +date in the fact that a consciousness of need in my own life had arisen +contemporaneously with the possibility of my becoming acquainted with +you. For in the first hour of meeting you, I had an impression of your +eminent and perhaps exclusive fitness to supply that need (connected, I +may say, with such activity of the affections as even the +preoccupations of a work too special to be abdicated could not +uninterruptedly dissimulate); and each succeeding opportunity for +observation has given the impression an added depth by convincing me +more emphatically of that fitness which I had preconceived, and thus +evoking more decisively those affections to which I have but now +referred. Our conversations have, I think, made sufficiently clear to +you the tenor of my life and purposes: a tenor unsuited, I am aware, to +the commoner order of minds. But I have discerned in you an elevation +of thought and a capability of devotedness, which I had hitherto not +conceived to be compatible either with the early bloom of youth or with +those graces of sex that may be said at once to win and to confer +distinction when combined, as they notably are in you, with the mental +qualities above indicated. It was, I confess, beyond my hope to meet +with this rare combination of elements both solid and attractive, +adapted to supply aid in graver labors and to cast a charm over vacant +hours; and but for the event of my introduction to you (which, let me +again say, I trust not to be superficially coincident with +foreshadowing needs, but providentially related thereto as stages +towards the completion of a life's plan), I should presumably have gone +on to the last without any attempt to lighten my solitariness by a +matrimonial union. + +Such, my dear Miss Brooke, is the accurate statement of my feelings; +and I rely on your kind indulgence in venturing now to ask you how far +your own are of a nature to confirm my happy presentiment. To be +accepted by you as your husband and the earthly guardian of your +welfare, I should regard as the highest of providential gifts. In +return I can at least offer you an affection hitherto unwasted, and the +faithful consecration of a life which, however short in the sequel, has +no backward pages whereon, if you choose to turn them, you will find +records such as might justly cause you either bitterness or shame. I +await the expression of your sentiments with an anxiety which it would +be the part of wisdom (were it possible) to divert by a more arduous +labor than usual. But in this order of experience I am still young, +and in looking forward to an unfavorable possibility I cannot but feel +that resignation to solitude will be more difficult after the temporary +illumination of hope. + + In any case, I shall remain, + Yours with sincere devotion, + EDWARD CASAUBON. + + +Dorothea trembled while she read this letter; then she fell on her +knees, buried her face, and sobbed. She could not pray: under the rush +of solemn emotion in which thoughts became vague and images floated +uncertainly, she could but cast herself, with a childlike sense of +reclining, in the lap of a divine consciousness which sustained her +own. She remained in that attitude till it was time to dress for +dinner. + +How could it occur to her to examine the letter, to look at it +critically as a profession of love? Her whole soul was possessed by +the fact that a fuller life was opening before her: she was a neophyte +about to enter on a higher grade of initiation. She was going to have +room for the energies which stirred uneasily under the dimness and +pressure of her own ignorance and the petty peremptoriness of the +world's habits. + +Now she would be able to devote herself to large yet definite duties; +now she would be allowed to live continually in the light of a mind +that she could reverence. This hope was not unmixed with the glow of +proud delight--the joyous maiden surprise that she was chosen by the +man whom her admiration had chosen. All Dorothea's passion was +transfused through a mind struggling towards an ideal life; the +radiance of her transfigured girlhood fell on the first object that +came within its level. The impetus with which inclination became +resolution was heightened by those little events of the day which had +roused her discontent with the actual conditions of her life. + +After dinner, when Celia was playing an "air, with variations," a small +kind of tinkling which symbolized the aesthetic part of the young +ladies' education, Dorothea went up to her room to answer Mr. +Casaubon's letter. Why should she defer the answer? She wrote it over +three times, not because she wished to change the wording, but because +her hand was unusually uncertain, and she could not bear that Mr. +Casaubon should think her handwriting bad and illegible. She piqued +herself on writing a hand in which each letter was distinguishable +without any large range of conjecture, and she meant to make much use +of this accomplishment, to save Mr. Casaubon's eyes. Three times she +wrote. + +MY DEAR MR. CASAUBON,--I am very grateful to you for loving me, and +thinking me worthy to be your wife. I can look forward to no better +happiness than that which would be one with yours. If I said more, it +would only be the same thing written out at greater length, for I +cannot now dwell on any other thought than that I may be through life + + Yours devotedly, + DOROTHEA BROOKE. + + +Later in the evening she followed her uncle into the library to give +him the letter, that he might send it in the morning. He was +surprised, but his surprise only issued in a few moments' silence, +during which he pushed about various objects on his writing-table, and +finally stood with his back to the fire, his glasses on his nose, +looking at the address of Dorothea's letter. + +"Have you thought enough about this, my dear?" he said at last. + +"There was no need to think long, uncle. I know of nothing to make me +vacillate. If I changed my mind, it must be because of something +important and entirely new to me." + +"Ah!--then you have accepted him? Then Chettam has no chance? Has +Chettam offended you--offended you, you know? What is it you don't +like in Chettam?" + +"There is nothing that I like in him," said Dorothea, rather +impetuously. + +Mr. Brooke threw his head and shoulders backward as if some one had +thrown a light missile at him. Dorothea immediately felt some +self-rebuke, and said-- + +"I mean in the light of a husband. He is very kind, I think--really +very good about the cottages. A well-meaning man." + +"But you must have a scholar, and that sort of thing? Well, it lies a +little in our family. I had it myself--that love of knowledge, and +going into everything--a little too much--it took me too far; though +that sort of thing doesn't often run in the female-line; or it runs +underground like the rivers in Greece, you know--it comes out in the +sons. Clever sons, clever mothers. I went a good deal into that, at +one time. However, my dear, I have always said that people should do +as they like in these things, up to a certain point. I couldn't, as +your guardian, have consented to a bad match. But Casaubon stands +well: his position is good. I am afraid Chettam will be hurt, though, +and Mrs. Cadwallader will blame me." + +That evening, of course, Celia knew nothing of what had happened. She +attributed Dorothea's abstracted manner, and the evidence of further +crying since they had got home, to the temper she had been in about Sir +James Chettam and the buildings, and was careful not to give further +offence: having once said what she wanted to say, Celia had no +disposition to recur to disagreeable subjects. It had been her nature +when a child never to quarrel with any one--only to observe with wonder +that they quarrelled with her, and looked like turkey-cocks; whereupon +she was ready to play at cat's cradle with them whenever they recovered +themselves. And as to Dorothea, it had always been her way to find +something wrong in her sister's words, though Celia inwardly protested +that she always said just how things were, and nothing else: she never +did and never could put words together out of her own head. But the +best of Dodo was, that she did not keep angry for long together. Now, +though they had hardly spoken to each other all the evening, yet when +Celia put by her work, intending to go to bed, a proceeding in which +she was always much the earlier, Dorothea, who was seated on a low +stool, unable to occupy herself except in meditation, said, with the +musical intonation which in moments of deep but quiet feeling made her +speech like a fine bit of recitative-- + +"Celia, dear, come and kiss me," holding her arms open as she spoke. + +Celia knelt down to get the right level and gave her little butterfly +kiss, while Dorothea encircled her with gentle arms and pressed her +lips gravely on each cheek in turn. + +"Don't sit up, Dodo, you are so pale to-night: go to bed soon," said +Celia, in a comfortable way, without any touch of pathos. + +"No, dear, I am very, very happy," said Dorothea, fervently. + +"So much the better," thought Celia. "But how strangely Dodo goes from +one extreme to the other." + +The next day, at luncheon, the butler, handing something to Mr. Brooke, +said, "Jonas is come back, sir, and has brought this letter." + +Mr. Brooke read the letter, and then, nodding toward Dorothea, said, +"Casaubon, my dear: he will be here to dinner; he didn't wait to write +more--didn't wait, you know." + +It could not seem remarkable to Celia that a dinner guest should be +announced to her sister beforehand, but, her eyes following the same +direction as her uncle's, she was struck with the peculiar effect of +the announcement on Dorothea. It seemed as if something like the +reflection of a white sunlit wing had passed across her features, +ending in one of her rare blushes. For the first time it entered into +Celia's mind that there might be something more between Mr. Casaubon +and her sister than his delight in bookish talk and her delight in +listening. Hitherto she had classed the admiration for this "ugly" and +learned acquaintance with the admiration for Monsieur Liret at +Lausanne, also ugly and learned. Dorothea had never been tired of +listening to old Monsieur Liret when Celia's feet were as cold as +possible, and when it had really become dreadful to see the skin of his +bald head moving about. Why then should her enthusiasm not extend to +Mr. Casaubon simply in the same way as to Monsieur Liret? And it +seemed probable that all learned men had a sort of schoolmaster's view +of young people. + +But now Celia was really startled at the suspicion which had darted +into her mind. She was seldom taken by surprise in this way, her +marvellous quickness in observing a certain order of signs generally +preparing her to expect such outward events as she had an interest in. +Not that she now imagined Mr. Casaubon to be already an accepted lover: +she had only begun to feel disgust at the possibility that anything in +Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an issue. Here was something +really to vex her about Dodo: it was all very well not to accept Sir +James Chettam, but the idea of marrying Mr. Casaubon! Celia felt a +sort of shame mingled with a sense of the ludicrous. But perhaps Dodo, +if she were really bordering on such an extravagance, might be turned +away from it: experience had often shown that her impressibility might +be calculated on. The day was damp, and they were not going to walk +out, so they both went up to their sitting-room; and there Celia +observed that Dorothea, instead of settling down with her usual +diligent interest to some occupation, simply leaned her elbow on an +open book and looked out of the window at the great cedar silvered with +the damp. She herself had taken up the making of a toy for the +curate's children, and was not going to enter on any subject too +precipitately. + +Dorothea was in fact thinking that it was desirable for Celia to know +of the momentous change in Mr. Casaubon's position since he had last +been in the house: it did not seem fair to leave her in ignorance of +what would necessarily affect her attitude towards him; but it was +impossible not to shrink from telling her. Dorothea accused herself of +some meanness in this timidity: it was always odious to her to have any +small fears or contrivances about her actions, but at this moment she +was seeking the highest aid possible that she might not dread the +corrosiveness of Celia's pretty carnally minded prose. Her reverie was +broken, and the difficulty of decision banished, by Celia's small and +rather guttural voice speaking in its usual tone, of a remark aside or +a "by the bye." + +"Is any one else coming to dine besides Mr. Casaubon?" + +"Not that I know of." + +"I hope there is some one else. Then I shall not hear him eat his soup +so." + +"What is there remarkable about his soup-eating?" + +"Really, Dodo, can't you hear how he scrapes his spoon? And he always +blinks before he speaks. I don't know whether Locke blinked, but I'm +sure I am sorry for those who sat opposite to him if he did." + +"Celia," said Dorothea, with emphatic gravity, "pray don't make any +more observations of that kind." + +"Why not? They are quite true," returned Celia, who had her reasons +for persevering, though she was beginning to be a little afraid. + +"Many things are true which only the commonest minds observe." + +"Then I think the commonest minds must be rather useful. I think it is +a pity Mr. Casaubon's mother had not a commoner mind: she might have +taught him better." Celia was inwardly frightened, and ready to run +away, now she had hurled this light javelin. + +Dorothea's feelings had gathered to an avalanche, and there could be no +further preparation. + +"It is right to tell you, Celia, that I am engaged to marry Mr. +Casaubon." + +Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before. The paper man she was +making would have had his leg injured, but for her habitual care of +whatever she held in her hands. She laid the fragile figure down at +once, and sat perfectly still for a few moments. When she spoke there +was a tear gathering. + +"Oh, Dodo, I hope you will be happy." Her sisterly tenderness could not +but surmount other feelings at this moment, and her fears were the +fears of affection. + +Dorothea was still hurt and agitated. + +"It is quite decided, then?" said Celia, in an awed under tone. "And +uncle knows?" + +"I have accepted Mr. Casaubon's offer. My uncle brought me the letter +that contained it; he knew about it beforehand." + +"I beg your pardon, if I have said anything to hurt you, Dodo," said +Celia, with a slight sob. She never could have thought that she should +feel as she did. There was something funereal in the whole affair, and +Mr. Casaubon seemed to be the officiating clergyman, about whom it +would be indecent to make remarks. + +"Never mind, Kitty, do not grieve. We should never admire the same +people. I often offend in something of the same way; I am apt to speak +too strongly of those who don't please me." + +In spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was still smarting: perhaps as +much from Celia's subdued astonishment as from her small criticisms. +Of course all the world round Tipton would be out of sympathy with this +marriage. Dorothea knew of no one who thought as she did about life +and its best objects. + +Nevertheless before the evening was at an end she was very happy. In +an hour's tete-a-tete with Mr. Casaubon she talked to him with more +freedom than she had ever felt before, even pouring out her joy at the +thought of devoting herself to him, and of learning how she might best +share and further all his great ends. Mr. Casaubon was touched with an +unknown delight (what man would not have been?) at this childlike +unrestrained ardor: he was not surprised (what lover would have been?) +that he should be the object of it. + +"My dear young lady--Miss Brooke--Dorothea!" he said, pressing her hand +between his hands, "this is a happiness greater than I had ever +imagined to be in reserve for me. That I should ever meet with a mind +and person so rich in the mingled graces which could render marriage +desirable, was far indeed from my conception. You have all--nay, more +than all--those qualities which I have ever regarded as the +characteristic excellences of womanhood. The great charm of your sex +is its capability of an ardent self-sacrificing affection, and herein +we see its fitness to round and complete the existence of our own. +Hitherto I have known few pleasures save of the severer kind: my +satisfactions have been those of the solitary student. I have been +little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in my hand, but now +I shall pluck them with eagerness, to place them in your bosom." + +No speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention: the +frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog, or the +cawing of an amorous rook. Would it not be rash to conclude that there +was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the +thin music of a mandolin? + +Dorothea's faith supplied all that Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to leave +unsaid: what believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity? The +text, whether of prophet or of poet, expands for whatever we can put +into it, and even his bad grammar is sublime. + +"I am very ignorant--you will quite wonder at my ignorance," said +Dorothea. "I have so many thoughts that may be quite mistaken; and now +I shall be able to tell them all to you, and ask you about them. But," +she added, with rapid imagination of Mr. Casaubon's probable feeling, +"I will not trouble you too much; only when you are inclined to listen +to me. You must often be weary with the pursuit of subjects in your +own track. I shall gain enough if you will take me with you there." + +"How should I be able now to persevere in any path without your +companionship?" said Mr. Casaubon, kissing her candid brow, and feeling +that heaven had vouchsafed him a blessing in every way suited to his +peculiar wants. He was being unconsciously wrought upon by the charms +of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations either for +immediate effects or for remoter ends. It was this which made Dorothea +so childlike, and, according to some judges, so stupid, with all her +reputed cleverness; as, for example, in the present case of throwing +herself, metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubon's feet, and kissing +his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a Protestant Pope. She was +not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough +for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good +enough for Mr. Casaubon. Before he left the next day it had been +decided that the marriage should take place within six weeks. Why not? +Mr. Casaubon's house was ready. It was not a parsonage, but a +considerable mansion, with much land attached to it. The parsonage was +inhabited by the curate, who did all the duty except preaching the +morning sermon. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + My lady's tongue is like the meadow blades, + That cut you stroking them with idle hand. + Nice cutting is her function: she divides + With spiritual edge the millet-seed, + And makes intangible savings. + + +As Mr. Casaubon's carriage was passing out of the gateway, it arrested +the entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with a servant seated +behind. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual, for +Mr. Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady was +quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a "How do you do?" in the nick of time. +In spite of her shabby bonnet and very old Indian shawl, it was plain +that the lodge-keeper regarded her as an important personage, from the +low curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small phaeton. + +"Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?" said the +high-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest chiselled utterance. + +"Pretty well for laying, madam, but they've ta'en to eating their eggs: +I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all." + +"Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once. What will you +sell them a couple? One can't eat fowls of a bad character at a high +price." + +"Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldn't let 'em go, not under." + +"Half-a-crown, these times! Come now--for the Rector's chicken-broth +on a Sunday. He has consumed all ours that I can spare. You are half +paid with the sermon, Mrs. Fitchett, remember that. Take a pair of +tumbler-pigeons for them--little beauties. You must come and see them. +You have no tumblers among your pigeons." + +"Well, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and see 'em after work. He's +very hot on new sorts; to oblige you." + +"Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A pair of +church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own +eggs! Don't you and Fitchett boast too much, that is all!" + +The phaeton was driven onwards with the last words, leaving Mrs. +Fitchett laughing and shaking her head slowly, with an interjectional +"Sure_ly_, sure_ly_!"--from which it might be inferred that she would +have found the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady had +been less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both the +farmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would have +felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about what Mrs. +Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth, descended, +as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades--who +pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most +companionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know +who she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and +religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much +more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not +have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, and +would have been less socially uniting. + +Mr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwallader's merits from a different point of +view, winced a little when her name was announced in the library, where +he was sitting alone. + +"I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here," she said, seating herself +comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and showing a thin but well-built +figure. "I suspect you and he are brewing some bad polities, else you +would not be seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform against +you: remember you are both suspicious characters since you took Peel's +side about the Catholic Bill. I shall tell everybody that you are +going to put up for Middlemarch on the Whig side when old Pinkerton +resigns, and that Casaubon is going to help you in an underhand manner: +going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open the +public-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!" + +"Nothing of the sort," said Mr. Brooke, smiling and rubbing his +eye-glasses, but really blushing a little at the impeachment. +"Casaubon and I don't talk politics much. He doesn't care much about +the philanthropic side of things; punishments, and that kind of thing. +He only cares about Church questions. That is not my line of action, +you know." + +"Ra-a-ther too much, my friend. I have heard of your doings. Who was +it that sold his bit of land to the Papists at Middlemarch? I believe +you bought it on purpose. You are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you are +not burnt in effigy this 5th of November coming. Humphrey would not +come to quarrel with you about it, so I am come." + +"Very good. I was prepared to be persecuted for not persecuting--not +persecuting, you know." + +"There you go! That is a piece of clap-trap you have got ready for the +hustings. Now, _do not_ let them lure you to the hustings, my dear Mr. +Brooke. A man always makes a fool of himself, speechifying: there's no +excuse but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing on +your humming and hawing. You will lose yourself, I forewarn you. You +will make a Saturday pie of all parties' opinions, and be pelted by +everybody." + +"That is what I expect, you know," said Mr. Brooke, not wishing to +betray how little he enjoyed this prophetic sketch--"what I expect as +an independent man. As to the Whigs, a man who goes with the thinkers +is not likely to be hooked on by any party. He may go with them up to +a certain point--up to a certain point, you know. But that is what you +ladies never understand." + +"Where your certain point is? No. I should like to be told how a man +can have any certain point when he belongs to no party--leading a +roving life, and never letting his friends know his address. 'Nobody +knows where Brooke will be--there's no counting on Brooke'--that is +what people say of you, to be quite frank. Now, do turn respectable. +How will you like going to Sessions with everybody looking shy on you, +and you with a bad conscience and an empty pocket?" + +"I don't pretend to argue with a lady on politics," said Mr. Brooke, +with an air of smiling indifference, but feeling rather unpleasantly +conscious that this attack of Mrs. Cadwallader's had opened the +defensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him. "Your +sex are not thinkers, you know--varium et mutabile semper--that kind of +thing. You don't know Virgil. I knew"--Mr. Brooke reflected in time +that he had not had the personal acquaintance of the Augustan poet--"I +was going to say, poor Stoddart, you know. That was what _he_ said. +You ladies are always against an independent attitude--a man's caring +for nothing but truth, and that sort of thing. And there is no part of +the county where opinion is narrower than it is here--I don't mean to +throw stones, you know, but somebody is wanted to take the independent +line; and if I don't take it, who will?" + +"Who? Why, any upstart who has got neither blood nor position. People +of standing should consume their independent nonsense at home, not hawk +it about. And you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as your +daughter, to one of our best men. Sir James would be cruelly annoyed: +it will be too hard on him if you turn round now and make yourself a +Whig sign-board." + +Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorothea's engagement had no +sooner been decided, than he had thought of Mrs. Cadwallader's +prospective taunts. It might have been easy for ignorant observers to +say, "Quarrel with Mrs. Cadwallader;" but where is a country gentleman +to go who quarrels with his oldest neighbors? Who could taste the fine +flavor in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually, like wine +without a seal? Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to a +certain point. + +"I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but I am sorry to +say there is no prospect of his marrying my niece," said Mr. Brooke, +much relieved to see through the window that Celia was coming in. + +"Why not?" said Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharp note of surprise. "It +is hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it." + +"My niece has chosen another suitor--has chosen him, you know. I have +had nothing to do with it. I should have preferred Chettam; and I +should have said Chettam was the man any girl would have chosen. But +there is no accounting for these things. Your sex is capricious, you +know." + +"Why, whom do you mean to say that you are going to let her marry?" +Mrs. Cadwallader's mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities of +choice for Dorothea. + +But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the garden, and the +greeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke from the necessity of answering +immediately. He got up hastily, and saying, "By the way, I must speak +to Wright about the horses," shuffled quickly out of the room. + +"My dear child, what is this?--this about your sister's engagement?" +said Mrs. Cadwallader. + +"She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon," said Celia, resorting, as +usual, to the simplest statement of fact, and enjoying this opportunity +of speaking to the Rector's wife alone. + +"This is frightful. How long has it been going on?" + +"I only knew of it yesterday. They are to be married in six weeks." + +"Well, my dear, I wish you joy of your brother-in-law." + +"I am so sorry for Dorothea." + +"Sorry! It is her doing, I suppose." + +"Yes; she says Mr. Casaubon has a great soul." + +"With all my heart." + +"Oh, Mrs. Cadwallader, I don't think it can be nice to marry a man with +a great soul." + +"Well, my dear, take warning. You know the look of one now; when the +next comes and wants to marry you, don't you accept him." + +"I'm sure I never should." + +"No; one such in a family is enough. So your sister never cared about +Sir James Chettam? What would you have said to _him_ for a +brother-in-law?" + +"I should have liked that very much. I am sure he would have been a +good husband. Only," Celia added, with a slight blush (she sometimes +seemed to blush as she breathed), "I don't think he would have suited +Dorothea." + +"Not high-flown enough?" + +"Dodo is very strict. She thinks so much about everything, and is so +particular about what one says. Sir James never seemed to please her." + +"She must have encouraged him, I am sure. That is not very creditable." + +"Please don't be angry with Dodo; she does not see things. She thought +so much about the cottages, and she was rude to Sir James sometimes; +but he is so kind, he never noticed it." + +"Well," said Mrs. Cadwallader, putting on her shawl, and rising, as if +in haste, "I must go straight to Sir James and break this to him. He +will have brought his mother back by this time, and I must call. Your +uncle will never tell him. We are all disappointed, my dear. Young +people should think of their families in marrying. I set a bad +example--married a poor clergyman, and made myself a pitiable object +among the De Bracys--obliged to get my coals by stratagem, and pray to +heaven for my salad oil. However, Casaubon has money enough; I must do +him that justice. As to his blood, I suppose the family quarterings +are three cuttle-fish sable, and a commentator rampant. By the bye, +before I go, my dear, I must speak to your Mrs. Carter about pastry. I +want to send my young cook to learn of her. Poor people with four +children, like us, you know, can't afford to keep a good cook. I have +no doubt Mrs. Carter will oblige me. Sir James's cook is a perfect +dragon." + +In less than an hour, Mrs. Cadwallader had circumvented Mrs. Carter and +driven to Freshitt Hall, which was not far from her own parsonage, her +husband being resident in Freshitt and keeping a curate in Tipton. + +Sir James Chettam had returned from the short journey which had kept +him absent for a couple of days, and had changed his dress, intending +to ride over to Tipton Grange. His horse was standing at the door when +Mrs. Cadwallader drove up, and he immediately appeared there himself, +whip in hand. Lady Chettam had not yet returned, but Mrs. +Cadwallader's errand could not be despatched in the presence of grooms, +so she asked to be taken into the conservatory close by, to look at the +new plants; and on coming to a contemplative stand, she said-- + +"I have a great shock for you; I hope you are not so far gone in love +as you pretended to be." + +It was of no use protesting, against Mrs. Cadwallader's way of putting +things. But Sir James's countenance changed a little. He felt a vague +alarm. + +"I do believe Brooke is going to expose himself after all. I accused +him of meaning to stand for Middlemarch on the Liberal side, and he +looked silly and never denied it--talked about the independent line, +and the usual nonsense." + +"Is that all?" said Sir James, much relieved. + +"Why," rejoined Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharper note, "you don't mean +to say that you would like him to turn public man in that way--making a +sort of political Cheap Jack of himself?" + +"He might be dissuaded, I should think. He would not like the expense." + +"That is what I told him. He is vulnerable to reason there--always a +few grains of common-sense in an ounce of miserliness. Miserliness is +a capital quality to run in families; it's the safe side for madness to +dip on. And there must be a little crack in the Brooke family, else we +should not see what we are to see." + +"What? Brooke standing for Middlemarch?" + +"Worse than that. I really feel a little responsible. I always told +you Miss Brooke would be such a fine match. I knew there was a great +deal of nonsense in her--a flighty sort of Methodistical stuff. But +these things wear out of girls. However, I am taken by surprise for +once." + +"What do you mean, Mrs. Cadwallader?" said Sir James. His fear lest +Miss Brooke should have run away to join the Moravian Brethren, or some +preposterous sect unknown to good society, was a little allayed by the +knowledge that Mrs. Cadwallader always made the worst of things. "What +has happened to Miss Brooke? Pray speak out." + +"Very well. She is engaged to be married." Mrs. Cadwallader paused a +few moments, observing the deeply hurt expression in her friend's face, +which he was trying to conceal by a nervous smile, while he whipped his +boot; but she soon added, "Engaged to Casaubon." + +Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it up. Perhaps his +face had never before gathered so much concentrated disgust as when he +turned to Mrs. Cadwallader and repeated, "Casaubon?" + +"Even so. You know my errand now." + +"Good God! It is horrible! He is no better than a mummy!" (The point +of view has to be allowed for, as that of a blooming and disappointed +rival.) + +"She says, he is a great soul.--A great bladder for dried peas to +rattle in!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. + +"What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?" said Sir James. +"He has one foot in the grave." + +"He means to draw it out again, I suppose." + +"Brooke ought not to allow it: he should insist on its being put off +till she is of age. She would think better of it then. What is a +guardian for?" + +"As if you could ever squeeze a resolution out of Brooke!" + +"Cadwallader might talk to him." + +"Not he! Humphrey finds everybody charming. I never can get him to +abuse Casaubon. He will even speak well of the bishop, though I tell +him it is unnatural in a beneficed clergyman; what can one do with a +husband who attends so little to the decencies? I hide it as well as I +can by abusing everybody myself. Come, come, cheer up! you are well +rid of Miss Brooke, a girl who would have been requiring you to see the +stars by daylight. Between ourselves, little Celia is worth two of +her, and likely after all to be the better match. For this marriage to +Casaubon is as good as going to a nunnery." + +"Oh, on my own account--it is for Miss Brooke's sake I think her +friends should try to use their influence." + +"Well, Humphrey doesn't know yet. But when I tell him, you may depend +on it he will say, 'Why not? Casaubon is a good fellow--and +young--young enough.' These charitable people never know vinegar from +wine till they have swallowed it and got the colic. However, if I were +a man I should prefer Celia, especially when Dorothea was gone. The +truth is, you have been courting one and have won the other. I can see +that she admires you almost as much as a man expects to be admired. If +it were any one but me who said so, you might think it exaggeration. +Good-by!" + +Sir James handed Mrs. Cadwallader to the phaeton, and then jumped on +his horse. He was not going to renounce his ride because of his +friend's unpleasant news--only to ride the faster in some other +direction than that of Tipton Grange. + +Now, why on earth should Mrs. Cadwallader have been at all busy about +Miss Brooke's marriage; and why, when one match that she liked to think +she had a hand in was frustrated, should she have straightway contrived +the preliminaries of another? Was there any ingenious plot, any +hide-and-seek course of action, which might be detected by a careful +telescopic watch? Not at all: a telescope might have swept the +parishes of Tipton and Freshitt, the whole area visited by Mrs. +Cadwallader in her phaeton, without witnessing any interview that could +excite suspicion, or any scene from which she did not return with the +same unperturbed keenness of eye and the same high natural color. In +fact, if that convenient vehicle had existed in the days of the Seven +Sages, one of them would doubtless have remarked, that you can know +little of women by following them about in their pony-phaetons. Even +with a microscope directed on a water-drop we find ourselves making +interpretations which turn out to be rather coarse; for whereas under a +weak lens you may seem to see a creature exhibiting an active voracity +into which other smaller creatures actively play as if they were so +many animated tax-pennies, a stronger lens reveals to you certain +tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these victims while the +swallower waits passively at his receipt of custom. In this way, +metaphorically speaking, a strong lens applied to Mrs. Cadwallader's +match-making will show a play of minute causes producing what may be +called thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort of food she +needed. Her life was rurally simple, quite free from secrets either +foul, dangerous, or otherwise important, and not consciously affected +by the great affairs of the world. All the more did the affairs of the +great world interest her, when communicated in the letters of high-born +relations: the way in which fascinating younger sons had gone to the +dogs by marrying their mistresses; the fine old-blooded idiocy of young +Lord Tapir, and the furious gouty humors of old Lord Megatherium; the +exact crossing of genealogies which had brought a coronet into a new +branch and widened the relations of scandal,--these were topics of +which she retained details with the utmost accuracy, and reproduced +them in an excellent pickle of epigrams, which she herself enjoyed the +more because she believed as unquestionably in birth and no-birth as +she did in game and vermin. She would never have disowned any one on +the ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take his dinner in a basin +would have seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and I +fear his aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But her +feeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious hatred: they +had probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and Mrs. +Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid in +kind at the Rectory: such people were no part of God's design in making +the world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. A town +where such monsters abounded was hardly more than a sort of low comedy, +which could not be taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the +universe. Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwallader +inquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be +quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have +the honor to coexist with hers. + +With such a mind, active as phosphorus, biting everything that came +near into the form that suited it, how could Mrs. Cadwallader feel that +the Miss Brookes and their matrimonial prospects were alien to her? +especially as it had been the habit of years for her to scold Mr. +Brooke with the friendliest frankness, and let him know in confidence +that she thought him a poor creature. From the first arrival of the +young ladies in Tipton she had prearranged Dorothea's marriage with Sir +James, and if it had taken place would have been quite sure that it was +her doing: that it should not take place after she had preconceived it, +caused her an irritation which every thinker will sympathize with. She +was the diplomatist of Tipton and Freshitt, and for anything to happen +in spite of her was an offensive irregularity. As to freaks like this +of Miss Brooke's, Mrs. Cadwallader had no patience with them, and now +saw that her opinion of this girl had been infected with some of her +husband's weak charitableness: those Methodistical whims, that air of +being more religious than the rector and curate together, came from a +deeper and more constitutional disease than she had been willing to +believe. + +"However," said Mrs. Cadwallader, first to herself and afterwards to +her husband, "I throw her over: there was a chance, if she had married +Sir James, of her becoming a sane, sensible woman. He would never have +contradicted her, and when a woman is not contradicted, she has no +motive for obstinacy in her absurdities. But now I wish her joy of her +hair shirt." + +It followed that Mrs. Cadwallader must decide on another match for Sir +James, and having made up her mind that it was to be the younger Miss +Brooke, there could not have been a more skilful move towards the +success of her plan than her hint to the baronet that he had made an +impression on Celia's heart. For he was not one of those gentlemen who +languish after the unattainable Sappho's apple that laughs from the +topmost bough--the charms which + + "Smile like the knot of cowslips on the cliff, + Not to be come at by the willing hand." + +He had no sonnets to write, and it could not strike him agreeably that +he was not an object of preference to the woman whom he had preferred. +Already the knowledge that Dorothea had chosen Mr. Casaubon had bruised +his attachment and relaxed its hold. Although Sir James was a +sportsman, he had some other feelings towards women than towards grouse +and foxes, and did not regard his future wife in the light of prey, +valuable chiefly for the excitements of the chase. Neither was he so +well acquainted with the habits of primitive races as to feel that an +ideal combat for her, tomahawk in hand, so to speak, was necessary to +the historical continuity of the marriage-tie. On the contrary, having +the amiable vanity which knits us to those who are fond of us, and +disinclines us to those who are indifferent, and also a good grateful +nature, the mere idea that a woman had a kindness towards him spun +little threads of tenderness from out his heart towards hers. + +Thus it happened, that after Sir James had ridden rather fast for half +an hour in a direction away from Tipton Grange, he slackened his pace, +and at last turned into a road which would lead him back by a shorter +cut. Various feelings wrought in him the determination after all to go +to the Grange to-day as if nothing new had happened. He could not help +rejoicing that he had never made the offer and been rejected; mere +friendly politeness required that he should call to see Dorothea about +the cottages, and now happily Mrs. Cadwallader had prepared him to +offer his congratulations, if necessary, without showing too much +awkwardness. He really did not like it: giving up Dorothea was very +painful to him; but there was something in the resolve to make this +visit forthwith and conquer all show of feeling, which was a sort of +file-biting and counter-irritant. And without his distinctly +recognizing the impulse, there certainly was present in him the sense +that Celia would be there, and that he should pay her more attention +than he had done before. + +We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between +breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale +about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pride +helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide +our own hurts--not to hurt others. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "Piacer e popone + Vuol la sua stagione." + --Italian Proverb. + + +Mr. Casaubon, as might be expected, spent a great deal of his time at +the Grange in these weeks, and the hindrance which courtship occasioned +to the progress of his great work--the Key to all +Mythologies--naturally made him look forward the more eagerly to the +happy termination of courtship. But he had deliberately incurred the +hindrance, having made up his mind that it was now time for him to +adorn his life with the graces of female companionship, to irradiate +the gloom which fatigue was apt to hang over the intervals of studious +labor with the play of female fancy, and to secure in this, his +culminating age, the solace of female tendance for his declining years. +Hence he determined to abandon himself to the stream of feeling, and +perhaps was surprised to find what an exceedingly shallow rill it was. +As in droughty regions baptism by immersion could only be performed +symbolically, Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the utmost +approach to a plunge which his stream would afford him; and he +concluded that the poets had much exaggerated the force of masculine +passion. Nevertheless, he observed with pleasure that Miss Brooke +showed an ardent submissive affection which promised to fulfil his most +agreeable previsions of marriage. It had once or twice crossed his +mind that possibly there was some deficiency in Dorothea to account for +the moderation of his abandonment; but he was unable to discern the +deficiency, or to figure to himself a woman who would have pleased him +better; so that there was clearly no reason to fall back upon but the +exaggerations of human tradition. + +"Could I not be preparing myself now to be more useful?" said Dorothea +to him, one morning, early in the time of courtship; "could I not learn +to read Latin and Greek aloud to you, as Milton's daughters did to +their father, without understanding what they read?" + +"I fear that would be wearisome to you," said Mr. Casaubon, smiling; +"and, indeed, if I remember rightly, the young women you have mentioned +regarded that exercise in unknown tongues as a ground for rebellion +against the poet." + +"Yes; but in the first place they were very naughty girls, else they +would have been proud to minister to such a father; and in the second +place they might have studied privately and taught themselves to +understand what they read, and then it would have been interesting. I +hope you don't expect me to be naughty and stupid?" + +"I expect you to be all that an exquisite young lady can be in every +possible relation of life. Certainly it might be a great advantage if +you were able to copy the Greek character, and to that end it were well +to begin with a little reading." + +Dorothea seized this as a precious permission. She would not have +asked Mr. Casaubon at once to teach her the languages, dreading of all +things to be tiresome instead of helpful; but it was not entirely out +of devotion to her future husband that she wished to know Latin and +Greek. Those provinces of masculine knowledge seemed to her a +standing-ground from which all truth could be seen more truly. As it +was, she constantly doubted her own conclusions, because she felt her +own ignorance: how could she be confident that one-roomed cottages were +not for the glory of God, when men who knew the classics appeared to +conciliate indifference to the cottages with zeal for the glory? +Perhaps even Hebrew might be necessary--at least the alphabet and a few +roots--in order to arrive at the core of things, and judge soundly on +the social duties of the Christian. And she had not reached that point +of renunciation at which she would have been satisfied with having a +wise husband: she wished, poor child, to be wise herself. Miss Brooke +was certainly very naive with all her alleged cleverness. Celia, whose +mind had never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness of other +people's pretensions much more readily. To have in general but little +feeling, seems to be the only security against feeling too much on any +particular occasion. + +However, Mr. Casaubon consented to listen and teach for an hour +together, like a schoolmaster of little boys, or rather like a lover, +to whom a mistress's elementary ignorance and difficulties have a +touching fitness. Few scholars would have disliked teaching the +alphabet under such circumstances. But Dorothea herself was a little +shocked and discouraged at her own stupidity, and the answers she got +to some timid questions about the value of the Greek accents gave her a +painful suspicion that here indeed there might be secrets not capable +of explanation to a woman's reason. + +Mr. Brooke had no doubt on that point, and expressed himself with his +usual strength upon it one day that he came into the library while the +reading was going forward. + +"Well, but now, Casaubon, such deep studies, classics, mathematics, +that kind of thing, are too taxing for a woman--too taxing, you know." + +"Dorothea is learning to read the characters simply," said Mr. +Casaubon, evading the question. "She had the very considerate thought +of saving my eyes." + +"Ah, well, without understanding, you know--that may not be so bad. +But there is a lightness about the feminine mind--a touch and +go--music, the fine arts, that kind of thing--they should study those +up to a certain point, women should; but in a light way, you know. A +woman should be able to sit down and play you or sing you a good old +English tune. That is what I like; though I have heard most +things--been at the opera in Vienna: Gluck, Mozart, everything of that +sort. But I'm a conservative in music--it's not like ideas, you know. +I stick to the good old tunes." + +"Mr. Casaubon is not fond of the piano, and I am very glad he is not," +said Dorothea, whose slight regard for domestic music and feminine fine +art must be forgiven her, considering the small tinkling and smearing +in which they chiefly consisted at that dark period. She smiled and +looked up at her betrothed with grateful eyes. If he had always been +asking her to play the "Last Rose of Summer," she would have required +much resignation. "He says there is only an old harpsichord at Lowick, +and it is covered with books." + +"Ah, there you are behind Celia, my dear. Celia, now, plays very +prettily, and is always ready to play. However, since Casaubon does +not like it, you are all right. But it's a pity you should not have +little recreations of that sort, Casaubon: the bow always strung--that +kind of thing, you know--will not do." + +"I never could look on it in the light of a recreation to have my ears +teased with measured noises," said Mr. Casaubon. "A tune much iterated +has the ridiculous effect of making the words in my mind perform a sort +of minuet to keep time--an effect hardly tolerable, I imagine, after +boyhood. As to the grander forms of music, worthy to accompany solemn +celebrations, and even to serve as an educating influence according to +the ancient conception, I say nothing, for with these we are not +immediately concerned." + +"No; but music of that sort I should enjoy," said Dorothea. "When we +were coming home from Lausanne my uncle took us to hear the great organ +at Freiberg, and it made me sob." + +"That kind of thing is not healthy, my dear," said Mr. Brooke. +"Casaubon, she will be in your hands now: you must teach my niece to +take things more quietly, eh, Dorothea?" + +He ended with a smile, not wishing to hurt his niece, but really +thinking that it was perhaps better for her to be early married to so +sober a fellow as Casaubon, since she would not hear of Chettam. + +"It is wonderful, though," he said to himself as he shuffled out of the +room--"it is wonderful that she should have liked him. However, the +match is good. I should have been travelling out of my brief to have +hindered it, let Mrs. Cadwallader say what she will. He is pretty +certain to be a bishop, is Casaubon. That was a very seasonable +pamphlet of his on the Catholic Question:--a deanery at least. They +owe him a deanery." + +And here I must vindicate a claim to philosophical reflectiveness, by +remarking that Mr. Brooke on this occasion little thought of the +Radical speech which, at a later period, he was led to make on the +incomes of the bishops. What elegant historian would neglect a +striking opportunity for pointing out that his heroes did not foresee +the history of the world, or even their own actions?--For example, that +Henry of Navarre, when a Protestant baby, little thought of being a +Catholic monarch; or that Alfred the Great, when he measured his +laborious nights with burning candles, had no idea of future gentlemen +measuring their idle days with watches. Here is a mine of truth, +which, however vigorously it may be worked, is likely to outlast our +coal. + +But of Mr. Brooke I make a further remark perhaps less warranted by +precedent--namely, that if he had foreknown his speech, it might not +have made any great difference. To think with pleasure of his niece's +husband having a large ecclesiastical income was one thing--to make a +Liberal speech was another thing; and it is a narrow mind which cannot +look at a subject from various points of view. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Oh, rescue her! I am her brother now, + And you her father. Every gentle maid + Should have a guardian in each gentleman." + + +It was wonderful to Sir James Chettam how well he continued to like +going to the Grange after he had once encountered the difficulty of +seeing Dorothea for the first time in the light of a woman who was +engaged to another man. Of course the forked lightning seemed to pass +through him when he first approached her, and he remained conscious +throughout the interview of hiding uneasiness; but, good as he was, it +must be owned that his uneasiness was less than it would have been if +he had thought his rival a brilliant and desirable match. He had no +sense of being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon; he was only shocked that +Dorothea was under a melancholy illusion, and his mortification lost +some of its bitterness by being mingled with compassion. + +Nevertheless, while Sir James said to himself that he had completely +resigned her, since with the perversity of a Desdemona she had not +affected a proposed match that was clearly suitable and according to +nature; he could not yet be quite passive under the idea of her +engagement to Mr. Casaubon. On the day when he first saw them together +in the light of his present knowledge, it seemed to him that he had not +taken the affair seriously enough. Brooke was really culpable; he +ought to have hindered it. Who could speak to him? Something might be +done perhaps even now, at least to defer the marriage. On his way home +he turned into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader. Happily, the +Rector was at home, and his visitor was shown into the study, where all +the fishing tackle hung. But he himself was in a little room +adjoining, at work with his turning apparatus, and he called to the +baronet to join him there. The two were better friends than any other +landholder and clergyman in the county--a significant fact which was in +agreement with the amiable expression of their faces. + +Mr. Cadwallader was a large man, with full lips and a sweet smile; very +plain and rough in his exterior, but with that solid imperturbable ease +and good-humor which is infectious, and like great grassy hills in the +sunshine, quiets even an irritated egoism, and makes it rather ashamed +of itself. "Well, how are you?" he said, showing a hand not quite fit +to be grasped. "Sorry I missed you before. Is there anything +particular? You look vexed." + +Sir James's brow had a little crease in it, a little depression of the +eyebrow, which he seemed purposely to exaggerate as he answered. + +"It is only this conduct of Brooke's. I really think somebody should +speak to him." + +"What? meaning to stand?" said Mr. Cadwallader, going on with the +arrangement of the reels which he had just been turning. "I hardly +think he means it. But where's the harm, if he likes it? Any one who +objects to Whiggery should be glad when the Whigs don't put up the +strongest fellow. They won't overturn the Constitution with our friend +Brooke's head for a battering ram." + +"Oh, I don't mean that," said Sir James, who, after putting down his +hat and throwing himself into a chair, had begun to nurse his leg and +examine the sole of his boot with much bitterness. "I mean this +marriage. I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon." + +"What is the matter with Casaubon? I see no harm in him--if the girl +likes him." + +"She is too young to know what she likes. Her guardian ought to +interfere. He ought not to allow the thing to be done in this headlong +manner. I wonder a man like you, Cadwallader--a man with daughters, +can look at the affair with indifference: and with such a heart as +yours! Do think seriously about it." + +"I am not joking; I am as serious as possible," said the Rector, with a +provoking little inward laugh. "You are as bad as Elinor. She has +been wanting me to go and lecture Brooke; and I have reminded her that +her friends had a very poor opinion of the match she made when she +married me." + +"But look at Casaubon," said Sir James, indignantly. "He must be +fifty, and I don't believe he could ever have been much more than the +shadow of a man. Look at his legs!" + +"Confound you handsome young fellows! you think of having it all your +own way in the world. You don't under stand women. They don't admire +you half so much as you admire yourselves. Elinor used to tell her +sisters that she married me for my ugliness--it was so various and +amusing that it had quite conquered her prudence." + +"You! it was easy enough for a woman to love you. But this is no +question of beauty. I don't _like_ Casaubon." This was Sir James's +strongest way of implying that he thought ill of a man's character. + +"Why? what do you know against him?" said the Rector laying down his +reels, and putting his thumbs into his armholes with an air of +attention. + +Sir James paused. He did not usually find it easy to give his reasons: +it seemed to him strange that people should not know them without being +told, since he only felt what was reasonable. At last he said-- + +"Now, Cadwallader, has he got any heart?" + +"Well, yes. I don't mean of the melting sort, but a sound kernel, +_that_ you may be sure of. He is very good to his poor relations: +pensions several of the women, and is educating a young fellow at a +good deal of expense. Casaubon acts up to his sense of justice. His +mother's sister made a bad match--a Pole, I think--lost herself--at any +rate was disowned by her family. If it had not been for that, Casaubon +would not have had so much money by half. I believe he went himself to +find out his cousins, and see what he could do for them. Every man +would not ring so well as that, if you tried his metal. _You_ would, +Chettam; but not every man." + +"I don't know," said Sir James, coloring. "I am not so sure of +myself." He paused a moment, and then added, "That was a right thing +for Casaubon to do. But a man may wish to do what is right, and yet be +a sort of parchment code. A woman may not be happy with him. And I +think when a girl is so young as Miss Brooke is, her friends ought to +interfere a little to hinder her from doing anything foolish. You +laugh, because you fancy I have some feeling on my own account. But +upon my honor, it is not that. I should feel just the same if I were +Miss Brooke's brother or uncle." + +"Well, but what should you do?" + +"I should say that the marriage must not be decided on until she was of +age. And depend upon it, in that case, it would never come off. I +wish you saw it as I do--I wish you would talk to Brooke about it." + +Sir James rose as he was finishing his sentence, for he saw Mrs. +Cadwallader entering from the study. She held by the hand her youngest +girl, about five years old, who immediately ran to papa, and was made +comfortable on his knee. + +"I hear what you are talking about," said the wife. "But you will make +no impression on Humphrey. As long as the fish rise to his bait, +everybody is what he ought to be. Bless you, Casaubon has got a +trout-stream, and does not care about fishing in it himself: could +there be a better fellow?" + +"Well, there is something in that," said the Rector, with his quiet, +inward laugh. "It is a very good quality in a man to have a +trout-stream." + +"But seriously," said Sir James, whose vexation had not yet spent +itself, "don't you think the Rector might do some good by speaking?" + +"Oh, I told you beforehand what he would say," answered Mrs. +Cadwallader, lifting up her eyebrows. "I have done what I could: I +wash my hands of the marriage." + +"In the first place," said the Rector, looking rather grave, "it would +be nonsensical to expect that I could convince Brooke, and make him act +accordingly. Brooke is a very good fellow, but pulpy; he will run into +any mould, but he won't keep shape." + +"He might keep shape long enough to defer the marriage," said Sir James. + +"But, my dear Chettam, why should I use my influence to Casaubon's +disadvantage, unless I were much surer than I am that I should be +acting for the advantage of Miss Brooke? I know no harm of Casaubon. +I don't care about his Xisuthrus and Fee-fo-fum and the rest; but then +he doesn't care about my fishing-tackle. As to the line he took on the +Catholic Question, that was unexpected; but he has always been civil to +me, and I don't see why I should spoil his sport. For anything I can +tell, Miss Brooke may be happier with him than she would be with any +other man." + +"Humphrey! I have no patience with you. You know you would rather +dine under the hedge than with Casaubon alone. You have nothing to say +to each other." + +"What has that to do with Miss Brooke's marrying him? She does not do +it for my amusement." + +"He has got no good red blood in his body," said Sir James. + +"No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying-glass and it was all +semicolons and parentheses," said Mrs. Cadwallader. + +"Why does he not bring out his book, instead of marrying," said Sir +James, with a disgust which he held warranted by the sound feeling of +an English layman. + +"Oh, he dreams footnotes, and they run away with all his brains. They +say, when he was a little boy, he made an abstract of 'Hop o' my +Thumb,' and he has been making abstracts ever since. Ugh! And that is +the man Humphrey goes on saying that a woman may be happy with." + +"Well, he is what Miss Brooke likes," said the Rector. "I don't +profess to understand every young lady's taste." + +"But if she were your own daughter?" said Sir James. + +"That would be a different affair. She is _not_ my daughter, and I +don't feel called upon to interfere. Casaubon is as good as most of +us. He is a scholarly clergyman, and creditable to the cloth. Some +Radical fellow speechifying at Middlemarch said Casaubon was the +learned straw-chopping incumbent, and Freke was the brick-and-mortar +incumbent, and I was the angling incumbent. And upon my word, I don't +see that one is worse or better than the other." The Rector ended with +his silent laugh. He always saw the joke of any satire against +himself. His conscience was large and easy, like the rest of him: it +did only what it could do without any trouble. + +Clearly, there would be no interference with Miss Brooke's marriage +through Mr. Cadwallader; and Sir James felt with some sadness that she +was to have perfect liberty of misjudgment. It was a sign of his good +disposition that he did not slacken at all in his intention of carrying +out Dorothea's design of the cottages. Doubtless this persistence was +the best course for his own dignity: but pride only helps us to be +generous; it never makes us so, any more than vanity makes us witty. +She was now enough aware of Sir James's position with regard to her, to +appreciate the rectitude of his perseverance in a landlord's duty, to +which he had at first been urged by a lover's complaisance, and her +pleasure in it was great enough to count for something even in her +present happiness. Perhaps she gave to Sir James Chettam's cottages +all the interest she could spare from Mr. Casaubon, or rather from the +symphony of hopeful dreams, admiring trust, and passionate self +devotion which that learned gentleman had set playing in her soul. +Hence it happened that in the good baronet's succeeding visits, while +he was beginning to pay small attentions to Celia, he found himself +talking with more and more pleasure to Dorothea. She was perfectly +unconstrained and without irritation towards him now, and he was +gradually discovering the delight there is in frank kindness and +companionship between a man and a woman who have no passion to hide or +confess. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + 1st Gent. An ancient land in ancient oracles + Is called "law-thirsty": all the struggle there + Was after order and a perfect rule. + Pray, where lie such lands now? . . . + 2d Gent. Why, where they lay of old--in human souls. + + +Mr. Casaubon's behavior about settlements was highly satisfactory to +Mr. Brooke, and the preliminaries of marriage rolled smoothly along, +shortening the weeks of courtship. The betrothed bride must see her +future home, and dictate any changes that she would like to have made +there. A woman dictates before marriage in order that she may have an +appetite for submission afterwards. And certainly, the mistakes that +we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly +raise some wonder that we are so fond of it. + +On a gray but dry November morning Dorothea drove to Lowick in company +with her uncle and Celia. Mr. Casaubon's home was the manor-house. +Close by, visible from some parts of the garden, was the little church, +with the old parsonage opposite. In the beginning of his career, Mr. +Casaubon had only held the living, but the death of his brother had put +him in possession of the manor also. It had a small park, with a fine +old oak here and there, and an avenue of limes towards the southwest +front, with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so that from +the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope +of greensward till the limes ended in a level of corn and pastures, +which often seemed to melt into a lake under the setting sun. This was +the happy side of the house, for the south and east looked rather +melancholy even under the brightest morning. The grounds here were +more confined, the flower-beds showed no very careful tendance, and +large clumps of trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had risen high, not ten +yards from the windows. The building, of greenish stone, was in the +old English style, not ugly, but small-windowed and melancholy-looking: +the sort of house that must have children, many flowers, open windows, +and little vistas of bright things, to make it seem a joyous home. In +this latter end of autumn, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves +falling slowly athwart the dark evergreens in a stillness without +sunshine, the house too had an air of autumnal decline, and Mr. +Casaubon, when he presented himself, had no bloom that could be thrown +into relief by that background. + +"Oh dear!" Celia said to herself, "I am sure Freshitt Hall would have +been pleasanter than this." She thought of the white freestone, the +pillared portico, and the terrace full of flowers, Sir James smiling +above them like a prince issuing from his enchantment in a rose-bush, +with a handkerchief swiftly metamorphosed from the most delicately +odorous petals--Sir James, who talked so agreeably, always about things +which had common-sense in them, and not about learning! Celia had +those light young feminine tastes which grave and weatherworn gentlemen +sometimes prefer in a wife; but happily Mr. Casaubon's bias had been +different, for he would have had no chance with Celia. + +Dorothea, on the contrary, found the house and grounds all that she +could wish: the dark book-shelves in the long library, the carpets and +curtains with colors subdued by time, the curious old maps and +bird's-eye views on the walls of the corridor, with here and there an +old vase below, had no oppression for her, and seemed more cheerful +than the easts and pictures at the Grange, which her uncle had long ago +brought home from his travels--they being probably among the ideas he +had taken in at one time. To poor Dorothea these severe classical +nudities and smirking Renaissance-Correggiosities were painfully +inexplicable, staring into the midst of her Puritanic conceptions: she +had never been taught how she could bring them into any sort of +relevance with her life. But the owners of Lowick apparently had not +been travellers, and Mr. Casaubon's studies of the past were not +carried on by means of such aids. + +Dorothea walked about the house with delightful emotion. Everything +seemed hallowed to her: this was to be the home of her wifehood, and +she looked up with eyes full of confidence to Mr. Casaubon when he drew +her attention specially to some actual arrangement and asked her if she +would like an alteration. All appeals to her taste she met gratefully, +but saw nothing to alter. His efforts at exact courtesy and formal +tenderness had no defect for her. She filled up all blanks with +unmanifested perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works +of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her own deafness +to the higher harmonies. And there are many blanks left in the weeks +of courtship which a loving faith fills with happy assurance. + +"Now, my dear Dorothea, I wish you to favor me by pointing out which +room you would like to have as your boudoir," said Mr. Casaubon, +showing that his views of the womanly nature were sufficiently large to +include that requirement. + +"It is very kind of you to think of that," said Dorothea, "but I assure +you I would rather have all those matters decided for me. I shall be +much happier to take everything as it is--just as you have been used to +have it, or as you will yourself choose it to be. I have no motive for +wishing anything else." + +"Oh, Dodo," said Celia, "will you not have the bow-windowed room +up-stairs?" + +Mr. Casaubon led the way thither. The bow-window looked down the +avenue of limes; the furniture was all of a faded blue, and there were +miniatures of ladies and gentlemen with powdered hair hanging in a +group. A piece of tapestry over a door also showed a blue-green world +with a pale stag in it. The chairs and tables were thin-legged and +easy to upset. It was a room where one might fancy the ghost of a +tight-laced lady revisiting the scene of her embroidery. A light +bookcase contained duodecimo volumes of polite literature in calf, +completing the furniture. + +"Yes," said Mr. Brooke, "this would be a pretty room with some new +hangings, sofas, and that sort of thing. A little bare now." + +"No, uncle," said Dorothea, eagerly. "Pray do not speak of altering +anything. There are so many other things in the world that want +altering--I like to take these things as they are. And you like them +as they are, don't you?" she added, looking at Mr. Casaubon. "Perhaps +this was your mother's room when she was young." + +"It was," he said, with his slow bend of the head. + +"This is your mother," said Dorothea, who had turned to examine the +group of miniatures. "It is like the tiny one you brought me; only, I +should think, a better portrait. And this one opposite, who is this?" + +"Her elder sister. They were, like you and your sister, the only two +children of their parents, who hang above them, you see." + +"The sister is pretty," said Celia, implying that she thought less +favorably of Mr. Casaubon's mother. It was a new opening to Celia's +imagination, that he came of a family who had all been young in their +time--the ladies wearing necklaces. + +"It is a peculiar face," said Dorothea, looking closely. "Those deep +gray eyes rather near together--and the delicate irregular nose with a +sort of ripple in it--and all the powdered curls hanging backward. +Altogether it seems to me peculiar rather than pretty. There is not +even a family likeness between her and your mother." + +"No. And they were not alike in their lot." + +"You did not mention her to me," said Dorothea. + +"My aunt made an unfortunate marriage. I never saw her." + +Dorothea wondered a little, but felt that it would be indelicate just +then to ask for any information which Mr. Casaubon did not proffer, and +she turned to the window to admire the view. The sun had lately +pierced the gray, and the avenue of limes cast shadows. + +"Shall we not walk in the garden now?" said Dorothea. + +"And you would like to see the church, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "It +is a droll little church. And the village. It all lies in a +nut-shell. By the way, it will suit you, Dorothea; for the cottages are +like a row of alms-houses--little gardens, gilly-flowers, that sort of +thing." + +"Yes, please," said Dorothea, looking at Mr. Casaubon, "I should like +to see all that." She had got nothing from him more graphic about the +Lowick cottages than that they were "not bad." + +They were soon on a gravel walk which led chiefly between grassy +borders and clumps of trees, this being the nearest way to the church, +Mr. Casaubon said. At the little gate leading into the churchyard +there was a pause while Mr. Casaubon went to the parsonage close by to +fetch a key. Celia, who had been hanging a little in the rear, came up +presently, when she saw that Mr. Casaubon was gone away, and said in +her easy staccato, which always seemed to contradict the suspicion of +any malicious intent-- + +"Do you know, Dorothea, I saw some one quite young coming up one of the +walks." + +"Is that astonishing, Celia?" + +"There may be a young gardener, you know--why not?" said Mr. Brooke. +"I told Casaubon he should change his gardener." + +"No, not a gardener," said Celia; "a gentleman with a sketch-book. He +had light-brown curls. I only saw his back. But he was quite young." + +"The curate's son, perhaps," said Mr. Brooke. "Ah, there is Casaubon +again, and Tucker with him. He is going to introduce Tucker. You +don't know Tucker yet." + +Mr. Tucker was the middle-aged curate, one of the "inferior clergy," +who are usually not wanting in sons. But after the introduction, the +conversation did not lead to any question about his family, and the +startling apparition of youthfulness was forgotten by every one but +Celia. She inwardly declined to believe that the light-brown curls and +slim figure could have any relationship to Mr. Tucker, who was just as +old and musty-looking as she would have expected Mr. Casaubon's curate +to be; doubtless an excellent man who would go to heaven (for Celia +wished not to be unprincipled), but the corners of his mouth were so +unpleasant. Celia thought with some dismalness of the time she should +have to spend as bridesmaid at Lowick, while the curate had probably no +pretty little children whom she could like, irrespective of principle. + +Mr. Tucker was invaluable in their walk; and perhaps Mr. Casaubon had +not been without foresight on this head, the curate being able to +answer all Dorothea's questions about the villagers and the other +parishioners. Everybody, he assured her, was well off in Lowick: not a +cottager in those double cottages at a low rent but kept a pig, and the +strips of garden at the back were well tended. The small boys wore +excellent corduroy, the girls went out as tidy servants, or did a +little straw-plaiting at home: no looms here, no Dissent; and though +the public disposition was rather towards laying by money than towards +spirituality, there was not much vice. The speckled fowls were so +numerous that Mr. Brooke observed, "Your farmers leave some barley for +the women to glean, I see. The poor folks here might have a fowl in +their pot, as the good French king used to wish for all his people. +The French eat a good many fowls--skinny fowls, you know." + +"I think it was a very cheap wish of his," said Dorothea, indignantly. +"Are kings such monsters that a wish like that must be reckoned a royal +virtue?" + +"And if he wished them a skinny fowl," said Celia, "that would not be +nice. But perhaps he wished them to have fat fowls." + +"Yes, but the word has dropped out of the text, or perhaps was +subauditum; that is, present in the king's mind, but not uttered," said +Mr. Casaubon, smiling and bending his head towards Celia, who +immediately dropped backward a little, because she could not bear Mr. +Casaubon to blink at her. + +Dorothea sank into silence on the way back to the house. She felt some +disappointment, of which she was yet ashamed, that there was nothing +for her to do in Lowick; and in the next few minutes her mind had +glanced over the possibility, which she would have preferred, of +finding that her home would be in a parish which had a larger share of +the world's misery, so that she might have had more active duties in +it. Then, recurring to the future actually before her, she made a +picture of more complete devotion to Mr. Casaubon's aims in which she +would await new duties. Many such might reveal themselves to the +higher knowledge gained by her in that companionship. + +Mr. Tucker soon left them, having some clerical work which would not +allow him to lunch at the Hall; and as they were re-entering the garden +through the little gate, Mr. Casaubon said-- + +"You seem a little sad, Dorothea. I trust you are pleased with what +you have seen." + +"I am feeling something which is perhaps foolish and wrong," answered +Dorothea, with her usual openness--"almost wishing that the people +wanted more to be done for them here. I have known so few ways of +making my life good for anything. Of course, my notions of usefulness +must be narrow. I must learn new ways of helping people." + +"Doubtless," said Mr. Casaubon. "Each position has its corresponding +duties. Yours, I trust, as the mistress of Lowick, will not leave any +yearning unfulfilled." + +"Indeed, I believe that," said Dorothea, earnestly. "Do not suppose +that I am sad." + +"That is well. But, if you are not tired, we will take another way to +the house than that by which we came." + +Dorothea was not at all tired, and a little circuit was made towards a +fine yew-tree, the chief hereditary glory of the grounds on this side +of the house. As they approached it, a figure, conspicuous on a dark +background of evergreens, was seated on a bench, sketching the old +tree. Mr. Brooke, who was walking in front with Celia, turned his +head, and said-- + +"Who is that youngster, Casaubon?" + +They had come very near when Mr. Casaubon answered-- + +"That is a young relative of mine, a second cousin: the grandson, in +fact," he added, looking at Dorothea, "of the lady whose portrait you +have been noticing, my aunt Julia." + +The young man had laid down his sketch-book and risen. His bushy +light-brown curls, as well as his youthfulness, identified him at once +with Celia's apparition. + +"Dorothea, let me introduce to you my cousin, Mr. Ladislaw. Will, this +is Miss Brooke." + +The cousin was so close now, that, when he lifted his hat, Dorothea +could see a pair of gray eyes rather near together, a delicate +irregular nose with a little ripple in it, and hair falling backward; +but there was a mouth and chin of a more prominent, threatening aspect +than belonged to the type of the grandmother's miniature. Young +Ladislaw did not feel it necessary to smile, as if he were charmed with +this introduction to his future second cousin and her relatives; but +wore rather a pouting air of discontent. + +"You are an artist, I see," said Mr. Brooke, taking up the sketch-book +and turning it over in his unceremonious fashion. + +"No, I only sketch a little. There is nothing fit to be seen there," +said young Ladislaw, coloring, perhaps with temper rather than modesty. + +"Oh, come, this is a nice bit, now. I did a little in this way myself +at one time, you know. Look here, now; this is what I call a nice +thing, done with what we used to call _brio_." Mr. Brooke held out +towards the two girls a large colored sketch of stony ground and trees, +with a pool. + +"I am no judge of these things," said Dorothea, not coldly, but with an +eager deprecation of the appeal to her. "You know, uncle, I never see +the beauty of those pictures which you say are so much praised. They +are a language I do not understand. I suppose there is some relation +between pictures and nature which I am too ignorant to feel--just as +you see what a Greek sentence stands for which means nothing to me." +Dorothea looked up at Mr. Casaubon, who bowed his head towards her, +while Mr. Brooke said, smiling nonchalantly-- + +"Bless me, now, how different people are! But you had a bad style of +teaching, you know--else this is just the thing for girls--sketching, +fine art and so on. But you took to drawing plans; you don't +understand morbidezza, and that kind of thing. You will come to my +house, I hope, and I will show you what I did in this way," he +continued, turning to young Ladislaw, who had to be recalled from his +preoccupation in observing Dorothea. Ladislaw had made up his mind +that she must be an unpleasant girl, since she was going to marry +Casaubon, and what she said of her stupidity about pictures would have +confirmed that opinion even if he had believed her. As it was, he took +her words for a covert judgment, and was certain that she thought his +sketch detestable. There was too much cleverness in her apology: she +was laughing both at her uncle and himself. But what a voice! It was +like the voice of a soul that had once lived in an Aeolian harp. This +must be one of Nature's inconsistencies. There could be no sort of +passion in a girl who would marry Casaubon. But he turned from her, +and bowed his thanks for Mr. Brooke's invitation. + +"We will turn over my Italian engravings together," continued that +good-natured man. "I have no end of those things, that I have laid by +for years. One gets rusty in this part of the country, you know. Not +you, Casaubon; you stick to your studies; but my best ideas get +undermost--out of use, you know. You clever young men must guard +against indolence. I was too indolent, you know: else I might have +been anywhere at one time." + +"That is a seasonable admonition," said Mr. Casaubon; "but now we will +pass on to the house, lest the young ladies should be tired of +standing." + +When their backs were turned, young Ladislaw sat down to go on with his +sketching, and as he did so his face broke into an expression of +amusement which increased as he went on drawing, till at last he threw +back his head and laughed aloud. Partly it was the reception of his +own artistic production that tickled him; partly the notion of his +grave cousin as the lover of that girl; and partly Mr. Brooke's +definition of the place he might have held but for the impediment of +indolence. Mr. Will Ladislaw's sense of the ludicrous lit up his +features very agreeably: it was the pure enjoyment of comicality, and +had no mixture of sneering and self-exaltation. + +"What is your nephew going to do with himself, Casaubon?" said Mr. +Brooke, as they went on. + +"My cousin, you mean--not my nephew." + +"Yes, yes, cousin. But in the way of a career, you know." + +"The answer to that question is painfully doubtful. On leaving Rugby +he declined to go to an English university, where I would gladly have +placed him, and chose what I must consider the anomalous course of +studying at Heidelberg. And now he wants to go abroad again, without +any special object, save the vague purpose of what he calls culture, +preparation for he knows not what. He declines to choose a profession." + +"He has no means but what you furnish, I suppose." + +"I have always given him and his friends reason to understand that I +would furnish in moderation what was necessary for providing him with a +scholarly education, and launching him respectably. I am-therefore +bound to fulfil the expectation so raised," said Mr. Casaubon, putting +his conduct in the light of mere rectitude: a trait of delicacy which +Dorothea noticed with admiration. + +"He has a thirst for travelling; perhaps he may turn out a Bruce or a +Mungo Park," said Mr. Brooke. "I had a notion of that myself at one +time." + +"No, he has no bent towards exploration, or the enlargement of our +geognosis: that would be a special purpose which I could recognize with +some approbation, though without felicitating him on a career which so +often ends in premature and violent death. But so far is he from +having any desire for a more accurate knowledge of the earth's surface, +that he said he should prefer not to know the sources of the Nile, and +that there should be some unknown regions preserved as hunting grounds +for the poetic imagination." + +"Well, there is something in that, you know," said Mr. Brooke, who had +certainly an impartial mind. + +"It is, I fear, nothing more than a part of his general inaccuracy and +indisposition to thoroughness of all kinds, which would be a bad augury +for him in any profession, civil or sacred, even were he so far +submissive to ordinary rule as to choose one." + +"Perhaps he has conscientious scruples founded on his own unfitness," +said Dorothea, who was interesting herself in finding a favorable +explanation. "Because the law and medicine should be very serious +professions to undertake, should they not? People's lives and fortunes +depend on them." + +"Doubtless; but I fear that my young relative Will Ladislaw is chiefly +determined in his aversion to these callings by a dislike to steady +application, and to that kind of acquirement which is needful +instrumentally, but is not charming or immediately inviting to +self-indulgent taste. I have insisted to him on what Aristotle has +stated with admirable brevity, that for the achievement of any work +regarded as an end there must be a prior exercise of many energies or +acquired facilities of a secondary order, demanding patience. I have +pointed to my own manuscript volumes, which represent the toil of years +preparatory to a work not yet accomplished. But in vain. To careful +reasoning of this kind he replies by calling himself Pegasus, and every +form of prescribed work 'harness.'" + +Celia laughed. She was surprised to find that Mr. Casaubon could say +something quite amusing. + +"Well, you know, he may turn out a Byron, a Chatterton, a +Churchill--that sort of thing--there's no telling," said Mr. Brooke. +"Shall you let him go to Italy, or wherever else he wants to go?" + +"Yes; I have agreed to furnish him with moderate supplies for a year or +so; he asks no more. I shall let him be tried by the test of freedom." + +"That is very kind of you," said Dorothea, looking up at Mr. Casaubon +with delight. "It is noble. After all, people may really have in them +some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? +They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be +very patient with each other, I think." + +"I suppose it is being engaged to be married that has made you think +patience good," said Celia, as soon as she and Dorothea were alone +together, taking off their wrappings. + +"You mean that I am very impatient, Celia." + +"Yes; when people don't do and say just what you like." Celia had +become less afraid of "saying things" to Dorothea since this +engagement: cleverness seemed to her more pitiable than ever. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "He had catched a great cold, had he had no other clothes + to wear than the skin of a bear not yet killed."--FULLER. + + +Young Ladislaw did not pay that visit to which Mr. Brooke had invited +him, and only six days afterwards Mr. Casaubon mentioned that his young +relative had started for the Continent, seeming by this cold vagueness +to waive inquiry. Indeed, Will had declined to fix on any more precise +destination than the entire area of Europe. Genius, he held, is +necessarily intolerant of fetters: on the one hand it must have the +utmost play for its spontaneity; on the other, it may confidently await +those messages from the universe which summon it to its peculiar work, +only placing itself in an attitude of receptivity towards all sublime +chances. The attitudes of receptivity are various, and Will had +sincerely tried many of them. He was not excessively fond of wine, but +he had several times taken too much, simply as an experiment in that +form of ecstasy; he had fasted till he was faint, and then supped on +lobster; he had made himself ill with doses of opium. Nothing greatly +original had resulted from these measures; and the effects of the opium +had convinced him that there was an entire dissimilarity between his +constitution and De Quincey's. The superadded circumstance which would +evolve the genius had not yet come; the universe had not yet beckoned. +Even Caesar's fortune at one time was, but a grand presentiment. We +know what a masquerade all development is, and what effective shapes +may be disguised in helpless embryos.--In fact, the world is full of +hopeful analogies and handsome dubious eggs called possibilities. Will +saw clearly enough the pitiable instances of long incubation producing +no chick, and but for gratitude would have laughed at Casaubon, whose +plodding application, rows of note-books, and small taper of learned +theory exploring the tossed ruins of the world, seemed to enforce a +moral entirely encouraging to Will's generous reliance on the +intentions of the universe with regard to himself. He held that +reliance to be a mark of genius; and certainly it is no mark to the +contrary; genius consisting neither in self-conceit nor in humility, +but in a power to make or do, not anything in general, but something in +particular. Let him start for the Continent, then, without our +pronouncing on his future. Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the +most gratuitous. + +But at present this caution against a too hasty judgment interests me +more in relation to Mr. Casaubon than to his young cousin. If to +Dorothea Mr. Casaubon had been the mere occasion which had set alight +the fine inflammable material of her youthful illusions, does it follow +that he was fairly represented in the minds of those less impassioned +personages who have hitherto delivered their judgments concerning him? +I protest against any absolute conclusion, any prejudice derived from +Mrs. Cadwallader's contempt for a neighboring clergyman's alleged +greatness of soul, or Sir James Chettam's poor opinion of his rival's +legs,--from Mr. Brooke's failure to elicit a companion's ideas, or from +Celia's criticism of a middle-aged scholar's personal appearance. I am +not sure that the greatest man of his age, if ever that solitary +superlative existed, could escape these unfavorable reflections of +himself in various small mirrors; and even Milton, looking for his +portrait in a spoon, must submit to have the facial angle of a bumpkin. +Moreover, if Mr. Casaubon, speaking for himself, has rather a chilling +rhetoric, it is not therefore certain that there is no good work or +fine feeling in him. Did not an immortal physicist and interpreter of +hieroglyphs write detestable verses? Has the theory of the solar +system been advanced by graceful manners and conversational tact? +Suppose we turn from outside estimates of a man, to wonder, with keener +interest, what is the report of his own consciousness about his doings +or capacity: with what hindrances he is carrying on his daily labors; +what fading of hopes, or what deeper fixity of self-delusion the years +are marking off within him; and with what spirit he wrestles against +universal pressure, which will one day be too heavy for him, and bring +his heart to its final pause. Doubtless his lot is important in his +own eyes; and the chief reason that we think he asks too large a place +in our consideration must be our want of room for him, since we refer +him to the Divine regard with perfect confidence; nay, it is even held +sublime for our neighbor to expect the utmost there, however little he +may have got from us. Mr. Casaubon, too, was the centre of his own +world; if he was liable to think that others were providentially made +for him, and especially to consider them in the light of their fitness +for the author of a "Key to all Mythologies," this trait is not quite +alien to us, and, like the other mendicant hopes of mortals, claims +some of our pity. + +Certainly this affair of his marriage with Miss Brooke touched him more +nearly than it did any one of the persons who have hitherto shown their +disapproval of it, and in the present stage of things I feel more +tenderly towards his experience of success than towards the +disappointment of the amiable Sir James. For in truth, as the day +fixed for his marriage came nearer, Mr. Casaubon did not find his +spirits rising; nor did the contemplation of that matrimonial garden +scene, where, as all experience showed, the path was to be bordered +with flowers, prove persistently more enchanting to him than the +accustomed vaults where he walked taper in hand. He did not confess to +himself, still less could he have breathed to another, his surprise +that though he had won a lovely and noble-hearted girl he had not won +delight,--which he had also regarded as an object to be found by +search. It is true that he knew all the classical passages implying +the contrary; but knowing classical passages, we find, is a mode of +motion, which explains why they leave so little extra force for their +personal application. + +Poor Mr. Casaubon had imagined that his long studious bachelorhood had +stored up for him a compound interest of enjoyment, and that large +drafts on his affections would not fail to be honored; for we all of +us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act +fatally on the strength of them. And now he was in danger of being +saddened by the very conviction that his circumstances were unusually +happy: there was nothing external by which he could account for a +certain blankness of sensibility which came over him just when his +expectant gladness should have been most lively, just when he exchanged +the accustomed dulness of his Lowick library for his visits to the +Grange. Here was a weary experience in which he was as utterly +condemned to loneliness as in the despair which sometimes threatened +him while toiling in the morass of authorship without seeming nearer to +the goal. And his was that worst loneliness which would shrink from +sympathy. He could not but wish that Dorothea should think him not +less happy than the world would expect her successful suitor to be; and +in relation to his authorship he leaned on her young trust and +veneration, he liked to draw forth her fresh interest in listening, as +a means of encouragement to himself: in talking to her he presented all +his performance and intention with the reflected confidence of the +pedagogue, and rid himself for the time of that chilling ideal audience +which crowded his laborious uncreative hours with the vaporous pressure +of Tartarean shades. + +For to Dorothea, after that toy-box history of the world adapted to +young ladies which had made the chief part of her education, Mr. +Casaubon's talk about his great book was full of new vistas; and this +sense of revelation, this surprise of a nearer introduction to Stoics +and Alexandrians, as people who had ideas not totally unlike her own, +kept in abeyance for the time her usual eagerness for a binding theory +which could bring her own life and doctrine into strict connection with +that amazing past, and give the remotest sources of knowledge some +bearing on her actions. That more complete teaching would come--Mr. +Casaubon would tell her all that: she was looking forward to higher +initiation in ideas, as she was looking forward to marriage, and +blending her dim conceptions of both. It would be a great mistake to +suppose that Dorothea would have cared about any share in Mr. +Casaubon's learning as mere accomplishment; for though opinion in the +neighborhood of Freshitt and Tipton had pronounced her clever, that +epithet would not have described her to circles in whose more precise +vocabulary cleverness implies mere aptitude for knowing and doing, +apart from character. All her eagerness for acquirement lay within +that full current of sympathetic motive in which her ideas and impulses +were habitually swept along. She did not want to deck herself with +knowledge--to wear it loose from the nerves and blood that fed her +action; and if she had written a book she must have done it as Saint +Theresa did, under the command of an authority that constrained her +conscience. But something she yearned for by which her life might be +filled with action at once rational and ardent; and since the time was +gone by for guiding visions and spiritual directors, since prayer +heightened yearning but not instruction, what lamp was there but +knowledge? Surely learned men kept the only oil; and who more learned +than Mr. Casaubon? + +Thus in these brief weeks Dorothea's joyous grateful expectation was +unbroken, and however her lover might occasionally be conscious of +flatness, he could never refer it to any slackening of her affectionate +interest. + +The season was mild enough to encourage the project of extending the +wedding journey as far as Rome, and Mr. Casaubon was anxious for this +because he wished to inspect some manuscripts in the Vatican. + +"I still regret that your sister is not to accompany us," he said one +morning, some time after it had been ascertained that Celia objected to +go, and that Dorothea did not wish for her companionship. "You will +have many lonely hours, Dorothea, for I shall be constrained to make +the utmost use of my time during our stay in Rome, and I should feel +more at liberty if you had a companion." + +The words "I should feel more at liberty" grated on Dorothea. For the +first time in speaking to Mr. Casaubon she colored from annoyance. + +"You must have misunderstood me very much," she said, "if you think I +should not enter into the value of your time--if you think that I +should not willingly give up whatever interfered with your using it to +the best purpose." + +"That is very amiable in you, my dear Dorothea," said Mr. Casaubon, not +in the least noticing that she was hurt; "but if you had a lady as your +companion, I could put you both under the care of a cicerone, and we +could thus achieve two purposes in the same space of time." + +"I beg you will not refer to this again," said Dorothea, rather +haughtily. But immediately she feared that she was wrong, and turning +towards him she laid her hand on his, adding in a different tone, "Pray +do not be anxious about me. I shall have so much to think of when I am +alone. And Tantripp will be a sufficient companion, just to take care +of me. I could not bear to have Celia: she would be miserable." + +It was time to dress. There was to be a dinner-party that day, the +last of the parties which were held at the Grange as proper +preliminaries to the wedding, and Dorothea was glad of a reason for +moving away at once on the sound of the bell, as if she needed more +than her usual amount of preparation. She was ashamed of being +irritated from some cause she could not define even to herself; for +though she had no intention to be untruthful, her reply had not touched +the real hurt within her. Mr. Casaubon's words had been quite +reasonable, yet they had brought a vague instantaneous sense of +aloofness on his part. + +"Surely I am in a strangely selfish weak state of mind," she said to +herself. "How can I have a husband who is so much above me without +knowing that he needs me less than I need him?" + +Having convinced herself that Mr. Casaubon was altogether right, she +recovered her equanimity, and was an agreeable image of serene dignity +when she came into the drawing-room in her silver-gray dress--the +simple lines of her dark-brown hair parted over her brow and coiled +massively behind, in keeping with the entire absence from her manner +and expression of all search after mere effect. Sometimes when +Dorothea was in company, there seemed to be as complete an air of +repose about her as if she had been a picture of Santa Barbara looking +out from her tower into the clear air; but these intervals of quietude +made the energy of her speech and emotion the more remarked when some +outward appeal had touched her. + +She was naturally the subject of many observations this evening, for +the dinner-party was large and rather more miscellaneous as to the male +portion than any which had been held at the Grange since Mr. Brooke's +nieces had resided with him, so that the talking was done in duos and +trios more or less inharmonious. There was the newly elected mayor of +Middlemarch, who happened to be a manufacturer; the philanthropic +banker his brother-in-law, who predominated so much in the town that +some called him a Methodist, others a hypocrite, according to the +resources of their vocabulary; and there were various professional men. +In fact, Mrs. Cadwallader said that Brooke was beginning to treat the +Middlemarchers, and that she preferred the farmers at the tithe-dinner, +who drank her health unpretentiously, and were not ashamed of their +grandfathers' furniture. For in that part of the country, before +reform had done its notable part in developing the political +consciousness, there was a clearer distinction of ranks and a dimmer +distinction of parties; so that Mr. Brooke's miscellaneous invitations +seemed to belong to that general laxity which came from his inordinate +travel and habit of taking too much in the form of ideas. + +Already, as Miss Brooke passed out of the dining-room, opportunity was +found for some interjectional "asides." + +"A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine woman, by God!" said Mr. +Standish, the old lawyer, who had been so long concerned with the +landed gentry that he had become landed himself, and used that oath in +a deep-mouthed manner as a sort of armorial bearings, stamping the +speech of a man who held a good position. + +Mr. Bulstrode, the banker, seemed to be addressed, but that gentleman +disliked coarseness and profanity, and merely bowed. The remark was +taken up by Mr. Chichely, a middle-aged bachelor and coursing +celebrity, who had a complexion something like an Easter egg, a few +hairs carefully arranged, and a carriage implying the consciousness of +a distinguished appearance. + +"Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herself out a +little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about a +woman--something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. +The more of a dead set she makes at you the better." + +"There's some truth in that," said Mr. Standish, disposed to be genial. +"And, by God, it's usually the way with them. I suppose it answers +some wise ends: Providence made them so, eh, Bulstrode?" + +"I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another source," said Mr. +Bulstrode. "I should rather refer it to the devil." + +"Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a woman," said Mr. +Chichely, whose study of the fair sex seemed to have been detrimental +to his theology. "And I like them blond, with a certain gait, and a +swan neck. Between ourselves, the mayor's daughter is more to my taste +than Miss Brooke or Miss Celia either. If I were a marrying man I +should choose Miss Vincy before either of them." + +"Well, make up, make up," said Mr. Standish, jocosely; "you see the +middle-aged fellows early the day." + +Mr. Chichely shook his head with much meaning: he was not going to +incur the certainty of being accepted by the woman he would choose. + +The Miss Vincy who had the honor of being Mr. Chichely's ideal was of +course not present; for Mr. Brooke, always objecting to go too far, +would not have chosen that his nieces should meet the daughter of a +Middlemarch manufacturer, unless it were on a public occasion. The +feminine part of the company included none whom Lady Chettam or Mrs. +Cadwallader could object to; for Mrs. Renfrew, the colonel's widow, was +not only unexceptionable in point of breeding, but also interesting on +the ground of her complaint, which puzzled the doctors, and seemed +clearly a case wherein the fulness of professional knowledge might need +the supplement of quackery. Lady Chettam, who attributed her own +remarkable health to home-made bitters united with constant medical +attendance, entered with much exercise of the imagination into Mrs. +Renfrew's account of symptoms, and into the amazing futility in her +case of all strengthening medicines. + +"Where can all the strength of those medicines go, my dear?" said the +mild but stately dowager, turning to Mrs. Cadwallader reflectively, +when Mrs. Renfrew's attention was called away. + +"It strengthens the disease," said the Rector's wife, much too +well-born not to be an amateur in medicine. "Everything depends on the +constitution: some people make fat, some blood, and some bile--that's +my view of the matter; and whatever they take is a sort of grist to the +mill." + +"Then she ought to take medicines that would reduce--reduce the +disease, you know, if you are right, my dear. And I think what you say +is reasonable." + +"Certainly it is reasonable. You have two sorts of potatoes, fed on +the same soil. One of them grows more and more watery--" + +"Ah! like this poor Mrs. Renfrew--that is what I think. Dropsy! There +is no swelling yet--it is inward. I should say she ought to take +drying medicines, shouldn't you?--or a dry hot-air bath. Many things +might be tried, of a drying nature." + +"Let her try a certain person's pamphlets," said Mrs. Cadwallader in an +undertone, seeing the gentlemen enter. "He does not want drying." + +"Who, my dear?" said Lady Chettam, a charming woman, not so quick as to +nullify the pleasure of explanation. + +"The bridegroom--Casaubon. He has certainly been drying up faster since +the engagement: the flame of passion, I suppose." + +"I should think he is far from having a good constitution," said Lady +Chettam, with a still deeper undertone. "And then his studies--so very +dry, as you say." + +"Really, by the side of Sir James, he looks like a death's head skinned +over for the occasion. Mark my words: in a year from this time that +girl will hate him. She looks up to him as an oracle now, and +by-and-by she will be at the other extreme. All flightiness!" + +"How very shocking! I fear she is headstrong. But tell me--you know +all about him--is there anything very bad? What is the truth?" + +"The truth? he is as bad as the wrong physic--nasty to take, and sure +to disagree." + +"There could not be anything worse than that," said Lady Chettam, with +so vivid a conception of the physic that she seemed to have learned +something exact about Mr. Casaubon's disadvantages. "However, James +will hear nothing against Miss Brooke. He says she is the mirror of +women still." + +"That is a generous make-believe of his. Depend upon it, he likes +little Celia better, and she appreciates him. I hope you like my +little Celia?" + +"Certainly; she is fonder of geraniums, and seems more docile, though +not so fine a figure. But we were talking of physic. Tell me about +this new young surgeon, Mr. Lydgate. I am told he is wonderfully +clever: he certainly looks it--a fine brow indeed." + +"He is a gentleman. I heard him talking to Humphrey. He talks well." + +"Yes. Mr. Brooke says he is one of the Lydgates of Northumberland, +really well connected. One does not expect it in a practitioner of +that kind. For my own part, I like a medical man more on a footing +with the servants; they are often all the cleverer. I assure you I +found poor Hicks's judgment unfailing; I never knew him wrong. He was +coarse and butcher-like, but he knew my constitution. It was a loss to +me his going off so suddenly. Dear me, what a very animated +conversation Miss Brooke seems to be having with this Mr. Lydgate!" + +"She is talking cottages and hospitals with him," said Mrs. +Cadwallader, whose ears and power of interpretation were quick. "I +believe he is a sort of philanthropist, so Brooke is sure to take him +up." + +"James," said Lady Chettam when her son came near, "bring Mr. Lydgate +and introduce him to me. I want to test him." + +The affable dowager declared herself delighted with this opportunity of +making Mr. Lydgate's acquaintance, having heard of his success in +treating fever on a new plan. + +Mr. Lydgate had the medical accomplishment of looking perfectly grave +whatever nonsense was talked to him, and his dark steady eyes gave him +impressiveness as a listener. He was as little as possible like the +lamented Hicks, especially in a certain careless refinement about his +toilet and utterance. Yet Lady Chettam gathered much confidence in +him. He confirmed her view of her own constitution as being peculiar, +by admitting that all constitutions might be called peculiar, and he +did not deny that hers might be more peculiar than others. He did not +approve of a too lowering system, including reckless cupping, nor, on +the other hand, of incessant port wine and bark. He said "I think so" +with an air of so much deference accompanying the insight of agreement, +that she formed the most cordial opinion of his talents. + +"I am quite pleased with your protege," she said to Mr. Brooke before +going away. + +"My protege?--dear me!--who is that?" said Mr. Brooke. + +"This young Lydgate, the new doctor. He seems to me to understand his +profession admirably." + +"Oh, Lydgate! he is not my protege, you know; only I knew an uncle of +his who sent me a letter about him. However, I think he is likely to +be first-rate--has studied in Paris, knew Broussais; has ideas, you +know--wants to raise the profession." + +"Lydgate has lots of ideas, quite new, about ventilation and diet, that +sort of thing," resumed Mr. Brooke, after he had handed out Lady +Chettam, and had returned to be civil to a group of Middlemarchers. + +"Hang it, do you think that is quite sound?--upsetting The old +treatment, which has made Englishmen what they are?" said Mr. Standish. + +"Medical knowledge is at a low ebb among us," said Mr. Bulstrode, who +spoke in a subdued tone, and had rather a sickly air. "I, for my part, +hail the advent of Mr. Lydgate. I hope to find good reason for +confiding the new hospital to his management." + +"That is all very fine," replied Mr. Standish, who was not fond of Mr. +Bulstrode; "if you like him to try experiments on your hospital +patients, and kill a few people for charity I have no objection. But I +am not going to hand money out of my purse to have experiments tried on +me. I like treatment that has been tested a little." + +"Well, you know, Standish, every dose you take is an experiment-an +experiment, you know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards the lawyer. + +"Oh, if you talk in that sense!" said Mr. Standish, with as much +disgust at such non-legal quibbling as a man can well betray towards a +valuable client. + +"I should be glad of any treatment that would cure me without reducing +me to a skeleton, like poor Grainger," said Mr. Vincy, the mayor, a +florid man, who would have served for a study of flesh in striking +contrast with the Franciscan tints of Mr. Bulstrode. "It's an +uncommonly dangerous thing to be left without any padding against the +shafts of disease, as somebody said,--and I think it a very good +expression myself." + +Mr. Lydgate, of course, was out of hearing. He had quitted the party +early, and would have thought it altogether tedious but for the novelty +of certain introductions, especially the introduction to Miss Brooke, +whose youthful bloom, with her approaching marriage to that faded +scholar, and her interest in matters socially useful, gave her the +piquancy of an unusual combination. + +"She is a good creature--that fine girl--but a little too earnest," he +thought. "It is troublesome to talk to such women. They are always +wanting reasons, yet they are too ignorant to understand the merits of +any question, and usually fall back on their moral sense to settle +things after their own taste." + +Evidently Miss Brooke was not Mr. Lydgate's style of woman any more +than Mr. Chichely's. Considered, indeed, in relation to the latter, +whose mind was matured, she was altogether a mistake, and calculated to +shock his trust in final causes, including the adaptation of fine young +women to purplefaced bachelors. But Lydgate was less ripe, and might +possibly have experience before him which would modify his opinion as +to the most excellent things in woman. + +Miss Brooke, however, was not again seen by either of these gentlemen +under her maiden name. Not long after that dinner-party she had become +Mrs. Casaubon, and was on her way to Rome. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "But deeds and language such as men do use, + And persons such as comedy would choose, + When she would show an image of the times, + And sport with human follies, not with crimes." + --BEN JONSON. + + +Lydgate, in fact, was already conscious of being fascinated by a woman +strikingly different from Miss Brooke: he did not in the least suppose +that he had lost his balance and fallen in love, but he had said of +that particular woman, "She is grace itself; she is perfectly lovely +and accomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she ought to +produce the effect of exquisite music." Plain women he regarded as he +did the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and +investigated by science. But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have the true +melodic charm; and when a man has seen the woman whom he would have +chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor +will usually depend on her resolution rather than on his. Lydgate +believed that he should not marry for several years: not marry until he +had trodden out a good clear path for himself away from the broad road +which was quite ready made. He had seen Miss Vincy above his horizon +almost as long as it had taken Mr. Casaubon to become engaged and +married: but this learned gentleman was possessed of a fortune; he had +assembled his voluminous notes, and had made that sort of reputation +which precedes performance,--often the larger part of a man's fame. He +took a wife, as we have seen, to adorn the remaining quadrant of his +course, and be a little moon that would cause hardly a calculable +perturbation. But Lydgate was young, poor, ambitious. He had his +half-century before him instead of behind him, and he had come to +Middlemarch bent on doing many things that were not directly fitted to +make his fortune or even secure him a good income. To a man under such +circumstances, taking a wife is something more than a question of +adornment, however highly he may rate this; and Lydgate was disposed to +give it the first place among wifely functions. To his taste, guided +by a single conversation, here was the point on which Miss Brooke would +be found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. She did not +look at things from the proper feminine angle. The society of such +women was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the second +form, instead of reclining in a paradise with sweet laughs for +bird-notes, and blue eyes for a heaven. + +Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgate +than the turn of Miss Brooke's mind, or to Miss Brooke than the +qualities of the woman who had attracted this young surgeon. But any +one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow +preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a +calculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we +look at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic with +our dramatis personae folded in her hand. + +Old provincial society had its share of this subtle movement: had not +only its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandies +who ended by living up an entry with a drab and six children for their +establishment, but also those less marked vicissitudes which are +constantly shifting the boundaries of social intercourse, and begetting +new consciousness of interdependence. Some slipped a little downward, +some got higher footing: people denied aspirates, gained wealth, and +fastidious gentlemen stood for boroughs; some were caught in political +currents, some in ecclesiastical, and perhaps found themselves +surprisingly grouped in consequence; while a few personages or families +that stood with rocky firmness amid all this fluctuation, were slowly +presenting new aspects in spite of solidity, and altering with the +double change of self and beholder. Municipal town and rural parish +gradually made fresh threads of connection--gradually, as the old +stocking gave way to the savings-bank, and the worship of the solar +guinea became extinct; while squires and baronets, and even lords who +had once lived blamelessly afar from the civic mind, gathered the +faultiness of closer acquaintanceship. Settlers, too, came from +distant counties, some with an alarming novelty of skill, others with +an offensive advantage in cunning. In fact, much the same sort of +movement and mixture went on in old England as we find in older +Herodotus, who also, in telling what had been, thought it well to take +a woman's lot for his starting-point; though Io, as a maiden apparently +beguiled by attractive merchandise, was the reverse of Miss Brooke, and +in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy, who +had excellent taste in costume, with that nymph-like figure and pure +blindness which give the largest range to choice in the flow and color +of drapery. But these things made only part of her charm. She was +admitted to be the flower of Mrs. Lemon's school, the chief school in +the county, where the teaching included all that was demanded in the +accomplished female--even to extras, such as the getting in and out of +a carriage. Mrs. Lemon herself had always held up Miss Vincy as an +example: no pupil, she said, exceeded that young lady for mental +acquisition and propriety of speech, while her musical execution was +quite exceptional. We cannot help the way in which people speak of us, +and probably if Mrs. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen, +these heroines would not have seemed poetical. The first vision of +Rosamond would have been enough with most judges to dispel any +prejudice excited by Mrs. Lemon's praise. + +Lydgate could not be long in Middlemarch without having that agreeable +vision, or even without making the acquaintance of the Vincy family; +for though Mr. Peacock, whose practice he had paid something to enter +on, had not been their doctor (Mrs. Vincy not liking the lowering +system adopted by him), he had many patients among their connections +and acquaintances. For who of any consequence in Middlemarch was not +connected or at least acquainted with the Vincys? They were old +manufacturers, and had kept a good house for three generations, in +which there had naturally been much intermarrying with neighbors more +or less decidedly genteel. Mr. Vincy's sister had made a wealthy match +in accepting Mr. Bulstrode, who, however, as a man not born in the +town, and altogether of dimly known origin, was considered to have done +well in uniting himself with a real Middlemarch family; on the other +hand, Mr. Vincy had descended a little, having taken an innkeeper's +daughter. But on this side too there was a cheering sense of money; +for Mrs. Vincy's sister had been second wife to rich old Mr. +Featherstone, and had died childless years ago, so that her nephews and +nieces might be supposed to touch the affections of the widower. And +it happened that Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Featherstone, two of Peacock's +most important patients, had, from different causes, given an +especially good reception to his successor, who had raised some +partisanship as well as discussion. Mr. Wrench, medical attendant to +the Vincy family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly of +Lydgate's professional discretion, and there was no report about him +which was not retailed at the Vincys', where visitors were frequent. +Mr. Vincy was more inclined to general good-fellowship than to taking +sides, but there was no need for him to be hasty in making any new man +acquaintance. Rosamond silently wished that her father would invite +Mr. Lydgate. She was tired of the faces and figures she had always +been used to--the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns of +phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men whom she had known as +boys. She had been at school with girls of higher position, whose +brothers, she felt sure, it would have been possible for her to be more +interested in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. But +she would not have chosen to mention her wish to her father; and he, +for his part, was in no hurry on the subject. An alderman about to be +mayor must by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but at present there +were plenty of guests at his well-spread table. + +That table often remained covered with the relics of the family +breakfast long after Mr. Vincy had gone with his second son to the +warehouse, and when Miss Morgan was already far on in morning lessons +with the younger girls in the schoolroom. It awaited the family +laggard, who found any sort of inconvenience (to others) less +disagreeable than getting up when he was called. This was the case one +morning of the October in which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon +visiting the Grange; and though the room was a little overheated with +the fire, which had sent the spaniel panting to a remote corner, +Rosamond, for some reason, continued to sit at her embroidery longer +than usual, now and then giving herself a little shake, and laying her +work on her knee to contemplate it with an air of hesitating weariness. +Her mamma, who had returned from an excursion to the kitchen, sat on +the other side of the small work-table with an air of more entire +placidity, until, the clock again giving notice that it was going to +strike, she looked up from the lace-mending which was occupying her +plump fingers and rang the bell. + +"Knock at Mr. Fred's door again, Pritchard, and tell him it has struck +half-past ten." + +This was said without any change in the radiant good-humor of Mrs. +Vincy's face, in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor +parallels; and pushing back her pink capstrings, she let her work rest +on her lap, while she looked admiringly at her daughter. + +"Mamma," said Rosamond, "when Fred comes down I wish you would not let +him have red herrings. I cannot bear the smell of them all over the +house at this hour of the morning." + +"Oh, my dear, you are so hard on your brothers! It is the only fault I +have to find with you. You are the sweetest temper in the world, but +you are so tetchy with your brothers." + +"Not tetchy, mamma: you never hear me speak in an unladylike way." + +"Well, but you want to deny them things." + +"Brothers are so unpleasant." + +"Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be thankful if they have +good hearts. A woman must learn to put up with little things. You +will be married some day." + +"Not to any one who is like Fred." + +"Don't decry your own brother, my dear. Few young men have less +against them, although he couldn't take his degree--I'm sure I can't +understand why, for he seems to me most clever. And you know yourself +he was thought equal to the best society at college. So particular as +you are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a gentlemanly +young man for a brother. You are always finding fault with Bob because +he is not Fred." + +"Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob." + +"Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch young man who has not +something against him." + +"But"--here Rosamond's face broke into a smile which suddenly revealed +two dimples. She herself thought unfavorably of these dimples and +smiled little in general society. "But I shall not marry any +Middlemarch young man." + +"So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused the pick of +them; and if there's better to be had, I'm sure there's no girl better +deserves it." + +"Excuse me, mamma--I wish you would not say, 'the pick of them.'" + +"Why, what else are they?" + +"I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression." + +"Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker. What should I say?" + +"The best of them." + +"Why, that seems just as plain and common. If I had had time to think, +I should have said, 'the most superior young men.' But with your +education you must know." + +"What must Rosy know, mother?" said Mr. Fred, who had slid in +unobserved through the half-open door while the ladies were bending +over their work, and now going up to the fire stood with his back +towards it, warming the soles of his slippers. + +"Whether it's right to say 'superior young men,'" said Mrs. Vincy, +ringing the bell. + +"Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now. Superior is +getting to be shopkeepers' slang." + +"Are you beginning to dislike slang, then?" said Rosamond, with mild +gravity. + +"Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It marks a class." + +"There is correct English: that is not slang." + +"I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who write +history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of +poets." + +"You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point." + +"Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox a +leg-plaiter." + +"Of course you can call it poetry if you like." + +"Aha, Miss Rosy, you don't know Homer from slang. I shall invent a new +game; I shall write bits of slang and poetry on slips, and give them to +you to separate." + +"Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people talk!" said Mrs. +Vincy, with cheerful admiration. + +"Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?" said Fred, to +the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked +round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold +remnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from +signs of disgust. + +"Should you like eggs, sir?" + +"Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone." + +"Really, Fred," said Rosamond, when the servant had left the room, "if +you must have hot things for breakfast, I wish you would come down +earlier. You can get up at six o'clock to go out hunting; I cannot +understand why you find it so difficult to get up on other mornings." + +"That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up to go hunting +because I like it." + +"What would you think of me if I came down two hours after every one +else and ordered grilled bone?" + +"I should think you were an uncommonly fast young lady," said Fred, +eating his toast with the utmost composure. + +"I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves disagreeable, any +more than sisters." + +"I don't make myself disagreeable; it is you who find me so. +Disagreeable is a word that describes your feelings and not my actions." + +"I think it describes the smell of grilled bone." + +"Not at all. It describes a sensation in your little nose associated +with certain finicking notions which are the classics of Mrs. Lemon's +school. Look at my mother; you don't see her objecting to everything +except what she does herself. She is my notion of a pleasant woman." + +"Bless you both, my dears, and don't quarrel," said Mrs. Vincy, with +motherly cordiality. "Come, Fred, tell us all about the new doctor. +How is your uncle pleased with him?" + +"Pretty well, I think. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then +screws up his face while he hears the answers, as if they were pinching +his toes. That's his way. Ah, here comes my grilled bone." + +"But how came you to stay out so late, my dear? You only said you were +going to your uncle's." + +"Oh, I dined at Plymdale's. We had whist. Lydgate was there too." + +"And what do you think of him? He is very gentlemanly, I suppose. +They say he is of excellent family--his relations quite county people." + +"Yes," said Fred. "There was a Lydgate at John's who spent no end of +money. I find this man is a second cousin of his. But rich men may +have very poor devils for second cousins." + +"It always makes a difference, though, to be of good family," said +Rosamond, with a tone of decision which showed that she had thought on +this subject. Rosamond felt that she might have been happier if she +had not been the daughter of a Middlemarch manufacturer. She disliked +anything which reminded her that her mother's father had been an +innkeeper. Certainly any one remembering the fact might think that +Mrs. Vincy had the air of a very handsome good-humored landlady, +accustomed to the most capricious orders of gentlemen. + +"I thought it was odd his name was Tertius," said the bright-faced +matron, "but of course it's a name in the family. But now, tell us +exactly what sort of man he is." + +"Oh, tallish, dark, clever--talks well--rather a prig, I think." + +"I never can make out what you mean by a prig," said Rosamond. + +"A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions." + +"Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions," said Mrs. Vincy. "What are +they there for else?" + +"Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig is a fellow +who is always making you a present of his opinions." + +"I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate," said Rosamond, not without +a touch of innuendo. + +"Really, I can't say." said Fred, rather glumly, as he left the table, +and taking up a novel which he had brought down with him, threw himself +into an arm-chair. "If you are jealous of her, go oftener to Stone +Court yourself and eclipse her." + +"I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have finished, pray +ring the bell." + +"It is true, though--what your brother says, Rosamond," Mrs. Vincy +began, when the servant had cleared the table. "It is a thousand +pities you haven't patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud of +you as he is, and wanted you to live with him. There's no knowing what +he might have done for you as well as for Fred. God knows, I'm fond of +having you at home with me, but I can part with my children for their +good. And now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will do +something for Mary Garth." + +"Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because she likes that +better than being a governess," said Rosamond, folding up her work. "I +would rather not have anything left to me if I must earn it by enduring +much of my uncle's cough and his ugly relations." + +"He can't be long for this world, my dear; I wouldn't hasten his end, +but what with asthma and that inward complaint, let us hope there is +something better for him in another. And I have no ill-will toward's +Mary Garth, but there's justice to be thought of. And Mr. +Featherstone's first wife brought him no money, as my sister did. Her +nieces and nephews can't have so much claim as my sister's. And I must +say I think Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl--more fit for a governess." + +"Every one would not agree with you there, mother," said Fred, who +seemed to be able to read and listen too. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, "if she _had_ +some fortune left her,--a man marries his wife's relations, and the +Garths are so poor, and live in such a small way. But I shall leave +you to your studies, my dear; for I must go and do some shopping." + +"Fred's studies are not very deep," said Rosamond, rising with her +mamma, "he is only reading a novel." + +"Well, well, by-and-by he'll go to his Latin and things," said Mrs. +Vincy, soothingly, stroking her son's head. "There's a fire in the +smoking-room on purpose. It's your father's wish, you know--Fred, my +dear--and I always tell him you will be good, and go to college again +to take your degree." + +Fred drew his mother's hand down to his lips, but said nothing. + +"I suppose you are not going out riding to-day?" said Rosamond, +lingering a little after her mamma was gone. + +"No; why?" + +"Papa says I may have the chestnut to ride now." + +"You can go with me to-morrow, if you like. Only I am going to Stone +Court, remember." + +"I want to ride so much, it is indifferent to me where we go." Rosamond +really wished to go to Stone Court, of all other places. + +"Oh, I say, Rosy," said Fred, as she was passing out of the room, "if +you are going to the piano, let me come and play some airs with you." + +"Pray do not ask me this morning." + +"Why not this morning?" + +"Really, Fred, I wish you would leave off playing the flute. A man +looks very silly playing the flute. And you play so out of tune." + +"When next any one makes love to you, Miss Rosamond, I will tell him +how obliging you are." + +"Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing you play the flute, +any more than I should expect you to oblige me by not playing it?" + +"And why should you expect me to take you out riding?" + +This question led to an adjustment, for Rosamond had set her mind on +that particular ride. + +So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of "Ar hyd y nos," +"Ye banks and braes," and other favorite airs from his "Instructor on +the Flute;" a wheezy performance, into which he threw much ambition and +an irrepressible hopefulness. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "He had more tow on his distaffe + Than Gerveis knew." + --CHAUCER. + + +The ride to Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, +lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and +pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to +spread out coral fruit for the birds. Little details gave each field a +particular physiognomy, dear to the eyes that have looked on them from +childhood: the pool in the corner where the grasses were dank and trees +leaned whisperingly; the great oak shadowing a bare place in +mid-pasture; the high bank where the ash-trees grew; the sudden slope +of the old marl-pit making a red background for the burdock; the +huddled roofs and ricks of the homestead without a traceable way of +approach; the gray gate and fences against the depths of the bordering +wood; and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills and +valleys with wondrous modulations of light and shadow such as we travel +far to see in later life, and see larger, but not more beautiful. +These are the things that make the gamut of joy in landscape to +midland-bred souls--the things they toddled among, or perhaps learned +by heart standing between their father's knees while he drove leisurely. + +But the road, even the byroad, was excellent; for Lowick, as we have +seen, was not a parish of muddy lanes and poor tenants; and it was into +Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' +riding. Another mile would bring them to Stone Court, and at the end +of the first half, the house was already visible, looking as if it had +been arrested in its growth toward a stone mansion by an unexpected +budding of farm-buildings on its left flank, which had hindered it from +becoming anything more than the substantial dwelling of a gentleman +farmer. It was not the less agreeable an object in the distance for +the cluster of pinnacled corn-ricks which balanced the fine row of +walnuts on the right. + +Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on +the circular drive before the front door. + +"Dear me," said Rosamond, "I hope none of my uncle's horrible relations +are there." + +"They are, though. That is Mrs. Waule's gig--the last yellow gig left, +I should think. When I see Mrs. Waule in it, I understand how yellow +can have been worn for mourning. That gig seems to me more funereal +than a hearse. But then Mrs. Waule always has black crape on. How +does she manage it, Rosy? Her friends can't always be dying." + +"I don't know at all. And she is not in the least evangelical," said +Rosamond, reflectively, as if that religious point of view would have +fully accounted for perpetual crape. "And, not poor," she added, after +a moment's pause. + +"No, by George! They are as rich as Jews, those Waules and +Featherstones; I mean, for people like them, who don't want to spend +anything. And yet they hang about my uncle like vultures, and are +afraid of a farthing going away from their side of the family. But I +believe he hates them all." + +The Mrs. Waule who was so far from being admirable in the eyes of these +distant connections, had happened to say this very morning (not at all +with a defiant air, but in a low, muffled, neutral tone, as of a voice +heard through cotton wool) that she did not wish "to enjoy their good +opinion." She was seated, as she observed, on her own brother's hearth, +and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-twenty years before she had +been Jane Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's +name had been made free with by those who had no right to it. + +"What are you driving at there?" said Mr. Featherstone, holding his +stick between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a +momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a draught of +cold air and set him coughing. + +Mrs. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary +Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup, and he had begun to rub the +gold knob of his stick, looking bitterly at the fire. It was a bright +fire, but it made no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of +Mrs. Waule's face, which was as neutral as her voice; having mere +chinks for eyes, and lips that hardly moved in speaking. + +"The doctors can't master that cough, brother. It's just like what I +have; for I'm your own sister, constitution and everything. But, as I +was saying, it's a pity Mrs. Vincy's family can't be better conducted." + +"Tchah! you said nothing o' the sort. You said somebody had made free +with my name." + +"And no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true. My +brother Solomon tells me it's the talk up and down in Middlemarch how +unsteady young Vincy is, and has been forever gambling at billiards +since home he came." + +"Nonsense! What's a game at billiards? It's a good gentlemanly game; +and young Vincy is not a clodhopper. If your son John took to +billiards, now, he'd make a fool of himself." + +"Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother, +and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody +says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Vincy the +father's pocket. For they say he's been losing money for years, though +nobody would think so, to see him go coursing and keeping open house as +they do. And I've heard say Mr. Bulstrode condemns Mrs. Vincy beyond +anything for her flightiness, and spoiling her children so." + +"What's Bulstrode to me? I don't bank with him." + +"Well, Mrs. Bulstrode is Mr. Vincy's own sister, and they do say that +Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank money; and you may see yourself, +brother, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and +that light way of laughing at everything, it's very unbecoming. But +indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their +debts is another. And it's openly said that young Vincy has raised +money on his expectations. I don't say what expectations. Miss Garth +hears me, and is welcome to tell again. I know young people hang +together." + +"No, thank you, Mrs. Waule," said Mary Garth. "I dislike hearing +scandal too much to wish to repeat it." + +Mr. Featherstone rubbed the knob of his stick and made a brief +convulsive show of laughter, which had much the same genuineness as an +old whist-player's chuckle over a bad hand. Still looking at the fire, +he said-- + +"And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations? Such a +fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have 'em." + +There was a slight pause before Mrs. Waule replied, and when she did +so, her voice seemed to be slightly moistened with tears, though her +face was still dry. + +"Whether or no, brother, it is naturally painful to me and my brother +Solomon to hear your name made free with, and your complaint being such +as may carry you off sudden, and people who are no more Featherstones +than the Merry-Andrew at the fair, openly reckoning on your property +coming to _them_. And me your own sister, and Solomon your own +brother! And if that's to be it, what has it pleased the Almighty to +make families for?" Here Mrs. Waule's tears fell, but with moderation. + +"Come, out with it, Jane!" said Mr. Featherstone, looking at her. "You +mean to say, Fred Vincy has been getting somebody to advance him money +on what he says he knows about my will, eh?" + +"I never said so, brother" (Mrs. Waule's voice had again become dry and +unshaken). "It was told me by my brother Solomon last night when he +called coming from market to give me advice about the old wheat, me +being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty, though steady +beyond anything. And he had it from most undeniable authority, and not +one, but many." + +"Stuff and nonsense! I don't believe a word of it. It's all a got-up +story. Go to the window, missy; I thought I heard a horse. See if the +doctor's coming." + +"Not got up by me, brother, nor yet by Solomon, who, whatever else he +may be--and I don't deny he has oddities--has made his will and parted +his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for +my part, I think there are times when some should be considered more +than others. But Solomon makes it no secret what he means to do." + +"The more fool he!" said Mr. Featherstone, with some difficulty; +breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to +stand near him, so that she did not find out whose horses they were +which presently paused stamping on the gravel before the door. + +Before Mr. Featherstone's cough was quiet, Rosamond entered, bearing up +her riding-habit with much grace. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. +Waule, who said stiffly, "How do you do, miss?" smiled and nodded +silently to Mary, and remained standing till the coughing should cease, +and allow her uncle to notice her. + +"Heyday, miss!" he said at last, "you have a fine color. Where's Fred?" + +"Seeing about the horses. He will be in presently." + +"Sit down, sit down. Mrs. Waule, you'd better go." + +Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had +never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister was quite +used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he marked his sense +of blood-relationship. Indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that +entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in +the Almighty's intentions about families. She rose slowly without any +sign of resentment, and said in her usual muffled monotone, "Brother, I +hope the new doctor will be able to do something for you. Solomon says +there's great talk of his cleverness. I'm sure it's my wish you should +be spared. And there's none more ready to nurse you than your own +sister and your own nieces, if you'd only say the word. There's +Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know." + +"Ay, ay, I remember--you'll see I've remembered 'em all--all dark and +ugly. They'd need have some money, eh? There never was any beauty in +the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had some +money, and the Waules too. Waule had money too. A warm man was Waule. +Ay, ay; money's a good egg; and if you 've got money to leave behind +you, lay it in a warm nest. Good-by, Mrs. Waule." Here Mr. +Featherstone pulled at both sides of his wig as if he wanted to deafen +himself, and his sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of +his. Notwithstanding her jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary Garth, +there remained as the nethermost sediment in her mental shallows a +persuasion that her brother Peter Featherstone could never leave his +chief property away from his blood-relations:--else, why had the +Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained +so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected +it?--and why was there a Lowick parish church, and the Waules and +Powderells all sitting in the same pew for generations, and the +Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's +death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the +family? The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so +preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable. But we are +frightened at much that is not strictly conceivable. + +When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a peculiar twinkle, which +the younger had often had reason to interpret as pride in the +satisfactory details of his appearance. + +"You two misses go away," said Mr. Featherstone. "I want to speak to +Fred." + +"Come into my room, Rosamond, you will not mind the cold for a little +while," said Mary. The two girls had not only known each other in +childhood, but had been at the same provincial school together (Mary as +an articled pupil), so that they had many memories in common, and liked +very well to talk in private. Indeed, this tete-a-tete was one of +Rosamond's objects in coming to Stone Court. + +Old Featherstone would not begin the dialogue till the door had been +closed. He continued to look at Fred with the same twinkle and with +one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his +mouth; and when he spoke, it was in a low tone, which might be taken +for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the +tone of an offended senior. He was not a man to feel any strong moral +indignation even on account of trespasses against himself. It was +natural that others should want to get an advantage over him, but then, +he was a little too cunning for them. + +"So, sir, you've been paying ten per cent for money which you've +promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone, eh? +You put my life at a twelvemonth, say. But I can alter my will yet." + +Fred blushed. He had not borrowed money in that way, for excellent +reasons. But he was conscious of having spoken with some confidence +(perhaps with more than he exactly remembered) about his prospect of +getting Featherstone's land as a future means of paying present debts. + +"I don't know what you refer to, sir. I have certainly never borrowed +any money on such an insecurity. Please do explain." + +"No, sir, it's you must explain. I can alter my will yet, let me tell +you. I'm of sound mind--can reckon compound interest in my head, and +remember every fool's name as well as I could twenty years ago. What +the deuce? I'm under eighty. I say, you must contradict this story." + +"I have contradicted it, sir," Fred answered, with a touch of +impatience, not remembering that his uncle did not verbally +discriminate contradicting from disproving, though no one was further +from confounding the two ideas than old Featherstone, who often +wondered that so many fools took his own assertions for proofs. "But I +contradict it again. The story is a silly lie." + +"Nonsense! you must bring dockiments. It comes from authority." + +"Name the authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the +money, and then I can disprove the story." + +"It's pretty good authority, I think--a man who knows most of what goes +on in Middlemarch. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o' +yours. Come now!" Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake +which signified merriment. + +"Mr. Bulstrode?" + +"Who else, eh?" + +"Then the story has grown into this lie out of some sermonizing words +he may have let fall about me. Do they pretend that he named the man +who lent me the money?" + +"If there is such a man, depend upon it Bulstrode knows him. But, +supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get +it--Bulstrode 'ud know that too. You bring me a writing from Bulstrode +to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o' +my land. Come now!" + +Mr. Featherstone's face required its whole scale of grimaces as a +muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the soundness of his faculties. + +Fred felt himself to be in a disgusting dilemma. + +"You must be joking, sir. Mr. Bulstrode, like other men, believes +scores of things that are not true, and he has a prejudice against me. +I could easily get him to write that he knew no facts in proof of the +report you speak of, though it might lead to unpleasantness. But I +could hardly ask him to write down what he believes or does not believe +about me." Fred paused an instant, and then added, in politic appeal to +his uncle's vanity, "That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask." +But he was disappointed in the result. + +"Ay, I know what you mean. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. And +what's he?--he's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of. A +speckilating fellow! He may come down any day, when the devil leaves +off backing him. And that's what his religion means: he wants God +A'mighty to come in. That's nonsense! There's one thing I made out +pretty clear when I used to go to church--and it's this: God A'mighty +sticks to the land. He promises land, and He gives land, and He makes +chaps rich with corn and cattle. But you take the other side. You +like Bulstrode and speckilation better than Featherstone and land." + +"I beg your pardon, sir," said Fred, rising, standing with his back to +the fire and beating his boot with his whip. "I like neither Bulstrode +nor speculation." He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated. + +"Well, well, you can do without me, that's pretty clear," said old +Featherstone, secretly disliking the possibility that Fred would show +himself at all independent. "You neither want a bit of land to make a +squire of you instead of a starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred +pound by the way. It's all one to me. I can make five codicils if I +like, and I shall keep my bank-notes for a nest-egg. It's all one to +me." + +Fred colored again. Featherstone had rarely given him presents of +money, and at this moment it seemed almost harder to part with the +immediate prospect of bank-notes than with the more distant prospect of +the land. + +"I am not ungrateful, sir. I never meant to show disregard for any +kind intentions you might have towards me. On the contrary." + +"Very good. Then prove it. You bring me a letter from Bulstrode +saying he doesn't believe you've been cracking and promising to pay +your debts out o' my land, and then, if there's any scrape you've got +into, we'll see if I can't back you a bit. Come now! That's a +bargain. Here, give me your arm. I'll try and walk round the room." + +Fred, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to be a +little sorry for the unloved, unvenerated old man, who with his +dropsical legs looked more than usually pitiable in walking. While +giving his arm, he thought that he should not himself like to be an old +fellow with his constitution breaking up; and he waited +good-temperedly, first before the window to hear the wonted remarks +about the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then before the scanty +book-shelves, of which the chief glories in dark calf were Josephus, +Culpepper, Klopstock's "Messiah," and several volumes of the +"Gentleman's Magazine." + +"Read me the names o' the books. Come now! you're a college man." + +Fred gave him the titles. + +"What did missy want with more books? What must you be bringing her +more books for?" + +"They amuse her, sir. She is very fond of reading." + +"A little too fond," said Mr. Featherstone, captiously. "She was for +reading when she sat with me. But I put a stop to that. She's got the +newspaper to read out loud. That's enough for one day, I should think. +I can't abide to see her reading to herself. You mind and not bring +her any more books, do you hear?" + +"Yes, sir, I hear." Fred had received this order before, and had +secretly disobeyed it. He intended to disobey it again. + +"Ring the bell," said Mr. Featherstone; "I want missy to come down." + +Rosamond and Mary had been talking faster than their male friends. +They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near +the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and +applied little touches of her finger-tips to her hair--hair of +infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Mary Garth seemed all +the plainer standing at an angle between the two nymphs--the one in the +glass, and the one out of it, who looked at each other with eyes of +heavenly blue, deep enough to hold the most exquisite meanings an +ingenious beholder could put into them, and deep enough to hide the +meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite. +Only a few children in Middlemarch looked blond by the side of +Rosamond, and the slim figure displayed by her riding-habit had +delicate undulations. In fact, most men in Middlemarch, except her +brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the best girl in the world, and some +called her an angel. Mary Garth, on the contrary, had the aspect of an +ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and +stubborn; her stature was low; and it would not be true to declare, in +satisfactory antithesis, that she had all the virtues. Plainness has +its peculiar temptations and vices quite as much as beauty; it is apt +either to feign amiability, or, not feigning it, to show all the +repulsiveness of discontent: at any rate, to be called an ugly thing in +contrast with that lovely creature your companion, is apt to produce +some effect beyond a sense of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase. +At the age of two-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that +perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to +the less fortunate girl, as if they were to be obtained in quantities +ready mixed, with a flavor of resignation as required. Her shrewdness +had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never +carried utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude +towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be +contented, did something to make her so. Advancing womanhood had +tempered her plainness, which was of a good human sort, such as the +mothers of our race have very commonly worn in all latitudes under a +more or less becoming headgear. Rembrandt would have painted her with +pleasure, and would have made her broad features look out of the canvas +with intelligent honesty. For honesty, truth-telling fairness, was +Mary's reigning virtue: she neither tried to create illusions, nor +indulged in them for her own behoof, and when she was in a good mood +she had humor enough in her to laugh at herself. When she and Rosamond +happened both to be reflected in the glass, she said, laughingly-- + +"What a brown patch I am by the side of you, Rosy! You are the most +unbecoming companion." + +"Oh no! No one thinks of your appearance, you are so sensible and +useful, Mary. Beauty is of very little consequence in reality," said +Rosamond, turning her head towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards +the new view of her neck in the glass. + +"You mean my beauty," said Mary, rather sardonically. + +Rosamond thought, "Poor Mary, she takes the kindest things ill." Aloud +she said, "What have you been doing lately?" + +"I? Oh, minding the house--pouring out syrup--pretending to be amiable +and contented--learning to have a bad opinion of everybody." + +"It is a wretched life for you." + +"No," said Mary, curtly, with a little toss of her head. "I think my +life is pleasanter than your Miss Morgan's." + +"Yes; but Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not young." + +"She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am not at all sure +that everything gets easier as one gets older." + +"No," said Rosamond, reflectively; "one wonders what such people do, +without any prospect. To be sure, there is religion as a support. +But," she added, dimpling, "it is very different with you, Mary. You +may have an offer." + +"Has any one told you he means to make me one?" + +"Of course not. I mean, there is a gentleman who may fall in love with +you, seeing you almost every day." + +A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve +not to show any change. + +"Does that always make people fall in love?" she answered, carelessly; +"it seems to me quite as often a reason for detesting each other." + +"Not when they are interesting and agreeable. I hear that Mr. Lydgate +is both." + +"Oh, Mr. Lydgate!" said Mary, with an unmistakable lapse into +indifference. "You want to know something about him," she added, not +choosing to indulge Rosamond's indirectness. + +"Merely, how you like him." + +"There is no question of liking at present. My liking always wants +some little kindness to kindle it. I am not magnanimous enough to like +people who speak to me without seeming to see me." + +"Is he so haughty?" said Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction. "You +know that he is of good family?" + +"No; he did not give that as a reason." + +"Mary! you are the oddest girl. But what sort of looking man is he? +Describe him to me." + +"How can one describe a man? I can give you an inventory: heavy +eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid +white hands--and--let me see--oh, an exquisite cambric +pocket-handkerchief. But you will see him. You know this is about the +time of his visits." + +Rosamond blushed a little, but said, meditatively, "I rather like a +haughty manner. I cannot endure a rattling young man." + +"I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate was haughty; but il y en a pour +tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say, and if any girl can +choose the particular sort of conceit she would like, I should think it +is you, Rosy." + +"Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited." + +"I wish no one said any worse of him. He should be more careful. Mrs. +Waule has been telling uncle that Fred is very unsteady." Mary spoke +from a girlish impulse which got the better of her judgment. There was +a vague uneasiness associated with the word "unsteady" which she hoped +Rosamond might say something to dissipate. But she purposely abstained +from mentioning Mrs. Waule's more special insinuation. + +"Oh, Fred is horrid!" said Rosamond. She would not have allowed +herself so unsuitable a word to any one but Mary. + +"What do you mean by horrid?" + +"He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he will not take +orders." + +"I think Fred is quite right." + +"How can you say he is quite right, Mary? I thought you had more sense +of religion." + +"He is not fit to be a clergyman." + +"But he ought to be fit."--"Well, then, he is not what he ought to be. +I know some other people who are in the same case." + +"But no one approves of them. I should not like to marry a clergyman; +but there must be clergymen." + +"It does not follow that Fred must be one." + +"But when papa has been at the expense of educating him for it! And +only suppose, if he should have no fortune left him?" + +"I can suppose that very well," said Mary, dryly. + +"Then I wonder you can defend Fred," said Rosamond, inclined to push +this point. + +"I don't defend him," said Mary, laughing; "I would defend any parish +from having him for a clergyman." + +"But of course if he were a clergyman, he must be different." + +"Yes, he would be a great hypocrite; and he is not that yet." + +"It is of no use saying anything to you, Mary. You always take Fred's +part." + +"Why should I not take his part?" said Mary, lighting up. "He would +take mine. He is the only person who takes the least trouble to oblige +me." + +"You make me feel very uncomfortable, Mary," said Rosamond, with her +gravest mildness; "I would not tell mamma for the world." + +"What would you not tell her?" said Mary, angrily. + +"Pray do not go into a rage, Mary," said Rosamond, mildly as ever. + +"If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that +I would not marry him if he asked me. But he is not going to do so, +that I am aware. He certainly never has asked me." + +"Mary, you are always so violent." + +"And you are always so exasperating." + +"I? What can you blame me for?" + +"Oh, blameless people are always the most exasperating. There is the +bell--I think we must go down." + +"I did not mean to quarrel," said Rosamond, putting on her hat. + +"Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. If one is not to get into +a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?" + +"Am I to repeat what you have said?" "Just as you please. I never say +what I am afraid of having repeated. But let us go down." + +Mr. Lydgate was rather late this morning, but the visitors stayed long +enough to see him; for Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, +and she herself was so kind as to propose a second favorite song of +his--"Flow on, thou shining river"--after she had sung "Home, sweet +home" (which she detested). This hard-headed old Overreach approved of +the sentimental song, as the suitable garnish for girls, and also as +fundamentally fine, sentiment being the right thing for a song. + +Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last performance, and +assuring missy that her voice was as clear as a blackbird's, when Mr. +Lydgate's horse passed the window. + +His dull expectation of the usual disagreeable routine with an aged +patient--who can hardly believe that medicine would not "set him up" if +the doctor were only clever enough--added to his general disbelief in +Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background to this vision +of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made haste ostentatiously to +introduce as his niece, though he had never thought it worth while to +speak of Mary Garth in that light. Nothing escaped Lydgate in +Rosamond's graceful behavior: how delicately she waived the notice +which the old man's want of taste had thrust upon her by a quiet +gravity, not showing her dimples on the wrong occasion, but showing +them afterwards in speaking to Mary, to whom she addressed herself with +so much good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining +Mary more fully than he had done before, saw an adorable kindness in +Rosamond's eyes. But Mary from some cause looked rather out of temper. + +"Miss Rosy has been singing me a song--you've nothing to say against +that, eh, doctor?" said Mr. Featherstone. "I like it better than your +physic." + +"That has made me forget how the time was going," said Rosamond, rising +to reach her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that her +flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her +riding-habit. "Fred, we must really go." + +"Very good," said Fred, who had his own reasons for not being in the +best spirits, and wanted to get away. + +"Miss Vincy is a musician?" said Lydgate, following her with his eyes. +(Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness +that she was being looked at. She was by nature an actress of parts +that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and +so well, that she did not know it to be precisely her own.) + +"The best in Middlemarch, I'll be bound," said Mr. Featherstone, "let +the next be who she will. Eh, Fred? Speak up for your sister." + +"I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. My evidence would be good for +nothing." + +"Middlemarch has not a very high standard, uncle," said Rosamond, with +a pretty lightness, going towards her whip, which lay at a distance. + +Lydgate was quick in anticipating her. He reached the whip before she +did, and turned to present it to her. She bowed and looked at him: he +of course was looking at her, and their eyes met with that peculiar +meeting which is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden +divine clearance of haze. I think Lydgate turned a little paler than +usual, but Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment. +After that, she was really anxious to go, and did not know what sort of +stupidity her uncle was talking of when she went to shake hands with +him. + +Yet this result, which she took to be a mutual impression, called +falling in love, was just what Rosamond had contemplated beforehand. +Ever since that important new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a +little future, of which something like this scene was the necessary +beginning. Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly +escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had a +circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native +merit has urged itself in vain. And a stranger was absolutely +necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had always turned on a +lover and bridegroom who was not a Middlemarcher, and who had no +connections at all like her own: of late, indeed, the construction +seemed to demand that he should somehow be related to a baronet. Now +that she and the stranger had met, reality proved much more moving than +anticipation, and Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great +epoch of her life. She judged of her own symptoms as those of +awakening love, and she held it still more natural that Mr. Lydgate +should have fallen in love at first sight of her. These things +happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the +complexion showed all the better for it? Rosamond, though no older +than Mary, was rather used to being fallen in love with; but she, for +her part, had remained indifferent and fastidiously critical towards +both fresh sprig and faded bachelor. And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly +corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, +carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and +possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class +heaven, rank; a man of talent, also, whom it would be especially +delightful to enslave: in fact, a man who had touched her nature quite +newly, and brought a vivid interest into her life which was better than +any fancied "might-be" such as she was in the habit of opposing to the +actual. + +Thus, in riding home, both the brother and the sister were preoccupied +and inclined to be silent. Rosamond, whose basis for her structure had +the usual airy slightness, was of remarkably detailed and realistic +imagination when the foundation had been once presupposed; and before +they had ridden a mile she was far on in the costume and introductions +of her wedded life, having determined on her house in Middlemarch, and +foreseen the visits she would pay to her husband's high-bred relatives +at a distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as +thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments, preparing +herself thus for vaguer elevations which might ultimately come. There +was nothing financial, still less sordid, in her previsions: she cared +about what were considered refinements, and not about the money that +was to pay for them. + +Fred's mind, on the other hand, was busy with an anxiety which even his +ready hopefulness could not immediately quell. He saw no way of +eluding Featherstone's stupid demand without incurring consequences +which he liked less even than the task of fulfilling it. His father +was already out of humor with him, and would be still more so if he +were the occasion of any additional coolness between his own family and +the Bulstrodes. Then, he himself hated having to go and speak to his +uncle Bulstrode, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said many +foolish things about Featherstone's property, and these had been +magnified by report. Fred felt that he made a wretched figure as a +fellow who bragged about expectations from a queer old miser like +Featherstone, and went to beg for certificates at his bidding. +But--those expectations! He really had them, and he saw no agreeable +alternative if he gave them up; besides, he had lately made a debt +which galled him extremely, and old Featherstone had almost bargained +to pay it off. The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were +small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. +Fred had known men to whom he would have been ashamed of confessing the +smallness of his scrapes. Such ruminations naturally produced a streak +of misanthropic bitterness. To be born the son of a Middlemarch +manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, while such +men as Mainwaring and Vyan--certainly life was a poor business, when a +spirited young fellow, with a good appetite for the best of everything, +had so poor an outlook. + +It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name +in the matter was a fiction of old Featherstone's; nor could this have +made any difference to his position. He saw plainly enough that the +old man wanted to exercise his power by tormenting him a little, and +also probably to get some satisfaction out of seeing him on unpleasant +terms with Bulstrode. Fred fancied that he saw to the bottom of his +uncle Featherstone's soul, though in reality half what he saw there was +no more than the reflex of his own inclinations. The difficult task of +knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is +chiefly made up of their own wishes. + +Fred's main point of debate with himself was, whether he should tell +his father, or try to get through the affair without his father's +knowledge. It was probably Mrs. Waule who had been talking about him; +and if Mary Garth had repeated Mrs. Waule's report to Rosamond, it +would be sure to reach his father, who would as surely question him +about it. He said to Rosamond, as they slackened their pace-- + +"Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mrs. Waule had said anything about me?" + +"Yes, indeed, she did." + +"What?" + +"That you were very unsteady." + +"Was that all?" + +"I should think that was enough, Fred." + +"You are sure she said no more?" + +"Mary mentioned nothing else. But really, Fred, I think you ought to +be ashamed." + +"Oh, fudge! Don't lecture me. What did Mary say about it?" + +"I am not obliged to tell you. You care so very much what Mary says, +and you are too rude to allow me to speak." + +"Of course I care what Mary says. She is the best girl I know." + +"I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in love with." + +"How do you know what men would fall in love with? Girls never know." + +"At least, Fred, let me advise _you_ not to fall in love with her, for +she says she would not marry you if you asked her." + +"She might have waited till I did ask her." + +"I knew it would nettle you, Fred." + +"Not at all. She would not have said so if you had not provoked her." +Before reaching home, Fred concluded that he would tell the whole +affair as simply as possible to his father, who might perhaps take on +himself the unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode. + + + + + +BOOK II. + + + + +OLD AND YOUNG. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + 1st Gent. How class your man?--as better than the most, + Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak? + As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite? + 2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books + The drifted relics of all time. + As well sort them at once by size and livery: + Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf + Will hardly cover more diversity + Than all your labels cunningly devised + To class your unread authors. + + +In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy determined to +speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank at half-past +one, when he was usually free from other callers. But a visitor had +come in at one o'clock, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him, +that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an +hour. The banker's speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he +used up an appreciable amount of time in brief meditative pauses. Do +not imagine his sickly aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired +sort: he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, +light-gray eyes, and a large forehead. Loud men called his subdued +tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with +openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not +be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can +be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs. +Mr. Bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening, and +an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons +who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the +utmost improvement from their discourse. Others, who expected to make +no great figure, disliked this kind of moral lantern turned on them. +If you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction +in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look +judicial. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit. Hence Mr. +Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and +sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a +Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical. Less superficial +reasoners among them wished to know who his father and grandfather +were, observing that five-and-twenty years ago nobody had ever heard of +a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. To his present visitor, Lydgate, the +scrutinizing look was a matter of indifference: he simply formed an +unfavorable opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he +had an eager inward life with little enjoyment of tangible things. + +"I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on me here +occasionally, Mr. Lydgate," the banker observed, after a brief pause. +"If, as I dare to hope, I have the privilege of finding you a valuable +coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will +be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private. As to the +new hospital, which is nearly finished, I shall consider what you have +said about the advantages of the special destination for fevers. The +decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the +land and timber for the building, he is not disposed to give his +personal attention to the object." + +"There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like +this," said Lydgate. "A fine fever hospital in addition to the old +infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we +get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education +than the spread of such schools over the country? A born provincial +man who has a grain of public spirit as well as a few ideas, should do +what he can to resist the rush of everything that is a little better +than common towards London. Any valid professional aims may often find +a freer, if not a richer field, in the provinces." + +One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet +capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment. About his +ordinary bearing there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of +success, a confidence in his own powers and integrity much fortified by +contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he had had no +experience. But this proud openness was made lovable by an expression +of unaffected good-will. Mr. Bulstrode perhaps liked him the better for +the difference between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked +him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in Middlemarch. +One can begin so many things with a new person!--even begin to be a +better man. + +"I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller opportunities," Mr. +Bulstrode answered; "I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of +my new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am +determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two +physicians. Indeed, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this +town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to +be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood. +With regard to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial point--I +mean your election. And now I hope you will not shrink from incurring +a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional +brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer." + +"I will not profess bravery," said Lydgate, smiling, "but I acknowledge +a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I should not care for my +profession, if I did not believe that better methods were to be found +and enforced there as well as everywhere else." + +"The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch, my dear sir," +said the banker. "I mean in knowledge and skill; not in social status, +for our medical men are most of them connected with respectable +townspeople here. My own imperfect health has induced me to give some +attention to those palliative resources which the divine mercy has +placed within our reach. I have consulted eminent men in the +metropolis, and I am painfully aware of the backwardness under which +medical treatment labors in our provincial districts." + +"Yes;--with our present medical rules and education, one must be +satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner. As to all the +higher questions which determine the starting-point of a diagnosis--as +to the philosophy of medical evidence--any glimmering of these can only +come from a scientific culture of which country practitioners have +usually no more notion than the man in the moon." + +Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which +Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his +comprehension. Under such circumstances a judicious man changes the +topic and enters on ground where his own gifts may be more useful. + +"I am aware," he said, "that the peculiar bias of medical ability is +towards material means. Nevertheless, Mr. Lydgate, I hope we shall not +vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not likely to be +actively concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an +aid to me. You recognize, I hope; the existence of spiritual interests +in your patients?" + +"Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover different meanings +to different minds." + +"Precisely. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as fatal as no +teaching. Now a point which I have much at heart to secure is a new +regulation as to clerical attendance at the old infirmary. The +building stands in Mr. Farebrother's parish. You know Mr. Farebrother?" + +"I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to thank him. He +seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. And I understand he is a +naturalist." + +"Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful to contemplate. +I suppose there is not a clergyman in this country who has greater +talents." Mr. Bulstrode paused and looked meditative. + +"I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive talent in +Middlemarch," said Lydgate, bluntly. + +"What I desire," Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, +"is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be +superseded by the appointment of a chaplain--of Mr. Tyke, in fact--and +that no other spiritual aid should be called in." + +"As a medical man I could have no opinion on such a point unless I knew +Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he +was applied." Lydgate smiled, but he was bent on being circumspect. + +"Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at +present. But"--here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak with a more chiselled +emphasis--"the subject is likely to be referred to the medical board of +the infirmary, and what I trust I may ask of you is, that in virtue of +the cooperation between us which I now look forward to, you will not, +so far as you are concerned, be influenced by my opponents in this +matter." + +"I hope I shall have nothing to do with clerical disputes," said +Lydgate. "The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession." + +"My responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind. With me, +indeed, this question is one of sacred accountableness; whereas with my +opponents, I have good reason to say that it is an occasion for +gratifying a spirit of worldly opposition. But I shall not therefore +drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that +truth which an evil generation hates. I have devoted myself to this +object of hospital-improvement, but I will boldly confess to you, Mr. +Lydgate, that I should have no interest in hospitals if I believed that +nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. I +have another ground of action, and in the face of persecution I will +not conceal it." + +Mr. Bulstrode's voice had become a loud and agitated whisper as he said +the last words. + +"There we certainly differ," said Lydgate. But he was not sorry that +the door was now opened, and Mr. Vincy was announced. That florid +sociable personage was become more interesting to him since he had seen +Rosamond. Not that, like her, he had been weaving any future in which +their lots were united; but a man naturally remembers a charming girl +with pleasure, and is willing to dine where he may see her again. +Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had +been "in no hurry about," for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that +she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor into great +favor. + +Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-law, poured himself out a +glass of water, and opened a sandwich-box. + +"I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?" + +"No, no; I've no opinion of that system. Life wants padding," said Mr. +Vincy, unable to omit his portable theory. "However," he went on, +accenting the word, as if to dismiss all irrelevance, "what I came here +to talk about was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's." + +"That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take quite as +different views as on diet, Vincy." + +"I hope not this time." (Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored.) +"The fact is, it's about a whim of old Featherstone's. Somebody has +been cooking up a story out of spite, and telling it to the old man, to +try to set him against Fred. He's very fond of Fred, and is likely to +do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that +he means to leave him his land, and that makes other people jealous." + +"Vincy, I must repeat, that you will not get any concurrence from me as +to the course you have pursued with your eldest son. It was entirely +from worldly vanity that you destined him for the Church: with a family +of three sons and four daughters, you were not warranted in devoting +money to an expensive education which has succeeded in nothing but in +giving him extravagant idle habits. You are now reaping the +consequences." + +To point out other people's errors was a duty that Mr. Bulstrode rarely +shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was not equally prepared to be patient. +When a man has the immediate prospect of being mayor, and is ready, in +the interests of commerce, to take up a firm attitude on politics +generally, he has naturally a sense of his importance to the framework +of things which seems to throw questions of private conduct into the +background. And this particular reproof irritated him more than any +other. It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that he was +reaping the consequences. But he felt his neck under Bulstrode's yoke; +and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was anxious to refrain from +that relief. + +"As to that, Bulstrode, it's no use going back. I'm not one of your +pattern men, and I don't pretend to be. I couldn't foresee everything +in the trade; there wasn't a finer business in Middlemarch than ours, +and the lad was clever. My poor brother was in the Church, and would +have done well--had got preferment already, but that stomach fever took +him off: else he might have been a dean by this time. I think I was +justified in what I tried to do for Fred. If you come to religion, it +seems to me a man shouldn't want to carve out his meat to an ounce +beforehand:--one must trust a little to Providence and be generous. +It's a good British feeling to try and raise your family a little: in +my opinion, it's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance." + +"I don't wish to act otherwise than as your best friend, Vincy, when I +say that what you have been uttering just now is one mass of +worldliness and inconsistent folly." + +"Very well," said Mr. Vincy, kicking in spite of resolutions, "I never +professed to be anything but worldly; and, what's more, I don't see +anybody else who is not worldly. I suppose you don't conduct business +on what you call unworldly principles. The only difference I see is +that one worldliness is a little bit honester than another." + +"This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy," said Mr. Bulstrode, +who, finishing his sandwich, had thrown himself back in his chair, and +shaded his eyes as if weary. "You had some more particular business." + +"Yes, yes. The long and short of it is, somebody has told old +Featherstone, giving you as the authority, that Fred has been borrowing +or trying to borrow money on the prospect of his land. Of course you +never said any such nonsense. But the old fellow will insist on it +that Fred should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just +a bit of a note saying you don't believe a word of such stuff, either +of his having borrowed or tried to borrow in such a fool's way. I +suppose you can have no objection to do that." + +"Pardon me. I have an objection. I am by no means sure that your son, +in his recklessness and ignorance--I will use no severer word--has not +tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that +some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a +presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other +folly in the world." + +"But Fred gives me his honor that he has never borrowed money on the +pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. He is not a +liar. I don't want to make him better than he is. I have blown him up +well--nobody can say I wink at what he does. But he is not a liar. +And I should have thought--but I may be wrong--that there was no +religion to hinder a man from believing the best of a young fellow, +when you don't know worse. It seems to me it would be a poor sort of +religion to put a spoke in his wheel by refusing to say you don't +believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to believe." + +"I am not at all sure that I should be befriending your son by +smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. +I cannot regard wealth as a blessing to those who use it simply as a +harvest for this world. You do not like to hear these things, Vincy, +but on this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no +motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you +refer to. I do not shrink from saying that it will not tend to your +son's eternal welfare or to the glory of God. Why then should you +expect me to pen this kind of affidavit, which has no object but to +keep up a foolish partiality and secure a foolish bequest?" + +"If you mean to hinder everybody from having money but saints and +evangelists, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all +I can say," Mr. Vincy burst out very bluntly. "It may be for the glory +of God, but it is not for the glory of the Middlemarch trade, that +Plymdale's house uses those blue and green dyes it gets from the +Brassing manufactory; they rot the silk, that's all I know about it. +Perhaps if other people knew so much of the profit went to the glory of +God, they might like it better. But I don't mind so much about that--I +could get up a pretty row, if I chose." + +Mr. Bulstrode paused a little before he answered. "You pain me very +much by speaking in this way, Vincy. I do not expect you to understand +my grounds of action--it is not an easy thing even to thread a path for +principles in the intricacies of the world--still less to make the +thread clear for the careless and the scoffing. You must remember, if +you please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's +brother, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as +withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family. +I must remind you that it is not your own prudence or judgment that has +enabled you to keep your place in the trade." + +"Very likely not; but you have been no loser by my trade yet," said Mr. +Vincy, thoroughly nettled (a result which was seldom much retarded by +previous resolutions). "And when you married Harriet, I don't see how +you could expect that our families should not hang by the same nail. +If you've changed your mind, and want my family to come down in the +world, you'd better say so. I've never changed; I'm a plain Churchman +now, just as I used to be before doctrines came up. I take the world +as I find it, in trade and everything else. I'm contented to be no +worse than my neighbors. But if you want us to come down in the world, +say so. I shall know better what to do then." + +"You talk unreasonably. Shall you come down in the world for want of +this letter about your son?" + +"Well, whether or not, I consider it very unhandsome of you to refuse +it. Such doings may be lined with religion, but outside they have a +nasty, dog-in-the-manger look. You might as well slander Fred: it +comes pretty near to it when you refuse to say you didn't set a slander +going. It's this sort of thing--this tyrannical spirit, wanting to +play bishop and banker everywhere--it's this sort of thing makes a +man's name stink." + +"Vincy, if you insist on quarrelling with me, it will be exceedingly +painful to Harriet as well as myself," said Mr. Bulstrode, with a +trifle more eagerness and paleness than usual. + +"I don't want to quarrel. It's for my interest--and perhaps for yours +too--that we should be friends. I bear you no grudge; I think no worse +of you than I do of other people. A man who half starves himself, and +goes the length in family prayers, and so on, that you do, believes in +his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over your capital just +as fast with cursing and swearing:--plenty of fellows do. You like to +be master, there's no denying that; you must be first chop in heaven, +else you won't like it much. But you're my sister's husband, and we +ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your +fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, and +refuse to do Fred a good turn. And I don't mean to say I shall bear it +well. I consider it unhandsome." + +Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and looked steadily at +his brother-in-law, meaning to imply a demand for a decisive answer. + +This was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode had begun by admonishing +Mr. Vincy, and had ended by seeing a very unsatisfactory reflection of +himself in the coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturer's +mind presented to the subtler lights and shadows of his fellow-men; and +perhaps his experience ought to have warned him how the scene would +end. But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in +the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a fine fount of +admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible. + +It was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence +of uncomfortable suggestions. Before changing his course, he always +needed to shape his motives and bring them into accordance with his +habitual standard. He said, at last-- + +"I will reflect a little, Vincy. I will mention the subject to +Harriet. I shall probably send you a letter." + +"Very well. As soon as you can, please. I hope it will all be settled +before I see you to-morrow." + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Follows here the strict receipt + For that sauce to dainty meat, + Named Idleness, which many eat + By preference, and call it sweet: + First watch for morsels, like a hound + Mix well with buffets, stir them round + With good thick oil of flatteries, + And froth with mean self-lauding lies. + Serve warm: the vessels you must choose + To keep it in are dead men's shoes." + + +Mr. Bulstrode's consultation of Harriet seemed to have had the effect +desired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next morning a letter came which +Fred could carry to Mr. Featherstone as the required testimony. + +The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of the cold weather, +and as Mary Garth was not to be seen in the sitting-room, Fred went +up-stairs immediately and presented the letter to his uncle, who, +propped up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual to +enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and frustrating +mankind. He put on his spectacles to read the letter, pursing up his +lips and drawing down their corners. + +"Under the circumstances I will not decline to state my +conviction--tchah! what fine words the fellow puts! He's as fine as an +auctioneer--that your son Frederic has not obtained any advance of +money on bequests promised by Mr. Featherstone--promised? who said I +had ever promised? I promise nothing--I shall make codicils as long as +I like--and that considering the nature of such a proceeding, it is +unreasonable to presume that a young man of sense and character would +attempt it--ah, but the gentleman doesn't say you are a young man of +sense and character, mark you that, sir!--As to my own concern with any +report of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I never made any +statement to the effect that your son had borrowed money on any +property that might accrue to him on Mr. Featherstone's demise--bless +my heart! 'property'--accrue--demise! Lawyer Standish is nothing to +him. He couldn't speak finer if he wanted to borrow. Well," Mr. +Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at Fred, while he handed +back the letter to him with a contemptuous gesture, "you don't suppose +I believe a thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?" + +Fred colored. "You wished to have the letter, sir. I should think it +very likely that Mr. Bulstrode's denial is as good as the authority +which told you what he denies." + +"Every bit. I never said I believed either one or the other. And now +what d' you expect?" said Mr. Featherstone, curtly, keeping on his +spectacles, but withdrawing his hands under his wraps. + +"I expect nothing, sir." Fred with difficulty restrained himself from +venting his irritation. "I came to bring you the letter. If you like +I will bid you good morning." + +"Not yet, not yet. Ring the bell; I want missy to come." + +It was a servant who came in answer to the bell. + +"Tell missy to come!" said Mr. Featherstone, impatiently. "What +business had she to go away?" He spoke in the same tone when Mary came. + +"Why couldn't you sit still here till I told you to go? I want my +waistcoat now. I told you always to put it on the bed." + +Mary's eyes looked rather red, as if she had been crying. It was clear +that Mr. Featherstone was in one of his most snappish humors this +morning, and though Fred had now the prospect of receiving the +much-needed present of money, he would have preferred being free to +turn round on the old tyrant and tell him that Mary Garth was too good +to be at his beck. Though Fred had risen as she entered the room, she +had barely noticed him, and looked as if her nerves were quivering with +the expectation that something would be thrown at her. But she never +had anything worse than words to dread. When she went to reach the +waistcoat from a peg, Fred went up to her and said, "Allow me." + +"Let it alone! You bring it, missy, and lay it down here," said Mr. +Featherstone. "Now you go away again till I call you," he added, when +the waistcoat was laid down by him. It was usual with him to season +his pleasure in showing favor to one person by being especially +disagreeable to another, and Mary was always at hand to furnish the +condiment. When his own relatives came she was treated better. Slowly +he took out a bunch of keys from the waistcoat pocket, and slowly he +drew forth a tin box which was under the bed-clothes. + +"You expect I am going to give you a little fortune, eh?" he said, +looking above his spectacles and pausing in the act of opening the lid. + +"Not at all, sir. You were good enough to speak of making me a present +the other day, else, of course, I should not have thought of the +matter." But Fred was of a hopeful disposition, and a vision had +presented itself of a sum just large enough to deliver him from a +certain anxiety. When Fred got into debt, it always seemed to him +highly probable that something or other--he did not necessarily +conceive what--would come to pass enabling him to pay in due time. And +now that the providential occurrence was apparently close at hand, it +would have been sheer absurdity to think that the supply would be short +of the need: as absurd as a faith that believed in half a miracle for +want of strength to believe in a whole one. + +The deep-veined hands fingered many bank-notes-one after the other, +laying them down flat again, while Fred leaned back in his chair, +scorning to look eager. He held himself to be a gentleman at heart, +and did not like courting an old fellow for his money. At last, Mr. +Featherstone eyed him again over his spectacles and presented him with +a little sheaf of notes: Fred could see distinctly that there were but +five, as the less significant edges gaped towards him. But then, each +might mean fifty pounds. He took them, saying-- + +"I am very much obliged to you, sir," and was going to roll them up +without seeming to think of their value. But this did not suit Mr. +Featherstone, who was eying him intently. + +"Come, don't you think it worth your while to count 'em? You take +money like a lord; I suppose you lose it like one." + +"I thought I was not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, sir. But I +shall be very happy to count them." + +Fred was not so happy, however, after he had counted them. For they +actually presented the absurdity of being less than his hopefulness had +decided that they must be. What can the fitness of things mean, if not +their fitness to a man's expectations? Failing this, absurdity and +atheism gape behind him. The collapse for Fred was severe when he +found that he held no more than five twenties, and his share in the +higher education of this country did not seem to help him. +Nevertheless he said, with rapid changes in his fair complexion-- + +"It is very handsome of you, sir." + +"I should think it is," said Mr. Featherstone, locking his box and +replacing it, then taking off his spectacles deliberately, and at +length, as if his inward meditation had more deeply convinced him, +repeating, "I should think it handsome." + +"I assure you, sir, I am very grateful," said Fred, who had had time to +recover his cheerful air. + +"So you ought to be. You want to cut a figure in the world, and I +reckon Peter Featherstone is the only one you've got to trust to." Here +the old man's eyes gleamed with a curiously mingled satisfaction in the +consciousness that this smart young fellow relied upon him, and that +the smart young fellow was rather a fool for doing so. + +"Yes, indeed: I was not born to very splendid chances. Few men have +been more cramped than I have been," said Fred, with some sense of +surprise at his own virtue, considering how hardly he was dealt with. +"It really seems a little too bad to have to ride a broken-winded +hunter, and see men, who, are not half such good judges as yourself, +able to throw away any amount of money on buying bad bargains." + +"Well, you can buy yourself a fine hunter now. Eighty pound is enough +for that, I reckon--and you'll have twenty pound over to get yourself +out of any little scrape," said Mr. Featherstone, chuckling slightly. + +"You are very good, sir," said Fred, with a fine sense of contrast +between the words and his feeling. + +"Ay, rather a better uncle than your fine uncle Bulstrode. You won't +get much out of his spekilations, I think. He's got a pretty strong +string round your father's leg, by what I hear, eh?" + +"My father never tells me anything about his affairs, sir." + +"Well, he shows some sense there. But other people find 'em out +without his telling. _He'll_ never have much to leave you: he'll +most-like die without a will--he's the sort of man to do it--let 'em +make him mayor of Middlemarch as much as they like. But you won't get +much by his dying without a will, though you _are_ the eldest son." + +Fred thought that Mr. Featherstone had never been so disagreeable +before. True, he had never before given him quite so much money at +once. + +"Shall I destroy this letter of Mr. Bulstrode's, sir?" said Fred, +rising with the letter as if he would put it in the fire. + +"Ay, ay, I don't want it. It's worth no money to me." + +Fred carried the letter to the fire, and thrust the poker through it +with much zest. He longed to get out of the room, but he was a little +ashamed before his inner self, as well as before his uncle, to run away +immediately after pocketing the money. Presently, the farm-bailiff +came up to give his master a report, and Fred, to his unspeakable +relief, was dismissed with the injunction to come again soon. + +He had longed not only to be set free from his uncle, but also to find +Mary Garth. She was now in her usual place by the fire, with sewing in +her hands and a book open on the little table by her side. Her eyelids +had lost some of their redness now, and she had her usual air of +self-command. + +"Am I wanted up-stairs?" she said, half rising as Fred entered. + +"No; I am only dismissed, because Simmons is gone up." + +Mary sat down again, and resumed her work. She was certainly treating +him with more indifference than usual: she did not know how +affectionately indignant he had felt on her behalf up-stairs. + +"May I stay here a little, Mary, or shall I bore you?" + +"Pray sit down," said Mary; "you will not be so heavy a bore as Mr. +John Waule, who was here yesterday, and he sat down without asking my +leave." + +"Poor fellow! I think he is in love with you." + +"I am not aware of it. And to me it is one of the most odious things +in a girl's life, that there must always be some supposition of falling +in love coming between her and any man who is kind to her, and to whom +she is grateful. I should have thought that I, at least, might have +been safe from all that. I have no ground for the nonsensical vanity +of fancying everybody who comes near me is in love with me." + +Mary did not mean to betray any feeling, but in spite of herself she +ended in a tremulous tone of vexation. + +"Confound John Waule! I did not mean to make you angry. I didn't know +you had any reason for being grateful to me. I forgot what a great +service you think it if any one snuffs a candle for you." Fred also had +his pride, and was not going to show that he knew what had called forth +this outburst of Mary's. + +"Oh, I am not angry, except with the ways of the world. I do like to +be spoken to as if I had common-sense. I really often feel as if I +could understand a little more than I ever hear even from young +gentlemen who have been to college." Mary had recovered, and she spoke +with a suppressed rippling under-current of laughter pleasant to hear. + +"I don't care how merry you are at my expense this morning," said Fred, +"I thought you looked so sad when you came up-stairs. It is a shame you +should stay here to be bullied in that way." + +"Oh, I have an easy life--by comparison. I have tried being a teacher, +and I am not fit for that: my mind is too fond of wandering on its own +way. I think any hardship is better than pretending to do what one is +paid for, and never really doing it. Everything here I can do as well +as any one else could; perhaps better than some--Rosy, for example. +Though she is just the sort of beautiful creature that is imprisoned +with ogres in fairy tales." + +"_Rosy!_" cried Fred, in a tone of profound brotherly scepticism. + +"Come, Fred!" said Mary, emphatically; "you have no right to be so +critical." + +"Do you mean anything particular--just now?" + +"No, I mean something general--always." + +"Oh, that I am idle and extravagant. Well, I am not fit to be a poor +man. I should not have made a bad fellow if I had been rich." + +"You would have done your duty in that state of life to which it has +not pleased God to call you," said Mary, laughing. + +"Well, I couldn't do my duty as a clergyman, any more than you could do +yours as a governess. You ought to have a little fellow-feeling there, +Mary." + +"I never said you ought to be a clergyman. There are other sorts of +work. It seems to me very miserable not to resolve on some course and +act accordingly." + +"So I could, if--" Fred broke off, and stood up, leaning against the +mantel-piece. + +"If you were sure you should not have a fortune?" + +"I did not say that. You want to quarrel with me. It is too bad of +you to be guided by what other people say about me." + +"How can I want to quarrel with you? I should be quarrelling with all +my new books," said Mary, lifting the volume on the table. "However +naughty you may be to other people, you are good to me." + +"Because I like you better than any one else. But I know you despise +me." + +"Yes, I do--a little," said Mary, nodding, with a smile. + +"You would admire a stupendous fellow, who would have wise opinions +about everything." + +"Yes, I should." Mary was sewing swiftly, and seemed provokingly +mistress of the situation. When a conversation has taken a wrong turn +for us, we only get farther and farther into the swamp of awkwardness. +This was what Fred Vincy felt. + +"I suppose a woman is never in love with any one she has always +known--ever since she can remember; as a man often is. It is always +some new fellow who strikes a girl." + +"Let me see," said Mary, the corners of her mouth curling archly; "I +must go back on my experience. There is Juliet--she seems an example +of what you say. But then Ophelia had probably known Hamlet a long +while; and Brenda Troil--she had known Mordaunt Merton ever since they +were children; but then he seems to have been an estimable young man; +and Minna was still more deeply in love with Cleveland, who was a +stranger. Waverley was new to Flora MacIvor; but then she did not fall +in love with him. And there are Olivia and Sophia Primrose, and +Corinne--they may be said to have fallen in love with new men. +Altogether, my experience is rather mixed." + +Mary looked up with some roguishness at Fred, and that look of hers was +very dear to him, though the eyes were nothing more than clear windows +where observation sat laughingly. He was certainly an affectionate +fellow, and as he had grown from boy to man, he had grown in love with +his old playmate, notwithstanding that share in the higher education of +the country which had exalted his views of rank and income. + +"When a man is not loved, it is no use for him to say that he could be +a better fellow--could do anything--I mean, if he were sure of being +loved in return." + +"Not of the least use in the world for him to say he _could_ be better. +Might, could, would--they are contemptible auxiliaries." + +"I don't see how a man is to be good for much unless he has some one +woman to love him dearly." + +"I think the goodness should come before he expects that." + +"You know better, Mary. Women don't love men for their goodness." + +"Perhaps not. But if they love them, they never think them bad." + +"It is hardly fair to say I am bad." + +"I said nothing at all about you." + +"I never shall be good for anything, Mary, if you will not say that you +love me--if you will not promise to marry me--I mean, when I am able to +marry." + +"If I did love you, I would not marry you: I would certainly not +promise ever to marry you." + +"I think that is quite wicked, Mary. If you love me, you ought to +promise to marry me." + +"On the contrary, I think it would be wicked in me to marry you even if +I did love you." + +"You mean, just as I am, without any means of maintaining a wife. Of +course: I am but three-and-twenty." + +"In that last point you will alter. But I am not so sure of any other +alteration. My father says an idle man ought not to exist, much less, +be married." + +"Then I am to blow my brains out?" + +"No; on the whole I should think you would do better to pass your +examination. I have heard Mr. Farebrother say it is disgracefully +easy." + +"That is all very fine. Anything is easy to him. Not that cleverness +has anything to do with it. I am ten times cleverer than many men who +pass." + +"Dear me!" said Mary, unable to repress her sarcasm; "that accounts for +the curates like Mr. Crowse. Divide your cleverness by ten, and the +quotient--dear me!--is able to take a degree. But that only shows you +are ten times more idle than the others." + +"Well, if I did pass, you would not want me to go into the Church?" + +"That is not the question--what I want you to do. You have a +conscience of your own, I suppose. There! there is Mr. Lydgate. I +must go and tell my uncle." + +"Mary," said Fred, seizing her hand as she rose; "if you will not give +me some encouragement, I shall get worse instead of better." + +"I will not give you any encouragement," said Mary, reddening. "Your +friends would dislike it, and so would mine. My father would think it +a disgrace to me if I accepted a man who got into debt, and would not +work!" + +Fred was stung, and released her hand. She walked to the door, but +there she turned and said: "Fred, you have always been so good, so +generous to me. I am not ungrateful. But never speak to me in that +way again." + +"Very well," said Fred, sulkily, taking up his hat and whip. His +complexion showed patches of pale pink and dead white. Like many a +plucked idle young gentleman, he was thoroughly in love, and with a +plain girl, who had no money! But having Mr. Featherstone's land in +the background, and a persuasion that, let Mary say what she would, she +really did care for him, Fred was not utterly in despair. + +When he got home, he gave four of the twenties to his mother, asking +her to keep them for him. "I don't want to spend that money, mother. +I want it to pay a debt with. So keep it safe away from my fingers." + +"Bless you, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy. She doted on her eldest son and +her youngest girl (a child of six), whom others thought her two +naughtiest children. The mother's eyes are not always deceived in +their partiality: she at least can best judge who is the tender, +filial-hearted child. And Fred was certainly very fond of his mother. +Perhaps it was his fondness for another person also that made him +particularly anxious to take some security against his own liability to +spend the hundred pounds. For the creditor to whom he owed a hundred +and sixty held a firmer security in the shape of a bill signed by +Mary's father. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + "Black eyes you have left, you say, + Blue eyes fail to draw you; + Yet you seem more rapt to-day, + Than of old we saw you. + + "Oh, I track the fairest fair + Through new haunts of pleasure; + Footprints here and echoes there + Guide me to my treasure: + + "Lo! she turns--immortal youth + Wrought to mortal stature, + Fresh as starlight's aged truth-- + Many-named Nature!" + + +A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, who had the +happiness to be dead a hundred and twenty years ago, and so to take his +place among the colossi whose huge legs our living pettiness is +observed to walk under, glories in his copious remarks and digressions +as the least imitable part of his work, and especially in those initial +chapters to the successive books of his history, where he seems to +bring his armchair to the proscenium and chat with us in all the lusty +ease of his fine English. But Fielding lived when the days were longer +(for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer +afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter +evenings. We belated historians must not linger after his example; and +if we did so, it is probable that our chat would be thin and eager, as +if delivered from a campstool in a parrot-house. I at least have so +much to do in unraveling certain human lots, and seeing how they were +woven and interwoven, that all the light I can command must be +concentrated on this particular web, and not dispersed over that +tempting range of relevancies called the universe. + +At present I have to make the new settler Lydgate better known to any +one interested in him than he could possibly be even to those who had +seen the most of him since his arrival in Middlemarch. For surely all +must admit that a man may be puffed and belauded, envied, ridiculed, +counted upon as a tool and fallen in love with, or at least selected as +a future husband, and yet remain virtually unknown--known merely as a +cluster of signs for his neighbors' false suppositions. There was a +general impression, however, that Lydgate was not altogether a common +country doctor, and in Middlemarch at that time such an impression was +significant of great things being expected from him. For everybody's +family doctor was remarkably clever, and was understood to have +immeasurable skill in the management and training of the most skittish +or vicious diseases. The evidence of his cleverness was of the higher +intuitive order, lying in his lady-patients' immovable conviction, and +was unassailable by any objection except that their intuitions were +opposed by others equally strong; each lady who saw medical truth in +Wrench and "the strengthening treatment" regarding Toller and "the +lowering system" as medical perdition. For the heroic times of copious +bleeding and blistering had not yet departed, still less the times of +thorough-going theory, when disease in general was called by some bad +name, and treated accordingly without shilly-shally--as if, for +example, it were to be called insurrection, which must not be fired on +with blank-cartridge, but have its blood drawn at once. The +strengtheners and the lowerers were all "clever" men in somebody's +opinion, which is really as much as can be said for any living talents. +Nobody's imagination had gone so far as to conjecture that Mr. Lydgate +could know as much as Dr. Sprague and Dr. Minchin, the two physicians, +who alone could offer any hope when danger was extreme, and when the +smallest hope was worth a guinea. Still, I repeat, there was a general +impression that Lydgate was something rather more uncommon than any +general practitioner in Middlemarch. And this was true. He was but +seven-and-twenty, an age at which many men are not quite common--at +which they are hopeful of achievement, resolute in avoidance, thinking +that Mammon shall never put a bit in their mouths and get astride their +backs, but rather that Mammon, if they have anything to do with him, +shall draw their chariot. + +He had been left an orphan when he was fresh from a public school. His +father, a military man, had made but little provision for three +children, and when the boy Tertius asked to have a medical education, +it seemed easier to his guardians to grant his request by apprenticing +him to a country practitioner than to make any objections on the score +of family dignity. He was one of the rarer lads who early get a +decided bent and make up their minds that there is something particular +in life which they would like to do for its own sake, and not because +their fathers did it. Most of us who turn to any subject with love +remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to +reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a +new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices +within, as the first traceable beginning of our love. Something of +that sort happened to Lydgate. He was a quick fellow, and when hot +from play, would toss himself in a corner, and in five minutes be deep +in any sort of book that he could lay his hands on: if it were Rasselas +or Gulliver, so much the better, but Bailey's Dictionary would do, or +the Bible with the Apocrypha in it. Something he must read, when he +was not riding the pony, or running and hunting, or listening to the +talk of men. All this was true of him at ten years of age; he had then +read through "Chrysal, or the Adventures of a Guinea," which was +neither milk for babes, nor any chalky mixture meant to pass for milk, +and it had already occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life +was stupid. His school studies had not much modified that opinion, for +though he "did" his classics and mathematics, he was not pre-eminent in +them. It was said of him, that Lydgate could do anything he liked, but +he had certainly not yet liked to do anything remarkable. He was a +vigorous animal with a ready understanding, but no spark had yet +kindled in him an intellectual passion; knowledge seemed to him a very +superficial affair, easily mastered: judging from the conversation of +his elders, he had apparently got already more than was necessary for +mature life. Probably this was not an exceptional result of expensive +teaching at that period of short-waisted coats, and other fashions +which have not yet recurred. But, one vacation, a wet day sent him to +the small home library to hunt once more for a book which might have +some freshness for him: in vain! unless, indeed, he took down a dusty +row of volumes with gray-paper backs and dingy labels--the volumes of +an old Cyclopaedia which he had never disturbed. It would at least be +a novelty to disturb them. They were on the highest shelf, and he +stood on a chair to get them down. But he opened the volume which he +first took from the shelf: somehow, one is apt to read in a makeshift +attitude, just where it might seem inconvenient to do so. The page he +opened on was under the head of Anatomy, and the first passage that +drew his eyes was on the valves of the heart. He was not much +acquainted with valves of any sort, but he knew that valvae were +folding-doors, and through this crevice came a sudden light startling +him with his first vivid notion of finely adjusted mechanism in the +human frame. A liberal education had of course left him free to read +the indecent passages in the school classics, but beyond a general +sense of secrecy and obscenity in connection with his internal +structure, had left his imagination quite unbiassed, so that for +anything he knew his brains lay in small bags at his temples, and he +had no more thought of representing to himself how his blood circulated +than how paper served instead of gold. But the moment of vocation had +come, and before he got down from his chair, the world was made new to +him by a presentiment of endless processes filling the vast spaces +planked out of his sight by that wordy ignorance which he had supposed +to be knowledge. From that hour Lydgate felt the growth of an +intellectual passion. + +We are not afraid of telling over and over again how a man comes to +fall in love with a woman and be wedded to her, or else be fatally +parted from her. Is it due to excess of poetry or of stupidity that we +are never weary of describing what King James called a woman's "makdom +and her fairnesse," never weary of listening to the twanging of the old +Troubadour strings, and are comparatively uninterested in that other +kind of "makdom and fairnesse" which must be wooed with industrious +thought and patient renunciation of small desires? In the story of +this passion, too, the development varies: sometimes it is the glorious +marriage, sometimes frustration and final parting. And not seldom the +catastrophe is bound up with the other passion, sung by the +Troubadours. For in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about +their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same +way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once +meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. The story +of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by +the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps +their ardor in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the +ardor of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked +like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. +Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual +change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowingly: you and I may +have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered +our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions: or perhaps it +came with the vibrations from a woman's glance. + +Lydgate did not mean to be one of those failures, and there was the +better hope of him because his scientific interest soon took the form +of a professional enthusiasm: he had a youthful belief in his +bread-winning work, not to be stifled by that initiation in makeshift +called his 'prentice days; and he carried to his studies in London, +Edinburgh, and Paris, the conviction that the medical profession as it +might be was the finest in the world; presenting the most perfect +interchange between science and art; offering the most direct alliance +between intellectual conquest and the social good. Lydgate's nature +demanded this combination: he was an emotional creature, with a +flesh-and-blood sense of fellowship which withstood all the +abstractions of special study. He cared not only for "cases," but for +John and Elizabeth, especially Elizabeth. + +There was another attraction in his profession: it wanted reform, and +gave a man an opportunity for some indignant resolve to reject its +venal decorations and other humbug, and to be the possessor of genuine +though undemanded qualifications. He went to study in Paris with the +determination that when he came home again he would settle in some +provincial town as a general practitioner, and resist the +irrational severance between medical and surgical knowledge in the +interest of his own scientific pursuits, as well as of the general +advance: he would keep away from the range of London intrigues, +jealousies, and social truckling, and win celebrity, however slowly, as +Jenner had done, by the independent value of his work. For it must be +remembered that this was a dark period; and in spite of venerable +colleges which used great efforts to secure purity of knowledge by +making it scarce, and to exclude error by a rigid exclusiveness in +relation to fees and appointments, it happened that very ignorant young +gentlemen were promoted in town, and many more got a legal right to +practise over large areas in the country. Also, the high standard held +up to the public mind by the College of Physicians, which gave its peculiar +sanction to the expensive and highly rarefied medical instruction +obtained by graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, did not hinder quackery +from having an excellent time of it; for since professional practice +chiefly consisted in giving a great many drugs, the public inferred +that it might be better off with more drugs still, if they could only +be got cheaply, and hence swallowed large cubic measures of physic +prescribed by unscrupulous ignorance which had taken no degrees. +Considering that statistics had not yet embraced a calculation as to +the number of ignorant or canting doctors which absolutely must exist +in the teeth of all changes, it seemed to Lydgate that a change in the +units was the most direct mode of changing the numbers. He meant to be +a unit who would make a certain amount of difference towards that +spreading change which would one day tell appreciably upon the +averages, and in the mean time have the pleasure of making an +advantageous difference to the viscera of his own patients. But he did +not simply aim at a more genuine kind of practice than was common. He +was ambitious of a wider effect: he was fired with the possibility that +he might work out the proof of an anatomical conception and make a link +in the chain of discovery. + +Does it seem incongruous to you that a Middlemarch surgeon should dream +of himself as a discoverer? Most of us, indeed, know little of the +great originators until they have been lifted up among the +constellations and already rule our fates. But that Herschel, for +example, who "broke the barriers of the heavens"--did he not once play +a provincial church-organ, and give music-lessons to stumbling +pianists? Each of those Shining Ones had to walk on the earth among +neighbors who perhaps thought much more of his gait and his garments +than of anything which was to give him a title to everlasting fame: +each of them had his little local personal history sprinkled with small +temptations and sordid cares, which made the retarding friction of his +course towards final companionship with the immortals. Lydgate was not +blind to the dangers of such friction, but he had plenty of confidence +in his resolution to avoid it as far as possible: being +seven-and-twenty, he felt himself experienced. And he was not going to +have his vanities provoked by contact with the showy worldly successes +of the capital, but to live among people who could hold no rivalry with +that pursuit of a great idea which was to be a twin object with the +assiduous practice of his profession. There was fascination in the +hope that the two purposes would illuminate each other: the careful +observation and inference which was his daily work, the use of the lens +to further his judgment in special cases, would further his thought as +an instrument of larger inquiry. Was not this the typical pre-eminence +of his profession? He would be a good Middlemarch doctor, and by that +very means keep himself in the track of far-reaching investigation. On +one point he may fairly claim approval at this particular stage of his +career: he did not mean to imitate those philanthropic models who make +a profit out of poisonous pickles to support themselves while they are +exposing adulteration, or hold shares in a gambling-hell that they may +have leisure to represent the cause of public morality. He intended to +begin in his own case some particular reforms which were quite +certainly within his reach, and much less of a problem than the +demonstrating of an anatomical conception. One of these reforms was to +act stoutly on the strength of a recent legal decision, and simply +prescribe, without dispensing drugs or taking percentage from +druggists. This was an innovation for one who had chosen to adopt the +style of general practitioner in a country town, and would be felt as +offensive criticism by his professional brethren. But Lydgate meant to +innovate in his treatment also, and he was wise enough to see that the +best security for his practising honestly according to his belief was +to get rid of systematic temptations to the contrary. + +Perhaps that was a more cheerful time for observers and theorizers than +the present; we are apt to think it the finest era of the world when +America was beginning to be discovered, when a bold sailor, even if he +were wrecked, might alight on a new kingdom; and about 1829 the dark +territories of Pathology were a fine America for a spirited young +adventurer. Lydgate was ambitious above all to contribute towards +enlarging the scientific, rational basis of his profession. The more +he became interested in special questions of disease, such as the +nature of fever or fevers, the more keenly he felt the need for that +fundamental knowledge of structure which just at the beginning of the +century had been illuminated by the brief and glorious career of +Bichat, who died when he was only one-and-thirty, but, like another +Alexander, left a realm large enough for many heirs. That great +Frenchman first carried out the conception that living bodies, +fundamentally considered, are not associations of organs which can be +understood by studying them first apart, and then as it were federally; +but must be regarded as consisting of certain primary webs or tissues, +out of which the various organs--brain, heart, lungs, and so on--are +compacted, as the various accommodations of a house are built up in +various proportions of wood, iron, stone, brick, zinc, and the rest, +each material having its peculiar composition and proportions. No man, +one sees, can understand and estimate the entire structure or its +parts--what are its frailties and what its repairs, without knowing the +nature of the materials. And the conception wrought out by Bichat, +with his detailed study of the different tissues, acted necessarily on +medical questions as the turning of gas-light would act on a dim, +oil-lit street, showing new connections and hitherto hidden facts of +structure which must be taken into account in considering the symptoms +of maladies and the action of medicaments. But results which depend on +human conscience and intelligence work slowly, and now at the end of +1829, most medical practice was still strutting or shambling along the +old paths, and there was still scientific work to be done which might +have seemed to be a direct sequence of Bichat's. This great seer did +not go beyond the consideration of the tissues as ultimate facts in the +living organism, marking the limit of anatomical analysis; but it was +open to another mind to say, have not these structures some common +basis from which they have all started, as your sarsnet, gauze, net, +satin, and velvet from the raw cocoon? Here would be another light, as +of oxy-hydrogen, showing the very grain of things, and revising all +former explanations. Of this sequence to Bichat's work, already +vibrating along many currents of the European mind, Lydgate was +enamoured; he longed to demonstrate the more intimate relations of +living structure, and help to define men's thought more accurately +after the true order. The work had not yet been done, but only +prepared for those who knew how to use the preparation. What was the +primitive tissue? In that way Lydgate put the question--not quite in +the way required by the awaiting answer; but such missing of the right +word befalls many seekers. And he counted on quiet intervals to be +watchfully seized, for taking up the threads of investigation--on many +hints to be won from diligent application, not only of the scalpel, but +of the microscope, which research had begun to use again with new +enthusiasm of reliance. Such was Lydgate's plan of his future: to do +good small work for Middlemarch, and great work for the world. + +He was certainly a happy fellow at this time: to be seven-and-twenty, +without any fixed vices, with a generous resolution that his action +should be beneficent, and with ideas in his brain that made life +interesting quite apart from the cultus of horseflesh and other mystic +rites of costly observance, which the eight hundred pounds left him +after buying his practice would certainly not have gone far in paying +for. He was at a starting-point which makes many a man's career a fine +subject for betting, if there were any gentlemen given to that +amusement who could appreciate the complicated probabilities of an +arduous purpose, with all the possible thwartings and furtherings of +circumstance, all the niceties of inward balance, by which a man swims +and makes his point or else is carried headlong. The risk would remain +even with close knowledge of Lydgate's character; for character too is +a process and an unfolding. The man was still in the making, as much +as the Middlemarch doctor and immortal discoverer, and there were both +virtues and faults capable of shrinking or expanding. The faults will +not, I hope, be a reason for the withdrawal of your interest in him. +Among our valued friends is there not some one or other who is a little +too self-confident and disdainful; whose distinguished mind is a little +spotted with commonness; who is a little pinched here and protuberant +there with native prejudices; or whose better energies are liable to +lapse down the wrong channel under the influence of transient +solicitations? All these things might be alleged against Lydgate, but +then, they are the periphrases of a polite preacher, who talks of Adam, +and would not like to mention anything painful to the pew-renters. The +particular faults from which these delicate generalities are distilled +have distinguishable physiognomies, diction, accent, and grimaces; +filling up parts in very various dramas. Our vanities differ as our +noses do: all conceit is not the same conceit, but varies in +correspondence with the minutiae of mental make in which one of us +differs from another. Lydgate's conceit was of the arrogant sort, +never simpering, never impertinent, but massive in its claims and +benevolently contemptuous. He would do a great deal for noodles, being +sorry for them, and feeling quite sure that they could have no power +over him: he had thought of joining the Saint Simonians when he was in +Paris, in order to turn them against some of their own doctrines. All +his faults were marked by kindred traits, and were those of a man who +had a fine baritone, whose clothes hung well upon him, and who even in +his ordinary gestures had an air of inbred distinction. Where then lay +the spots of commonness? says a young lady enamoured of that careless +grace. How could there be any commonness in a man so well-bred, so +ambitious of social distinction, so generous and unusual in his views +of social duty? As easily as there may be stupidity in a man of genius +if you take him unawares on the wrong subject, or as many a man who has +the best will to advance the social millennium might be ill-inspired in +imagining its lighter pleasures; unable to go beyond Offenbach's music, +or the brilliant punning in the last burlesque. Lydgate's spots of +commonness lay in the complexion of his prejudices, which, in spite of +noble intention and sympathy, were half of them such as are found in +ordinary men of the world: that distinction of mind which belonged to +his intellectual ardor, did not penetrate his feeling and judgment +about furniture, or women, or the desirability of its being known +(without his telling) that he was better born than other country +surgeons. He did not mean to think of furniture at present; but +whenever he did so it was to be feared that neither biology nor schemes +of reform would lift him above the vulgarity of feeling that there +would be an incompatibility in his furniture not being of the best. + +As to women, he had once already been drawn headlong by impetuous +folly, which he meant to be final, since marriage at some distant +period would of course not be impetuous. For those who want to be +acquainted with Lydgate it will be good to know what was that case of +impetuous folly, for it may stand as an example of the fitful swerving +of passion to which he was prone, together with the chivalrous kindness +which helped to make him morally lovable. The story can be told +without many words. It happened when he was studying in Paris, and +just at the time when, over and above his other work, he was occupied +with some galvanic experiments. One evening, tired with his +experimenting, and not being able to elicit the facts he needed, he +left his frogs and rabbits to some repose under their trying and +mysterious dispensation of unexplained shocks, and went to finish his +evening at the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin, where there was a +melodrama which he had already seen several times; attracted, not by +the ingenious work of the collaborating authors, but by an actress +whose part it was to stab her lover, mistaking him for the +evil-designing duke of the piece. Lydgate was in love with this +actress, as a man is in love with a woman whom he never expects to +speak to. She was a Provencale, with dark eyes, a Greek profile, and +rounded majestic form, having that sort of beauty which carries a sweet +matronliness even in youth, and her voice was a soft cooing. She had +but lately come to Paris, and bore a virtuous reputation, her husband +acting with her as the unfortunate lover. It was her acting which was +"no better than it should be," but the public was satisfied. Lydgate's +only relaxation now was to go and look at this woman, just as he might +have thrown himself under the breath of the sweet south on a bank of +violets for a while, without prejudice to his galvanism, to which he +would presently return. But this evening the old drama had a new +catastrophe. At the moment when the heroine was to act the stabbing of +her lover, and he was to fall gracefully, the wife veritably stabbed +her husband, who fell as death willed. A wild shriek pierced the +house, and the Provencale fell swooning: a shriek and a swoon were +demanded by the play, but the swooning too was real this time. Lydgate +leaped and climbed, he hardly knew how, on to the stage, and was active +in help, making the acquaintance of his heroine by finding a contusion +on her head and lifting her gently in his arms. Paris rang with the +story of this death:--was it a murder? Some of the actress's warmest +admirers were inclined to believe in her guilt, and liked her the +better for it (such was the taste of those times); but Lydgate was not +one of these. He vehemently contended for her innocence, and the +remote impersonal passion for her beauty which he had felt before, had +passed now into personal devotion, and tender thought of her lot. The +notion of murder was absurd: no motive was discoverable, the young +couple being understood to dote on each other; and it was not +unprecedented that an accidental slip of the foot should have brought +these grave consequences. The legal investigation ended in Madame +Laure's release. Lydgate by this time had had many interviews with +her, and found her more and more adorable. She talked little; but that +was an additional charm. She was melancholy, and seemed grateful; her +presence was enough, like that of the evening light. Lydgate was madly +anxious about her affection, and jealous lest any other man than +himself should win it and ask her to marry him. But instead of +reopening her engagement at the Porte Saint Martin, where she would +have been all the more popular for the fatal episode, she left Paris +without warning, forsaking her little court of admirers. Perhaps no +one carried inquiry far except Lydgate, who felt that all science had +come to a stand-still while he imagined the unhappy Laure, stricken by +ever-wandering sorrow, herself wandering, and finding no faithful +comforter. Hidden actresses, however, are not so difficult to find as +some other hidden facts, and it was not long before Lydgate gathered +indications that Laure had taken the route to Lyons. He found her at +last acting with great success at Avignon under the same name, looking +more majestic than ever as a forsaken wife carrying her child in her +arms. He spoke to her after the play, was received with the usual +quietude which seemed to him beautiful as clear depths of water, and +obtained leave to visit her the next day; when he was bent on telling +her that he adored her, and on asking her to marry him. He knew that +this was like the sudden impulse of a madman--incongruous even with his +habitual foibles. No matter! It was the one thing which he was +resolved to do. He had two selves within him apparently, and they must +learn to accommodate each other and bear reciprocal impediments. +Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our +infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide +plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us. + +To have approached Laure with any suit that was not reverentially +tender would have been simply a contradiction of his whole feeling +towards her. + +"You have come all the way from Paris to find me?" she said to him the +next day, sitting before him with folded arms, and looking at him with +eyes that seemed to wonder as an untamed ruminating animal wonders. +"Are all Englishmen like that?" + +"I came because I could not live without trying to see you. You are +lonely; I love you; I want you to consent to be my wife; I will wait, +but I want you to promise that you will marry me--no one else." + +Laure looked at him in silence with a melancholy radiance from under +her grand eyelids, until he was full of rapturous certainty, and knelt +close to her knees. + +"I will tell you something," she said, in her cooing way, keeping her +arms folded. "My foot really slipped." + +"I know, I know," said Lydgate, deprecatingly. "It was a fatal +accident--a dreadful stroke of calamity that bound me to you the more." + +Again Laure paused a little and then said, slowly, "_I meant to do it._" + +Lydgate, strong man as he was, turned pale and trembled: moments seemed +to pass before he rose and stood at a distance from her. + +"There was a secret, then," he said at last, even vehemently. "He was +brutal to you: you hated him." + +"No! he wearied me; he was too fond: he would live in Paris, and not in +my country; that was not agreeable to me." + +"Great God!" said Lydgate, in a groan of horror. "And you planned to +murder him?" + +"I did not plan: it came to me in the play--_I meant to do it._" + +Lydgate stood mute, and unconsciously pressed his hat on while he +looked at her. He saw this woman--the first to whom he had given his +young adoration--amid the throng of stupid criminals. + +"You are a good young man," she said. "But I do not like husbands. I +will never have another." + +Three days afterwards Lydgate was at his galvanism again in his Paris +chambers, believing that illusions were at an end for him. He was +saved from hardening effects by the abundant kindness of his heart and +his belief that human life might be made better. But he had more +reason than ever for trusting his judgment, now that it was so +experienced; and henceforth he would take a strictly scientific view of +woman, entertaining no expectations but such as were justified +beforehand. + +No one in Middlemarch was likely to have such a notion of Lydgate's +past as has here been faintly shadowed, and indeed the respectable +townsfolk there were not more given than mortals generally to any eager +attempt at exactness in the representation to themselves of what did +not come under their own senses. Not only young virgins of that town, +but gray-bearded men also, were often in haste to conjecture how a new +acquaintance might be wrought into their purposes, contented with very +vague knowledge as to the way in which life had been shaping him for +that instrumentality. Middlemarch, in fact, counted on swallowing +Lydgate and assimilating him very comfortably. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + "All that in woman is adored + In thy fair self I find-- + For the whole sex can but afford + The handsome and the kind." + --SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. + + +The question whether Mr. Tyke should be appointed as salaried chaplain +to the hospital was an exciting topic to the Middlemarchers; and +Lydgate heard it discussed in a way that threw much light on the power +exercised in the town by Mr. Bulstrode. The banker was evidently a +ruler, but there was an opposition party, and even among his supporters +there were some who allowed it to be seen that their support was a +compromise, and who frankly stated their impression that the general +scheme of things, and especially the casualties of trade, required you +to hold a candle to the devil. + +Mr. Bulstrode's power was not due simply to his being a country banker, +who knew the financial secrets of most traders in the town and could +touch the springs of their credit; it was fortified by a beneficence +that was at once ready and severe--ready to confer obligations, and +severe in watching the result. He had gathered, as an industrious man +always at his post, a chief share in administering the town charities, +and his private charities were both minute and abundant. He would take +a great deal of pains about apprenticing Tegg the shoemaker's son, and +he would watch over Tegg's church-going; he would defend Mrs. Strype +the washerwoman against Stubbs's unjust exaction on the score of her +drying-ground, and he would himself scrutinize a calumny against Mrs. +Strype. His private minor loans were numerous, but he would inquire +strictly into the circumstances both before and after. In this way a +man gathers a domain in his neighbors' hope and fear as well as +gratitude; and power, when once it has got into that subtle region, +propagates itself, spreading out of all proportion to its external +means. It was a principle with Mr. Bulstrode to gain as much power as +possible, that he might use it for the glory of God. He went through a +great deal of spiritual conflict and inward argument in order to adjust +his motives, and make clear to himself what God's glory required. But, +as we have seen, his motives were not always rightly appreciated. +There were many crass minds in Middlemarch whose reflective scales +could only weigh things in the lump; and they had a strong suspicion +that since Mr. Bulstrode could not enjoy life in their fashion, eating +and drinking so little as he did, and worreting himself about +everything, he must have a sort of vampire's feast in the sense of +mastery. + +The subject of the chaplaincy came up at Mr. Vincy's table when Lydgate +was dining there, and the family connection with Mr. Bulstrode did not, +he observed, prevent some freedom of remark even on the part of the +host himself, though his reasons against the proposed arrangement +turned entirely on his objection to Mr. Tyke's sermons, which were all +doctrine, and his preference for Mr. Farebrother, whose sermons were +free from that taint. Mr. Vincy liked well enough the notion of the +chaplain's having a salary, supposing it were given to Farebrother, who +was as good a little fellow as ever breathed, and the best preacher +anywhere, and companionable too. + +"What line shall you take, then?" said Mr. Chichely, the coroner, a +great coursing comrade of Mr. Vincy's. + +"Oh, I'm precious glad I'm not one of the Directors now. I shall vote +for referring the matter to the Directors and the Medical Board +together. I shall roll some of my responsibility on your shoulders, +Doctor," said Mr. Vincy, glancing first at Dr. Sprague, the senior +physician of the town, and then at Lydgate who sat opposite. "You +medical gentlemen must consult which sort of black draught you will +prescribe, eh, Mr. Lydgate?" + +"I know little of either," said Lydgate; "but in general, appointments +are apt to be made too much a question of personal liking. The fittest +man for a particular post is not always the best fellow or the most +agreeable. Sometimes, if you wanted to get a reform, your only way +would be to pension off the good fellows whom everybody is fond of, and +put them out of the question." + +Dr. Sprague, who was considered the physician of most "weight," though +Dr. Minchin was usually said to have more "penetration," divested his +large heavy face of all expression, and looked at his wine-glass while +Lydgate was speaking. Whatever was not problematical and suspected +about this young man--for example, a certain showiness as to foreign +ideas, and a disposition to unsettle what had been settled and +forgotten by his elders--was positively unwelcome to a physician whose +standing had been fixed thirty years before by a treatise on +Meningitis, of which at least one copy marked "own" was bound in calf. +For my part I have some fellow-feeling with Dr. Sprague: one's +self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very +unpleasant to find deprecated. + +Lydgate's remark, however, did not meet the sense of the company. Mr. +Vincy said, that if he could have _his_ way, he would not put +disagreeable fellows anywhere. + +"Hang your reforms!" said Mr. Chichely. "There's no greater humbug in +the world. You never hear of a reform, but it means some trick to put +in new men. I hope you are not one of the 'Lancet's' men, Mr. +Lydgate--wanting to take the coronership out of the hands of the legal +profession: your words appear to point that way." + +"I disapprove of Wakley," interposed Dr. Sprague, "no man more: he is +an ill-intentioned fellow, who would sacrifice the respectability of +the profession, which everybody knows depends on the London Colleges, +for the sake of getting some notoriety for himself. There are men who +don't mind about being kicked blue if they can only get talked about. +But Wakley is right sometimes," the Doctor added, judicially. "I could +mention one or two points in which Wakley is in the right." + +"Oh, well," said Mr. Chichely, "I blame no man for standing up in favor +of his own cloth; but, coming to argument, I should like to know how a +coroner is to judge of evidence if he has not had a legal training?" + +"In my opinion," said Lydgate, "legal training only makes a man more +incompetent in questions that require knowledge a of another kind. +People talk about evidence as if it could really be weighed in scales +by a blind Justice. No man can judge what is good evidence on any +particular subject, unless he knows that subject well. A lawyer is no +better than an old woman at a post-mortem examination. How is he to +know the action of a poison? You might as well say that scanning verse +will teach you to scan the potato crops." + +"You are aware, I suppose, that it is not the coroner's business to +conduct the post-mortem, but only to take the evidence of the medical +witness?" said Mr. Chichely, with some scorn. + +"Who is often almost as ignorant as the coroner himself," said Lydgate. +"Questions of medical jurisprudence ought not to be left to the chance +of decent knowledge in a medical witness, and the coroner ought not to +be a man who will believe that strychnine will destroy the coats of the +stomach if an ignorant practitioner happens to tell him so." + +Lydgate had really lost sight of the fact that Mr. Chichely was his +Majesty's coroner, and ended innocently with the question, "Don't you +agree with me, Dr. Sprague?" + +"To a certain extent--with regard to populous districts, and in the +metropolis," said the Doctor. "But I hope it will be long before this +part of the country loses the services of my friend Chichely, even +though it might get the best man in our profession to succeed him. I +am sure Vincy will agree with me." + +"Yes, yes, give me a coroner who is a good coursing man," said Mr. +Vincy, jovially. "And in my opinion, you're safest with a lawyer. +Nobody can know everything. Most things are 'visitation of God.' And as +to poisoning, why, what you want to know is the law. Come, shall we +join the ladies?" + +Lydgate's private opinion was that Mr. Chichely might be the very +coroner without bias as to the coats of the stomach, but he had not +meant to be personal. This was one of the difficulties of moving in +good Middlemarch society: it was dangerous to insist on knowledge as a +qualification for any salaried office. Fred Vincy had called Lydgate a +prig, and now Mr. Chichely was inclined to call him prick-eared; +especially when, in the drawing-room, he seemed to be making himself +eminently agreeable to Rosamond, whom he had easily monopolized in a +tete-a-tete, since Mrs. Vincy herself sat at the tea-table. She +resigned no domestic function to her daughter; and the matron's +blooming good-natured face, with the two volatile pink strings floating +from her fine throat, and her cheery manners to husband and children, +was certainly among the great attractions of the Vincy +house--attractions which made it all the easier to fall in love with +the daughter. The tinge of unpretentious, inoffensive vulgarity in +Mrs. Vincy gave more effect to Rosamond's refinement, which was beyond +what Lydgate had expected. + +Certainly, small feet and perfectly turned shoulders aid the impression +of refined manners, and the right thing said seems quite astonishingly +right when it is accompanied with exquisite curves of lip and eyelid. +And Rosamond could say the right thing; for she was clever with that +sort of cleverness which catches every tone except the humorous. +Happily she never attempted to joke, and this perhaps was the most +decisive mark of her cleverness. + +She and Lydgate readily got into conversation. He regretted that he +had not heard her sing the other day at Stone Court. The only pleasure +he allowed himself during the latter part of his stay in Paris was to +go and hear music. + +"You have studied music, probably?" said Rosamond. + +"No, I know the notes of many birds, and I know many melodies by ear; +but the music that I don't know at all, and have no notion about, +delights me--affects me. How stupid the world is that it does not make +more use of such a pleasure within its reach!" + +"Yes, and you will find Middlemarch very tuneless. There are hardly +any good musicians. I only know two gentlemen who sing at all well." + +"I suppose it is the fashion to sing comic songs in a rhythmic way, +leaving you to fancy the tune--very much as if it were tapped on a +drum?" + +"Ah, you have heard Mr. Bowyer," said Rosamond, with one of her rare +smiles. "But we are speaking very ill of our neighbors." + +Lydgate was almost forgetting that he must carry on the conversation, +in thinking how lovely this creature was, her garment seeming to be +made out of the faintest blue sky, herself so immaculately blond, as if +the petals of some gigantic flower had just opened and disclosed her; +and yet with this infantine blondness showing so much ready, +self-possessed grace. Since he had had the memory of Laure, Lydgate +had lost all taste for large-eyed silence: the divine cow no longer +attracted him, and Rosamond was her very opposite. But he recalled +himself. + +"You will let me hear some music to-night, I hope." + +"I will let you hear my attempts, if you like," said Rosamond. "Papa +is sure to insist on my singing. But I shall tremble before you, who +have heard the best singers in Paris. I have heard very little: I have +only once been to London. But our organist at St. Peter's is a good +musician, and I go on studying with him." + +"Tell me what you saw in London." + +"Very little." (A more naive girl would have said, "Oh, everything!" +But Rosamond knew better.) "A few of the ordinary sights, such as raw +country girls are always taken to." + +"Do you call yourself a raw country girl?" said Lydgate, looking at her +with an involuntary emphasis of admiration, which made Rosamond blush +with pleasure. But she remained simply serious, turned her long neck a +little, and put up her hand to touch her wondrous hair-plaits--an +habitual gesture with her as pretty as any movements of a kitten's paw. +Not that Rosamond was in the least like a kitten: she was a sylph +caught young and educated at Mrs. Lemon's. + +"I assure you my mind is raw," she said immediately; "I pass at +Middlemarch. I am not afraid of talking to our old neighbors. But I +am really afraid of you." + +"An accomplished woman almost always knows more than we men, though her +knowledge is of a different sort. I am sure you could teach me a +thousand things--as an exquisite bird could teach a bear if there were +any common language between them. Happily, there is a common language +between women and men, and so the bears can get taught." + +"Ah, there is Fred beginning to strum! I must go and hinder him from +jarring all your nerves," said Rosamond, moving to the other side of +the room, where Fred having opened the piano, at his father's desire, +that Rosamond might give them some music, was parenthetically +performing "Cherry Ripe!" with one hand. Able men who have passed +their examinations will do these things sometimes, not less than the +plucked Fred. + +"Fred, pray defer your practising till to-morrow; you will make Mr. +Lydgate ill," said Rosamond. "He has an ear." + +Fred laughed, and went on with his tune to the end. + +Rosamond turned to Lydgate, smiling gently, and said, "You perceive, +the bears will not always be taught." + +"Now then, Rosy!" said Fred, springing from the stool and twisting it +upward for her, with a hearty expectation of enjoyment. "Some good +rousing tunes first." + +Rosamond played admirably. Her master at Mrs. Lemon's school (close to +a county town with a memorable history that had its relics in church +and castle) was one of those excellent musicians here and there to be +found in our provinces, worthy to compare with many a noted +Kapellmeister in a country which offers more plentiful conditions of +musical celebrity. Rosamond, with the executant's instinct, had seized +his manner of playing, and gave forth his large rendering of noble +music with the precision of an echo. It was almost startling, heard +for the first time. A hidden soul seemed to be flowing forth from +Rosamond's fingers; and so indeed it was, since souls live on in +perpetual echoes, and to all fine expression there goes somewhere an +originating activity, if it be only that of an interpreter. Lydgate +was taken possession of, and began to believe in her as something +exceptional. After all, he thought, one need not be surprised to find +the rare conjunctions of nature under circumstances apparently +unfavorable: come where they may, they always depend on conditions that +are not obvious. He sat looking at her, and did not rise to pay her +any compliments, leaving that to others, now that his admiration was +deepened. + +Her singing was less remarkable, but also well trained, and sweet to +hear as a chime perfectly in tune. It is true she sang "Meet me by +moonlight," and "I've been roaming"; for mortals must share the +fashions of their time, and none but the ancients can be always +classical. But Rosamond could also sing "Black-eyed Susan" with +effect, or Haydn's canzonets, or "Voi, che sapete," or "Batti, +batti"--she only wanted to know what her audience liked. + +Her father looked round at the company, delighting in their admiration. +Her mother sat, like a Niobe before her troubles, with her youngest +little girl on her lap, softly beating the child's hand up and down in +time to the music. And Fred, notwithstanding his general scepticism +about Rosy, listened to her music with perfect allegiance, wishing he +could do the same thing on his flute. It was the pleasantest family +party that Lydgate had seen since he came to Middlemarch. The Vincys +had the readiness to enjoy, the rejection of all anxiety, and the +belief in life as a merry lot, which made a house exceptional in most +county towns at that time, when Evangelicalism had cast a certain +suspicion as of plague-infection over the few amusements which survived +in the provinces. At the Vincys' there was always whist, and the +card-tables stood ready now, making some of the company secretly +impatient of the music. Before it ceased Mr. Farebrother came in--a +handsome, broad-chested but otherwise small man, about forty, whose +black was very threadbare: the brilliancy was all in his quick gray +eyes. He came like a pleasant change in the light, arresting little +Louisa with fatherly nonsense as she was being led out of the room by +Miss Morgan, greeting everybody with some special word, and seeming to +condense more talk into ten minutes than had been held all through the +evening. He claimed from Lydgate the fulfilment of a promise to come +and see him. "I can't let you off, you know, because I have some +beetles to show you. We collectors feel an interest in every new man +till he has seen all we have to show him." + +But soon he swerved to the whist-table, rubbing his hands and saying, +"Come now, let us be serious! Mr. Lydgate? not play? Ah! you are too +young and light for this kind of thing." + +Lydgate said to himself that the clergyman whose abilities were so +painful to Mr. Bulstrode, appeared to have found an agreeable resort in +this certainly not erudite household. He could half understand it: the +good-humor, the good looks of elder and younger, and the provision for +passing the time without any labor of intelligence, might make the +house beguiling to people who had no particular use for their odd hours. + +Everything looked blooming and joyous except Miss Morgan, who was +brown, dull, and resigned, and altogether, as Mrs. Vincy often said, +just the sort of person for a governess. Lydgate did not mean to pay +many such visits himself. They were a wretched waste of the evenings; +and now, when he had talked a little more to Rosamond, he meant to +excuse himself and go. + +"You will not like us at Middlemarch, I feel sure," she said, when the +whist-players were settled. "We are very stupid, and you have been +used to something quite different." + +"I suppose all country towns are pretty much alike," said Lydgate. +"But I have noticed that one always believes one's own town to be more +stupid than any other. I have made up my mind to take Middlemarch as +it comes, and shall be much obliged if the town will take me in the +same way. I have certainly found some charms in it which are much +greater than I had expected." + +"You mean the rides towards Tipton and Lowick; every one is pleased +with those," said Rosamond, with simplicity. + +"No, I mean something much nearer to me." + +Rosamond rose and reached her netting, and then said, "Do you care +about dancing at all? I am not quite sure whether clever men ever +dance." + +"I would dance with you if you would allow me." + +"Oh!" said Rosamond, with a slight deprecatory laugh. "I was only +going to say that we sometimes have dancing, and I wanted to know +whether you would feel insulted if you were asked to come." + +"Not on the condition I mentioned." + +After this chat Lydgate thought that he was going, but on moving +towards the whist-tables, he got interested in watching Mr. +Farebrother's play, which was masterly, and also his face, which was a +striking mixture of the shrewd and the mild. At ten o'clock supper was +brought in (such were the customs of Middlemarch) and there was +punch-drinking; but Mr. Farebrother had only a glass of water. He was +winning, but there seemed to be no reason why the renewal of rubbers +should end, and Lydgate at last took his leave. + +But as it was not eleven o'clock, he chose to walk in the brisk air +towards the tower of St. Botolph's, Mr. Farebrother's church, which +stood out dark, square, and massive against the starlight. It was the +oldest church in Middlemarch; the living, however, was but a vicarage +worth barely four hundred a-year. Lydgate had heard that, and he +wondered now whether Mr. Farebrother cared about the money he won at +cards; thinking, "He seems a very pleasant fellow, but Bulstrode may +have his good reasons." Many things would be easier to Lydgate if it +should turn out that Mr. Bulstrode was generally justifiable. "What is +his religious doctrine to me, if he carries some good notions along +with it? One must use such brains as are to be found." + +These were actually Lydgate's first meditations as he walked away from +Mr. Vincy's, and on this ground I fear that many ladies will consider +him hardly worthy of their attention. He thought of Rosamond and her +music only in the second place; and though, when her turn came, he +dwelt on the image of her for the rest of his walk, he felt no +agitation, and had no sense that any new current had set into his life. +He could not marry yet; he wished not to marry for several years; and +therefore he was not ready to entertain the notion of being in love +with a girl whom he happened to admire. He did admire Rosamond +exceedingly; but that madness which had once beset him about Laure was +not, he thought, likely to recur in relation to any other woman. +Certainly, if falling in love had been at all in question, it would +have been quite safe with a creature like this Miss Vincy, who had just +the kind of intelligence one would desire in a woman--polished, +refined, docile, lending itself to finish in all the delicacies of +life, and enshrined in a body which expressed this with a force of +demonstration that excluded the need for other evidence. Lydgate felt +sure that if ever he married, his wife would have that feminine +radiance, that distinctive womanhood which must be classed with flowers +and music, that sort of beauty which by its very nature was virtuous, +being moulded only for pure and delicate joys. + +But since he did not mean to marry for the next five years--his more +pressing business was to look into Louis' new book on Fever, which he +was specially interested in, because he had known Louis in Paris, and +had followed many anatomical demonstrations in order to ascertain the +specific differences of typhus and typhoid. He went home and read far +into the smallest hour, bringing a much more testing vision of details +and relations into this pathological study than he had ever thought it +necessary to apply to the complexities of love and marriage, these +being subjects on which he felt himself amply informed by literature, +and that traditional wisdom which is handed down in the genial +conversation of men. Whereas Fever had obscure conditions, and gave +him that delightful labor of the imagination which is not mere +arbitrariness, but the exercise of disciplined power--combining and +constructing with the clearest eye for probabilities and the fullest +obedience to knowledge; and then, in yet more energetic alliance with +impartial Nature, standing aloof to invent tests by which to try its +own work. + +Many men have been praised as vividly imaginative on the strength of +their profuseness in indifferent drawing or cheap narration:--reports +of very poor talk going on in distant orbs; or portraits of Lucifer +coming down on his bad errands as a large ugly man with bat's wings and +spurts of phosphorescence; or exaggerations of wantonness that seem to +reflect life in a diseased dream. But these kinds of inspiration +Lydgate regarded as rather vulgar and vinous compared with the +imagination that reveals subtle actions inaccessible by any sort of +lens, but tracked in that outer darkness through long pathways of +necessary sequence by the inward light which is the last refinement of +Energy, capable of bathing even the ethereal atoms in its ideally +illuminated space. He for his part had tossed away all cheap +inventions where ignorance finds itself able and at ease: he was +enamoured of that arduous invention which is the very eye of research, +provisionally framing its object and correcting it to more and more +exactness of relation; he wanted to pierce the obscurity of those +minute processes which prepare human misery and joy, those invisible +thoroughfares which are the first lurking-places of anguish, mania, and +crime, that delicate poise and transition which determine the growth of +happy or unhappy consciousness. + +As he threw down his book, stretched his legs towards the embers in the +grate, and clasped his hands at the back of his head, in that agreeable +afterglow of excitement when thought lapses from examination of a +specific object into a suffusive sense of its connections with all the +rest of our existence--seems, as it were, to throw itself on its back +after vigorous swimming and float with the repose of unexhausted +strength--Lydgate felt a triumphant delight in his studies, and +something like pity for those less lucky men who were not of his +profession. + +"If I had not taken that turn when I was a lad," he thought, "I might +have got into some stupid draught-horse work or other, and lived always +in blinkers. I should never have been happy in any profession that did +not call forth the highest intellectual strain, and yet keep me in good +warm contact with my neighbors. There is nothing like the medical +profession for that: one can have the exclusive scientific life that +touches the distance and befriend the old fogies in the parish too. It +is rather harder for a clergyman: Farebrother seems to be an anomaly." + +This last thought brought back the Vincys and all the pictures of the +evening. They floated in his mind agreeably enough, and as he took up +his bed-candle his lips were curled with that incipient smile which is +apt to accompany agreeable recollections. He was an ardent fellow, but +at present his ardor was absorbed in love of his work and in the +ambition of making his life recognized as a factor in the better life +of mankind--like other heroes of science who had nothing but an obscure +country practice to begin with. + +Poor Lydgate! or shall I say, Poor Rosamond! Each lived in a world of +which the other knew nothing. It had not occurred to Lydgate that he +had been a subject of eager meditation to Rosamond, who had neither any +reason for throwing her marriage into distant perspective, nor any +pathological studies to divert her mind from that ruminating habit, +that inward repetition of looks, words, and phrases, which makes a +large part in the lives of most girls. He had not meant to look at her +or speak to her with more than the inevitable amount of admiration and +compliment which a man must give to a beautiful girl; indeed, it seemed +to him that his enjoyment of her music had remained almost silent, for +he feared falling into the rudeness of telling her his great surprise +at her possession of such accomplishment. But Rosamond had registered +every look and word, and estimated them as the opening incidents of a +preconceived romance--incidents which gather value from the foreseen +development and climax. In Rosamond's romance it was not necessary to +imagine much about the inward life of the hero, or of his serious +business in the world: of course, he had a profession and was clever, +as well as sufficiently handsome; but the piquant fact about Lydgate +was his good birth, which distinguished him from all Middlemarch +admirers, and presented marriage as a prospect of rising in rank and +getting a little nearer to that celestial condition on earth in which +she would have nothing to do with vulgar people, and perhaps at last +associate with relatives quite equal to the county people who looked +down on the Middlemarchers. It was part of Rosamond's cleverness to +discern very subtly the faintest aroma of rank, and once when she had +seen the Miss Brookes accompanying their uncle at the county assizes, +and seated among the aristocracy, she had envied them, notwithstanding +their plain dress. + +If you think it incredible that to imagine Lydgate as a man of family +could cause thrills of satisfaction which had anything to do with the +sense that she was in love with him, I will ask you to use your power +of comparison a little more effectively, and consider whether red cloth +and epaulets have never had an influence of that sort. Our passions do +not live apart in locked chambers, but, dressed in their small wardrobe +of notions, bring their provisions to a common table and mess together, +feeding out of the common store according to their appetite. + +Rosamond, in fact, was entirely occupied not exactly with Tertius +Lydgate as he was in himself, but with his relation to her; and it was +excusable in a girl who was accustomed to hear that all young men +might, could, would be, or actually were in love with her, to believe +at once that Lydgate could be no exception. His looks and words meant +more to her than other men's, because she cared more for them: she +thought of them diligently, and diligently attended to that perfection +of appearance, behavior, sentiments, and all other elegancies, which +would find in Lydgate a more adequate admirer than she had yet been +conscious of. + +For Rosamond, though she would never do anything that was disagreeable +to her, was industrious; and now more than ever she was active in +sketching her landscapes and market-carts and portraits of friends, in +practising her music, and in being from morning till night her own +standard of a perfect lady, having always an audience in her own +consciousness, with sometimes the not unwelcome addition of a more +variable external audience in the numerous visitors of the house. She +found time also to read the best novels, and even the second best, and +she knew much poetry by heart. Her favorite poem was "Lalla Rookh." + +"The best girl in the world! He will be a happy fellow who gets her!" +was the sentiment of the elderly gentlemen who visited the Vincys; and +the rejected young men thought of trying again, as is the fashion in +country towns where the horizon is not thick with coming rivals. But +Mrs. Plymdale thought that Rosamond had been educated to a ridiculous +pitch, for what was the use of accomplishments which would be all laid +aside as soon as she was married? While her aunt Bulstrode, who had a +sisterly faithfulness towards her brother's family, had two sincere +wishes for Rosamond--that she might show a more serious turn of mind, +and that she might meet with a husband whose wealth corresponded to her +habits. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + "The clerkly person smiled and said + Promise was a pretty maid, + But being poor she died unwed." + + +The Rev. Camden Farebrother, whom Lydgate went to see the next evening, +lived in an old parsonage, built of stone, venerable enough to match +the church which it looked out upon. All the furniture too in the +house was old, but with another grade of age--that of Mr. Farebrother's +father and grandfather. There were painted white chairs, with gilding +and wreaths on them, and some lingering red silk damask with slits in +it. There were engraved portraits of Lord Chancellors and other +celebrated lawyers of the last century; and there were old pier-glasses +to reflect them, as well as the little satin-wood tables and the sofas +resembling a prolongation of uneasy chairs, all standing in relief +against the dark wainscot. This was the physiognomy of the drawing-room +into which Lydgate was shown; and there were three ladies to receive +him, who were also old-fashioned, and of a faded but genuine +respectability: Mrs. Farebrother, the Vicar's white-haired mother, +befrilled and kerchiefed with dainty cleanliness, upright, quick-eyed, +and still under seventy; Miss Noble, her sister, a tiny old lady of +meeker aspect, with frills and kerchief decidedly more worn and mended; +and Miss Winifred Farebrother, the Vicar's elder sister, well-looking +like himself, but nipped and subdued as single women are apt to be who +spend their lives in uninterrupted subjection to their elders. Lydgate +had not expected to see so quaint a group: knowing simply that Mr. +Farebrother was a bachelor, he had thought of being ushered into a +snuggery where the chief furniture would probably be books and +collections of natural objects. The Vicar himself seemed to wear +rather a changed aspect, as most men do when acquaintances made +elsewhere see them for the first time in their own homes; some indeed +showing like an actor of genial parts disadvantageously cast for the +curmudgeon in a new piece. This was not the case with Mr. Farebrother: +he seemed a trifle milder and more silent, the chief talker being his +mother, while he only put in a good-humored moderating remark here and +there. The old lady was evidently accustomed to tell her company what +they ought to think, and to regard no subject as quite safe without her +steering. She was afforded leisure for this function by having all her +little wants attended to by Miss Winifred. Meanwhile tiny Miss Noble +carried on her arm a small basket, into which she diverted a bit of +sugar, which she had first dropped in her saucer as if by mistake; +looking round furtively afterwards, and reverting to her teacup with a +small innocent noise as of a tiny timid quadruped. Pray think no ill +of Miss Noble. That basket held small savings from her more portable +food, destined for the children of her poor friends among whom she +trotted on fine mornings; fostering and petting all needy creatures +being so spontaneous a delight to her, that she regarded it much as if +it had been a pleasant vice that she was addicted to. Perhaps she was +conscious of being tempted to steal from those who had much that she +might give to those who had nothing, and carried in her conscience the +guilt of that repressed desire. One must be poor to know the luxury of +giving! + +Mrs. Farebrother welcomed the guest with a lively formality and +precision. She presently informed him that they were not often in want +of medical aid in that house. She had brought up her children to wear +flannel and not to over-eat themselves, which last habit she considered +the chief reason why people needed doctors. Lydgate pleaded for those +whose fathers and mothers had over-eaten themselves, but Mrs. +Farebrother held that view of things dangerous: Nature was more just +than that; it would be easy for any felon to say that his ancestors +ought to have been hanged instead of him. If those who had bad fathers +and mothers were bad themselves, they were hanged for that. There was +no need to go back on what you couldn't see. + +"My mother is like old George the Third," said the Vicar, "she objects +to metaphysics." + +"I object to what is wrong, Camden. I say, keep hold of a few plain +truths, and make everything square with them. When I was young, Mr. +Lydgate, there never was any question about right and wrong. We knew +our catechism, and that was enough; we learned our creed and our duty. +Every respectable Church person had the same opinions. But now, if you +speak out of the Prayer-book itself, you are liable to be contradicted." + +"That makes rather a pleasant time of it for those who like to maintain +their own point," said Lydgate. + +"But my mother always gives way," said the Vicar, slyly. + +"No, no, Camden, you must not lead Mr. Lydgate into a mistake about +_me_. I shall never show that disrespect to my parents, to give up what +they taught me. Any one may see what comes of turning. If you change +once, why not twenty times?" + +"A man might see good arguments for changing once, and not see them for +changing again," said Lydgate, amused with the decisive old lady. + +"Excuse me there. If you go upon arguments, they are never wanting, +when a man has no constancy of mind. My father never changed, and he +preached plain moral sermons without arguments, and was a good man--few +better. When you get me a good man made out of arguments, I will get +you a good dinner with reading you the cookery-book. That's my opinion, +and I think anybody's stomach will bear me out." + +"About the dinner certainly, mother," said Mr. Farebrother. + +"It is the same thing, the dinner or the man. I am nearly seventy, Mr. +Lydgate, and I go upon experience. I am not likely to follow new +lights, though there are plenty of them here as elsewhere. I say, they +came in with the mixed stuffs that will neither wash nor wear. It was +not so in my youth: a Churchman was a Churchman, and a clergyman, you +might be pretty sure, was a gentleman, if nothing else. But now he may +be no better than a Dissenter, and want to push aside my son on +pretence of doctrine. But whoever may wish to push him aside, I am +proud to say, Mr. Lydgate, that he will compare with any preacher in +this kingdom, not to speak of this town, which is but a low standard to +go by; at least, to my thinking, for I was born and bred at Exeter." + +"A mother is never partial," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling. "What do +you think Tyke's mother says about him?" + +"Ah, poor creature! what indeed?" said Mrs. Farebrother, her sharpness +blunted for the moment by her confidence in maternal judgments. "She +says the truth to herself, depend upon it." + +"And what is the truth?" said Lydgate. "I am curious to know." + +"Oh, nothing bad at all," said Mr. Farebrother. "He is a zealous +fellow: not very learned, and not very wise, I think--because I don't +agree with him." + +"Why, Camden!" said Miss Winifred, "Griffin and his wife told me only +to-day, that Mr. Tyke said they should have no more coals if they came +to hear you preach." + +Mrs. Farebrother laid down her knitting, which she had resumed after +her small allowance of tea and toast, and looked at her son as if to +say "You hear that?" Miss Noble said, "Oh poor things! poor things!" +in reference, probably, to the double loss of preaching and coal. But +the Vicar answered quietly-- + +"That is because they are not my parishioners. And I don't think my +sermons are worth a load of coals to them." + +"Mr. Lydgate," said Mrs. Farebrother, who could not let this pass, "you +don't know my son: he always undervalues himself. I tell him he is +undervaluing the God who made him, and made him a most excellent +preacher." + +"That must be a hint for me to take Mr. Lydgate away to my study, +mother," said the Vicar, laughing. "I promised to show you my +collection," he added, turning to Lydgate; "shall we go?" + +All three ladies remonstrated. Mr. Lydgate ought not to be hurried +away without being allowed to accept another cup of tea: Miss Winifred +had abundance of good tea in the pot. Why was Camden in such haste to +take a visitor to his den? There was nothing but pickled vermin, and +drawers full of blue-bottles and moths, with no carpet on the floor. +Mr. Lydgate must excuse it. A game at cribbage would be far better. +In short, it was plain that a vicar might be adored by his womankind as +the king of men and preachers, and yet be held by them to stand in much +need of their direction. Lydgate, with the usual shallowness of a +young bachelor, wondered that Mr. Farebrother had not taught them +better. + +"My mother is not used to my having visitors who can take any interest +in my hobbies," said the Vicar, as he opened the door of his study, +which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the body as the ladies had +implied, unless a short porcelain pipe and a tobacco-box were to be +excepted. + +"Men of your profession don't generally smoke," he said. Lydgate +smiled and shook his head. "Nor of mine either, properly, I suppose. +You will hear that pipe alleged against me by Bulstrode and Company. +They don't know how pleased the devil would be if I gave it up." + +"I understand. You are of an excitable temper and want a sedative. I +am heavier, and should get idle with it. I should rush into idleness, +and stagnate there with all my might." + +"And you mean to give it all to your work. I am some ten or twelve +years older than you, and have come to a compromise. I feed a weakness +or two lest they should get clamorous. See," continued the Vicar, +opening several small drawers, "I fancy I have made an exhaustive study +of the entomology of this district. I am going on both with the fauna +and flora; but I have at least done my insects well. We are singularly +rich in orthoptera: I don't know whether--Ah! you have got hold of that +glass jar--you are looking into that instead of my drawers. You don't +really care about these things?" + +"Not by the side of this lovely anencephalous monster. I have never +had time to give myself much to natural history. I was early bitten +with an interest in structure, and it is what lies most directly in my +profession. I have no hobby besides. I have the sea to swim in there." + +"Ah! you are a happy fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, turning on his heel +and beginning to fill his pipe. "You don't know what it is to want +spiritual tobacco--bad emendations of old texts, or small items about a +variety of Aphis Brassicae, with the well-known signature of +Philomicron, for the 'Twaddler's Magazine;' or a learned treatise on +the entomology of the Pentateuch, including all the insects not +mentioned, but probably met with by the Israelites in their passage +through the desert; with a monograph on the Ant, as treated by Solomon, +showing the harmony of the Book of Proverbs with the results of modern +research. You don't mind my fumigating you?" + +Lydgate was more surprised at the openness of this talk than at its +implied meaning--that the Vicar felt himself not altogether in the +right vocation. The neat fitting-up of drawers and shelves, and the +bookcase filled with expensive illustrated books on Natural History, +made him think again of the winnings at cards and their destination. +But he was beginning to wish that the very best construction of +everything that Mr. Farebrother did should be the true one. The +Vicar's frankness seemed not of the repulsive sort that comes from an +uneasy consciousness seeking to forestall the judgment of others, but +simply the relief of a desire to do with as little pretence as +possible. Apparently he was not without a sense that his freedom of +speech might seem premature, for he presently said-- + +"I have not yet told you that I have the advantage of you, Mr. Lydgate, +and know you better than you know me. You remember Trawley who shared +your apartment at Paris for some time? I was a correspondent of his, +and he told me a good deal about you. I was not quite sure when you +first came that you were the same man. I was very glad when I found +that you were. Only I don't forget that you have not had the like +prologue about me." + +Lydgate divined some delicacy of feeling here, but did not half +understand it. "By the way," he said, "what has become of Trawley? I +have quite lost sight of him. He was hot on the French social systems, +and talked of going to the Backwoods to found a sort of Pythagorean +community. Is he gone?" + +"Not at all. He is practising at a German bath, and has married a rich +patient." + +"Then my notions wear the best, so far," said Lydgate, with a short +scornful laugh. "He would have it, the medical profession was an +inevitable system of humbug. I said, the fault was in the men--men who +truckle to lies and folly. Instead of preaching against humbug outside +the walls, it might be better to set up a disinfecting apparatus +within. In short--I am reporting my own conversation--you may be sure +I had all the good sense on my side." + +"Your scheme is a good deal more difficult to carry out than the +Pythagorean community, though. You have not only got the old Adam in +yourself against you, but you have got all those descendants of the +original Adam who form the society around you. You see, I have paid +twelve or thirteen years more than you for my knowledge of +difficulties. But"--Mr. Farebrother broke off a moment, and then +added, "you are eying that glass vase again. Do you want to make an +exchange? You shall not have it without a fair barter." + +"I have some sea-mice--fine specimens--in spirits. And I will throw in +Robert Brown's new thing--'Microscopic Observations on the Pollen of +Plants'--if you don't happen to have it already." + +"Why, seeing how you long for the monster, I might ask a higher price. +Suppose I ask you to look through my drawers and agree with me about +all my new species?" The Vicar, while he talked in this way, +alternately moved about with his pipe in his mouth, and returned to +hang rather fondly over his drawers. "That would be good discipline, +you know, for a young doctor who has to please his patients in +Middlemarch. You must learn to be bored, remember. However, you shall +have the monster on your own terms." + +"Don't you think men overrate the necessity for humoring everybody's +nonsense, till they get despised by the very fools they humor?" said +Lydgate, moving to Mr. Farebrother's side, and looking rather absently +at the insects ranged in fine gradation, with names subscribed in +exquisite writing. "The shortest way is to make your value felt, so +that people must put up with you whether you flatter them or not." + +"With all my heart. But then you must be sure of having the value, and +you must keep yourself independent. Very few men can do that. Either +you slip out of service altogether, and become good for nothing, or you +wear the harness and draw a good deal where your yoke-fellows pull you. +But do look at these delicate orthoptera!" + +Lydgate had after all to give some scrutiny to each drawer, the Vicar +laughing at himself, and yet persisting in the exhibition. + +"Apropos of what you said about wearing harness," Lydgate began, after +they had sat down, "I made up my mind some time ago to do with as +little of it as possible. That was why I determined not to try anything +in London, for a good many years at least. I didn't like what I saw +when I was studying there--so much empty bigwiggism, and obstructive +trickery. In the country, people have less pretension to knowledge, +and are less of companions, but for that reason they affect one's +amour-propre less: one makes less bad blood, and can follow one's own +course more quietly." + +"Yes--well--you have got a good start; you are in the right profession, +the work you feel yourself most fit for. Some people miss that, and +repent too late. But you must not be too sure of keeping your +independence." + +"You mean of family ties?" said Lydgate, conceiving that these might +press rather tightly on Mr. Farebrother. + +"Not altogether. Of course they make many things more difficult. But +a good wife--a good unworldly woman--may really help a man, and keep +him more independent. There's a parishioner of mine--a fine fellow, +but who would hardly have pulled through as he has done without his +wife. Do you know the Garths? I think they were not Peacock's +patients." + +"No; but there is a Miss Garth at old Featherstone's, at Lowick." + +"Their daughter: an excellent girl." + +"She is very quiet--I have hardly noticed her." + +"She has taken notice of you, though, depend upon it." + +"I don't understand," said Lydgate; he could hardly say "Of course." + +"Oh, she gauges everybody. I prepared her for confirmation--she is a +favorite of mine." + +Mr. Farebrother puffed a few moments in silence, Lydgate not caring to +know more about the Garths. At last the Vicar laid down his pipe, +stretched out his legs, and turned his bright eyes with a smile towards +Lydgate, saying-- + +"But we Middlemarchers are not so tame as you take us to be. We have +our intrigues and our parties. I am a party man, for example, and +Bulstrode is another. If you vote for me you will offend Bulstrode." + +"What is there against Bulstrode?" said Lydgate, emphatically. + +"I did not say there was anything against him except that. If you vote +against him you will make him your enemy." + +"I don't know that I need mind about that," said Lydgate, rather +proudly; "but he seems to have good ideas about hospitals, and he +spends large sums on useful public objects. He might help me a good +deal in carrying out my ideas. As to his religious notions--why, as +Voltaire said, incantations will destroy a flock of sheep if +administered with a certain quantity of arsenic. I look for the man +who will bring the arsenic, and don't mind about his incantations." + +"Very good. But then you must not offend your arsenic-man. You will +not offend me, you know," said Mr. Farebrother, quite unaffectedly. "I +don't translate my own convenience into other people's duties. I am +opposed to Bulstrode in many ways. I don't like the set he belongs to: +they are a narrow ignorant set, and do more to make their neighbors +uncomfortable than to make them better. Their system is a sort of +worldly-spiritual cliqueism: they really look on the rest of mankind as +a doomed carcass which is to nourish them for heaven. But," he added, +smilingly, "I don't say that Bulstrode's new hospital is a bad thing; +and as to his wanting to oust me from the old one--why, if he thinks me +a mischievous fellow, he is only returning a compliment. And I am not +a model clergyman--only a decent makeshift." + +Lydgate was not at all sure that the Vicar maligned himself. A model +clergyman, like a model doctor, ought to think his own profession the +finest in the world, and take all knowledge as mere nourishment to his +moral pathology and therapeutics. He only said, "What reason does +Bulstrode give for superseding you?" + +"That I don't teach his opinions--which he calls spiritual religion; +and that I have no time to spare. Both statements are true. But then +I could make time, and I should be glad of the forty pounds. That is +the plain fact of the case. But let us dismiss it. I only wanted to +tell you that if you vote for your arsenic-man, you are not to cut me +in consequence. I can't spare you. You are a sort of circumnavigator +come to settle among us, and will keep up my belief in the antipodes. +Now tell me all about them in Paris." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + "Oh, sir, the loftiest hopes on earth + Draw lots with meaner hopes: heroic breasts, + Breathing bad air, ran risk of pestilence; + Or, lacking lime-juice when they cross the Line, + May languish with the scurvy." + + +Some weeks passed after this conversation before the question of the +chaplaincy gathered any practical import for Lydgate, and without +telling himself the reason, he deferred the predetermination on which +side he should give his vote. It would really have been a matter of +total indifference to him--that is to say, he would have taken the more +convenient side, and given his vote for the appointment of Tyke without +any hesitation--if he had not cared personally for Mr. Farebrother. + +But his liking for the Vicar of St. Botolph's grew with growing +acquaintanceship. That, entering into Lydgate's position as a +new-comer who had his own professional objects to secure, Mr. +Farebrother should have taken pains rather to warn off than to obtain +his interest, showed an unusual delicacy and generosity, which +Lydgate's nature was keenly alive to. It went along with other points +of conduct in Mr. Farebrother which were exceptionally fine, and made +his character resemble those southern landscapes which seem divided +between natural grandeur and social slovenliness. Very few men could +have been as filial and chivalrous as he was to the mother, aunt, and +sister, whose dependence on him had in many ways shaped his life rather +uneasily for himself; few men who feel the pressure of small needs are +so nobly resolute not to dress up their inevitably self-interested +desires in a pretext of better motives. In these matters he was +conscious that his life would bear the closest scrutiny; and perhaps +the consciousness encouraged a little defiance towards the critical +strictness of persons whose celestial intimacies seemed not to improve +their domestic manners, and whose lofty aims were not needed to account +for their actions. Then, his preaching was ingenious and pithy, like +the preaching of the English Church in its robust age, and his sermons +were delivered without book. People outside his parish went to hear +him; and, since to fill the church was always the most difficult part +of a clergyman's function, here was another ground for a careless sense +of superiority. Besides, he was a likable man: sweet-tempered, +ready-witted, frank, without grins of suppressed bitterness or other +conversational flavors which make half of us an affliction to our +friends. Lydgate liked him heartily, and wished for his friendship. + +With this feeling uppermost, he continued to waive the question of the +chaplaincy, and to persuade himself that it was not only no proper +business of his, but likely enough never to vex him with a demand for +his vote. Lydgate, at Mr. Bulstrode's request, was laying down plans +for the internal arrangements of the new hospital, and the two were +often in consultation. The banker was always presupposing that he +could count in general on Lydgate as a coadjutor, but made no special +recurrence to the coming decision between Tyke and Farebrother. When +the General Board of the Infirmary had met, however, and Lydgate had +notice that the question of the chaplaincy was thrown on a council of +the directors and medical men, to meet on the following Friday, he had +a vexed sense that he must make up his mind on this trivial Middlemarch +business. He could not help hearing within him the distinct +declaration that Bulstrode was prime minister, and that the Tyke affair +was a question of office or no office; and he could not help an equally +pronounced dislike to giving up the prospect of office. For his +observation was constantly confirming Mr. Farebrother's assurance that +the banker would not overlook opposition. "Confound their petty +politics!" was one of his thoughts for three mornings in the meditative +process of shaving, when he had begun to feel that he must really hold +a court of conscience on this matter. Certainly there were valid +things to be said against the election of Mr. Farebrother: he had too +much on his hands already, especially considering how much time he +spent on non-clerical occupations. Then again it was a continually +repeated shock, disturbing Lydgate's esteem, that the Vicar should +obviously play for the sake of money, liking the play indeed, but +evidently liking some end which it served. Mr. Farebrother contended +on theory for the desirability of all games, and said that Englishmen's +wit was stagnant for want of them; but Lydgate felt certain that he +would have played very much less but for the money. There was a +billiard-room at the Green Dragon, which some anxious mothers and wives +regarded as the chief temptation in Middlemarch. The Vicar was a +first-rate billiard-player, and though he did not frequent the Green +Dragon, there were reports that he had sometimes been there in the +daytime and had won money. And as to the chaplaincy, he did not +pretend that he cared for it, except for the sake of the forty pounds. +Lydgate was no Puritan, but he did not care for play, and winning money +at it had always seemed a meanness to him; besides, he had an ideal of +life which made this subservience of conduct to the gaining of small +sums thoroughly hateful to him. Hitherto in his own life his wants had +been supplied without any trouble to himself, and his first impulse was +always to be liberal with half-crowns as matters of no importance to a +gentleman; it had never occurred to him to devise a plan for getting +half-crowns. He had always known in a general way that he was not +rich, but he had never felt poor, and he had no power of imagining the +part which the want of money plays in determining the actions of men. +Money had never been a motive to him. Hence he was not ready to frame +excuses for this deliberate pursuit of small gains. It was altogether +repulsive to him, and he never entered into any calculation of the +ratio between the Vicar's income and his more or less necessary +expenditure. It was possible that he would not have made such a +calculation in his own case. + +And now, when the question of voting had come, this repulsive fact told +more strongly against Mr. Farebrother than it had done before. One +would know much better what to do if men's characters were more +consistent, and especially if one's friends were invariably fit for any +function they desired to undertake! Lydgate was convinced that if +there had been no valid objection to Mr. Farebrother, he would have +voted for him, whatever Bulstrode might have felt on the subject: he +did not intend to be a vassal of Bulstrode's. On the other hand, there +was Tyke, a man entirely given to his clerical office, who was simply +curate at a chapel of ease in St. Peter's parish, and had time for +extra duty. Nobody had anything to say against Mr. Tyke, except that +they could not bear him, and suspected him of cant. Really, from his +point of view, Bulstrode was thoroughly justified. + +But whichever way Lydgate began to incline, there was something to make +him wince; and being a proud man, he was a little exasperated at being +obliged to wince. He did not like frustrating his own best purposes by +getting on bad terms with Bulstrode; he did not like voting against +Farebrother, and helping to deprive him of function and salary; and the +question occurred whether the additional forty pounds might not leave +the Vicar free from that ignoble care about winning at cards. +Moreover, Lydgate did not like the consciousness that in voting for +Tyke he should be voting on the side obviously convenient for himself. +But would the end really be his own convenience? Other people would +say so, and would allege that he was currying favor with Bulstrode for +the sake of making himself important and getting on in the world. What +then? He for his own part knew that if his personal prospects simply +had been concerned, he would not have cared a rotten nut for the +banker's friendship or enmity. What he really cared for was a medium +for his work, a vehicle for his ideas; and after all, was he not bound +to prefer the object of getting a good hospital, where he could +demonstrate the specific distinctions of fever and test therapeutic +results, before anything else connected with this chaplaincy? For the +first time Lydgate was feeling the hampering threadlike pressure of +small social conditions, and their frustrating complexity. At the end +of his inward debate, when he set out for the hospital, his hope was +really in the chance that discussion might somehow give a new aspect to +the question, and make the scale dip so as to exclude the necessity for +voting. I think he trusted a little also to the energy which is +begotten by circumstances--some feeling rushing warmly and making +resolve easy, while debate in cool blood had only made it more +difficult. However it was, he did not distinctly say to himself on +which side he would vote; and all the while he was inwardly resenting +the subjection which had been forced upon him. It would have seemed +beforehand like a ridiculous piece of bad logic that he, with his +unmixed resolutions of independence and his select purposes, would find +himself at the very outset in the grasp of petty alternatives, each of +which was repugnant to him. In his student's chambers, he had +prearranged his social action quite differently. + +Lydgate was late in setting out, but Dr. Sprague, the two other +surgeons, and several of the directors had arrived early; Mr. +Bulstrode, treasurer and chairman, being among those who were still +absent. The conversation seemed to imply that the issue was +problematical, and that a majority for Tyke was not so certain as had +been generally supposed. The two physicians, for a wonder, turned out +to be unanimous, or rather, though of different minds, they concurred +in action. Dr. Sprague, the rugged and weighty, was, as every one had +foreseen, an adherent of Mr. Farebrother. The Doctor was more than +suspected of having no religion, but somehow Middlemarch tolerated this +deficiency in him as if he had been a Lord Chancellor; indeed it is +probable that his professional weight was the more believed in, the +world-old association of cleverness with the evil principle being still +potent in the minds even of lady-patients who had the strictest ideas +of frilling and sentiment. It was perhaps this negation in the Doctor +which made his neighbors call him hard-headed and dry-witted; +conditions of texture which were also held favorable to the storing of +judgments connected with drugs. At all events, it is certain that if +any medical man had come to Middlemarch with the reputation of having +very definite religious views, of being given to prayer, and of +otherwise showing an active piety, there would have been a general +presumption against his medical skill. + +On this ground it was (professionally speaking) fortunate for Dr. +Minchin that his religious sympathies were of a general kind, and such +as gave a distant medical sanction to all serious sentiment, whether of +Church or Dissent, rather than any adhesion to particular tenets. If +Mr. Bulstrode insisted, as he was apt to do, on the Lutheran doctrine +of justification, as that by which a Church must stand or fall, Dr. +Minchin in return was quite sure that man was not a mere machine or a +fortuitous conjunction of atoms; if Mrs. Wimple insisted on a +particular providence in relation to her stomach complaint, Dr. Minchin +for his part liked to keep the mental windows open and objected to +fixed limits; if the Unitarian brewer jested about the Athanasian +Creed, Dr. Minchin quoted Pope's "Essay on Man." He objected to the +rather free style of anecdote in which Dr. Sprague indulged, preferring +well-sanctioned quotations, and liking refinement of all kinds: it was +generally known that he had some kinship to a bishop, and sometimes +spent his holidays at "the palace." + +Dr. Minchin was soft-handed, pale-complexioned, and of rounded outline, +not to be distinguished from a mild clergyman in appearance: whereas +Dr. Sprague was superfluously tall; his trousers got creased at the +knees, and showed an excess of boot at a time when straps seemed +necessary to any dignity of bearing; you heard him go in and out, and +up and down, as if he had come to see after the roofing. In short, he +had weight, and might be expected to grapple with a disease and throw +it; while Dr. Minchin might be better able to detect it lurking and to +circumvent it. They enjoyed about equally the mysterious privilege of +medical reputation, and concealed with much etiquette their contempt +for each other's skill. Regarding themselves as Middlemarch +institutions, they were ready to combine against all innovators, and +against non-professionals given to interference. On this ground they +were both in their hearts equally averse to Mr. Bulstrode, though Dr. +Minchin had never been in open hostility with him, and never differed +from him without elaborate explanation to Mrs. Bulstrode, who had found +that Dr. Minchin alone understood her constitution. A layman who pried +into the professional conduct of medical men, and was always obtruding +his reforms,--though he was less directly embarrassing to the two +physicians than to the surgeon-apothecaries who attended paupers by +contract, was nevertheless offensive to the professional nostril as +such; and Dr. Minchin shared fully in the new pique against Bulstrode, +excited by his apparent determination to patronize Lydgate. The +long-established practitioners, Mr. Wrench and Mr. Toller; were just +now standing apart and having a friendly colloquy, in which they agreed +that Lydgate was a jackanapes, just made to serve Bulstrode's purpose. +To non-medical friends they had already concurred in praising the other +young practitioner, who had come into the town on Mr. Peacock's +retirement without further recommendation than his own merits and such +argument for solid professional acquirement as might be gathered from +his having apparently wasted no time on other branches of knowledge. +It was clear that Lydgate, by not dispensing drugs, intended to cast +imputations on his equals, and also to obscure the limit between his +own rank as a general practitioner and that of the physicians, who, in +the interest of the profession, felt bound to maintain its various +grades,--especially against a man who had not been to either of the +English universities and enjoyed the absence of anatomical and bedside +study there, but came with a libellous pretension to experience in +Edinburgh and Paris, where observation might be abundant indeed, but +hardly sound. + +Thus it happened that on this occasion Bulstrode became identified with +Lydgate, and Lydgate with Tyke; and owing to this variety of +interchangeable names for the chaplaincy question, diverse minds were +enabled to form the same judgment concerning it. + +Dr. Sprague said at once bluntly to the group assembled when he +entered, "I go for Farebrother. A salary, with all my heart. But why +take it from the Vicar? He has none too much--has to insure his life, +besides keeping house, and doing a vicar's charities. Put forty pounds +in his pocket and you'll do no harm. He's a good fellow, is +Farebrother, with as little of the parson about him as will serve to +carry orders." + +"Ho, ho! Doctor," said old Mr. Powderell, a retired iron-monger of +some standing--his interjection being something between a laugh and a +Parliamentary disapproval; "we must let you have your say. But what we +have to consider is not anybody's income--it's the souls of the poor +sick people"--here Mr. Powderell's voice and face had a sincere pathos +in them. "He is a real Gospel preacher, is Mr. Tyke. I should vote +against my conscience if I voted against Mr. Tyke--I should indeed." + +"Mr. Tyke's opponents have not asked any one to vote against his +conscience, I believe," said Mr. Hackbutt, a rich tanner of fluent +speech, whose glittering spectacles and erect hair were turned with +some severity towards innocent Mr. Powderell. "But in my judgment it +behoves us, as Directors, to consider whether we will regard it as our +whole business to carry out propositions emanating from a single +quarter. Will any member of the committee aver that he would have +entertained the idea of displacing the gentleman who has always +discharged the function of chaplain here, if it had not been suggested +to him by parties whose disposition it is to regard every institution +of this town as a machinery for carrying out their own views? I tax no +man's motives: let them lie between himself and a higher Power; but I +do say, that there are influences at work here which are incompatible +with genuine independence, and that a crawling servility is usually +dictated by circumstances which gentlemen so conducting themselves +could not afford either morally or financially to avow. I myself am a +layman, but I have given no inconsiderable attention to the divisions +in the Church and--" + +"Oh, damn the divisions!" burst in Mr. Frank Hawley, lawyer and +town-clerk, who rarely presented himself at the board, but now looked +in hurriedly, whip in hand. "We have nothing to do with them here. +Farebrother has been doing the work--what there was--without pay, and +if pay is to be given, it should be given to him. I call it a +confounded job to take the thing away from Farebrother." + +"I think it would be as well for gentlemen not to give their remarks a +personal bearing," said Mr. Plymdale. "I shall vote for the +appointment of Mr. Tyke, but I should not have known, if Mr. Hackbutt +hadn't hinted it, that I was a Servile Crawler." + +"I disclaim any personalities. I expressly said, if I may be allowed +to repeat, or even to conclude what I was about to say--" + +"Ah, here's Minchin!" said Mr. Frank Hawley; at which everybody turned +away from Mr. Hackbutt, leaving him to feel the uselessness of superior +gifts in Middlemarch. "Come, Doctor, I must have you on the right +side, eh?" + +"I hope so," said Dr. Minchin, nodding and shaking hands here and +there; "at whatever cost to my feelings." + +"If there's any feeling here, it should be feeling for the man who is +turned out, I think," said Mr. Frank Hawley. + +"I confess I have feelings on the other side also. I have a divided +esteem," said Dr. Minchin, rubbing his hands. "I consider Mr. Tyke an +exemplary man--none more so--and I believe him to be proposed from +unimpeachable motives. I, for my part, wish that I could give him my +vote. But I am constrained to take a view of the case which gives the +preponderance to Mr. Farebrother's claims. He is an amiable man, an +able preacher, and has been longer among us." + +Old Mr. Powderell looked on, sad and silent. Mr. Plymdale settled his +cravat, uneasily. + +"You don't set up Farebrother as a pattern of what a clergyman ought to +be, I hope," said Mr. Larcher, the eminent carrier, who had just come +in. "I have no ill-will towards him, but I think we owe something to +the public, not to speak of anything higher, in these appointments. In +my opinion Farebrother is too lax for a clergyman. I don't wish to +bring up particulars against him; but he will make a little attendance +here go as far as he can." + +"And a devilish deal better than too much," said Mr. Hawley, whose bad +language was notorious in that part of the county. "Sick people can't +bear so much praying and preaching. And that methodistical sort of +religion is bad for the spirits--bad for the inside, eh?" he added, +turning quickly round to the four medical men who were assembled. + +But any answer was dispensed with by the entrance of three gentlemen, +with whom there were greetings more or less cordial. These were the +Reverend Edward Thesiger, Rector of St. Peter's, Mr. Bulstrode, and our +friend Mr. Brooke of Tipton, who had lately allowed himself to be put +on the board of directors in his turn, but had never before attended, +his attendance now being due to Mr. Bulstrode's exertions. Lydgate was +the only person still expected. + +Every one now sat down, Mr. Bulstrode presiding, pale and +self-restrained as usual. Mr. Thesiger, a moderate evangelical, wished +for the appointment of his friend Mr. Tyke, a zealous able man, who, +officiating at a chapel of ease, had not a cure of souls too extensive +to leave him ample time for the new duty. It was desirable that +chaplaincies of this kind should be entered on with a fervent +intention: they were peculiar opportunities for spiritual influence; +and while it was good that a salary should be allotted, there was the +more need for scrupulous watching lest the office should be perverted +into a mere question of salary. Mr. Thesiger's manner had so much +quiet propriety that objectors could only simmer in silence. + +Mr. Brooke believed that everybody meant well in the matter. He had +not himself attended to the affairs of the Infirmary, though he had a +strong interest in whatever was for the benefit of Middlemarch, and was +most happy to meet the gentlemen present on any public question--"any +public question, you know," Mr. Brooke repeated, with his nod of +perfect understanding. "I am a good deal occupied as a magistrate, and +in the collection of documentary evidence, but I regard my time as +being at the disposal of the public--and, in short, my friends have +convinced me that a chaplain with a salary--a salary, you know--is a +very good thing, and I am happy to be able to come here and vote for +the appointment of Mr. Tyke, who, I understand, is an unexceptionable +man, apostolic and eloquent and everything of that kind--and I am the +last man to withhold my vote--under the circumstances, you know." + +"It seems to me that you have been crammed with one side of the +question, Mr. Brooke," said Mr. Frank Hawley, who was afraid of nobody, +and was a Tory suspicious of electioneering intentions. "You don't +seem to know that one of the worthiest men we have has been doing duty +as chaplain here for years without pay, and that Mr. Tyke is proposed +to supersede him." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Hawley," said Mr. Bulstrode. "Mr. Brooke has been +fully informed of Mr. Farebrother's character and position." + +"By his enemies," flashed out Mr. Hawley. + +"I trust there is no personal hostility concerned here," said Mr. +Thesiger. + +"I'll swear there is, though," retorted Mr. Hawley. + +"Gentlemen," said Mr. Bulstrode, in a subdued tone, "the merits of the +question may be very briefly stated, and if any one present doubts that +every gentleman who is about to give his vote has not been fully +informed, I can now recapitulate the considerations that should weigh +on either side." + +"I don't see the good of that," said Mr. Hawley. "I suppose we all +know whom we mean to vote for. Any man who wants to do justice does +not wait till the last minute to hear both sides of the question. I +have no time to lose, and I propose that the matter be put to the vote +at once." + +A brief but still hot discussion followed before each person wrote +"Tyke" or "Farebrother" on a piece of paper and slipped it into a glass +tumbler; and in the mean time Mr. Bulstrode saw Lydgate enter. + +"I perceive that the votes are equally divided at present," said Mr. +Bulstrode, in a clear biting voice. Then, looking up at Lydgate-- + +"There is a casting-vote still to be given. It is yours, Mr. Lydgate: +will you be good enough to write?" + +"The thing is settled now," said Mr. Wrench, rising. "We all know how +Mr. Lydgate will vote." + +"You seem to speak with some peculiar meaning, sir," said Lydgate, +rather defiantly, and keeping his pencil suspended. + +"I merely mean that you are expected to vote with Mr. Bulstrode. Do +you regard that meaning as offensive?" + +"It may be offensive to others. But I shall not desist from voting +with him on that account." Lydgate immediately wrote down "Tyke." + +So the Rev. Walter Tyke became chaplain to the Infirmary, and Lydgate +continued to work with Mr. Bulstrode. He was really uncertain whether +Tyke were not the more suitable candidate, and yet his consciousness +told him that if he had been quite free from indirect bias he should +have voted for Mr. Farebrother. The affair of the chaplaincy remained +a sore point in his memory as a case in which this petty medium of +Middlemarch had been too strong for him. How could a man be satisfied +with a decision between such alternatives and under such circumstances? +No more than he can be satisfied with his hat, which he has chosen from +among such shapes as the resources of the age offer him, wearing it at +best with a resignation which is chiefly supported by comparison. + +But Mr. Farebrother met him with the same friendliness as before. The +character of the publican and sinner is not always practically +incompatible with that of the modern Pharisee, for the majority of us +scarcely see more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the +faultiness of our own arguments, or the dulness of our own jokes. But +the Vicar of St. Botolph's had certainly escaped the slightest tincture +of the Pharisee, and by dint of admitting to himself that he was too +much as other men were, he had become remarkably unlike them in +this--that he could excuse others for thinking slightly of him, and +could judge impartially of their conduct even when it told against him. + +"The world has been too strong for _me_, I know," he said one day to +Lydgate. "But then I am not a mighty man--I shall never be a man of +renown. The choice of Hercules is a pretty fable; but Prodicus makes +it easy work for the hero, as if the first resolves were enough. +Another story says that he came to hold the distaff, and at last wore +the Nessus shirt. I suppose one good resolve might keep a man right if +everybody else's resolve helped him." + +The Vicar's talk was not always inspiriting: he had escaped being a +Pharisee, but he had not escaped that low estimate of possibilities +which we rather hastily arrive at as an inference from our own failure. +Lydgate thought that there was a pitiable infirmity of will in Mr. +Farebrother. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + "L' altra vedete ch'ha fatto alla guancia + Della sua palma, sospirando, letto." + --Purgatorio, vii. + + +When George the Fourth was still reigning over the privacies of +Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, and Mr. Vincy +was mayor of the old corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born +Dorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to Rome. In those days +the world in general was more ignorant of good and evil by forty years +than it is at present. Travellers did not often carry full information +on Christian art either in their heads or their pockets; and even the +most brilliant English critic of the day mistook the flower-flushed +tomb of the ascended Virgin for an ornamental vase due to the painter's +fancy. Romanticism, which has helped to fill some dull blanks with +love and knowledge, had not yet penetrated the times with its leaven +and entered into everybody's food; it was fermenting still as a +distinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in certain long-haired German +artists at Rome, and the youth of other nations who worked or idled +near them were sometimes caught in the spreading movement. + +One fine morning a young man whose hair was not immoderately long, but +abundant and curly, and who was otherwise English in his equipment, had +just turned his back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was +looking out on the magnificent view of the mountains from the adjoining +round vestibule. He was sufficiently absorbed not to notice the +approach of a dark-eyed, animated German who came up to him and placing +a hand on his shoulder, said with a strong accent, "Come here, quick! +else she will have changed her pose." + +Quickness was ready at the call, and the two figures passed lightly +along by the Meleager, towards the hall where the reclining Ariadne, +then called the Cleopatra, lies in the marble voluptuousness of her +beauty, the drapery folding around her with a petal-like ease and +tenderness. They were just in time to see another figure standing +against a pedestal near the reclining marble: a breathing blooming +girl, whose form, not shamed by the Ariadne, was clad in Quakerish gray +drapery; her long cloak, fastened at the neck, was thrown backward from +her arms, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek, pushing +somewhat backward the white beaver bonnet which made a sort of halo to +her face around the simply braided dark-brown hair. She was not +looking at the sculpture, probably not thinking of it: her large eyes +were fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell across the +floor. But she became conscious of the two strangers who suddenly +paused as if to contemplate the Cleopatra, and, without looking at +them, immediately turned away to join a maid-servant and courier who +were loitering along the hall at a little distance off. + +"What do you think of that for a fine bit of antithesis?" said the +German, searching in his friend's face for responding admiration, but +going on volubly without waiting for any other answer. "There lies +antique beauty, not corpse-like even in death, but arrested in the +complete contentment of its sensuous perfection: and here stands beauty +in its breathing life, with the consciousness of Christian centuries in +its bosom. But she should be dressed as a nun; I think she looks +almost what you call a Quaker; I would dress her as a nun in my +picture. However, she is married; I saw her wedding-ring on that +wonderful left hand, otherwise I should have thought the sallow +Geistlicher was her father. I saw him parting from her a good while +ago, and just now I found her in that magnificent pose. Only think! he +is perhaps rich, and would like to have her portrait taken. Ah! it is +no use looking after her--there she goes! Let us follow her home!" + +"No, no," said his companion, with a little frown. + +"You are singular, Ladislaw. You look struck together. Do you know +her?" + +"I know that she is married to my cousin," said Will Ladislaw, +sauntering down the hall with a preoccupied air, while his German +friend kept at his side and watched him eagerly. + +"What! the Geistlicher? He looks more like an uncle--a more useful sort +of relation." + +"He is not my uncle. I tell you he is my second cousin," said +Ladislaw, with some irritation. + +"Schon, schon. Don't be snappish. You are not angry with me for +thinking Mrs. Second-Cousin the most perfect young Madonna I ever saw?" + +"Angry? nonsense. I have only seen her once before, for a couple of +minutes, when my cousin introduced her to me, just before I left +England. They were not married then. I didn't know they were coming +to Rome." + +"But you will go to see them now--you will find out what they have for +an address--since you know the name. Shall we go to the post? And you +could speak about the portrait." + +"Confound you, Naumann! I don't know what I shall do. I am not so +brazen as you." + +"Bah! that is because you are dilettantish and amateurish. If you were +an artist, you would think of Mistress Second-Cousin as antique form +animated by Christian sentiment--a sort of Christian Antigone--sensuous +force controlled by spiritual passion." + +"Yes, and that your painting her was the chief outcome of her +existence--the divinity passing into higher completeness and all but +exhausted in the act of covering your bit of canvas. I am amateurish +if you like: I do _not_ think that all the universe is straining +towards the obscure significance of your pictures." + +"But it is, my dear!--so far as it is straining through me, Adolf +Naumann: that stands firm," said the good-natured painter, putting a +hand on Ladislaw's shoulder, and not in the least disturbed by the +unaccountable touch of ill-humor in his tone. "See now! My existence +presupposes the existence of the whole universe--does it _not?_ and my +function is to paint--and as a painter I have a conception which is +altogether genialisch, of your great-aunt or second grandmother as a +subject for a picture; therefore, the universe is straining towards +that picture through that particular hook or claw which it puts forth +in the shape of me--not true?" + +"But how if another claw in the shape of me is straining to thwart +it?--the case is a little less simple then." + +"Not at all: the result of the struggle is the same thing--picture or +no picture--logically." + +Will could not resist this imperturbable temper, and the cloud in his +face broke into sunshiny laughter. + +"Come now, my friend--you will help?" said Naumann, in a hopeful tone. + +"No; nonsense, Naumann! English ladies are not at everybody's service +as models. And you want to express too much with your painting. You +would only have made a better or worse portrait with a background which +every connoisseur would give a different reason for or against. And +what is a portrait of a woman? Your painting and Plastik are poor +stuff after all. They perturb and dull conceptions instead of raising +them. Language is a finer medium." + +"Yes, for those who can't paint," said Naumann. "There you have +perfect right. I did not recommend you to paint, my friend." + +The amiable artist carried his sting, but Ladislaw did not choose to +appear stung. He went on as if he had not heard. + +"Language gives a fuller image, which is all the better for beings +vague. After all, the true seeing is within; and painting stares at +you with an insistent imperfection. I feel that especially about +representations of women. As if a woman were a mere colored +superficies! You must wait for movement and tone. There is a +difference in their very breathing: they change from moment to +moment.--This woman whom you have just seen, for example: how would you +paint her voice, pray? But her voice is much diviner than anything you +have seen of her." + +"I see, I see. You are jealous. No man must presume to think that he +can paint your ideal. This is serious, my friend! Your great-aunt! +'Der Neffe als Onkel' in a tragic sense--ungeheuer!" + +"You and I shall quarrel, Naumann, if you call that lady my aunt again." + +"How is she to be called then?" + +"Mrs. Casaubon." + +"Good. Suppose I get acquainted with her in spite of you, and find +that she very much wishes to be painted?" + +"Yes, suppose!" said Will Ladislaw, in a contemptuous undertone, +intended to dismiss the subject. He was conscious of being irritated +by ridiculously small causes, which were half of his own creation. Why +was he making any fuss about Mrs. Casaubon? And yet he felt as if +something had happened to him with regard to her. There are characters +which are continually creating collisions and nodes for themselves in +dramas which nobody is prepared to act with them. Their +susceptibilities will clash against objects that remain innocently +quiet. + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + "A child forsaken, waking suddenly, + Whose gaze afeard on all things round doth rove, + And seeth only that it cannot see + The meeting eyes of love." + + +Two hours later, Dorothea was seated in an inner room or boudoir of a +handsome apartment in the Via Sistina. + +I am sorry to add that she was sobbing bitterly, with such abandonment +to this relief of an oppressed heart as a woman habitually controlled +by pride on her own account and thoughtfulness for others will +sometimes allow herself when she feels securely alone. And Mr. +Casaubon was certain to remain away for some time at the Vatican. + +Yet Dorothea had no distinctly shapen grievance that she could state +even to herself; and in the midst of her confused thought and passion, +the mental act that was struggling forth into clearness was a +self-accusing cry that her feeling of desolation was the fault of her +own spiritual poverty. She had married the man of her choice, and with +the advantage over most girls that she had contemplated her marriage +chiefly as the beginning of new duties: from the very first she had +thought of Mr. Casaubon as having a mind so much above her own, that he +must often be claimed by studies which she could not entirely share; +moreover, after the brief narrow experience of her girlhood she was +beholding Rome, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole +hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral +images and trophies gathered from afar. + +But this stupendous fragmentariness heightened the dreamlike +strangeness of her bridal life. Dorothea had now been five weeks in +Rome, and in the kindly mornings when autumn and winter seemed to go +hand in hand like a happy aged couple one of whom would presently +survive in chiller loneliness, she had driven about at first with Mr. +Casaubon, but of late chiefly with Tantripp and their experienced +courier. She had been led through the best galleries, had been taken +to the chief points of view, had been shown the grandest ruins and the +most glorious churches, and she had ended by oftenest choosing to drive +out to the Campagna where she could feel alone with the earth and sky, +away-from the oppressive masquerade of ages, in which her own life too +seemed to become a masque with enigmatical costumes. + +To those who have looked at Rome with the quickening power of a +knowledge which breathes a growing soul into all historic shapes, and +traces out the suppressed transitions which unite all contrasts, Rome +may still be the spiritual centre and interpreter of the world. But +let them conceive one more historical contrast: the gigantic broken +revelations of that Imperial and Papal city thrust abruptly on the +notions of a girl who had been brought up in English and Swiss +Puritanism, fed on meagre Protestant histories and on art chiefly of +the hand-screen sort; a girl whose ardent nature turned all her small +allowance of knowledge into principles, fusing her actions into their +mould, and whose quick emotions gave the most abstract things the +quality of a pleasure or a pain; a girl who had lately become a wife, +and from the enthusiastic acceptance of untried duty found herself +plunged in tumultuous preoccupation with her personal lot. The weight +of unintelligible Rome might lie easily on bright nymphs to whom it +formed a background for the brilliant picnic of Anglo-foreign society; +but Dorothea had no such defence against deep impressions. Ruins and +basilicas, palaces and colossi, set in the midst of a sordid present, +where all that was living and warm-blooded seemed sunk in the deep +degeneracy of a superstition divorced from reverence; the dimmer but +yet eager Titanic life gazing and struggling on walls and ceilings; the +long vistas of white forms whose marble eyes seemed to hold the +monotonous light of an alien world: all this vast wreck of ambitious +ideals, sensuous and spiritual, mixed confusedly with the signs of +breathing forgetfulness and degradation, at first jarred her as with an +electric shock, and then urged themselves on her with that ache +belonging to a glut of confused ideas which check the flow of emotion. +Forms both pale and glowing took possession of her young sense, and +fixed themselves in her memory even when she was not thinking of them, +preparing strange associations which remained through her after-years. +Our moods are apt to bring with them images which succeed each other +like the magic-lantern pictures of a doze; and in certain states of +dull forlornness Dorothea all her life continued to see the vastness of +St. Peter's, the huge bronze canopy, the excited intention in the +attitudes and garments of the prophets and evangelists in the mosaics +above, and the red drapery which was being hung for Christmas spreading +itself everywhere like a disease of the retina. + +Not that this inward amazement of Dorothea's was anything very +exceptional: many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among +incongruities and left to "find their feet" among them, while their +elders go about their business. Nor can I suppose that when Mrs. +Casaubon is discovered in a fit of weeping six weeks after her wedding, +the situation will be regarded as tragic. Some discouragement, some +faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, +is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what +is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of +frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of +mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we +had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be +like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we +should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it +is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity. + +However, Dorothea was crying, and if she had been required to state the +cause, she could only have done so in some such general words as I have +already used: to have been driven to be more particular would have been +like trying to give a history of the lights and shadows, for that new +real future which was replacing the imaginary drew its material from +the endless minutiae by which her view of Mr. Casaubon and her wifely +relation, now that she was married to him, was gradually changing with +the secret motion of a watch-hand from what it had been in her maiden +dream. It was too early yet for her fully to recognize or at least +admit the change, still more for her to have readjusted that +devotedness which was so necessary a part of her mental life that she +was almost sure sooner or later to recover it. Permanent rebellion, +the disorder of a life without some loving reverent resolve, was not +possible to her; but she was now in an interval when the very force of +her nature heightened its confusion. In this way, the early months of +marriage often are times of critical tumult--whether that of a +shrimp-pool or of deeper waters--which afterwards subsides into +cheerful peace. + +But was not Mr. Casaubon just as learned as before? Had his forms of +expression changed, or his sentiments become less laudable? Oh +waywardness of womanhood! did his chronology fail him, or his ability +to state not only a theory but the names of those who held it; or his +provision for giving the heads of any subject on demand? And was not +Rome the place in all the world to give free play to such +accomplishments? Besides, had not Dorothea's enthusiasm especially +dwelt on the prospect of relieving the weight and perhaps the sadness +with which great tasks lie on him who has to achieve them?-- And that +such weight pressed on Mr. Casaubon was only plainer than before. + +All these are crushing questions; but whatever else remained the same, +the light had changed, and you cannot find the pearly dawn at noonday. +The fact is unalterable, that a fellow-mortal with whose nature you are +acquainted solely through the brief entrances and exits of a few +imaginative weeks called courtship, may, when seen in the continuity of +married companionship, be disclosed as something better or worse than +what you have preconceived, but will certainly not appear altogether +the same. And it would be astonishing to find how soon the change is +felt if we had no kindred changes to compare with it. To share +lodgings with a brilliant dinner-companion, or to see your favorite +politician in the Ministry, may bring about changes quite as rapid: in +these cases too we begin by knowing little and believing much, and we +sometimes end by inverting the quantities. + +Still, such comparisons might mislead, for no man was more incapable of +flashy make-believe than Mr. Casaubon: he was as genuine a character as +any ruminant animal, and he had not actively assisted in creating any +illusions about himself. How was it that in the weeks since her +marriage, Dorothea had not distinctly observed but felt with a stifling +depression, that the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had +dreamed of finding in her husband's mind were replaced by anterooms and +winding passages which seemed to lead nowhither? I suppose it was that +in courtship everything is regarded as provisional and preliminary, and +the smallest sample of virtue or accomplishment is taken to guarantee +delightful stores which the broad leisure of marriage will reveal. But +the door-sill of marriage once crossed, expectation is concentrated on +the present. Having once embarked on your marital voyage, it is +impossible not to be aware that you make no way and that the sea is not +within sight--that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin. + +In their conversation before marriage, Mr. Casaubon had often dwelt on +some explanation or questionable detail of which Dorothea did not see +the bearing; but such imperfect coherence seemed due to the brokenness +of their intercourse, and, supported by her faith in their future, she +had listened with fervid patience to a recitation of possible arguments +to be brought against Mr. Casaubon's entirely new view of the +Philistine god Dagon and other fish-deities, thinking that hereafter +she should see this subject which touched him so nearly from the same +high ground whence doubtless it had become so important to him. Again, +the matter-of-course statement and tone of dismissal with which he +treated what to her were the most stirring thoughts, was easily +accounted for as belonging to the sense of haste and preoccupation in +which she herself shared during their engagement. But now, since they +had been in Rome, with all the depths of her emotion roused to +tumultuous activity, and with life made a new problem by new elements, +she had been becoming more and more aware, with a certain terror, that +her mind was continually sliding into inward fits of anger and +repulsion, or else into forlorn weariness. How far the judicious +Hooker or any other hero of erudition would have been the same at Mr. +Casaubon's time of life, she had no means of knowing, so that he could +not have the advantage of comparison; but her husband's way of +commenting on the strangely impressive objects around them had begun to +affect her with a sort of mental shiver: he had perhaps the best +intention of acquitting himself worthily, but only of acquitting +himself. What was fresh to her mind was worn out to his; and such +capacity of thought and feeling as had ever been stimulated in him by +the general life of mankind had long shrunk to a sort of dried +preparation, a lifeless embalmment of knowledge. + +When he said, "Does this interest you, Dorothea? Shall we stay a +little longer? I am ready to stay if you wish it,"--it seemed to her +as if going or staying were alike dreary. Or, "Should you like to go +to the Farnesina, Dorothea? It contains celebrated frescos designed or +painted by Raphael, which most persons think it worth while to visit." + +"But do you care about them?" was always Dorothea's question. + +"They are, I believe, highly esteemed. Some of them represent the +fable of Cupid and Psyche, which is probably the romantic invention of +a literary period, and cannot, I think, be reckoned as a genuine +mythical product. But if you like these wall-paintings we can easily +drive thither; and you will then, I think, have seen the chief works of +Raphael, any of which it were a pity to omit in a visit to Rome. He is +the painter who has been held to combine the most complete grace of +form with sublimity of expression. Such at least I have gathered to be +the opinion of cognoscenti." + +This kind of answer given in a measured official tone, as of a +clergyman reading according to the rubric, did not help to justify the +glories of the Eternal City, or to give her the hope that if she knew +more about them the world would be joyously illuminated for her. There +is hardly any contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than +that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to have issued in +a blank absence of interest or sympathy. + +On other subjects indeed Mr. Casaubon showed a tenacity of occupation +and an eagerness which are usually regarded as the effect of +enthusiasm, and Dorothea was anxious to follow this spontaneous +direction of his thoughts, instead of being made to feel that she +dragged him away from it. But she was gradually ceasing to expect with +her former delightful confidence that she should see any wide opening +where she followed him. Poor Mr. Casaubon himself was lost among small +closets and winding stairs, and in an agitated dimness about the +Cabeiri, or in an exposure of other mythologists' ill-considered +parallels, easily lost sight of any purpose which had prompted him to +these labors. With his taper stuck before him he forgot the absence of +windows, and in bitter manuscript remarks on other men's notions about +the solar deities, he had become indifferent to the sunlight. + +These characteristics, fixed and unchangeable as bone in Mr. Casaubon, +might have remained longer unfelt by Dorothea if she had been +encouraged to pour forth her girlish and womanly feeling--if he would +have held her hands between his and listened with the delight of +tenderness and understanding to all the little histories which made up +her experience, and would have given her the same sort of intimacy in +return, so that the past life of each could be included in their mutual +knowledge and affection--or if she could have fed her affection with +those childlike caresses which are the bent of every sweet woman, who +has begun by showering kisses on the hard pate of her bald doll, +creating a happy soul within that woodenness from the wealth of her own +love. That was Dorothea's bent. With all her yearning to know what +was afar from her and to be widely benignant, she had ardor enough for +what was near, to have kissed Mr. Casaubon's coat-sleeve, or to have +caressed his shoe-latchet, if he would have made any other sign of +acceptance than pronouncing her, with his unfailing propriety, to be of +a most affectionate and truly feminine nature, indicating at the same +time by politely reaching a chair for her that he regarded these +manifestations as rather crude and startling. Having made his clerical +toilet with due care in the morning, he was prepared only for those +amenities of life which were suited to the well-adjusted stiff cravat +of the period, and to a mind weighted with unpublished matter. + +And by a sad contradiction Dorothea's ideas and resolves seemed like +melting ice floating and lost in the warm flood of which they had been +but another form. She was humiliated to find herself a mere victim of +feeling, as if she could know nothing except through that medium: all +her strength was scattered in fits of agitation, of struggle, of +despondency, and then again in visions of more complete renunciation, +transforming all hard conditions into duty. Poor Dorothea! she was +certainly troublesome--to herself chiefly; but this morning for the +first time she had been troublesome to Mr. Casaubon. + +She had begun, while they were taking coffee, with a determination to +shake off what she inwardly called her selfishness, and turned a face +all cheerful attention to her husband when he said, "My dear Dorothea, +we must now think of all that is yet left undone, as a preliminary to +our departure. I would fain have returned home earlier that we might +have been at Lowick for the Christmas; but my inquiries here have been +protracted beyond their anticipated period. I trust, however, that the +time here has not been passed unpleasantly to you. Among the sights of +Europe, that of Rome has ever been held one of the most striking and in +some respects edifying. I well remember that I considered it an epoch +in my life when I visited it for the first time; after the fall of +Napoleon, an event which opened the Continent to travellers. Indeed I +think it is one among several cities to which an extreme hyperbole has +been applied--'See Rome and die:' but in your case I would propose an +emendation and say, See Rome as a bride, and live henceforth as a happy +wife." + +Mr. Casaubon pronounced this little speech with the most conscientious +intention, blinking a little and swaying his head up and down, and +concluding with a smile. He had not found marriage a rapturous state, +but he had no idea of being anything else than an irreproachable +husband, who would make a charming young woman as happy as she deserved +to be. + +"I hope you are thoroughly satisfied with our stay--I mean, with the +result so far as your studies are concerned," said Dorothea, trying to +keep her mind fixed on what most affected her husband. + +"Yes," said Mr. Casaubon, with that peculiar pitch of voice which makes +the word half a negative. "I have been led farther than I had +foreseen, and various subjects for annotation have presented themselves +which, though I have no direct need of them, I could not pretermit. +The task, notwithstanding the assistance of my amanuensis, has been a +somewhat laborious one, but your society has happily prevented me from +that too continuous prosecution of thought beyond the hours of study +which has been the snare of my solitary life." + +"I am very glad that my presence has made any difference to you," said +Dorothea, who had a vivid memory of evenings in which she had supposed +that Mr. Casaubon's mind had gone too deep during the day to be able to +get to the surface again. I fear there was a little temper in her +reply. "I hope when we get to Lowick, I shall be more useful to you, +and be able to enter a little more into what interests you." + +"Doubtless, my dear," said Mr. Casaubon, with a slight bow. "The notes +I have here made will want sifting, and you can, if you please, extract +them under my direction." + +"And all your notes," said Dorothea, whose heart had already burned +within her on this subject, so that now she could not help speaking +with her tongue. "All those rows of volumes--will you not now do what +you used to speak of?--will you not make up your mind what part of them +you will use, and begin to write the book which will make your vast +knowledge useful to the world? I will write to your dictation, or I +will copy and extract what you tell me: I can be of no other use." +Dorothea, in a most unaccountable, darkly feminine manner, ended with a +slight sob and eyes full of tears. + +The excessive feeling manifested would alone have been highly +disturbing to Mr. Casaubon, but there were other reasons why Dorothea's +words were among the most cutting and irritating to him that she could +have been impelled to use. She was as blind to his inward troubles as +he to hers: she had not yet learned those hidden conflicts in her +husband which claim our pity. She had not yet listened patiently to +his heartbeats, but only felt that her own was beating violently. In +Mr. Casaubon's ear, Dorothea's voice gave loud emphatic iteration to +those muffled suggestions of consciousness which it was possible to +explain as mere fancy, the illusion of exaggerated sensitiveness: +always when such suggestions are unmistakably repeated from without, +they are resisted as cruel and unjust. We are angered even by the full +acceptance of our humiliating confessions--how much more by hearing in +hard distinct syllables from the lips of a near observer, those +confused murmurs which we try to call morbid, and strive against as if +they were the oncoming of numbness! And this cruel outward accuser was +there in the shape of a wife--nay, of a young bride, who, instead of +observing his abundant pen-scratches and amplitude of paper with the +uncritical awe of an elegant-minded canary-bird, seemed to present +herself as a spy watching everything with a malign power of inference. +Here, towards this particular point of the compass, Mr. Casaubon had a +sensitiveness to match Dorothea's, and an equal quickness to imagine +more than the fact. He had formerly observed with approbation her +capacity for worshipping the right object; he now foresaw with sudden +terror that this capacity might be replaced by presumption, this +worship by the most exasperating of all criticism,--that which sees +vaguely a great many fine ends, and has not the least notion what it +costs to reach them. + +For the first time since Dorothea had known him, Mr. Casaubon's face +had a quick angry flush upon it. + +"My love," he said, with irritation reined in by propriety, "you may +rely upon me for knowing the times and the seasons, adapted to the +different stages of a work which is not to be measured by the facile +conjectures of ignorant onlookers. It had been easy for me to gain a +temporary effect by a mirage of baseless opinion; but it is ever the +trial of the scrupulous explorer to be saluted with the impatient scorn +of chatterers who attempt only the smallest achievements, being indeed +equipped for no other. And it were well if all such could be +admonished to discriminate judgments of which the true subject-matter +lies entirely beyond their reach, from those of which the elements may +be compassed by a narrow and superficial survey." + +This speech was delivered with an energy and readiness quite unusual +with Mr. Casaubon. It was not indeed entirely an improvisation, but +had taken shape in inward colloquy, and rushed out like the round +grains from a fruit when sudden heat cracks it. Dorothea was not only +his wife: she was a personification of that shallow world which +surrounds the appreciated or desponding author. + +Dorothea was indignant in her turn. Had she not been repressing +everything in herself except the desire to enter into some fellowship +with her husband's chief interests? + +"My judgment _was_ a very superficial one--such as I am capable of +forming," she answered, with a prompt resentment, that needed no +rehearsal. "You showed me the rows of notebooks--you have often spoken +of them--you have often said that they wanted digesting. But I never +heard you speak of the writing that is to be published. Those were +very simple facts, and my judgment went no farther. I only begged you +to let me be of some good to you." + +Dorothea rose to leave the table and Mr. Casaubon made no reply, taking +up a letter which lay beside him as if to reperuse it. Both were +shocked at their mutual situation--that each should have betrayed anger +towards the other. If they had been at home, settled at Lowick in +ordinary life among their neighbors, the clash would have been less +embarrassing: but on a wedding journey, the express object of which is +to isolate two people on the ground that they are all the world to each +other, the sense of disagreement is, to say the least, confounding and +stultifying. To have changed your longitude extensively and placed +yourselves in a moral solitude in order to have small explosions, to +find conversation difficult and to hand a glass of water without +looking, can hardly be regarded as satisfactory fulfilment even to the +toughest minds. To Dorothea's inexperienced sensitiveness, it seemed +like a catastrophe, changing all prospects; and to Mr. Casaubon it was +a new pain, he never having been on a wedding journey before, or found +himself in that close union which was more of a subjection than he had +been able to imagine, since this charming young bride not only obliged +him to much consideration on her behalf (which he had sedulously +given), but turned out to be capable of agitating him cruelly just +where he most needed soothing. Instead of getting a soft fence against +the cold, shadowy, unapplausive audience of his life, had he only given +it a more substantial presence? + +Neither of them felt it possible to speak again at present. To have +reversed a previous arrangement and declined to go out would have been +a show of persistent anger which Dorothea's conscience shrank from, +seeing that she already began to feel herself guilty. However just her +indignation might be, her ideal was not to claim justice, but to give +tenderness. So when the carriage came to the door, she drove with Mr. +Casaubon to the Vatican, walked with him through the stony avenue of +inscriptions, and when she parted with him at the entrance to the +Library, went on through the Museum out of mere listlessness as to what +was around her. She had not spirit to turn round and say that she +would drive anywhere. It was when Mr. Casaubon was quitting her that +Naumann had first seen her, and he had entered the long gallery of +sculpture at the same time with her; but here Naumann had to await +Ladislaw with whom he was to settle a bet of champagne about an +enigmatical mediaeval-looking figure there. After they had examined +the figure, and had walked on finishing their dispute, they had parted, +Ladislaw lingering behind while Naumann had gone into the Hall of +Statues where he again saw Dorothea, and saw her in that brooding +abstraction which made her pose remarkable. She did not really see the +streak of sunlight on the floor more than she saw the statues: she was +inwardly seeing the light of years to come in her own home and over the +English fields and elms and hedge-bordered highroads; and feeling that +the way in which they might be filled with joyful devotedness was not +so clear to her as it had been. But in Dorothea's mind there was a +current into which all thought and feeling were apt sooner or later to +flow--the reaching forward of the whole consciousness towards the +fullest truth, the least partial good. There was clearly something +better than anger and despondency. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + "Hire facounde eke full womanly and plain, + No contrefeted termes had she + To semen wise." + --CHAUCER. + + +It was in that way Dorothea came to be sobbing as soon as she was +securely alone. But she was presently roused by a knock at the door, +which made her hastily dry her eyes before saying, "Come in." Tantripp +had brought a card, and said that there was a gentleman waiting in the +lobby. The courier had told him that only Mrs. Casaubon was at home, +but he said he was a relation of Mr. Casaubon's: would she see him? + +"Yes," said Dorothea, without pause; "show him into the salon." Her +chief impressions about young Ladislaw were that when she had seen him +at Lowick she had been made aware of Mr. Casaubon's generosity towards +him, and also that she had been interested in his own hesitation about +his career. She was alive to anything that gave her an opportunity for +active sympathy, and at this moment it seemed as if the visit had come +to shake her out of her self-absorbed discontent--to remind her of her +husband's goodness, and make her feel that she had now the right to be +his helpmate in all kind deeds. She waited a minute or two, but when +she passed into the next room there were just signs enough that she had +been crying to make her open face look more youthful and appealing than +usual. She met Ladislaw with that exquisite smile of good-will which +is unmixed with vanity, and held out her hand to him. He was the elder +by several years, but at that moment he looked much the younger, for +his transparent complexion flushed suddenly, and he spoke with a +shyness extremely unlike the ready indifference of his manner with his +male companion, while Dorothea became all the calmer with a wondering +desire to put him at ease. + +"I was not aware that you and Mr. Casaubon were in Rome, until this +morning, when I saw you in the Vatican Museum," he said. "I knew you +at once--but--I mean, that I concluded Mr. Casaubon's address would be +found at the Poste Restante, and I was anxious to pay my respects to +him and you as early as possible." + +"Pray sit down. He is not here now, but he will be glad to hear of +you, I am sure," said Dorothea, seating herself unthinkingly between +the fire and the light of the tall window, and pointing to a chair +opposite, with the quietude of a benignant matron. The signs of +girlish sorrow in her face were only the more striking. "Mr. Casaubon +is much engaged; but you will leave your address--will you not?--and +he will write to you." + +"You are very good," said Ladislaw, beginning to lose his diffidence in +the interest with which he was observing the signs of weeping which had +altered her face. "My address is on my card. But if you will allow me +I will call again to-morrow at an hour when Mr. Casaubon is likely to +be at home." + +"He goes to read in the Library of the Vatican every day, and you can +hardly see him except by an appointment. Especially now. We are about +to leave Rome, and he is very busy. He is usually away almost from +breakfast till dinner. But I am sure he will wish you to dine with us." + +Will Ladislaw was struck mute for a few moments. He had never been +fond of Mr. Casaubon, and if it had not been for the sense of +obligation, would have laughed at him as a Bat of erudition. But the +idea of this dried-up pedant, this elaborator of small explanations +about as important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a +vendor's back chamber, having first got this adorable young creature to +marry him, and then passing his honeymoon away from her, groping after +his mouldy futilities (Will was given to hyperbole)--this sudden +picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was divided +between the impulse to laugh aloud and the equally unseasonable impulse +to burst into scornful invective. + +For an instant he felt that the struggle, was causing a queer +contortion of his mobile features, but with a good effort he resolved +it into nothing more offensive than a merry smile. + +Dorothea wondered; but the smile was irresistible, and shone back from +her face too. Will Ladislaw's smile was delightful, unless you were +angry with him beforehand: it was a gush of inward light illuminating +the transparent skin as well as the eyes, and playing about every curve +and line as if some Ariel were touching them with a new charm, and +banishing forever the traces of moodiness. The reflection of that +smile could not but have a little merriment in it too, even under dark +eyelashes still moist, as Dorothea said inquiringly, "Something amuses +you?" + +"Yes," said Will, quick in finding resources. "I am thinking of the +sort of figure I cut the first time I saw you, when you annihilated my +poor sketch with your criticism." + +"My criticism?" said Dorothea, wondering still more. "Surely not. I +always feel particularly ignorant about painting." + +"I suspected you of knowing so much, that you knew how to say just what +was most cutting. You said--I dare say you don't remember it as I +do--that the relation of my sketch to nature was quite hidden from you. +At least, you implied that." Will could laugh now as well as smile. + +"That was really my ignorance," said Dorothea, admiring +Will's good-humor. "I must have said so only because I never could see +any beauty in the pictures which my uncle told me all judges thought +very fine. And I have gone about with just the same ignorance in Rome. +There are comparatively few paintings that I can really enjoy. At +first when I enter a room where the walls are covered with frescos, or +with rare pictures, I feel a kind of awe--like a child present at great +ceremonies where there are grand robes and processions; I feel myself +in the presence of some higher life than my own. But when I begin to +examine the pictures one by one the life goes out of them, or else is +something violent and strange to me. It must be my own dulness. I am +seeing so much all at once, and not understanding half of it. That +always makes one feel stupid. It is painful to be told that anything +is very fine and not be able to feel that it is fine--something like +being blind, while people talk of the sky." + +"Oh, there is a great deal in the feeling for art which must be +acquired," said Will. (It was impossible now to doubt the directness +of Dorothea's confession.) "Art is an old language with a great many +artificial affected styles, and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets +out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing. I enjoy the art of +all sorts here immensely; but I suppose if I could pick my enjoyment to +pieces I should find it made up of many different threads. There is +something in daubing a little one's self, and having an idea of the +process." + +"You mean perhaps to be a painter?" said Dorothea, with a new direction +of interest. "You mean to make painting your profession? Mr. Casaubon +will like to hear that you have chosen a profession." + +"No, oh no," said Will, with some coldness. "I have quite made up my +mind against it. It is too one-sided a life. I have been seeing a +great deal of the German artists here: I travelled from Frankfort with +one of them. Some are fine, even brilliant fellows--but I should not +like to get into their way of looking at the world entirely from the +studio point of view." + +"That I can understand," said Dorothea, cordially. "And in Rome it +seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the +world than pictures. But if you have a genius for painting, would it +not be right to take that as a guide? Perhaps you might do better +things than these--or different, so that there might not be so many +pictures almost all alike in the same place." + +There was no mistaking this simplicity, and Will was won by it into +frankness. "A man must have a very rare genius to make changes of that +sort. I am afraid mine would not carry me even to the pitch of doing +well what has been done already, at least not so well as to make it +worth while. And I should never succeed in anything by dint of +drudgery. If things don't come easily to me I never get them." + +"I have heard Mr. Casaubon say that he regrets your want of patience," +said Dorothea, gently. She was rather shocked at this mode of taking +all life as a holiday. + +"Yes, I know Mr. Casaubon's opinion. He and I differ." + +The slight streak of contempt in this hasty reply offended Dorothea. +She was all the more susceptible about Mr. Casaubon because of her +morning's trouble. + +"Certainly you differ," she said, rather proudly. "I did not think of +comparing you: such power of persevering devoted labor as Mr. +Casaubon's is not common." + +Will saw that she was offended, but this only gave an additional +impulse to the new irritation of his latent dislike towards Mr. +Casaubon. It was too intolerable that Dorothea should be worshipping +this husband: such weakness in a woman is pleasant to no man but the +husband in question. Mortals are easily tempted to pinch the life out +of their neighbor's buzzing glory, and think that such killing is no +murder. + +"No, indeed," he answered, promptly. "And therefore it is a pity that +it should be thrown away, as so much English scholarship is, for want +of knowing what is being done by the rest of the world. If Mr. +Casaubon read German he would save himself a great deal of trouble." + +"I do not understand you," said Dorothea, startled and anxious. + +"I merely mean," said Will, in an offhand way, "that the Germans have +taken the lead in historical inquiries, and they laugh at results which +are got by groping about in woods with a pocket-compass while they have +made good roads. When I was with Mr. Casaubon I saw that he deafened +himself in that direction: it was almost against his will that he read +a Latin treatise written by a German. I was very sorry." + +Will only thought of giving a good pinch that would annihilate that +vaunted laboriousness, and was unable to imagine the mode in which +Dorothea would be wounded. Young Mr. Ladislaw was not at all deep +himself in German writers; but very little achievement is required in +order to pity another man's shortcomings. + +Poor Dorothea felt a pang at the thought that the labor of her +husband's life might be void, which left her no energy to spare for the +question whether this young relative who was so much obliged to him +ought not to have repressed his observation. She did not even speak, +but sat looking at her hands, absorbed in the piteousness of that +thought. + +Will, however, having given that annihilating pinch, was rather +ashamed, imagining from Dorothea's silence that he had offended her +still more; and having also a conscience about plucking the +tail-feathers from a benefactor. + +"I regretted it especially," he resumed, taking the usual course from +detraction to insincere eulogy, "because of my gratitude and respect +towards my cousin. It would not signify so much in a man whose talents +and character were less distinguished." + +Dorothea raised her eyes, brighter than usual with excited feeling, and +said in her saddest recitative, "How I wish I had learned German when I +was at Lausanne! There were plenty of German teachers. But now I can +be of no use." + +There was a new light, but still a mysterious light, for Will in +Dorothea's last words. The question how she had come to accept Mr. +Casaubon--which he had dismissed when he first saw her by saying that +she must be disagreeable in spite of appearances--was not now to be +answered on any such short and easy method. Whatever else she might +be, she was not disagreeable. She was not coldly clever and indirectly +satirical, but adorably simple and full of feeling. She was an angel +beguiled. It would be a unique delight to wait and watch for the +melodious fragments in which her heart and soul came forth so directly +and ingenuously. The Aeolian harp again came into his mind. + +She must have made some original romance for herself in this marriage. +And if Mr. Casaubon had been a dragon who had carried her off to his +lair with his talons simply and without legal forms, it would have been +an unavoidable feat of heroism to release her and fall at her feet. +But he was something more unmanageable than a dragon: he was a +benefactor with collective society at his back, and he was at that +moment entering the room in all the unimpeachable correctness of his +demeanor, while Dorothea was looking animated with a newly roused alarm +and regret, and Will was looking animated with his admiring speculation +about her feelings. + +Mr. Casaubon felt a surprise which was quite unmixed with pleasure, but +he did not swerve from his usual politeness of greeting, when Will rose +and explained his presence. Mr. Casaubon was less happy than usual, +and this perhaps made him look all the dimmer and more faded; else, the +effect might easily have been produced by the contrast of his young +cousin's appearance. The first impression on seeing Will was one of +sunny brightness, which added to the uncertainty of his changing +expression. Surely, his very features changed their form, his jaw +looked sometimes large and sometimes small; and the little ripple in +his nose was a preparation for metamorphosis. When he turned his head +quickly his hair seemed to shake out light, and some persons thought +they saw decided genius in this coruscation. Mr. Casaubon, on the +contrary, stood rayless. + +As Dorothea's eyes were turned anxiously on her husband she was perhaps +not insensible to the contrast, but it was only mingled with other +causes in making her more conscious of that new alarm on his behalf +which was the first stirring of a pitying tenderness fed by the +realities of his lot and not by her own dreams. Yet it was a source of +greater freedom to her that Will was there; his young equality was +agreeable, and also perhaps his openness to conviction. She felt an +immense need of some one to speak to, and she had never before seen any +one who seemed so quick and pliable, so likely to understand everything. + +Mr. Casaubon gravely hoped that Will was passing his time profitably as +well as pleasantly in Rome--had thought his intention was to remain in +South Germany--but begged him to come and dine to-morrow, when he could +converse more at large: at present he was somewhat weary. Ladislaw +understood, and accepting the invitation immediately took his leave. + +Dorothea's eyes followed her husband anxiously, while he sank down +wearily at the end of a sofa, and resting his elbow supported his head +and looked on the floor. A little flushed, and with bright eyes, she +seated herself beside him, and said-- + +"Forgive me for speaking so hastily to you this morning. I was wrong. +I fear I hurt you and made the day more burdensome." + +"I am glad that you feel that, my dear," said Mr. Casaubon. He spoke +quietly and bowed his head a little, but there was still an uneasy +feeling in his eyes as he looked at her. + +"But you do forgive me?" said Dorothea, with a quick sob. In her need +for some manifestation of feeling she was ready to exaggerate her own +fault. Would not love see returning penitence afar off, and fall on +its neck and kiss it? + +"My dear Dorothea--'who with repentance is not satisfied, is not of +heaven nor earth:'--you do not think me worthy to be banished by that +severe sentence," said Mr. Casaubon, exerting himself to make a strong +statement, and also to smile faintly. + +Dorothea was silent, but a tear which had come up with the sob would +insist on falling. + +"You are excited, my dear. And I also am feeling some unpleasant +consequences of too much mental disturbance," said Mr. Casaubon. In +fact, he had it in his thought to tell her that she ought not to have +received young Ladislaw in his absence: but he abstained, partly from +the sense that it would be ungracious to bring a new complaint in the +moment of her penitent acknowledgment, partly because he wanted to +avoid further agitation of himself by speech, and partly because he was +too proud to betray that jealousy of disposition which was not so +exhausted on his scholarly compeers that there was none to spare in +other directions. There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little +fire: it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp +despondency of uneasy egoism. + +"I think it is time for us to dress," he added, looking at his watch. +They both rose, and there was never any further allusion between them +to what had passed on this day. + +But Dorothea remembered it to the last with the vividness with which we +all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, +or some new motive is born. Today she had begun to see that she had +been under a wild illusion in expecting a response to her feeling from +Mr. Casaubon, and she had felt the waking of a presentiment that there +might be a sad consciousness in his life which made as great a need on +his side as on her own. + +We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder +to feed our supreme selves: Dorothea had early begun to emerge from +that stupidity, but yet it had been easier to her to imagine how she +would devote herself to Mr. Casaubon, and become wise and strong in his +strength and wisdom, than to conceive with that distinctness which is +no longer reflection but feeling--an idea wrought back to the +directness of sense, like the solidity of objects--that he had an +equivalent centre of self, whence the lights and shadows must always +fall with a certain difference. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + "Nous câusames longtemps; elle était simple et bonne. + Ne sachant pas le mal, elle faisait le bien; + Des richesses du coeur elle me fit l'aumône, + Et tout en écoutant comme le coeur se donne, + Sans oser y penser je lui donnai le mien; + Elle emporta ma vie, et n'en sut jamais rien." + --ALFRED DE MUSSET. + + +Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the next day, and +gave no opportunity for Mr. Casaubon to show disapprobation. On the +contrary it seemed to Dorothea that Will had a happier way of drawing +her husband into conversation and of deferentially listening to him +than she had ever observed in any one before. To be sure, the +listeners about Tipton were not highly gifted! Will talked a good deal +himself, but what he said was thrown in with such rapidity, and with +such an unimportant air of saying something by the way, that it seemed +a gay little chime after the great bell. If Will was not always +perfect, this was certainly one of his good days. He described touches +of incident among the poor people in Rome, only to be seen by one who +could move about freely; he found himself in agreement with Mr. +Casaubon as to the unsound opinions of Middleton concerning the +relations of Judaism and Catholicism; and passed easily to a +half-enthusiastic half-playful picture of the enjoyment he got out of +the very miscellaneousness of Rome, which made the mind flexible with +constant comparison, and saved you from seeing the world's ages as a +set of box-like partitions without vital connection. Mr. Casaubon's +studies, Will observed, had always been of too broad a kind for that, +and he had perhaps never felt any such sudden effect, but for himself +he confessed that Rome had given him quite a new sense of history as a +whole: the fragments stimulated his imagination and made him +constructive. Then occasionally, but not too often, he appealed to +Dorothea, and discussed what she said, as if her sentiment were an item +to be considered in the final judgment even of the Madonna di Foligno +or the Laocoon. A sense of contributing to form the world's opinion +makes conversation particularly cheerful; and Mr. Casaubon too was not +without his pride in his young wife, who spoke better than most women, +as indeed he had perceived in choosing her. + +Since things were going on so pleasantly, Mr. Casaubon's statement that +his labors in the Library would be suspended for a couple of days, and +that after a brief renewal he should have no further reason for staying +in Rome, encouraged Will to urge that Mrs. Casaubon should not go away +without seeing a studio or two. Would not Mr. Casaubon take her? That +sort of thing ought not to be missed: it was quite special: it was a +form of life that grew like a small fresh vegetation with its +population of insects on huge fossils. Will would be happy to conduct +them--not to anything wearisome, only to a few examples. + +Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards him, could not but +ask her if she would be interested in such visits: he was now at her +service during the whole day; and it was agreed that Will should come +on the morrow and drive with them. + +Will could not omit Thorwaldsen, a living celebrity about whom even Mr. +Casaubon inquired, but before the day was far advanced he led the way +to the studio of his friend Adolf Naumann, whom he mentioned as one of +the chief renovators of Christian art, one of those who had not only +revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as +mysteries at which the successive ages were spectators, and in relation +to which the great souls of all periods became as it were +contemporaries. Will added that he had made himself Naumann's pupil +for the nonce. + +"I have been making some oil-sketches under him," said Will. "I hate +copying. I must put something of my own in. Naumann has been painting +the Saints drawing the Car of the Church, and I have been making a +sketch of Marlowe's Tamburlaine Driving the Conquered Kings in his +Chariot. I am not so ecclesiastical as Naumann, and I sometimes twit +him with his excess of meaning. But this time I mean to outdo him in +breadth of intention. I take Tamburlaine in his chariot for the +tremendous course of the world's physical history lashing on the +harnessed dynasties. In my opinion, that is a good mythical +interpretation." Will here looked at Mr. Casaubon, who received this +offhand treatment of symbolism very uneasily, and bowed with a neutral +air. + +"The sketch must be very grand, if it conveys so much," said Dorothea. +"I should need some explanation even of the meaning you give. Do you +intend Tamburlaine to represent earthquakes and volcanoes?" + +"Oh yes," said Will, laughing, "and migrations of races and clearings +of forests--and America and the steam-engine. Everything you can +imagine!" + +"What a difficult kind of shorthand!" said Dorothea, smiling towards +her husband. "It would require all your knowledge to be able to read +it." + +Mr. Casaubon blinked furtively at Will. He had a suspicion that he was +being laughed at. But it was not possible to include Dorothea in the +suspicion. + +They found Naumann painting industriously, but no model was present; +his pictures were advantageously arranged, and his own plain vivacious +person set off by a dove-colored blouse and a maroon velvet cap, so +that everything was as fortunate as if he had expected the beautiful +young English lady exactly at that time. + +The painter in his confident English gave little dissertations on his +finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe Mr. Casaubon as +much as he did Dorothea. Will burst in here and there with ardent +words of praise, marking out particular merits in his friend's work; +and Dorothea felt that she was getting quite new notions as to the +significance of Madonnas seated under inexplicable canopied thrones +with the simple country as a background, and of saints with +architectural models in their hands, or knives accidentally wedged in +their skulls. Some things which had seemed monstrous to her were +gathering intelligibility and even a natural meaning: but all this was +apparently a branch of knowledge in which Mr. Casaubon had not +interested himself. + +"I think I would rather feel that painting is beautiful than have to +read it as an enigma; but I should learn to understand these pictures +sooner than yours with the very wide meaning," said Dorothea, speaking +to Will. + +"Don't speak of my painting before Naumann," said Will. "He will tell +you, it is all pfuscherei, which is his most opprobrious word!" + +"Is that true?" said Dorothea, turning her sincere eyes on Naumann, who +made a slight grimace and said-- + +"Oh, he does not mean it seriously with painting. His walk must be +belles-lettres. That is wi-ide." + +Naumann's pronunciation of the vowel seemed to stretch the word +satirically. Will did not half like it, but managed to laugh: and Mr. +Casaubon, while he felt some disgust at the artist's German accent, +began to entertain a little respect for his judicious severity. + +The respect was not diminished when Naumann, after drawing Will aside +for a moment and looking, first at a large canvas, then at Mr. +Casaubon, came forward again and said-- + +"My friend Ladislaw thinks you will pardon me, sir, if I say that a +sketch of your head would be invaluable to me for the St. Thomas +Aquinas in my picture there. It is too much to ask; but I so seldom +see just what I want--the idealistic in the real." + +"You astonish me greatly, sir," said Mr. Casaubon, his looks improved +with a glow of delight; "but if my poor physiognomy, which I have been +accustomed to regard as of the commonest order, can be of any use to +you in furnishing some traits for the angelical doctor, I shall feel +honored. That is to say, if the operation will not be a lengthy one; +and if Mrs. Casaubon will not object to the delay." + +As for Dorothea, nothing could have pleased her more, unless it had +been a miraculous voice pronouncing Mr. Casaubon the wisest and +worthiest among the sons of men. In that case her tottering faith +would have become firm again. + +Naumann's apparatus was at hand in wonderful completeness, and the +sketch went on at once as well as the conversation. Dorothea sat down +and subsided into calm silence, feeling happier than she had done for a +long while before. Every one about her seemed good, and she said to +herself that Rome, if she had only been less ignorant, would have been +full of beauty: its sadness would have been winged with hope. No nature +could be less suspicious than hers: when she was a child she believed +in the gratitude of wasps and the honorable susceptibility of sparrows, +and was proportionately indignant when their baseness was made manifest. + +The adroit artist was asking Mr. Casaubon questions about English +polities, which brought long answers, and, Will meanwhile had perched +himself on some steps in the background overlooking all. + +Presently Naumann said--"Now if I could lay this by for half an hour +and take it up again--come and look, Ladislaw--I think it is perfect so +far." + +Will vented those adjuring interjections which imply that admiration is +too strong for syntax; and Naumann said in a tone of piteous regret-- + +"Ah--now--if I could but have had more--but you have other +engagements--I could not ask it--or even to come again to-morrow." + +"Oh, let us stay!" said Dorothea. "We have nothing to do to-day except +go about, have we?" she added, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon. +"It would be a pity not to make the head as good as possible." + +"I am at your service, sir, in the matter," said Mr. Casaubon, with +polite condescension. "Having given up the interior of my head to +idleness, it is as well that the exterior should work in this way." + +"You are unspeakably good--now I am happy!" said Naumann, and then went +on in German to Will, pointing here and there to the sketch as if he +were considering that. Putting it aside for a moment, he looked round +vaguely, as if seeking some occupation for his visitors, and afterwards +turning to Mr. Casaubon, said-- + +"Perhaps the beautiful bride, the gracious lady, would not be unwilling +to let me fill up the time by trying to make a slight sketch of +her--not, of course, as you see, for that picture--only as a single +study." + +Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs. Casaubon would oblige him, +and Dorothea said, at once, "Where shall I put myself?" + +Naumann was all apologies in asking her to stand, and allow him to +adjust her attitude, to which she submitted without any of the affected +airs and laughs frequently thought necessary on such occasions, when +the painter said, "It is as Santa Clara that I want you to +stand--leaning so, with your cheek against your hand--so--looking at +that stool, please, so!" + +Will was divided between the inclination to fall at the Saint's feet +and kiss her robe, and the temptation to knock Naumann down while he +was adjusting her arm. All this was impudence and desecration, and he +repented that he had brought her. + +The artist was diligent, and Will recovering himself moved about and +occupied Mr. Casaubon as ingeniously as he could; but he did not in the +end prevent the time from seeming long to that gentleman, as was clear +from his expressing a fear that Mrs. Casaubon would be tired. Naumann +took the hint and said-- + +"Now, sir, if you can oblige me again; I will release the lady-wife." + +So Mr. Casaubon's patience held out further, and when after all it +turned out that the head of Saint Thomas Aquinas would be more perfect +if another sitting could be had, it was granted for the morrow. On the +morrow Santa Clara too was retouched more than once. The result of all +was so far from displeasing to Mr. Casaubon, that he arranged for the +purchase of the picture in which Saint Thomas Aquinas sat among the +doctors of the Church in a disputation too abstract to be represented, +but listened to with more or less attention by an audience above. The +Santa Clara, which was spoken of in the second place, Naumann declared +himself to be dissatisfied with--he could not, in conscience, engage +to make a worthy picture of it; so about the Santa Clara the +arrangement was conditional. + +I will not dwell on Naumann's jokes at the expense of Mr. Casaubon that +evening, or on his dithyrambs about Dorothea's charm, in all which Will +joined, but with a difference. No sooner did Naumann mention any +detail of Dorothea's beauty, than Will got exasperated at his +presumption: there was grossness in his choice of the most ordinary +words, and what business had he to talk of her lips? She was not a +woman to be spoken of as other women were. Will could not say just +what he thought, but he became irritable. And yet, when after some +resistance he had consented to take the Casaubons to his friend's +studio, he had been allured by the gratification of his pride in being +the person who could grant Naumann such an opportunity of studying her +loveliness--or rather her divineness, for the ordinary phrases which +might apply to mere bodily prettiness were not applicable to her. +(Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as well as Dorothea +herself, would have been surprised at her beauty being made so much of. +In that part of the world Miss Brooke had been only a "fine young +woman.") + +"Oblige me by letting the subject drop, Naumann. Mrs. Casaubon is not +to be talked of as if she were a model," said Will. Naumann stared at +him. + +"Schon! I will talk of my Aquinas. The head is not a bad type, after +all. I dare say the great scholastic himself would have been flattered +to have his portrait asked for. Nothing like these starchy doctors for +vanity! It was as I thought: he cared much less for her portrait than +his own." + +"He's a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb," said Will, with +gnashing impetuosity. His obligations to Mr. Casaubon were not known +to his hearer, but Will himself was thinking of them, and wishing that +he could discharge them all by a check. + +Naumann gave a shrug and said, "It is good they go away soon, my dear. +They are spoiling your fine temper." + +All Will's hope and contrivance were now concentrated on seeing +Dorothea when she was alone. He only wanted her to take more emphatic +notice of him; he only wanted to be something more special in her +remembrance than he could yet believe himself likely to be. He was +rather impatient under that open ardent good-will, which he saw was her +usual state of feeling. The remote worship of a woman throned out of +their reach plays a great part in men's lives, but in most cases the +worshipper longs for some queenly recognition, some approving sign by +which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her +high place. That was precisely what Will wanted. But there were +plenty of contradictions in his imaginative demands. It was beautiful +to see how Dorothea's eyes turned with wifely anxiety and beseeching to +Mr. Casaubon: she would have lost some of her halo if she had been +without that duteous preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the +husband's sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable; and +Will's longing to say damaging things about him was perhaps not the +less tormenting because he felt the strongest reasons for restraining +it. + +Will had not been invited to dine the next day. Hence he persuaded +himself that he was bound to call, and that the only eligible time was +the middle of the day, when Mr. Casaubon would not be at home. + +Dorothea, who had not been made aware that her former reception of Will +had displeased her husband, had no hesitation about seeing him, +especially as he might be come to pay a farewell visit. When he +entered she was looking at some cameos which she had been buying for +Celia. She greeted Will as if his visit were quite a matter of course, +and said at once, having a cameo bracelet in her hand-- + +"I am so glad you are come. Perhaps you understand all about cameos, +and can tell me if these are really good. I wished to have you with us +in choosing them, but Mr. Casaubon objected: he thought there was not +time. He will finish his work to-morrow, and we shall go away in three +days. I have been uneasy about these cameos. Pray sit down and look +at them." + +"I am not particularly knowing, but there can be no great mistake about +these little Homeric bits: they are exquisitely neat. And the color is +fine: it will just suit you." + +"Oh, they are for my sister, who has quite a different complexion. You +saw her with me at Lowick: she is light-haired and very pretty--at +least I think so. We were never so long away from each other in our +lives before. She is a great pet and never was naughty in her life. I +found out before I came away that she wanted me to buy her some cameos, +and I should be sorry for them not to be good--after their kind." +Dorothea added the last words with a smile. + +"You seem not to care about cameos," said Will, seating himself at some +distance from her, and observing her while she closed the cases. + +"No, frankly, I don't think them a great object in life," said Dorothea + +"I fear you are a heretic about art generally. How is that? I should +have expected you to be very sensitive to the beautiful everywhere." + +"I suppose I am dull about many things," said Dorothea, simply. "I +should like to make life beautiful--I mean everybody's life. And then +all this immense expense of art, that seems somehow to lie outside life +and make it no better for the world, pains one. It spoils my enjoyment +of anything when I am made to think that most people are shut out from +it." + +"I call that the fanaticism of sympathy," said Will, impetuously. "You +might say the same of landscape, of poetry, of all refinement. If you +carried it out you ought to be miserable in your own goodness, and turn +evil that you might have no advantage over others. The best piety is +to enjoy--when you can. You are doing the most then to save the +earth's character as an agreeable planet. And enjoyment radiates. It +is of no use to try and take care of all the world; that is being taken +care of when you feel delight--in art or in anything else. Would you +turn all the youth of the world into a tragic chorus, wailing and +moralizing over misery? I suspect that you have some false belief in +the virtues of misery, and want to make your life a martyrdom." Will +had gone further than he intended, and checked himself. But Dorothea's +thought was not taking just the same direction as his own, and she +answered without any special emotion-- + +"Indeed you mistake me. I am not a sad, melancholy creature. I am +never unhappy long together. I am angry and naughty--not like Celia: I +have a great outburst, and then all seems glorious again. I cannot +help believing in glorious things in a blind sort of way. I should be +quite willing to enjoy the art here, but there is so much that I don't +know the reason of--so much that seems to me a consecration of ugliness +rather than beauty. The painting and sculpture may be wonderful, but +the feeling is often low and brutal, and sometimes even ridiculous. +Here and there I see what takes me at once as noble--something that I +might compare with the Alban Mountains or the sunset from the Pincian +Hill; but that makes it the greater pity that there is so little of the +best kind among all that mass of things over which men have toiled so." + +"Of course there is always a great deal of poor work: the rarer things +want that soil to grow in." + +"Oh dear," said Dorothea, taking up that thought into the chief current +of her anxiety; "I see it must be very difficult to do anything good. +I have often felt since I have been in Rome that most of our lives +would look much uglier and more bungling than the pictures, if they +could be put on the wall." + +Dorothea parted her lips again as if she were going to say more, but +changed her mind and paused. + +"You are too young--it is an anachronism for you to have such +thoughts," said Will, energetically, with a quick shake of the head +habitual to him. "You talk as if you had never known any youth. It is +monstrous--as if you had had a vision of Hades in your childhood, like +the boy in the legend. You have been brought up in some of those +horrible notions that choose the sweetest women to devour--like +Minotaurs. And now you will go and be shut up in that stone prison at +Lowick: you will be buried alive. It makes me savage to think of it! +I would rather never have seen you than think of you with such a +prospect." + +Will again feared that he had gone too far; but the meaning we attach +to words depends on our feeling, and his tone of angry regret had so +much kindness in it for Dorothea's heart, which had always been giving +out ardor and had never been fed with much from the living beings +around her, that she felt a new sense of gratitude and answered with a +gentle smile-- + +"It is very good of you to be anxious about me. It is because you did +not like Lowick yourself: you had set your heart on another kind of +life. But Lowick is my chosen home." + +The last sentence was spoken with an almost solemn cadence, and Will +did not know what to say, since it would not be useful for him to +embrace her slippers, and tell her that he would die for her: it was +clear that she required nothing of the sort; and they were both silent +for a moment or two, when Dorothea began again with an air of saying at +last what had been in her mind beforehand. + +"I wanted to ask you again about something you said the other day. +Perhaps it was half of it your lively way of speaking: I notice that +you like to put things strongly; I myself often exaggerate when I speak +hastily." + +"What was it?" said Will, observing that she spoke with a timidity +quite new in her. "I have a hyperbolical tongue: it catches fire as it +goes. I dare say I shall have to retract." + +"I mean what you said about the necessity of knowing German--I mean, +for the subjects that Mr. Casaubon is engaged in. I have been thinking +about it; and it seems to me that with Mr. Casaubon's learning he must +have before him the same materials as German scholars--has he not?" +Dorothea's timidity was due to an indistinct consciousness that she was +in the strange situation of consulting a third person about the +adequacy of Mr. Casaubon's learning. + +"Not exactly the same materials," said Will, thinking that he would be +duly reserved. "He is not an Orientalist, you know. He does not +profess to have more than second-hand knowledge there." + +"But there are very valuable books about antiquities which were written +a long while ago by scholars who knew nothing about these modern +things; and they are still used. Why should Mr. Casaubon's not be +valuable, like theirs?" said Dorothea, with more remonstrant energy. +She was impelled to have the argument aloud, which she had been having +in her own mind. + +"That depends on the line of study taken," said Will, also getting a +tone of rejoinder. "The subject Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as changing +as chemistry: new discoveries are constantly making new points of view. +Who wants a system on the basis of the four elements, or a book to +refute Paracelsus? Do you not see that it is no use now to be crawling +a little way after men of the last century--men like Bryant--and +correcting their mistakes?--living in a lumber-room and furbishing up +broken-legged theories about Chus and Mizraim?" + +"How can you bear to speak so lightly?" said Dorothea, with a look +between sorrow and anger. "If it were as you say, what could be sadder +than so much ardent labor all in vain? I wonder it does not affect you +more painfully, if you really think that a man like Mr. Casaubon, of so +much goodness, power, and learning, should in any way fail in what has +been the labor of his best years." She was beginning to be shocked that +she had got to such a point of supposition, and indignant with Will for +having led her to it. + +"You questioned me about the matter of fact, not of feeling," said +Will. "But if you wish to punish me for the fact, I submit. I am not +in a position to express my feeling toward Mr. Casaubon: it would be at +best a pensioner's eulogy." + +"Pray excuse me," said Dorothea, coloring deeply. "I am aware, as you +say, that I am in fault in having introduced the subject. Indeed, I am +wrong altogether. Failure after long perseverance is much grander than +never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure." + +"I quite agree with you," said Will, determined to change the +situation--"so much so that I have made up my mind not to run that +risk of never attaining a failure. Mr. Casaubon's generosity has +perhaps been dangerous to me, and I mean to renounce the liberty it has +given me. I mean to go back to England shortly and work my own +way--depend on nobody else than myself." + +"That is fine--I respect that feeling," said Dorothea, with returning +kindness. "But Mr. Casaubon, I am sure, has never thought of anything +in the matter except what was most for your welfare." + +"She has obstinacy and pride enough to serve instead of love, now she +has married him," said Will to himself. Aloud he said, rising-- + +"I shall not see you again." + +"Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon comes," said Dorothea, earnestly. "I am so +glad we met in Rome. I wanted to know you." + +"And I have made you angry," said Will. "I have made you think ill of +me." + +"Oh no. My sister tells me I am always angry with people who do not +say just what I like. But I hope I am not given to think ill of them. +In the end I am usually obliged to think ill of myself for being so +impatient." + +"Still, you don't like me; I have made myself an unpleasant thought to +you." + +"Not at all," said Dorothea, with the most open kindness. "I like you +very much." + +Will was not quite contented, thinking that he would apparently have +been of more importance if he had been disliked. He said nothing, but +looked dull, not to say sulky. + +"And I am quite interested to see what you will do," Dorothea went on +cheerfully. "I believe devoutly in a natural difference of vocation. +If it were not for that belief, I suppose I should be very narrow--there +are so many things, besides painting, that I am quite ignorant +of. You would hardly believe how little I have taken in of music and +literature, which you know so much of. I wonder what your vocation +will turn out to be: perhaps you will be a poet?" + +"That depends. To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern that +no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment +is but a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the chords of +emotion--a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, +and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge. One may have +that condition by fits only." + +"But you leave out the poems," said Dorothea. "I think they are wanted +to complete the poet. I understand what you mean about knowledge +passing into feeling, for that seems to be just what I experience. But +I am sure I could never produce a poem." + +"You _are_ a poem--and that is to be the best part of a poet--what +makes up the poet's consciousness in his best moods," said Will, +showing such originality as we all share with the morning and the +spring-time and other endless renewals. + +"I am very glad to hear it," said Dorothea, laughing out her words in a +bird-like modulation, and looking at Will with playful gratitude in her +eyes. "What very kind things you say to me!" + +"I wish I could ever do anything that would be what you call kind--that +I could ever be of the slightest service to you. I fear I shall never +have the opportunity." Will spoke with fervor. + +"Oh yes," said Dorothea, cordially. "It will come; and I shall +remember how well you wish me. I quite hoped that we should be friends +when I first saw you--because of your relationship to Mr. Casaubon." +There was a certain liquid brightness in her eyes, and Will was +conscious that his own were obeying a law of nature and filling too. +The allusion to Mr. Casaubon would have spoiled all if anything at that +moment could have spoiled the subduing power, the sweet dignity, of her +noble unsuspicious inexperience. + +"And there is one thing even now that you can do," said Dorothea, +rising and walking a little way under the strength of a recurring +impulse. "Promise me that you will not again, to any one, speak of +that subject--I mean about Mr. Casaubon's writings--I mean in that +kind of way. It was I who led to it. It was my fault. But promise +me." + +She had returned from her brief pacing and stood opposite Will, looking +gravely at him. + +"Certainly, I will promise you," said Will, reddening however. If he +never said a cutting word about Mr. Casaubon again and left off +receiving favors from him, it would clearly be permissible to hate him +the more. The poet must know how to hate, says Goethe; and Will was at +least ready with that accomplishment. He said that he must go now +without waiting for Mr. Casaubon, whom he would come to take leave of +at the last moment. Dorothea gave him her hand, and they exchanged a +simple "Good-by." + +But going out of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon, and that +gentleman, expressing the best wishes for his cousin, politely waived +the pleasure of any further leave-taking on the morrow, which would be +sufficiently crowded with the preparations for departure. + +"I have something to tell you about our cousin Mr. Ladislaw, which I +think will heighten your opinion of him," said Dorothea to her husband +in the coarse of the evening. She had mentioned immediately on his +entering that Will had just gone away, and would come again, but Mr. +Casaubon had said, "I met him outside, and we made our final adieux, I +believe," saying this with the air and tone by which we imply that any +subject, whether private or public, does not interest us enough to wish +for a further remark upon it. So Dorothea had waited. + +"What is that, my love?" said Mr Casaubon (he always said "my love" +when his manner was the coldest). + +"He has made up his mind to leave off wandering at once, and to give up +his dependence on your generosity. He means soon to go back to +England, and work his own way. I thought you would consider that a +good sign," said Dorothea, with an appealing look into her husband's +neutral face. + +"Did he mention the precise order of occupation to which he would +addict himself?" + +"No. But he said that he felt the danger which lay for him in your +generosity. Of course he will write to you about it. Do you not think +better of him for his resolve?" + +"I shall await his communication on the subject," said Mr. Casaubon. + +"I told him I was sure that the thing you considered in all you did for +him was his own welfare. I remembered your goodness in what you said +about him when I first saw him at Lowick," said Dorothea, putting her +hand on her husband's. + +"I had a duty towards him," said Mr. Casaubon, laying his other hand on +Dorothea's in conscientious acceptance of her caress, but with a glance +which he could not hinder from being uneasy. "The young man, I +confess, is not otherwise an object of interest to me, nor need we, I +think, discuss his future course, which it is not ours to determine +beyond the limits which I have sufficiently indicated." Dorothea did +not mention Will again. + + + + + +BOOK III. + + + + + +WAITING FOR DEATH. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + "Your horses of the Sun," he said, + "And first-rate whip Apollo! + Whate'er they be, I'll eat my head, + But I will beat them hollow." + + +Fred Vincy, we have seen, had a debt on his mind, and though no such +immaterial burthen could depress that buoyant-hearted young gentleman +for many hours together, there were circumstances connected with this +debt which made the thought of it unusually importunate. The creditor +was Mr. Bambridge a horse-dealer of the neighborhood, whose company was +much sought in Middlemarch by young men understood to be "addicted to +pleasure." During the vacations Fred had naturally required more +amusements than he had ready money for, and Mr. Bambridge had been +accommodating enough not only to trust him for the hire of horses and +the accidental expense of ruining a fine hunter, but also to make a +small advance by which he might be able to meet some losses at +billiards. The total debt was a hundred and sixty pounds. Bambridge +was in no alarm about his money, being sure that young Vincy had +backers; but he had required something to show for it, and Fred had at +first given a bill with his own signature. Three months later he had +renewed this bill with the signature of Caleb Garth. On both occasions +Fred had felt confident that he should meet the bill himself, having +ample funds at disposal in his own hopefulness. You will hardly demand +that his confidence should have a basis in external facts; such +confidence, we know, is something less coarse and materialistic: it is +a comfortable disposition leading us to expect that the wisdom of +providence or the folly of our friends, the mysteries of luck or the +still greater mystery of our high individual value in the universe, +will bring about agreeable issues, such as are consistent with our good +taste in costume, and our general preference for the best style of +thing. Fred felt sure that he should have a present from his uncle, +that he should have a run of luck, that by dint of "swapping" he should +gradually metamorphose a horse worth forty pounds into a horse that +would fetch a hundred at any moment--"judgment" being always equivalent +to an unspecified sum in hard cash. And in any case, even supposing +negations which only a morbid distrust could imagine, Fred had always +(at that time) his father's pocket as a last resource, so that his +assets of hopefulness had a sort of gorgeous superfluity about them. +Of what might be the capacity of his father's pocket, Fred had only a +vague notion: was not trade elastic? And would not the deficiencies of +one year be made up for by the surplus of another? The Vincys lived in +an easy profuse way, not with any new ostentation, but according to the +family habits and traditions, so that the children had no standard of +economy, and the elder ones retained some of their infantine notion +that their father might pay for anything if he would. Mr. Vincy +himself had expensive Middlemarch habits--spent money on coursing, on +his cellar, and on dinner-giving, while mamma had those running +accounts with tradespeople, which give a cheerful sense of getting +everything one wants without any question of payment. But it was in +the nature of fathers, Fred knew, to bully one about expenses: there +was always a little storm over his extravagance if he had to disclose a +debt, and Fred disliked bad weather within doors. He was too filial to +be disrespectful to his father, and he bore the thunder with the +certainty that it was transient; but in the mean time it was +disagreeable to see his mother cry, and also to be obliged to look +sulky instead of having fun; for Fred was so good-tempered that if he +looked glum under scolding, it was chiefly for propriety's sake. The +easier course plainly, was to renew the bill with a friend's signature. +Why not? With the superfluous securities of hope at his command, there +was no reason why he should not have increased other people's +liabilities to any extent, but for the fact that men whose names were +good for anything were usually pessimists, indisposed to believe that +the universal order of things would necessarily be agreeable to an +agreeable young gentleman. + +With a favor to ask we review our list of friends, do justice to their +more amiable qualities, forgive their little offenses, and concerning +each in turn, try to arrive at the conclusion that he will be eager to +oblige us, our own eagerness to be obliged being as communicable as +other warmth. Still there is always a certain number who are dismissed +as but moderately eager until the others have refused; and it happened +that Fred checked off all his friends but one, on the ground that +applying to them would be disagreeable; being implicitly convinced that +he at least (whatever might be maintained about mankind generally) had +a right to be free from anything disagreeable. That he should ever +fall into a thoroughly unpleasant position--wear trousers shrunk with +washing, eat cold mutton, have to walk for want of a horse, or to "duck +under" in any sort of way--was an absurdity irreconcilable with those +cheerful intuitions implanted in him by nature. And Fred winced under +the idea of being looked down upon as wanting funds for small debts. +Thus it came to pass that the friend whom he chose to apply to was at +once the poorest and the kindest--namely, Caleb Garth. + +The Garths were very fond of Fred, as he was of them; for when he and +Rosamond were little ones, and the Garths were better off, the slight +connection between the two families through Mr. Featherstone's double +marriage (the first to Mr. Garth's sister, and the second to Mrs. +Vincy's) had led to an acquaintance which was carried on between the +children rather than the parents: the children drank tea together out +of their toy teacups, and spent whole days together in play. Mary was +a little hoyden, and Fred at six years old thought her the nicest girl +in the world, making her his wife with a brass ring which he had cut +from an umbrella. Through all the stages of his education he had kept +his affection for the Garths, and his habit of going to their house as +a second home, though any intercourse between them and the elders of +his family had long ceased. Even when Caleb Garth was prosperous, the +Vincys were on condescending terms with him and his wife, for there +were nice distinctions of rank in Middlemarch; and though old +manufacturers could not any more than dukes be connected with none but +equals, they were conscious of an inherent social superiority which was +defined with great nicety in practice, though hardly expressible +theoretically. Since then Mr. Garth had failed in the building +business, which he had unfortunately added to his other avocations of +surveyor, valuer, and agent, had conducted that business for a time +entirely for the benefit of his assignees, and had been living +narrowly, exerting himself to the utmost that he might after all pay +twenty shillings in the pound. He had now achieved this, and from all +who did not think it a bad precedent, his honorable exertions had won +him due esteem; but in no part of the world is genteel visiting founded +on esteem, in the absence of suitable furniture and complete +dinner-service. Mrs. Vincy had never been at her ease with Mrs. Garth, +and frequently spoke of her as a woman who had had to work for her +bread--meaning that Mrs. Garth had been a teacher before her marriage; +in which case an intimacy with Lindley Murray and Mangnall's Questions +was something like a draper's discrimination of calico trademarks, or a +courier's acquaintance with foreign countries: no woman who was better +off needed that sort of thing. And since Mary had been keeping Mr. +Featherstone's house, Mrs. Vincy's want of liking for the Garths had +been converted into something more positive, by alarm lest Fred should +engage himself to this plain girl, whose parents "lived in such a small +way." Fred, being aware of this, never spoke at home of his visits to +Mrs. Garth, which had of late become more frequent, the increasing +ardor of his affection for Mary inclining him the more towards those +who belonged to her. + +Mr. Garth had a small office in the town, and to this Fred went with +his request. He obtained it without much difficulty, for a large +amount of painful experience had not sufficed to make Caleb Garth +cautious about his own affairs, or distrustful of his fellow-men when +they had not proved themselves untrustworthy; and he had the highest +opinion of Fred, was "sure the lad would turn out well--an open +affectionate fellow, with a good bottom to his character--you might +trust him for anything." Such was Caleb's psychological argument. He +was one of those rare men who are rigid to themselves and indulgent to +others. He had a certain shame about his neighbors' errors, and never +spoke of them willingly; hence he was not likely to divert his mind +from the best mode of hardening timber and other ingenious devices in +order to preconceive those errors. If he had to blame any one, it was +necessary for him to move all the papers within his reach, or describe +various diagrams with his stick, or make calculations with the odd +money in his pocket, before he could begin; and he would rather do +other men's work than find fault with their doing. I fear he was a bad +disciplinarian. + +When Fred stated the circumstances of his debt, his wish to meet it +without troubling his father, and the certainty that the money would be +forthcoming so as to cause no one any inconvenience, Caleb pushed his +spectacles upward, listened, looked into his favorite's clear young +eyes, and believed him, not distinguishing confidence about the future +from veracity about the past; but he felt that it was an occasion for a +friendly hint as to conduct, and that before giving his signature he +must give a rather strong admonition. Accordingly, he took the paper +and lowered his spectacles, measured the space at his command, reached +his pen and examined it, dipped it in the ink and examined it again, +then pushed the paper a little way from him, lifted up his spectacles +again, showed a deepened depression in the outer angle of his bushy +eyebrows, which gave his face a peculiar mildness (pardon these details +for once--you would have learned to love them if you had known Caleb +Garth), and said in a comfortable tone-- + +"It was a misfortune, eh, that breaking the horse's knees? And then, +these exchanges, they don't answer when you have 'cute jockeys to deal +with. You'll be wiser another time, my boy." + +Whereupon Caleb drew down his spectacles, and proceeded to write his +signature with the care which he always gave to that performance; for +whatever he did in the way of business he did well. He contemplated +the large well-proportioned letters and final flourish, with his head a +trifle on one side for an instant, then handed it to Fred, said +"Good-by," and returned forthwith to his absorption in a plan for Sir +James Chettam's new farm-buildings. + +Either because his interest in this work thrust the incident of the +signature from his memory, or for some reason of which Caleb was more +conscious, Mrs. Garth remained ignorant of the affair. + +Since it occurred, a change had come over Fred's sky, which altered his +view of the distance, and was the reason why his uncle Featherstone's +present of money was of importance enough to make his color come and +go, first with a too definite expectation, and afterwards with a +proportionate disappointment. His failure in passing his examination, +had made his accumulation of college debts the more unpardonable by his +father, and there had been an unprecedented storm at home. Mr. Vincy +had sworn that if he had anything more of that sort to put up with, +Fred should turn out and get his living how he could; and he had never +yet quite recovered his good-humored tone to his son, who had +especially enraged him by saying at this stage of things that he did +not want to be a clergyman, and would rather not "go on with that." +Fred was conscious that he would have been yet more severely dealt with +if his family as well as himself had not secretly regarded him as Mr. +Featherstone's heir; that old gentleman's pride in him, and apparent +fondness for him, serving in the stead of more exemplary conduct--just +as when a youthful nobleman steals jewellery we call the act +kleptomania, speak of it with a philosophical smile, and never think of +his being sent to the house of correction as if he were a ragged boy +who had stolen turnips. In fact, tacit expectations of what would be +done for him by uncle Featherstone determined the angle at which most +people viewed Fred Vincy in Middlemarch; and in his own consciousness, +what uncle Featherstone would do for him in an emergency, or what he +would do simply as an incorporated luck, formed always an immeasurable +depth of aerial perspective. But that present of bank-notes, once +made, was measurable, and being applied to the amount of the debt, +showed a deficit which had still to be filled up either by Fred's +"judgment" or by luck in some other shape. For that little episode of +the alleged borrowing, in which he had made his father the agent in +getting the Bulstrode certificate, was a new reason against going to +his father for money towards meeting his actual debt. Fred was keen +enough to foresee that anger would confuse distinctions, and that his +denial of having borrowed expressly on the strength of his uncle's will +would be taken as a falsehood. He had gone to his father and told him +one vexatious affair, and he had left another untold: in such cases the +complete revelation always produces the impression of a previous +duplicity. Now Fred piqued himself on keeping clear of lies, and even +fibs; he often shrugged his shoulders and made a significant grimace at +what he called Rosamond's fibs (it is only brothers who can associate +such ideas with a lovely girl); and rather than incur the accusation of +falsehood he would even incur some trouble and self-restraint. It was +under strong inward pressure of this kind that Fred had taken the wise +step of depositing the eighty pounds with his mother. It was a pity +that he had not at once given them to Mr. Garth; but he meant to make +the sum complete with another sixty, and with a view to this, he had +kept twenty pounds in his own pocket as a sort of seed-corn, which, +planted by judgment, and watered by luck, might yield more than +threefold--a very poor rate of multiplication when the field is a young +gentleman's infinite soul, with all the numerals at command. + +Fred was not a gambler: he had not that specific disease in which the +suspension of the whole nervous energy on a chance or risk becomes as +necessary as the dram to the drunkard; he had only the tendency to that +diffusive form of gambling which has no alcoholic intensity, but is +carried on with the healthiest chyle-fed blood, keeping up a joyous +imaginative activity which fashions events according to desire, and +having no fears about its own weather, only sees the advantage there +must be to others in going aboard with it. Hopefulness has a pleasure +in making a throw of any kind, because the prospect of success is +certain; and only a more generous pleasure in offering as many as +possible a share in the stake. Fred liked play, especially billiards, +as he liked hunting or riding a steeple-chase; and he only liked it the +better because he wanted money and hoped to win. But the twenty +pounds' worth of seed-corn had been planted in vain in the seductive +green plot--all of it at least which had not been dispersed by the +roadside--and Fred found himself close upon the term of payment with no +money at command beyond the eighty pounds which he had deposited with +his mother. The broken-winded horse which he rode represented a +present which had been made to him a long while ago by his uncle +Featherstone: his father always allowed him to keep a horse, Mr. +Vincy's own habits making him regard this as a reasonable demand even +for a son who was rather exasperating. This horse, then, was Fred's +property, and in his anxiety to meet the imminent bill he determined to +sacrifice a possession without which life would certainly be worth +little. He made the resolution with a sense of heroism--heroism forced +on him by the dread of breaking his word to Mr. Garth, by his love for +Mary and awe of her opinion. He would start for Houndsley horse-fair +which was to be held the next morning, and--simply sell his horse, +bringing back the money by coach?--Well, the horse would hardly fetch +more than thirty pounds, and there was no knowing what might happen; it +would be folly to balk himself of luck beforehand. It was a hundred to +one that some good chance would fall in his way; the longer he thought +of it, the less possible it seemed that he should not have a good +chance, and the less reasonable that he should not equip himself with +the powder and shot for bringing it down. He would ride to Houndsley +with Bambridge and with Horrock "the vet," and without asking them +anything expressly, he should virtually get the benefit of their +opinion. Before he set out, Fred got the eighty pounds from his mother. + +Most of those who saw Fred riding out of Middlemarch in company with +Bambridge and Horrock, on his way of course to Houndsley horse-fair, +thought that young Vincy was pleasure-seeking as usual; and but for an +unwonted consciousness of grave matters on hand, he himself would have +had a sense of dissipation, and of doing what might be expected of a +gay young fellow. Considering that Fred was not at all coarse, that he +rather looked down on the manners and speech of young men who had not +been to the university, and that he had written stanzas as pastoral and +unvoluptuous as his flute-playing, his attraction towards Bambridge and +Horrock was an interesting fact which even the love of horse-flesh +would not wholly account for without that mysterious influence of +Naming which determinates so much of mortal choice. Under any other +name than "pleasure" the society of Messieurs Bambridge and Horrock +must certainly have been regarded as monotonous; and to arrive with +them at Houndsley on a drizzling afternoon, to get down at the Red Lion +in a street shaded with coal-dust, and dine in a room furnished with a +dirt-enamelled map of the county, a bad portrait of an anonymous horse +in a stable, His Majesty George the Fourth with legs and cravat, and +various leaden spittoons, might have seemed a hard business, but for +the sustaining power of nomenclature which determined that the pursuit +of these things was "gay." + +In Mr. Horrock there was certainly an apparent unfathomableness which +offered play to the imagination. Costume, at a glance, gave him a +thrilling association with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which +took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending +downwards), and nature had given him a face which by dint of Mongolian +eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a +moderate inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable +sceptical smile, of all expressions the most tyrannous over a +susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to +create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund +of humor--too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable +crust,--and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate +enough to know it, would be _the_ thing and no other. It is a +physiognomy seen in all vocations, but perhaps it has never been more +powerful over the youth of England than in a judge of horses. + +Mr. Horrock, at a question from Fred about his horse's fetlock, turned +sideways in his saddle, and watched the horse's action for the space of +three minutes, then turned forward, twitched his own bridle, and +remained silent with a profile neither more nor less sceptical than it +had been. + +The part thus played in dialogue by Mr. Horrock was terribly effective. +A mixture of passions was excited in Fred--a mad desire to thrash +Horrock's opinion into utterance, restrained by anxiety to retain the +advantage of his friendship. There was always the chance that Horrock +might say something quite invaluable at the right moment. + +Mr. Bambridge had more open manners, and appeared to give forth his +ideas without economy. He was loud, robust, and was sometimes spoken +of as being "given to indulgence"--chiefly in swearing, drinking, and +beating his wife. Some people who had lost by him called him a vicious +man; but he regarded horse-dealing as the finest of the arts, and might +have argued plausibly that it had nothing to do with morality. He was +undeniably a prosperous man, bore his drinking better than others bore +their moderation, and, on the whole, flourished like the green +bay-tree. But his range of conversation was limited, and like the fine +old tune, "Drops of brandy," gave you after a while a sense of +returning upon itself in a way that might make weak heads dizzy. But a +slight infusion of Mr. Bambridge was felt to give tone and character to +several circles in Middlemarch; and he was a distinguished figure in +the bar and billiard-room at the Green Dragon. He knew some anecdotes +about the heroes of the turf, and various clever tricks of Marquesses +and Viscounts which seemed to prove that blood asserted its +pre-eminence even among black-legs; but the minute retentiveness of his +memory was chiefly shown about the horses he had himself bought and +sold; the number of miles they would trot you in no time without +turning a hair being, after the lapse of years, still a subject of +passionate asseveration, in which he would assist the imagination of +his hearers by solemnly swearing that they never saw anything like it. +In short, Mr. Bambridge was a man of pleasure and a gay companion. + +Fred was subtle, and did not tell his friends that he was going to +Houndsley bent on selling his horse: he wished to get indirectly at +their genuine opinion of its value, not being aware that a genuine +opinion was the last thing likely to be extracted from such eminent +critics. It was not Mr. Bambridge's weakness to be a gratuitous +flatterer. He had never before been so much struck with the fact that +this unfortunate bay was a roarer to a degree which required the +roundest word for perdition to give you any idea of it. + +"You made a bad hand at swapping when you went to anybody but me, +Vincy! Why, you never threw your leg across a finer horse than that +chestnut, and you gave him for this brute. If you set him cantering, +he goes on like twenty sawyers. I never heard but one worse roarer in +my life, and that was a roan: it belonged to Pegwell, the corn-factor; +he used to drive him in his gig seven years ago, and he wanted me to +take him, but I said, 'Thank you, Peg, I don't deal in +wind-instruments.' That was what I said. It went the round of the +country, that joke did. But, what the hell! the horse was a penny +trumpet to that roarer of yours." + +"Why, you said just now his was worse than mine," said Fred, more +irritable than usual. + +"I said a lie, then," said Mr. Bambridge, emphatically. "There wasn't +a penny to choose between 'em." + +Fred spurred his horse, and they trotted on a little way. When they +slackened again, Mr. Bambridge said-- + +"Not but what the roan was a better trotter than yours." + +"I'm quite satisfied with his paces, I know," said Fred, who required +all the consciousness of being in gay company to support him; "I say +his trot is an uncommonly clean one, eh, Horrock?" + +Mr. Horrock looked before him with as complete a neutrality as if he +had been a portrait by a great master. + +Fred gave up the fallacious hope of getting a genuine opinion; but on +reflection he saw that Bambridge's depreciation and Horrock's silence +were both virtually encouraging, and indicated that they thought better +of the horse than they chose to say. + +That very evening, indeed, before the fair had set in, Fred thought he +saw a favorable opening for disposing advantageously of his horse, but +an opening which made him congratulate himself on his foresight in +bringing with him his eighty pounds. A young farmer, acquainted with +Mr. Bambridge, came into the Red Lion, and entered into conversation +about parting with a hunter, which he introduced at once as Diamond, +implying that it was a public character. For himself he only wanted a +useful hack, which would draw upon occasion; being about to marry and +to give up hunting. The hunter was in a friend's stable at some little +distance; there was still time for gentlemen to see it before dark. +The friend's stable had to be reached through a back street where you +might as easily have been poisoned without expense of drugs as in any +grim street of that unsanitary period. Fred was not fortified against +disgust by brandy, as his companions were, but the hope of having at +last seen the horse that would enable him to make money was +exhilarating enough to lead him over the same ground again the first +thing in the morning. He felt sure that if he did not come to a +bargain with the farmer, Bambridge would; for the stress of +circumstances, Fred felt, was sharpening his acuteness and endowing him +with all the constructive power of suspicion. Bambridge had run down +Diamond in a way that he never would have done (the horse being a +friend's) if he had not thought of buying it; every one who looked at +the animal--even Horrock--was evidently impressed with its merit. To +get all the advantage of being with men of this sort, you must know how +to draw your inferences, and not be a spoon who takes things literally. +The color of the horse was a dappled gray, and Fred happened to know +that Lord Medlicote's man was on the look-out for just such a horse. +After all his running down, Bambridge let it out in the course of the +evening, when the farmer was absent, that he had seen worse horses go +for eighty pounds. Of course he contradicted himself twenty times +over, but when you know what is likely to be true you can test a man's +admissions. And Fred could not but reckon his own judgment of a horse +as worth something. The farmer had paused over Fred's respectable +though broken-winded steed long enough to show that he thought it worth +consideration, and it seemed probable that he would take it, with +five-and-twenty pounds in addition, as the equivalent of Diamond. In +that case Fred, when he had parted with his new horse for at least +eighty pounds, would be fifty-five pounds in pocket by the transaction, +and would have a hundred and thirty-five pounds towards meeting the +bill; so that the deficit temporarily thrown on Mr. Garth would at the +utmost be twenty-five pounds. By the time he was hurrying on his +clothes in the morning, he saw so clearly the importance of not losing +this rare chance, that if Bambridge and Horrock had both dissuaded him, +he would not have been deluded into a direct interpretation of their +purpose: he would have been aware that those deep hands held something +else than a young fellow's interest. With regard to horses, distrust +was your only clew. But scepticism, as we know, can never be +thoroughly applied, else life would come to a standstill: something we +must believe in and do, and whatever that something may be called, it +is virtually our own judgment, even when it seems like the most slavish +reliance on another. Fred believed in the excellence of his bargain, +and even before the fair had well set in, had got possession of the +dappled gray, at the price of his old horse and thirty pounds in +addition--only five pounds more than he had expected to give. + +But he felt a little worried and wearied, perhaps with mental debate, +and without waiting for the further gayeties of the horse-fair, he set +out alone on his fourteen miles' journey, meaning to take it very +quietly and keep his horse fresh. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + "The offender's sorrow brings but small relief + To him who wears the strong offence's cross." + --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets. + + +I am sorry to say that only the third day after the propitious events +at Houndsley Fred Vincy had fallen into worse spirits than he had known +in his life before. Not that he had been disappointed as to the +possible market for his horse, but that before the bargain could be +concluded with Lord Medlicote's man, this Diamond, in which hope to the +amount of eighty pounds had been invested, had without the slightest +warning exhibited in the stable a most vicious energy in kicking, had +just missed killing the groom, and had ended in laming himself severely +by catching his leg in a rope that overhung the stable-board. There was +no more redress for this than for the discovery of bad temper after +marriage--which of course old companions were aware of before the +ceremony. For some reason or other, Fred had none of his usual +elasticity under this stroke of ill-fortune: he was simply aware that +he had only fifty pounds, that there was no chance of his getting any +more at present, and that the bill for a hundred and sixty would be +presented in five days. Even if he had applied to his father on the +plea that Mr. Garth should be saved from loss, Fred felt smartingly +that his father would angrily refuse to rescue Mr. Garth from the +consequence of what he would call encouraging extravagance and deceit. +He was so utterly downcast that he could frame no other project than to +go straight to Mr. Garth and tell him the sad truth, carrying with him +the fifty pounds, and getting that sum at least safely out of his own +hands. His father, being at the warehouse, did not yet know of the +accident: when he did, he would storm about the vicious brute being +brought into his stable; and before meeting that lesser annoyance Fred +wanted to get away with all his courage to face the greater. He took +his father's nag, for he had made up his mind that when he had told Mr. +Garth, he would ride to Stone Court and confess all to Mary. In fact, +it is probable that but for Mary's existence and Fred's love for her, +his conscience would have been much less active both in previously +urging the debt on his thought and impelling him not to spare himself +after his usual fashion by deferring an unpleasant task, but to act as +directly and simply as he could. Even much stronger mortals than Fred +Vincy hold half their rectitude in the mind of the being they love +best. "The theatre of all my actions is fallen," said an antique +personage when his chief friend was dead; and they are fortunate who +get a theatre where the audience demands their best. Certainly it +would have made a considerable difference to Fred at that time if Mary +Garth had had no decided notions as to what was admirable in character. + +Mr. Garth was not at the office, and Fred rode on to his house, which +was a little way outside the town--a homely place with an orchard in +front of it, a rambling, old-fashioned, half-timbered building, which +before the town had spread had been a farm-house, but was now +surrounded with the private gardens of the townsmen. We get the fonder +of our houses if they have a physiognomy of their own, as our friends +have. The Garth family, which was rather a large one, for Mary had +four brothers and one sister, were very fond of their old house, from +which all the best furniture had long been sold. Fred liked it too, +knowing it by heart even to the attic which smelt deliciously of apples +and quinces, and until to-day he had never come to it without pleasant +expectations; but his heart beat uneasily now with the sense that he +should probably have to make his confession before Mrs. Garth, of whom +he was rather more in awe than of her husband. Not that she was +inclined to sarcasm and to impulsive sallies, as Mary was. In her +present matronly age at least, Mrs. Garth never committed herself by +over-hasty speech; having, as she said, borne the yoke in her youth, +and learned self-control. She had that rare sense which discerns what +is unalterable, and submits to it without murmuring. Adoring her +husband's virtues, she had very early made up her mind to his +incapacity of minding his own interests, and had met the consequences +cheerfully. She had been magnanimous enough to renounce all pride in +teapots or children's frilling, and had never poured any pathetic +confidences into the ears of her feminine neighbors concerning Mr. +Garth's want of prudence and the sums he might have had if he had been +like other men. Hence these fair neighbors thought her either proud or +eccentric, and sometimes spoke of her to their husbands as "your fine +Mrs. Garth." She was not without her criticism of them in return, being +more accurately instructed than most matrons in Middlemarch, and--where +is the blameless woman?--apt to be a little severe towards her own sex, +which in her opinion was framed to be entirely subordinate. On the +other hand, she was disproportionately indulgent towards the failings +of men, and was often heard to say that these were natural. Also, it +must be admitted that Mrs. Garth was a trifle too emphatic in her +resistance to what she held to be follies: the passage from governess +into housewife had wrought itself a little too strongly into her +consciousness, and she rarely forgot that while her grammar and accent +were above the town standard, she wore a plain cap, cooked the family +dinner, and darned all the stockings. She had sometimes taken pupils +in a peripatetic fashion, making them follow her about in the kitchen +with their book or slate. She thought it good for them to see that she +could make an excellent lather while she corrected their blunders +"without looking,"--that a woman with her sleeves tucked up above her +elbows might know all about the Subjunctive Mood or the Torrid +Zone--that, in short, she might possess "education" and other good +things ending in "tion," and worthy to be pronounced emphatically, +without being a useless doll. When she made remarks to this edifying +effect, she had a firm little frown on her brow, which yet did not +hinder her face from looking benevolent, and her words which came forth +like a procession were uttered in a fervid agreeable contralto. +Certainly, the exemplary Mrs. Garth had her droll aspects, but her +character sustained her oddities, as a very fine wine sustains a flavor +of skin. + +Towards Fred Vincy she had a motherly feeling, and had always been +disposed to excuse his errors, though she would probably not have +excused Mary for engaging herself to him, her daughter being included +in that more rigorous judgment which she applied to her own sex. But +this very fact of her exceptional indulgence towards him made it the +harder to Fred that he must now inevitably sink in her opinion. And +the circumstances of his visit turned out to be still more unpleasant +than he had expected; for Caleb Garth had gone out early to look at +some repairs not far off. Mrs. Garth at certain hours was always in +the kitchen, and this morning she was carrying on several occupations +at once there--making her pies at the well-scoured deal table on one +side of that airy room, observing Sally's movements at the oven and +dough-tub through an open door, and giving lessons to her youngest boy +and girl, who were standing opposite to her at the table with their +books and slates before them. A tub and a clothes-horse at the other +end of the kitchen indicated an intermittent wash of small things also +going on. + +Mrs. Garth, with her sleeves turned above her elbows, deftly handling +her pastry--applying her rolling-pin and giving ornamental pinches, +while she expounded with grammatical fervor what were the right views +about the concord of verbs and pronouns with "nouns of multitude or +signifying many," was a sight agreeably amusing. She was of the same +curly-haired, square-faced type as Mary, but handsomer, with more +delicacy of feature, a pale skin, a solid matronly figure, and a +remarkable firmness of glance. In her snowy-frilled cap she reminded +one of that delightful Frenchwoman whom we have all seen marketing, +basket on arm. Looking at the mother, you might hope that the daughter +would become like her, which is a prospective advantage equal to a +dowry--the mother too often standing behind the daughter like a +malignant prophecy--"Such as I am, she will shortly be." + +"Now let us go through that once more," said Mrs. Garth, pinching an +apple-puff which seemed to distract Ben, an energetic young male with a +heavy brow, from due attention to the lesson. "'Not without regard to +the import of the word as conveying unity or plurality of idea'--tell +me again what that means, Ben." + +(Mrs. Garth, like more celebrated educators, had her favorite ancient +paths, and in a general wreck of society would have tried to hold her +"Lindley Murray" above the waves.) + +"Oh--it means--you must think what you mean," said Ben, rather +peevishly. "I hate grammar. What's the use of it?" + +"To teach you to speak and write correctly, so that you can be +understood," said Mrs. Garth, with severe precision. "Should you like +to speak as old Job does?" + +"Yes," said Ben, stoutly; "it's funnier. He says, 'Yo goo'--that's +just as good as 'You go.'" + +"But he says, 'A ship's in the garden,' instead of 'a sheep,'" said +Letty, with an air of superiority. "You might think he meant a ship +off the sea." + +"No, you mightn't, if you weren't silly," said Ben. "How could a ship +off the sea come there?" + +"These things belong only to pronunciation, which is the least part of +grammar," said Mrs. Garth. "That apple-peel is to be eaten by the +pigs, Ben; if you eat it, I must give them your piece of pasty. Job +has only to speak about very plain things. How do you think you would +write or speak about anything more difficult, if you knew no more of +grammar than he does? You would use wrong words, and put words in the +wrong places, and instead of making people understand you, they would +turn away from you as a tiresome person. What would you do then?" + +"I shouldn't care, I should leave off," said Ben, with a sense that +this was an agreeable issue where grammar was concerned. + +"I see you are getting tired and stupid, Ben," said Mrs. Garth, +accustomed to these obstructive arguments from her male offspring. +Having finished her pies, she moved towards the clothes-horse, and +said, "Come here and tell me the story I told you on Wednesday, about +Cincinnatus." + +"I know! he was a farmer," said Ben. + +"Now, Ben, he was a Roman--let _me_ tell," said Letty, using her elbow +contentiously. + +"You silly thing, he was a Roman farmer, and he was ploughing." + +"Yes, but before that--that didn't come first--people wanted him," said +Letty. + +"Well, but you must say what sort of a man he was first," insisted Ben. +"He was a wise man, like my father, and that made the people want his +advice. And he was a brave man, and could fight. And so could my +father--couldn't he, mother?" + +"Now, Ben, let me tell the story straight on, as mother told it us," +said Letty, frowning. "Please, mother, tell Ben not to speak." + +"Letty, I am ashamed of you," said her mother, wringing out the caps +from the tub. "When your brother began, you ought to have waited to +see if he could not tell the story. How rude you look, pushing and +frowning, as if you wanted to conquer with your elbows! Cincinnatus, I +am sure, would have been sorry to see his daughter behave so." (Mrs. +Garth delivered this awful sentence with much majesty of enunciation, +and Letty felt that between repressed volubility and general disesteem, +that of the Romans inclusive, life was already a painful affair.) "Now, +Ben." + +"Well--oh--well--why, there was a great deal of fighting, and they were +all blockheads, and--I can't tell it just how you told it--but they +wanted a man to be captain and king and everything--" + +"Dictator, now," said Letty, with injured looks, and not without a wish +to make her mother repent. + +"Very well, dictator!" said Ben, contemptuously. "But that isn't a +good word: he didn't tell them to write on slates." + +"Come, come, Ben, you are not so ignorant as that," said Mrs. Garth, +carefully serious. "Hark, there is a knock at the door! Run, Letty, +and open it." + +The knock was Fred's; and when Letty said that her father was not in +yet, but that her mother was in the kitchen, Fred had no alternative. +He could not depart from his usual practice of going to see Mrs. Garth +in the kitchen if she happened to be at work there. He put his arm +round Letty's neck silently, and led her into the kitchen without his +usual jokes and caresses. + +Mrs. Garth was surprised to see Fred at this hour, but surprise was not +a feeling that she was given to express, and she only said, quietly +continuing her work-- + +"You, Fred, so early in the day? You look quite pale. Has anything +happened?" + +"I want to speak to Mr. Garth," said Fred, not yet ready to say +more--"and to you also," he added, after a little pause, for he had no +doubt that Mrs. Garth knew everything about the bill, and he must in the +end speak of it before her, if not to her solely. + +"Caleb will be in again in a few minutes," said Mrs. Garth, who +imagined some trouble between Fred and his father. "He is sure not to +be long, because he has some work at his desk that must be done this +morning. Do you mind staying with me, while I finish my matters here?" + +"But we needn't go on about Cincinnatus, need we?" said Ben, who had +taken Fred's whip out of his hand, and was trying its efficiency on the +cat. + +"No, go out now. But put that whip down. How very mean of you to whip +poor old Tortoise! Pray take the whip from him, Fred." + +"Come, old boy, give it me," said Fred, putting out his hand. + +"Will you let me ride on your horse to-day?" said Ben, rendering up the +whip, with an air of not being obliged to do it. + +"Not to-day--another time. I am not riding my own horse." + +"Shall you see Mary to-day?" + +"Yes, I think so," said Fred, with an unpleasant twinge. + +"Tell her to come home soon, and play at forfeits, and make fun." + +"Enough, enough, Ben! run away," said Mrs. Garth, seeing that Fred was +teased. . . + +"Are Letty and Ben your only pupils now, Mrs. Garth?" said Fred, when +the children were gone and it was needful to say something that would +pass the time. He was not yet sure whether he should wait for Mr. +Garth, or use any good opportunity in conversation to confess to Mrs. +Garth herself, give her the money and ride away. + +"One--only one. Fanny Hackbutt comes at half past eleven. I am not +getting a great income now," said Mrs. Garth, smiling. "I am at a low +ebb with pupils. But I have saved my little purse for Alfred's +premium: I have ninety-two pounds. He can go to Mr. Hanmer's now; he +is just at the right age." + +This did not lead well towards the news that Mr. Garth was on the brink +of losing ninety-two pounds and more. Fred was silent. "Young +gentlemen who go to college are rather more costly than that," Mrs. +Garth innocently continued, pulling out the edging on a cap-border. +"And Caleb thinks that Alfred will turn out a distinguished engineer: +he wants to give the boy a good chance. There he is! I hear him +coming in. We will go to him in the parlor, shall we?" + +When they entered the parlor Caleb had thrown down his hat and was +seated at his desk. + +"What! Fred, my boy!" he said, in a tone of mild surprise, holding his +pen still undipped; "you are here betimes." But missing the usual +expression of cheerful greeting in Fred's face, he immediately added, +"Is there anything up at home?--anything the matter?" + +"Yes, Mr. Garth, I am come to tell something that I am afraid will give +you a bad opinion of me. I am come to tell you and Mrs. Garth that I +can't keep my word. I can't find the money to meet the bill after all. +I have been unfortunate; I have only got these fifty pounds towards the +hundred and sixty." + +While Fred was speaking, he had taken out the notes and laid them on +the desk before Mr. Garth. He had burst forth at once with the plain +fact, feeling boyishly miserable and without verbal resources. Mrs. +Garth was mutely astonished, and looked at her husband for an +explanation. Caleb blushed, and after a little pause said-- + +"Oh, I didn't tell you, Susan: I put my name to a bill for Fred; it was +for a hundred and sixty pounds. He made sure he could meet it himself." + +There was an evident change in Mrs. Garth's face, but it was like a +change below the surface of water which remains smooth. She fixed her +eyes on Fred, saying-- + +"I suppose you have asked your father for the rest of the money and he +has refused you." + +"No," said Fred, biting his lip, and speaking with more difficulty; +"but I know it will be of no use to ask him; and unless it were of use, +I should not like to mention Mr. Garth's name in the matter." + +"It has come at an unfortunate time," said Caleb, in his hesitating +way, looking down at the notes and nervously fingering the paper, +"Christmas upon us--I'm rather hard up just now. You see, I have to +cut out everything like a tailor with short measure. What can we do, +Susan? I shall want every farthing we have in the bank. It's a +hundred and ten pounds, the deuce take it!" + +"I must give you the ninety-two pounds that I have put by for Alfred's +premium," said Mrs. Garth, gravely and decisively, though a nice ear +might have discerned a slight tremor in some of the words. "And I have +no doubt that Mary has twenty pounds saved from her salary by this +time. She will advance it." + +Mrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not in the least +calculating what words she should use to cut him the most effectively. +Like the eccentric woman she was, she was at present absorbed in +considering what was to be done, and did not fancy that the end could +be better achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had made +Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth of remorse. +Curiously enough, his pain in the affair beforehand had consisted +almost entirely in the sense that he must seem dishonorable, and sink +in the opinion of the Garths: he had not occupied himself with the +inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might occasion them, +for this exercise of the imagination on other people's needs is not +common with hopeful young gentlemen. Indeed we are most of us brought +up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is +something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong. But +at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a pitiful rascal who was +robbing two women of their savings. + +"I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garth--ultimately," he stammered +out. + +"Yes, ultimately," said Mrs. Garth, who having a special dislike to +fine words on ugly occasions, could not now repress an epigram. "But +boys cannot well be apprenticed ultimately: they should be apprenticed +at fifteen." She had never been so little inclined to make excuses for +Fred. + +"I was the most in the wrong, Susan," said Caleb. "Fred made sure of +finding the money. But I'd no business to be fingering bills. I +suppose you have looked all round and tried all honest means?" he +added, fixing his merciful gray eyes on Fred. Caleb was too delicate, +to specify Mr. Featherstone. + +"Yes, I have tried everything--I really have. I should have had a +hundred and thirty pounds ready but for a misfortune with a horse which +I was about to sell. My uncle had given me eighty pounds, and I paid +away thirty with my old horse in order to get another which I was going +to sell for eighty or more--I meant to go without a horse--but now it +has turned out vicious and lamed itself. I wish I and the horses too +had been at the devil, before I had brought this on you. There's no +one else I care so much for: you and Mrs. Garth have always been so +kind to me. However, it's no use saying that. You will always think +me a rascal now." + +Fred turned round and hurried out of the room, conscious that he was +getting rather womanish, and feeling confusedly that his being sorry +was not of much use to the Garths. They could see him mount, and +quickly pass through the gate. + +"I am disappointed in Fred Vincy," said Mrs. Garth. "I would not have +believed beforehand that he would have drawn you into his debts. I +knew he was extravagant, but I did not think that he would be so mean +as to hang his risks on his oldest friend, who could the least afford +to lose." + +"I was a fool, Susan:" + +"That you were," said the wife, nodding and smiling. "But I should not +have gone to publish it in the market-place. Why should you keep such +things from me? It is just so with your buttons: you let them burst +off without telling me, and go out with your wristband hanging. If I +had only known I might have been ready with some better plan." + +"You are sadly cut up, I know, Susan," said Caleb, looking feelingly at +her. "I can't abide your losing the money you've scraped together for +Alfred." + +"It is very well that I _had_ scraped it together; and it is you who +will have to suffer, for you must teach the boy yourself. You must +give up your bad habits. Some men take to drinking, and you have taken +to working without pay. You must indulge yourself a little less in +that. And you must ride over to Mary, and ask the child what money she +has." + +Caleb had pushed his chair back, and was leaning forward, shaking his +head slowly, and fitting his finger-tips together with much nicety. + +"Poor Mary!" he said. "Susan," he went on in a lowered tone, "I'm +afraid she may be fond of Fred." + +"Oh no! She always laughs at him; and he is not likely to think of her +in any other than a brotherly way." + +Caleb made no rejoinder, but presently lowered his spectacles, drew up +his chair to the desk, and said, "Deuce take the bill--I wish it was +at Hanover! These things are a sad interruption to business!" + +The first part of this speech comprised his whole store of maledictory +expression, and was uttered with a slight snarl easy to imagine. But +it would be difficult to convey to those who never heard him utter the +word "business," the peculiar tone of fervid veneration, of religious +regard, in which he wrapped it, as a consecrated symbol is wrapped in +its gold-fringed linen. + +Caleb Garth often shook his head in meditation on the value, the +indispensable might of that myriad-headed, myriad-handed labor by which +the social body is fed, clothed, and housed. It had laid hold of his +imagination in boyhood. The echoes of the great hammer where roof or +keel were a-making, the signal-shouts of the workmen, the roar of the +furnace, the thunder and plash of the engine, were a sublime music to +him; the felling and lading of timber, and the huge trunk vibrating +star-like in the distance along the highway, the crane at work on the +wharf, the piled-up produce in warehouses, the precision and variety of +muscular effort wherever exact work had to be turned out,--all these +sights of his youth had acted on him as poetry without the aid of the +poets, had made a philosophy for him without the aid of philosophers, +a religion without the aid of theology. His early ambition had been to +have as effective a share as possible in this sublime labor, which was +peculiarly dignified by him with the name of "business;" and though he +had only been a short time under a surveyor, and had been chiefly his +own teacher, he knew more of land, building, and mining than most of +the special men in the county. + +His classification of human employments was rather crude, and, like the +categories of more celebrated men, would not be acceptable in these +advanced times. He divided them into "business, politics, preaching, +learning, and amusement." He had nothing to say against the last four; +but he regarded them as a reverential pagan regarded other gods than +his own. In the same way, he thought very well of all ranks, but he +would not himself have liked to be of any rank in which he had not such +close contact with "business" as to get often honorably decorated with +marks of dust and mortar, the damp of the engine, or the sweet soil of +the woods and fields. Though he had never regarded himself as other +than an orthodox Christian, and would argue on prevenient grace if the +subject were proposed to him, I think his virtual divinities were good +practical schemes, accurate work, and the faithful completion of +undertakings: his prince of darkness was a slack workman. But there +was no spirit of denial in Caleb, and the world seemed so wondrous to +him that he was ready to accept any number of systems, like any number +of firmaments, if they did not obviously interfere with the best +land-drainage, solid building, correct measuring, and judicious boring +(for coal). In fact, he had a reverential soul with a strong practical +intelligence. But he could not manage finance: he knew values well, +but he had no keenness of imagination for monetary results in the shape +of profit and loss: and having ascertained this to his cost, he +determined to give up all forms of his beloved "business" which +required that talent. He gave himself up entirely to the many kinds of +work which he could do without handling capital, and was one of those +precious men within his own district whom everybody would choose to +work for them, because he did his work well, charged very little, and +often declined to charge at all. It is no wonder, then, that the +Garths were poor, and "lived in a small way." However, they did not +mind it. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + "Love seeketh not itself to please, + Nor for itself hath any care + But for another gives its ease + And builds a heaven in hell's despair. + . . . . . . . + Love seeketh only self to please, + To bind another to its delight, + Joys in another's loss of ease, + And builds a hell in heaven's despite." + --W. BLAKE: Songs of Experience + + +Fred Vincy wanted to arrive at Stone Court when Mary could not expect +him, and when his uncle was not down-stairs in that case she might be +sitting alone in the wainscoted parlor. He left his horse in the yard +to avoid making a noise on the gravel in front, and entered the parlor +without other notice than the noise of the door-handle. Mary was in her +usual corner, laughing over Mrs. Piozzi's recollections of Johnson, and +looked up with the fun still in her face. It gradually faded as she +saw Fred approach her without speaking, and stand before her with his +elbow on the mantel-piece, looking ill. She too was silent, only +raising her eyes to him inquiringly. + +"Mary," he began, "I am a good-for-nothing blackguard." + +"I should think one of those epithets would do at a time," said Mary, +trying to smile, but feeling alarmed. + +"I know you will never think well of me any more. You will think me a +liar. You will think me dishonest. You will think I didn't care for +you, or your father and mother. You always do make the worst of me, I +know." + +"I cannot deny that I shall think all that of you, Fred, if you give me +good reasons. But please to tell me at once what you have done. I +would rather know the painful truth than imagine it." + +"I owed money--a hundred and sixty pounds. I asked your father to put +his name to a bill. I thought it would not signify to him. I made +sure of paying the money myself, and I have tried as hard as I could. +And now, I have been so unlucky--a horse has turned out badly--I can +only pay fifty pounds. And I can't ask my father for the money: he +would not give me a farthing. And my uncle gave me a hundred a little +while ago. So what can I do? And now your father has no ready money +to spare, and your mother will have to pay away her ninety-two pounds +that she has saved, and she says your savings must go too. You see +what a--" + +"Oh, poor mother, poor father!" said Mary, her eyes filling with tears, +and a little sob rising which she tried to repress. She looked +straight before her and took no notice of Fred, all the consequences at +home becoming present to her. He too remained silent for some moments, +feeling more miserable than ever. "I wouldn't have hurt you for the +world, Mary," he said at last. "You can never forgive me." + +"What does it matter whether I forgive you?" said Mary, passionately. +"Would that make it any better for my mother to lose the money she has +been earning by lessons for four years, that she might send Alfred to +Mr. Hanmer's? Should you think all that pleasant enough if I forgave +you?" + +"Say what you like, Mary. I deserve it all." + +"I don't want to say anything," said Mary, more quietly, "and my anger +is of no use." She dried her eyes, threw aside her book, rose and +fetched her sewing. + +Fred followed her with his eyes, hoping that they would meet hers, and +in that way find access for his imploring penitence. But no! Mary +could easily avoid looking upward. + +"I do care about your mother's money going," he said, when she was +seated again and sewing quickly. "I wanted to ask you, Mary--don't +you think that Mr. Featherstone--if you were to tell him--tell him, I +mean, about apprenticing Alfred--would advance the money?" + +"My family is not fond of begging, Fred. We would rather work for our +money. Besides, you say that Mr. Featherstone has lately given you a +hundred pounds. He rarely makes presents; he has never made presents +to us. I am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if +I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use." + +"I am so miserable, Mary--if you knew how miserable I am, you would be +sorry for me." + +"There are other things to be more sorry for than that. But selfish +people always think their own discomfort of more importance than +anything else in the world. I see enough of that every day." + +"It is hardly fair to call me selfish. If you knew what things other +young men do, you would think me a good way off the worst." + +"I know that people who spend a great deal of money on themselves +without knowing how they shall pay, must be selfish. They are always +thinking of what they can get for themselves, and not of what other +people may lose." + +"Any man may be unfortunate, Mary, and find himself unable to pay when +he meant it. There is not a better man in the world than your father, +and yet he got into trouble." + +"How dare you make any comparison between my father and you, Fred?" +said Mary, in a deep tone of indignation. "He never got into trouble +by thinking of his own idle pleasures, but because he was always +thinking of the work he was doing for other people. And he has fared +hard, and worked hard to make good everybody's loss." + +"And you think that I shall never try to make good anything, Mary. It +is not generous to believe the worst of a man. When you have got any +power over him, I think you might try and use it to make him better; +but that is what you never do. However, I'm going," Fred ended, +languidly. "I shall never speak to you about anything again. I'm very +sorry for all the trouble I've caused--that's all." + +Mary had dropped her work out of her hand and looked up. There is +often something maternal even in a girlish love, and Mary's hard +experience had wrought her nature to an impressibility very different +from that hard slight thing which we call girlishness. At Fred's last +words she felt an instantaneous pang, something like what a mother +feels at the imagined sobs or cries of her naughty truant child, which +may lose itself and get harm. And when, looking up, her eyes met his +dull despairing glance, her pity for him surmounted her anger and all +her other anxieties. + +"Oh, Fred, how ill you look! Sit down a moment. Don't go yet. Let me +tell uncle that you are here. He has been wondering that he has not +seen you for a whole week." Mary spoke hurriedly, saying the words +that came first without knowing very well what they were, but saying +them in a half-soothing half-beseeching tone, and rising as if to go +away to Mr. Featherstone. Of course Fred felt as if the clouds had +parted and a gleam had come: he moved and stood in her way. + +"Say one word, Mary, and I will do anything. Say you will not think +the worst of me--will not give me up altogether." + +"As if it were any pleasure to me to think ill of you," said Mary, in a +mournful tone. "As if it were not very painful to me to see you an +idle frivolous creature. How can you bear to be so contemptible, when +others are working and striving, and there are so many things to be +done--how can you bear to be fit for nothing in the world that is +useful? And with so much good in your disposition, Fred,--you might +be worth a great deal." + +"I will try to be anything you like, Mary, if you will say that you +love me." + +"I should be ashamed to say that I loved a man who must always be +hanging on others, and reckoning on what they would do for him. What +will you be when you are forty? Like Mr. Bowyer, I suppose--just as +idle, living in Mrs. Beck's front parlor--fat and shabby, hoping +somebody will invite you to dinner--spending your morning in learning a +comic song--oh no! learning a tune on the flute." + +Mary's lips had begun to curl with a smile as soon as she had asked +that question about Fred's future (young souls are mobile), and before +she ended, her face had its full illumination of fun. To him it was +like the cessation of an ache that Mary could laugh at him, and with a +passive sort of smile he tried to reach her hand; but she slipped away +quickly towards the door and said, "I shall tell uncle. You _must_ see +him for a moment or two." + +Fred secretly felt that his future was guaranteed against the +fulfilment of Mary's sarcastic prophecies, apart from that "anything" +which he was ready to do if she would define it. He never dared in +Mary's presence to approach the subject of his expectations from Mr. +Featherstone, and she always ignored them, as if everything depended on +himself. But if ever he actually came into the property, she must +recognize the change in his position. All this passed through his mind +somewhat languidly, before he went up to see his uncle. He stayed but +a little while, excusing himself on the ground that he had a cold; and +Mary did not reappear before he left the house. But as he rode home, +he began to be more conscious of being ill, than of being melancholy. + +When Caleb Garth arrived at Stone Court soon after dusk, Mary was not +surprised, although he seldom had leisure for paying her a visit, and +was not at all fond of having to talk with Mr. Featherstone. The old +man, on the other hand, felt himself ill at ease with a brother-in-law +whom he could not annoy, who did not mind about being considered poor, +had nothing to ask of him, and understood all kinds of farming and +mining business better than he did. But Mary had felt sure that her +parents would want to see her, and if her father had not come, she +would have obtained leave to go home for an hour or two the next day. +After discussing prices during tea with Mr. Featherstone Caleb rose to +bid him good-by, and said, "I want to speak to you, Mary." + +She took a candle into another large parlor, where there was no fire, +and setting down the feeble light on the dark mahogany table, turned +round to her father, and putting her arms round his neck kissed him +with childish kisses which he delighted in,--the expression of his +large brows softening as the expression of a great beautiful dog +softens when it is caressed. Mary was his favorite child, and whatever +Susan might say, and right as she was on all other subjects, Caleb +thought it natural that Fred or any one else should think Mary more +lovable than other girls. + +"I've got something to tell you, my dear," said Caleb in his hesitating +way. "No very good news; but then it might be worse." + +"About money, father? I think I know what it is." + +"Ay? how can that be? You see, I've been a bit of a fool again, and +put my name to a bill, and now it comes to paying; and your mother has +got to part with her savings, that's the worst of it, and even they +won't quite make things even. We wanted a hundred and ten pounds: your +mother has ninety-two, and I have none to spare in the bank; and she +thinks that you have some savings." + +"Oh yes; I have more than four-and-twenty pounds. I thought you would +come, father, so I put it in my bag. See! beautiful white notes and +gold." + +Mary took out the folded money from her reticule and put it into her +father's hand. + +"Well, but how--we only want eighteen--here, put the rest back, +child,--but how did you know about it?" said Caleb, who, in his +unconquerable indifference to money, was beginning to be chiefly +concerned about the relation the affair might have to Mary's affections. + +"Fred told me this morning." + +"Ah! Did he come on purpose?" + +"Yes, I think so. He was a good deal distressed." + +"I'm afraid Fred is not to be trusted, Mary," said the father, with +hesitating tenderness. "He means better than he acts, perhaps. But I +should think it a pity for any body's happiness to be wrapped up in +him, and so would your mother." + +"And so should I, father," said Mary, not looking up, but putting the +back of her father's hand against her cheek. + +"I don't want to pry, my dear. But I was afraid there might be +something between you and Fred, and I wanted to caution you. You see, +Mary"--here Caleb's voice became more tender; he had been pushing his +hat about on the table and looking at it, but finally he turned his +eyes on his daughter--"a woman, let her be as good as she may, has got +to put up with the life her husband makes for her. Your mother has had +to put up with a good deal because of me." + +Mary turned the back of her father's hand to her lips and smiled at him. + +"Well, well, nobody's perfect, but"--here Mr. Garth shook his head to +help out the inadequacy of words--"what I am thinking of is--what it +must be for a wife when she's never sure of her husband, when he hasn't +got a principle in him to make him more afraid of doing the wrong thing +by others than of getting his own toes pinched. That's the long and +the short of it, Mary. Young folks may get fond of each other before +they know what life is, and they may think it all holiday if they can +only get together; but it soon turns into working day, my dear. +However, you have more sense than most, and you haven't been kept in +cotton-wool: there may be no occasion for me to say this, but a father +trembles for his daughter, and you are all by yourself here." + +"Don't fear for me, father," said Mary, gravely meeting her father's +eyes; "Fred has always been very good to me; he is kind-hearted and +affectionate, and not false, I think, with all his self-indulgence. But +I will never engage myself to one who has no manly independence, and +who goes on loitering away his time on the chance that others will +provide for him. You and my mother have taught me too much pride for +that." + +"That's right--that's right. Then I am easy," said Mr. Garth, taking +up his hat. "But it's hard to run away with your earnings, eh child." + +"Father!" said Mary, in her deepest tone of remonstrance. "Take +pocketfuls of love besides to them all at home," was her last word +before he closed the outer door on himself. + +"I suppose your father wanted your earnings," said old Mr. +Featherstone, with his usual power of unpleasant surmise, when Mary +returned to him. "He makes but a tight fit, I reckon. You're of age +now; you ought to be saving for yourself." + +"I consider my father and mother the best part of myself, sir," said +Mary, coldly. + +Mr. Featherstone grunted: he could not deny that an ordinary sort of +girl like her might be expected to be useful, so he thought of another +rejoinder, disagreeable enough to be always apropos. "If Fred Vincy +comes to-morrow, now, don't you keep him chattering: let him come up to +me." + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + "He beats me and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction! + would it were otherwise--that I could beat him while + he railed at me.--" + --Troilus and Cressida. + + +But Fred did not go to Stone Court the next day, for reasons that were +quite peremptory. From those visits to unsanitary Houndsley streets in +search of Diamond, he had brought back not only a bad bargain in +horse-flesh, but the further misfortune of some ailment which for a day +or two had deemed mere depression and headache, but which got so much +worse when he returned from his visit to Stone Court that, going into +the dining-room, he threw himself on the sofa, and in answer to his +mother's anxious question, said, "I feel very ill: I think you must +send for Wrench." + +Wrench came, but did not apprehend anything serious, spoke of a "slight +derangement," and did not speak of coming again on the morrow. He had +a due value for the Vincys' house, but the wariest men are apt to be +dulled by routine, and on worried mornings will sometimes go through +their business with the zest of the daily bell-ringer. Mr. Wrench was +a small, neat, bilious man, with a well-dressed wig: he had a laborious +practice, an irascible temper, a lymphatic wife and seven children; and +he was already rather late before setting out on a four-miles drive to +meet Dr. Minchin on the other side of Tipton, the decease of Hicks, a +rural practitioner, having increased Middlemarch practice in that +direction. Great statesmen err, and why not small medical men? Mr. +Wrench did not neglect sending the usual white parcels, which this time +had black and drastic contents. Their effect was not alleviating to +poor Fred, who, however, unwilling as he said to believe that he was +"in for an illness," rose at his usual easy hour the next morning and +went down-stairs meaning to breakfast, but succeeded in nothing but in +sitting and shivering by the fire. Mr. Wrench was again sent for, but +was gone on his rounds, and Mrs. Vincy seeing her darling's changed +looks and general misery, began to cry and said she would send for Dr. +Sprague. + +"Oh, nonsense, mother! It's nothing," said Fred, putting out his hot +dry hand to her, "I shall soon be all right. I must have taken cold in +that nasty damp ride." + +"Mamma!" said Rosamond, who was seated near the window (the dining-room +windows looked on that highly respectable street called Lowick Gate), +"there is Mr. Lydgate, stopping to speak to some one. If I were you I +would call him in. He has cured Ellen Bulstrode. They say he cures +every one." + +Mrs. Vincy sprang to the window and opened it in an instant, thinking +only of Fred and not of medical etiquette. Lydgate was only two yards +off on the other side of some iron palisading, and turned round at the +sudden sound of the sash, before she called to him. In two minutes he +was in the room, and Rosamond went out, after waiting just long enough +to show a pretty anxiety conflicting with her sense of what was +becoming. + +Lydgate had to hear a narrative in which Mrs. Vincy's mind insisted +with remarkable instinct on every point of minor importance, especially +on what Mr. Wrench had said and had not said about coming again. That +there might be an awkward affair with Wrench, Lydgate saw at once; but +the case was serious enough to make him dismiss that consideration: he +was convinced that Fred was in the pink-skinned stage of typhoid fever, +and that he had taken just the wrong medicines. He must go to bed +immediately, must have a regular nurse, and various appliances and +precautions must be used, about which Lydgate was particular. Poor +Mrs. Vincy's terror at these indications of danger found vent in such +words as came most easily. She thought it "very ill usage on the part +of Mr. Wrench, who had attended their house so many years in preference +to Mr. Peacock, though Mr. Peacock was equally a friend. Why Mr. +Wrench should neglect her children more than others, she could not for +the life of her understand. He had not neglected Mrs. Larcher's when +they had the measles, nor indeed would Mrs. Vincy have wished that he +should. And if anything should happen--" + +Here poor Mrs. Vincy's spirit quite broke down, and her Niobe throat +and good-humored face were sadly convulsed. This was in the hall out +of Fred's hearing, but Rosamond had opened the drawing-room door, and +now came forward anxiously. Lydgate apologized for Mr. Wrench, said +that the symptoms yesterday might have been disguising, and that this +form of fever was very equivocal in its beginnings: he would go +immediately to the druggist's and have a prescription made up in order +to lose no time, but he would write to Mr. Wrench and tell him what had +been done. + +"But you must come again--you must go on attending Fred. I can't have +my boy left to anybody who may come or not. I bear nobody ill-will, +thank God, and Mr. Wrench saved me in the pleurisy, but he'd better +have let me die--if--if--" + +"I will meet Mr. Wrench here, then, shall I?" said Lydgate, really +believing that Wrench was not well prepared to deal wisely with a case +of this kind. + +"Pray make that arrangement, Mr. Lydgate," said Rosamond, coming to her +mother's aid, and supporting her arm to lead her away. + +When Mr. Vincy came home he was very angry with Wrench, and did not +care if he never came into his house again. Lydgate should go on now, +whether Wrench liked it or not. It was no joke to have fever in the +house. Everybody must be sent to now, not to come to dinner on +Thursday. And Pritchard needn't get up any wine: brandy was the best +thing against infection. "I shall drink brandy," added Mr. Vincy, +emphatically--as much as to say, this was not an occasion for firing +with blank-cartridges. "He's an uncommonly unfortunate lad, is Fred. +He'd need have--some luck by-and-by to make up for all this--else I +don't know who'd have an eldest son." + +"Don't say so, Vincy," said the mother, with a quivering lip, "if you +don't want him to be taken from me." + +"It will worret you to death, Lucy; _that_ I can see," said Mr. Vincy, +more mildly. "However, Wrench shall know what I think of the matter." +(What Mr. Vincy thought confusedly was, that the fever might somehow +have been hindered if Wrench had shown the proper solicitude about +his--the Mayor's--family.) "I'm the last man to give in to the cry +about new doctors, or new parsons either--whether they're Bulstrode's +men or not. But Wrench shall know what I think, take it as he will." + +Wrench did not take it at all well. Lydgate was as polite as he could +be in his offhand way, but politeness in a man who has placed you at a +disadvantage is only an additional exasperation, especially if he +happens to have been an object of dislike beforehand. Country +practitioners used to be an irritable species, susceptible on the point +of honor; and Mr. Wrench was one of the most irritable among them. He +did not refuse to meet Lydgate in the evening, but his temper was +somewhat tried on the occasion. He had to hear Mrs. Vincy say-- + +"Oh, Mr. Wrench, what have I ever done that you should use me so?-- To +go away, and never to come again! And my boy might have been stretched +a corpse!" + +Mr. Vincy, who had been keeping up a sharp fire on the enemy Infection, +and was a good deal heated in consequence, started up when he heard +Wrench come in, and went into the hall to let him know what he thought. + +"I'll tell you what, Wrench, this is beyond a joke," said the Mayor, +who of late had had to rebuke offenders with an official air, and how +broadened himself by putting his thumbs in his armholes.-- "To let +fever get unawares into a house like this. There are some things that +ought to be actionable, and are not so-- that's my opinion." + +But irrational reproaches were easier to bear than the sense of being +instructed, or rather the sense that a younger man, like Lydgate, +inwardly considered him in need of instruction, for "in point of fact," +Mr. Wrench afterwards said, Lydgate paraded flighty, foreign notions, +which would not wear. He swallowed his ire for the moment, but he +afterwards wrote to decline further attendance in the case. The house +might be a good one, but Mr. Wrench was not going to truckle to anybody +on a professional matter. He reflected, with much probability on his +side, that Lydgate would by-and-by be caught tripping too, and that his +ungentlemanly attempts to discredit the sale of drugs by his +professional brethren, would by-and-by recoil on himself. He threw out +biting remarks on Lydgate's tricks, worthy only of a quack, to get +himself a factitious reputation with credulous people. That cant about +cures was never got up by sound practitioners. + +This was a point on which Lydgate smarted as much as Wrench could +desire. To be puffed by ignorance was not only humiliating, but +perilous, and not more enviable than the reputation of the +weather-prophet. He was impatient of the foolish expectations amidst +which all work must be carried on, and likely enough to damage himself +as much as Mr. Wrench could wish, by an unprofessional openness. + +However, Lydgate was installed as medical attendant on the Vincys, and +the event was a subject of general conversation in Middlemarch. Some +said, that the Vincys had behaved scandalously, that Mr. Vincy had +threatened Wrench, and that Mrs. Vincy had accused him of poisoning her +son. Others were of opinion that Mr. Lydgate's passing by was +providential, that he was wonderfully clever in fevers, and that +Bulstrode was in the right to bring him forward. Many people believed +that Lydgate's coming to the town at all was really due to Bulstrode; +and Mrs. Taft, who was always counting stitches and gathered her +information in misleading fragments caught between the rows of her +knitting, had got it into her head that Mr. Lydgate was a natural son +of Bulstrode's, a fact which seemed to justify her suspicions of +evangelical laymen. + +She one day communicated this piece of knowledge to Mrs. Farebrother, +who did not fail to tell her son of it, observing-- + +"I should not be surprised at anything in Bulstrode, but I should be +sorry to think it of Mr. Lydgate." + +"Why, mother," said Mr. Farebrother, after an explosive laugh, "you +know very well that Lydgate is of a good family in the North. He never +heard of Bulstrode before he came here." + +"That is satisfactory so far as Mr. Lydgate is concerned, Camden," said +the old lady, with an air of precision.--"But as to Bulstrode--the +report may be true of some other son." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + Let the high Muse chant loves Olympian: + We are but mortals, and must sing of man. + + +An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can dignify even your ugly +furniture by lifting it into the serene light of science, has shown me +this pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of +polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and +multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a +lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will +seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round +that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going +everywhere impartially and it is only your candle which produces the +flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with +an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable. The +scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now +absent--of Miss Vincy, for example. Rosamond had a Providence of her +own who had kindly made her more charming than other girls, and who +seemed to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench's mistake in +order to bring her and Lydgate within effective proximity. It would +have been to contravene these arrangements if Rosamond had consented to +go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as her parents wished her to do, +especially since Mr. Lydgate thought the precaution needless. +Therefore, while Miss Morgan and the children were sent away to a +farmhouse the morning after Fred's illness had declared itself, +Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma. + +Poor mamma indeed was an object to touch any creature born of woman; +and Mr. Vincy, who doted on his wife, was more alarmed on her account +than on Fred's. But for his insistence she would have taken no rest: +her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had +always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye +and plumage ruffled, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that +used most to interest her. Fred's delirium, in which he seemed to be +wandering out of her reach, tore her heart. After her first outburst +against Mr. Wrench she went about very quietly: her one low cry was to +Lydgate. She would follow him out of the room and put her hand on his +arm moaning out, "Save my boy." Once she pleaded, "He has always been +good to me, Mr. Lydgate: he never had a hard word for his mother,"--as +if poor Fred's suffering were an accusation against him. All the +deepest fibres of the mother's memory were stirred, and the young man +whose voice took a gentler tone when he spoke to her, was one with the +babe whom she had loved, with a love new to her, before he was born. + +"I have good hope, Mrs. Vincy," Lydgate would say. "Come down with me +and let us talk about the food." In that way he led her to the parlor +where Rosamond was, and made a change for her, surprising her into +taking some tea or broth which had been prepared for her. There was a +constant understanding between him and Rosamond on these matters. He +almost always saw her before going to the sickroom, and she appealed to +him as to what she could do for mamma. Her presence of mind and +adroitness in carrying out his hints were admirable, and it is not +wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to mingle itself with +his interest in the case. Especially when the critical stage was +passed, and he began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. In the more +doubtful time, he had advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could, +would rather have remained neutral on Wrench's account); but after two +consultations, the conduct of the case was left to Lydgate, and there +was every reason to make him assiduous. Morning and evening he was at +Mr. Vincy's, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became +simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost petting but +conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if, after all, the illness +had made a festival for her tenderness. + +Both father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when +old Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, saying that Fred must +make haste and get well, as he, Peter Featherstone, could not do +without him, and missed his visits sadly. The old man himself was +getting bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these messages to Fred when he +could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate, pinched face, +from which all the thick blond hair had been cut away, and in which the +eyes seemed to have got larger, yearning for some word about +Mary--wondering what she felt about his illness. No word passed his +lips; but "to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit," and the +mother in the fulness of her heart not only divined Fred's longing, but +felt ready for any sacrifice in order to satisfy him. + +"If I can only see my boy strong again," she said, in her loving folly; +"and who knows?--perhaps master of Stone Court! and he can marry +anybody he likes then." + +"Not if they won't have me, mother," said Fred. The illness had made +him childish, and tears came as he spoke. + +"Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, secretly +incredulous of any such refusal. + +She never left Fred's side when her husband was not in the house, and +thus Rosamond was in the unusual position of being much alone. +Lydgate, naturally, never thought of staying long with her, yet it +seemed that the brief impersonal conversations they had together were +creating that peculiar intimacy which consists in shyness. They were +obliged to look at each other in speaking, and somehow the looking +could not be carried through as the matter of course which it really +was. Lydgate began to feel this sort of consciousness unpleasant and +one day looked down, or anywhere, like an ill-worked puppet. But this +turned out badly: the next day, Rosamond looked down, and the +consequence was that when their eyes met again, both were more +conscious than before. There was no help for this in science, and as +Lydgate did not want to flirt, there seemed to be no help for it in +folly. It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer considered +the house in quarantine, and when the chances of seeing Rosamond alone +were very much reduced. + +But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the +other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to +be done away with. Talk about the weather and other well-bred topics +is apt to seem a hollow device, and behavior can hardly become easy +unless it frankly recognizes a mutual fascination--which of course need +not mean anything deep or serious. This was the way in which Rosamond +and Lydgate slid gracefully into ease, and made their intercourse +lively again. Visitors came and went as usual, there was once more +music in the drawing-room, and all the extra hospitality of Mr. Vincy's +mayoralty returned. Lydgate, whenever he could, took his seat by +Rosamond's side, and lingered to hear her music, calling himself her +captive--meaning, all the while, not to be her captive. The +preposterousness of the notion that he could at once set up a +satisfactory establishment as a married man was a sufficient guarantee +against danger. This play at being a little in love was agreeable, and +did not interfere with graver pursuits. Flirtation, after all, was not +necessarily a singeing process. Rosamond, for her part, had never +enjoyed the days so much in her life before: she was sure of being +admired by some one worth captivating, and she did not distinguish +flirtation from love, either in herself or in another. She seemed to +be sailing with a fair wind just whither she would go, and her thoughts +were much occupied with a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she hoped +would by-and-by be vacant. She was quite determined, when she was +married, to rid herself adroitly of all the visitors who were not +agreeable to her at her father's; and she imagined the drawing-room in +her favorite house with various styles of furniture. + +Certainly her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate himself; he +seemed to her almost perfect: if he had known his notes so that his +enchantment under her music had been less like an emotional elephant's, +and if he had been able to discriminate better the refinements of her +taste in dress, she could hardly have mentioned a deficiency in him. +How different he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Those +young men had not a notion of French, and could speak on no subject +with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades, +which of course they were ashamed to mention; they were Middlemarch +gentry, elated with their silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but +embarrassed in their manners, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above +them, having at least the accent and manner of a university man. +Whereas Lydgate was always listened to, bore himself with the careless +politeness of conscious superiority, and seemed to have the right +clothes on by a certain natural affinity, without ever having to think +about them. Rosamond was proud when he entered the room, and when he +approached her with a distinguishing smile, she had a delicious sense +that she was the object of enviable homage. If Lydgate had been aware +of all the pride he excited in that delicate bosom, he might have been +just as well pleased as any other man, even the most densely ignorant +of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he held it one of the prettiest +attitudes of the feminine mind to adore a man's pre-eminence without +too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. But Rosamond was not +one of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and whose +behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of being +steered by wary grace and propriety. Do you imagine that her rapid +forecast and rumination concerning house-furniture and society were +ever discernible in her conversation, even with her mamma? On the +contrary, she would have expressed the prettiest surprise and +disapprobation if she had heard that another young lady had been +detected in that immodest prematureness--indeed, would probably have +disbelieved in its possibility. For Rosamond never showed any +unbecoming knowledge, and was always that combination of correct +sentiments, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private +album for extracted verse, and perfect blond loveliness, which made the +irresistible woman for the doomed man of that date. Think no unfair +evil of her, pray: she had no wicked plots, nothing sordid or +mercenary; in fact, she never thought of money except as something +necessary which other people would always provide. She was not in the +habit of devising falsehoods, and if her statements were no direct clew +to fact, why, they were not intended in that light--they were among +her elegant accomplishments, intended to please. Nature had inspired +many arts in finishing Mrs. Lemon's favorite pupil, who by general +consent (Fred's excepted) was a rare compound of beauty, cleverness, +and amiability. + +Lydgate found it more and more agreeable to be with her, and there was +no constraint now, there was a delightful interchange of influence in +their eyes, and what they said had that superfluity of meaning for +them, which is observable with some sense of flatness by a third +person; still they had no interviews or asides from which a third +person need have been excluded. In fact, they flirted; and Lydgate was +secure in the belief that they did nothing else. If a man could not +love and be wise, surely he could flirt and be wise at the same time? +Really, the men in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were great +bores, and Lydgate did not care about commercial politics or cards: +what was he to do for relaxation? He was often invited to the +Bulstrodes'; but the girls there were hardly out of the schoolroom; and +Mrs. Bulstrode's _naive_ way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the +nothingness of this life and the desirability of cut glass, the +consciousness at once of filthy rags and the best damask, was not a +sufficient relief from the weight of her husband's invariable +seriousness. The Vincys' house, with all its faults, was the +pleasanter by contrast; besides, it nourished Rosamond--sweet to look +at as a half-opened blush-rose, and adorned with accomplishments for +the refined amusement of man. + +But he made some enemies, other than medical, by his success with Miss +Vincy. One evening he came into the drawing-room rather late, when +several other visitors were there. The card-table had drawn off the +elders, and Mr. Ned Plymdale (one of the good matches in Middlemarch, +though not one of its leading minds) was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond. +He had brought the last "Keepsake," the gorgeous watered-silk +publication which marked modern progress at that time; and he +considered himself very fortunate that he could be the first to look +over it with her, dwelling on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny +copper-plate cheeks and copper-plate smiles, and pointing to comic +verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting. Rosamond was +gracious, and Mr. Ned was satisfied that he had the very best thing in +art and literature as a medium for "paying addresses"--the very thing +to please a nice girl. He had also reasons, deep rather than +ostensible, for being satisfied with his own appearance. To +superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as +if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did indeed cause him +some difficulty about the fit of his satin stocks, for which chins were +at that time useful. + +"I think the Honorable Mrs. S. is something like you," said Mr. Ned. +He kept the book open at the bewitching portrait, and looked at it +rather languishingly. + +"Her back is very large; she seems to have sat for that," said +Rosamond, not meaning any satire, but thinking how red young Plymdale's +hands were, and wondering why Lydgate did not come. She went on with +her tatting all the while. + +"I did not say she was as beautiful as you are," said Mr. Ned, +venturing to look from the portrait to its rival. + +"I suspect you of being an adroit flatterer," said Rosamond, feeling +sure that she should have to reject this young gentleman a second time. + +But now Lydgate came in; the book was closed before he reached +Rosamond's corner, and as he took his seat with easy confidence on the +other side of her, young Plymdale's jaw fell like a barometer towards +the cheerless side of change. Rosamond enjoyed not only Lydgate's +presence but its effect: she liked to excite jealousy. + +"What a late comer you are!" she said, as they shook hands. "Mamma had +given you up a little while ago. How do you find Fred?" + +"As usual; going on well, but slowly. I want him to go away--to Stone +Court, for example. But your mamma seems to have some objection." + +"Poor fellow!" said Rosamond, prettily. "You will see Fred so +changed," she added, turning to the other suitor; "we have looked to +Mr. Lydgate as our guardian angel during this illness." + +Mr. Ned smiled nervously, while Lydgate, drawing the "Keepsake" towards +him and opening it, gave a short scornful laugh and tossed up his +chin, as if in wonderment at human folly. + +"What are you laughing at so profanely?" said Rosamond, with bland +neutrality. + +"I wonder which would turn out to be the silliest--the engravings or +the writing here," said Lydgate, in his most convinced tone, while he +turned over the pages quickly, seeming to see all through the book in +no time, and showing his large white hands to much advantage, as +Rosamond thought. "Do look at this bridegroom coming out of church: +did you ever see such a 'sugared invention'--as the Elizabethans used +to say? Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking? Yet I will answer +for it the story makes him one of the first gentlemen in the land." + +"You are so severe, I am frightened at you," said Rosamond, keeping her +amusement duly moderate. Poor young Plymdale had lingered with +admiration over this very engraving, and his spirit was stirred. + +"There are a great many celebrated people writing in the 'Keepsake,' at +all events," he said, in a tone at once piqued and timid. "This is the +first time I have heard it called silly." + +"I think I shall turn round on you and accuse you of being a Goth," +said Rosamond, looking at Lydgate with a smile. "I suspect you know +nothing about Lady Blessington and L. E. L." Rosamond herself was not +without relish for these writers, but she did not readily commit +herself by admiration, and was alive to the slightest hint that +anything was not, according to Lydgate, in the very highest taste. + +"But Sir Walter Scott--I suppose Mr. Lydgate knows him," said young +Plymdale, a little cheered by this advantage. + +"Oh, I read no literature now," said Lydgate, shutting the book, and +pushing it away. "I read so much when I was a lad, that I suppose it +will last me all my life. I used to know Scott's poems by heart." + +"I should like to know when you left off," said Rosamond, "because then +I might be sure that I knew something which you did not know." + +"Mr. Lydgate would say that was not worth knowing," said Mr. Ned, +purposely caustic. + +"On the contrary," said Lydgate, showing no smart; but smiling with +exasperating confidence at Rosamond. "It would be worth knowing by the +fact that Miss Vincy could tell it me." + +Young Plymdale soon went to look at the whist-playing, thinking that +Lydgate was one of the most conceited, unpleasant fellows it had ever +been his ill-fortune to meet. + +"How rash you are!" said Rosamond, inwardly delighted. "Do you see +that you have given offence?" + +"What! is it Mr. Plymdale's book? I am sorry. I didn't think about +it." + +"I shall begin to admit what you said of yourself when you first came +here--that you are a bear, and want teaching by the birds." + +"Well, there is a bird who can teach me what she will. Don't I listen +to her willingly?" + +To Rosamond it seemed as if she and Lydgate were as good as engaged. +That they were some time to be engaged had long been an idea in her +mind; and ideas, we know, tend to a more solid kind of existence, the +necessary materials being at hand. It is true, Lydgate had the +counter-idea of remaining unengaged; but this was a mere negative, a +shadow cast by other resolves which themselves were capable of +shrinking. Circumstance was almost sure to be on the side of +Rosamond's idea, which had a shaping activity and looked through +watchful blue eyes, whereas Lydgate's lay blind and unconcerned as a +jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it. + +That evening when he went home, he looked at his phials to see how a +process of maceration was going on, with undisturbed interest; and he +wrote out his daily notes with as much precision as usual. The +reveries from which it was difficult for him to detach himself were +ideal constructions of something else than Rosamond's virtues, and the +primitive tissue was still his fair unknown. Moreover, he was +beginning to feel some zest for the growing though half-suppressed feud +between him and the other medical men, which was likely to become more +manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hospital was +about to be declared; and there were various inspiriting signs that his +non-acceptance by some of Peacock's patients might be counterbalanced +by the impression he had produced in other quarters. Only a few days +later, when he had happened to overtake Rosamond on the Lowick road and +had got down from his horse to walk by her side until he had quite +protected her from a passing drove, he had been stopped by a servant on +horseback with a message calling him in to a house of some importance +where Peacock had never attended; and it was the second instance of +this kind. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and the house was +Lowick Manor. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + 1st Gent. All times are good to seek your wedded home + Bringing a mutual delight. + + 2d Gent. Why, true. + The calendar hath not an evil day + For souls made one by love, and even death + Were sweetness, if it came like rolling waves + While they two clasped each other, and foresaw + No life apart. + + +Mr. and Mrs. Casaubon, returning from their wedding journey, arrived at +Lowick Manor in the middle of January. A light snow was falling as +they descended at the door, and in the morning, when Dorothea passed +from her dressing-room avenue the blue-green boudoir that we know of, +she saw the long avenue of limes lifting their trunks from a white +earth, and spreading white branches against the dun and motionless sky. +The distant flat shrank in uniform whiteness and low-hanging uniformity +of cloud. The very furniture in the room seemed to have shrunk since +she saw it before: the stag in the tapestry looked more like a ghost in +his ghostly blue-green world; the volumes of polite literature in the +bookcase looked more like immovable imitations of books. The bright +fire of dry oak-boughs burning on the logs seemed an incongruous +renewal of life and glow--like the figure of Dorothea herself as she +entered carrying the red-leather cases containing the cameos for Celia. + +She was glowing from her morning toilet as only healthful youth can +glow: there was gem-like brightness on her coiled hair and in her hazel +eyes; there was warm red life in her lips; her throat had a breathing +whiteness above the differing white of the fur which itself seemed to +wind about her neck and cling down her blue-gray pelisse with a +tenderness gathered from her own, a sentient commingled innocence which +kept its loveliness against the crystalline purity of the outdoor snow. +As she laid the cameo-cases on the table in the bow-window, she +unconsciously kept her hands on them, immediately absorbed in looking +out on the still, white enclosure which made her visible world. + +Mr. Casaubon, who had risen early complaining of palpitation, was in +the library giving audience to his curate Mr. Tucker. By-and-by Celia +would come in her quality of bridesmaid as well as sister, and through +the next weeks there would be wedding visits received and given; all in +continuance of that transitional life understood to correspond with the +excitement of bridal felicity, and keeping up the sense of busy +ineffectiveness, as of a dream which the dreamer begins to suspect. +The duties of her married life, contemplated as so great beforehand, +seemed to be shrinking with the furniture and the white vapor-walled +landscape. The clear heights where she expected to walk in full +communion had become difficult to see even in her imagination; the +delicious repose of the soul on a complete superior had been shaken +into uneasy effort and alarmed with dim presentiment. When would the +days begin of that active wifely devotion which was to strengthen her +husband's life and exalt her own? Never perhaps, as she had +preconceived them; but somehow--still somehow. In this solemnly +pledged union of her life, duty would present itself in some new form +of inspiration and give a new meaning to wifely love. + +Meanwhile there was the snow and the low arch of dun vapor--there was +the stifling oppression of that gentlewoman's world, where everything +was done for her and none asked for her aid--where the sense of +connection with a manifold pregnant existence had to be kept up +painfully as an inward vision, instead of coming from without in claims +that would have shaped her energies.-- "What shall I do?" "Whatever you +please, my dear:" that had been her brief history since she had left +off learning morning lessons and practising silly rhythms on the hated +piano. Marriage, which was to bring guidance into worthy and +imperative occupation, had not yet freed her from the gentlewoman's +oppressive liberty: it had not even filled her leisure with the +ruminant joy of unchecked tenderness. Her blooming full-pulsed youth +stood there in a moral imprisonment which made itself one with the +chill, colorless, narrowed landscape, with the shrunken furniture, the +never-read books, and the ghostly stag in a pale fantastic world that +seemed to be vanishing from the daylight. + +In the first minutes when Dorothea looked out she felt nothing but the +dreary oppression; then came a keen remembrance, and turning away from +the window she walked round the room. The ideas and hopes which were +living in her mind when she first saw this room nearly three months +before were present now only as memories: she judged them as we judge +transient and departed things. All existence seemed to beat with a +lower pulse than her own, and her religious faith was a solitary cry, +the struggle out of a nightmare in which every object was withering and +shrinking away from her. Each remembered thing in the room was +disenchanted, was deadened as an unlit transparency, till her wandering +gaze came to the group of miniatures, and there at last she saw +something which had gathered new breath and meaning: it was the +miniature of Mr. Casaubon's aunt Julia, who had made the unfortunate +marriage--of Will Ladislaw's grandmother. Dorothea could fancy that +it was alive now--the delicate woman's face which yet had a headstrong +look, a peculiarity difficult to interpret. Was it only her friends +who thought her marriage unfortunate? or did she herself find it out to +be a mistake, and taste the salt bitterness of her tears in the +merciful silence of the night? What breadths of experience Dorothea +seemed to have passed over since she first looked at this miniature! +She felt a new companionship with it, as if it had an ear for her and +could see how she was looking at it. Here was a woman who had known +some difficulty about marriage. Nay, the colors deepened, the lips and +chin seemed to get larger, the hair and eyes seemed to be sending out +light, the face was masculine and beamed on her with that full gaze +which tells her on whom it falls that she is too interesting for the +slightest movement of her eyelid to pass unnoticed and uninterpreted. +The vivid presentation came like a pleasant glow to Dorothea: she felt +herself smiling, and turning from the miniature sat down and looked up +as if she were again talking to a figure in front of her. But the +smile disappeared as she went on meditating, and at last she said +aloud-- + +"Oh, it was cruel to speak so! How sad--how dreadful!" + +She rose quickly and went out of the room, hurrying along the corridor, +with the irresistible impulse to go and see her husband and inquire if +she could do anything for him. Perhaps Mr. Tucker was gone and Mr. +Casaubon was alone in the library. She felt as if all her morning's +gloom would vanish if she could see her husband glad because of her +presence. + +But when she reached the head of the dark oak there was Celia coming +up, and below there was Mr. Brooke, exchanging welcomes and +congratulations with Mr. Casaubon. + +"Dodo!" said Celia, in her quiet staccato; then kissed her sister, +whose arms encircled her, and said no more. I think they both cried a +little in a furtive manner, while Dorothea ran down-stairs to greet her +uncle. + +"I need not ask how you are, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, after kissing +her forehead. "Rome has agreed with you, I see--happiness, frescos, +the antique--that sort of thing. Well, it's very pleasant to have you +back again, and you understand all about art now, eh? But Casaubon is +a little pale, I tell him--a little pale, you know. Studying hard in +his holidays is carrying it rather too far. I overdid it at one +time"--Mr. Brooke still held Dorothea's hand, but had turned his face +to Mr. Casaubon--"about topography, ruins, temples--I thought I had a +clew, but I saw it would carry me too far, and nothing might come of +it. You may go any length in that sort of thing, and nothing may come +of it, you know." + +Dorothea's eyes also were turned up to her husband's face with some +anxiety at the idea that those who saw him afresh after absence might +be aware of signs which she had not noticed. + +"Nothing to alarm you, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, observing her +expression. "A little English beef and mutton will soon make a +difference. It was all very well to look pale, sitting for the +portrait of Aquinas, you know--we got your letter just in time. But +Aquinas, now--he was a little too subtle, wasn't he? Does anybody read +Aquinas?" + +"He is not indeed an author adapted to superficial minds," said Mr. +Casaubon, meeting these timely questions with dignified patience. + +"You would like coffee in your own room, uncle?" said Dorothea, coming +to the rescue. + +"Yes; and you must go to Celia: she has great news to tell you, you +know. I leave it all to her." + +The blue-green boudoir looked much more cheerful when Celia was seated +there in a pelisse exactly like her sister's, surveying the cameos with +a placid satisfaction, while the conversation passed on to other topics. + +"Do you think it nice to go to Rome on a wedding journey?" said Celia, +with her ready delicate blush which Dorothea was used to on the +smallest occasions. + +"It would not suit all--not you, dear, for example," said Dorothea, +quietly. No one would ever know what she thought of a wedding journey +to Rome. + +"Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when +they are married. She says they get tired to death of each other, and +can't quarrel comfortably, as they would at home. And Lady Chettam +says she went to Bath." Celia's color changed again and again--seemed + + "To come and go with tidings from the heart, + As it a running messenger had been." + +It must mean more than Celia's blushing usually did. + +"Celia! has something happened?" said Dorothea, in a tone full of +sisterly feeling. "Have you really any great news to tell me?" + +"It was because you went away, Dodo. Then there was nobody but me for +Sir James to talk to," said Celia, with a certain roguishness in her +eyes. + +"I understand. It is as I used to hope and believe," said Dorothea, +taking her sister's face between her hands, and looking at her half +anxiously. Celia's marriage seemed more serious than it used to do. + +"It was only three days ago," said Celia. "And Lady Chettam is very +kind." + +"And you are very happy?" + +"Yes. We are not going to be married yet. Because every thing is to +be got ready. And I don't want to be married so very soon, because I +think it is nice to be engaged. And we shall be married all our lives +after." + +"I do believe you could not marry better, Kitty. Sir James is a good, +honorable man," said Dorothea, warmly. + +"He has gone on with the cottages, Dodo. He will tell you about them +when he comes. Shall you be glad to see him?" + +"Of course I shall. How can you ask me?" + +"Only I was afraid you would be getting so learned," said Celia, +regarding Mr. Casaubon's learning as a kind of damp which might in due +time saturate a neighboring body. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + "I found that no genius in another could please me. My + unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of + comfort."--GOLDSMITH. + + +One morning, some weeks after her arrival at Lowick, Dorothea--but why +always Dorothea? Was her point of view the only possible one with +regard to this marriage? I protest against all our interest, all our +effort at understanding being given to the young skins that look +blooming in spite of trouble; for these too will get faded, and will +know the older and more eating griefs which we are helping to neglect. +In spite of the blinking eyes and white moles objectionable to Celia, +and the want of muscular curve which was morally painful to Sir James, +Mr. Casaubon had an intense consciousness within him, and was +spiritually a-hungered like the rest of us. He had done nothing +exceptional in marrying--nothing but what society sanctions, and +considers an occasion for wreaths and bouquets. It had occurred to him +that he must not any longer defer his intention of matrimony, and he +had reflected that in taking a wife, a man of good position should +expect and carefully choose a blooming young lady--the younger the +better, because more educable and submissive--of a rank equal to his +own, of religious principles, virtuous disposition, and good +understanding. On such a young lady he would make handsome +settlements, and he would neglect no arrangement for her happiness: in +return, he should receive family pleasures and leave behind him that +copy of himself which seemed so urgently required of a man--to the +sonneteers of the sixteenth century. Times had altered since then, and +no sonneteer had insisted on Mr. Casaubon's leaving a copy of himself; +moreover, he had not yet succeeded in issuing copies of his +mythological key; but he had always intended to acquit himself by +marriage, and the sense that he was fast leaving the years behind him, +that the world was getting dimmer and that he felt lonely, was a reason +to him for losing no more time in overtaking domestic delights before +they too were left behind by the years. + +And when he had seen Dorothea he believed that he had found even more +than he demanded: she might really be such a helpmate to him as would +enable him to dispense with a hired secretary, an aid which Mr. +Casaubon had never yet employed and had a suspicious dread of. (Mr. +Casaubon was nervously conscious that he was expected to manifest a +powerful mind.) Providence, in its kindness, had supplied him with the +wife he needed. A wife, a modest young lady, with the purely +appreciative, unambitious abilities of her sex, is sure to think her +husband's mind powerful. Whether Providence had taken equal care of +Miss Brooke in presenting her with Mr. Casaubon was an idea which could +hardly occur to him. Society never made the preposterous demand that a +man should think as much about his own qualifications for making a +charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for making himself happy. As +if a man could choose not only his wife but his wife's husband! Or as +if he were bound to provide charms for his posterity in his own +person!-- When Dorothea accepted him with effusion, that was only +natural; and Mr. Casaubon believed that his happiness was going to +begin. + +He had not had much foretaste of happiness in his previous life. To +know intense joy without a strong bodily frame, one must have an +enthusiastic soul. Mr. Casaubon had never had a strong bodily frame, +and his soul was sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was too +languid to thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it +went on fluttering in the swampy ground where it was hatched, thinking +of its wings and never flying. His experience was of that pitiable +kind which shrinks from pity, and fears most of all that it should be +known: it was that proud narrow sensitiveness which has not mass enough +to spare for transformation into sympathy, and quivers thread-like in +small currents of self-preoccupation or at best of an egoistic +scrupulosity. And Mr. Casaubon had many scruples: he was capable of a +severe self-restraint; he was resolute in being a man of honor +according to the code; he would be unimpeachable by any recognized +opinion. In conduct these ends had been attained; but the difficulty +of making his Key to all Mythologies unimpeachable weighed like lead +upon his mind; and the pamphlets--or "Parerga" as he called them--by +which he tested his public and deposited small monumental records of +his march, were far from having been seen in all their significance. +He suspected the Archdeacon of not having read them; he was in painful +doubt as to what was really thought of them by the leading minds of +Brasenose, and bitterly convinced that his old acquaintance Carp had +been the writer of that depreciatory recension which was kept locked in +a small drawer of Mr. Casaubon's desk, and also in a dark closet of his +verbal memory. These were heavy impressions to struggle against, and +brought that melancholy embitterment which is the consequence of all +excessive claim: even his religious faith wavered with his wavering +trust in his own authorship, and the consolations of the Christian hope +in immortality seemed to lean on the immortality of the still unwritten +Key to all Mythologies. For my part I am very sorry for him. It is an +uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to +enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be +liberated from a small hungry shivering self--never to be fully +possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness +rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a +passion, the energy of an action, but always to be scholarly and +uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. Becoming a +dean or even a bishop would make little difference, I fear, to Mr. +Casaubon's uneasiness. Doubtless some ancient Greek has observed that +behind the big mask and the speaking-trumpet, there must always be our +poor little eyes peeping as usual and our timorous lips more or less +under anxious control. + +To this mental estate mapped out a quarter of a century before, to +sensibilities thus fenced in, Mr. Casaubon had thought of annexing +happiness with a lovely young bride; but even before marriage, as we +have seen, he found himself under a new depression in the consciousness +that the new bliss was not blissful to him. Inclination yearned back +to its old, easier custom. And the deeper he went in domesticity the +more did the sense of acquitting himself and acting with propriety +predominate over any other satisfaction. Marriage, like religion and +erudition, nay, like authorship itself, was fated to become an outward +requirement, and Edward Casaubon was bent on fulfilling unimpeachably +all requirements. Even drawing Dorothea into use in his study, +according to his own intention before marriage, was an effort which he +was always tempted to defer, and but for her pleading insistence it +might never have begun. But she had succeeded in making it a matter of +course that she should take her place at an early hour in the library +and have work either of reading aloud or copying assigned her. The +work had been easier to define because Mr. Casaubon had adopted an +immediate intention: there was to be a new Parergon, a small monograph +on some lately traced indications concerning the Egyptian mysteries +whereby certain assertions of Warburton's could be corrected. +References were extensive even here, but not altogether shoreless; and +sentences were actually to be written in the shape wherein they would +be scanned by Brasenose and a less formidable posterity. These minor +monumental productions were always exciting to Mr. Casaubon; digestion +was made difficult by the interference of citations, or by the rivalry +of dialectical phrases ringing against each other in his brain. And +from the first there was to be a Latin dedication about which +everything was uncertain except that it was not to be addressed to +Carp: it was a poisonous regret to Mr. Casaubon that he had once +addressed a dedication to Carp in which he had numbered that member of +the animal kingdom among the viros nullo aevo perituros, a mistake +which would infallibly lay the dedicator open to ridicule in the next +age, and might even be chuckled over by Pike and Tench in the present. + +Thus Mr. Casaubon was in one of his busiest epochs, and as I began to +say a little while ago, Dorothea joined him early in the library where +he had breakfasted alone. Celia at this time was on a second visit to +Lowick, probably the last before her marriage, and was in the +drawing-room expecting Sir James. + +Dorothea had learned to read the signs of her husband's mood, and she +saw that the morning had become more foggy there during the last hour. +She was going silently to her desk when he said, in that distant tone +which implied that he was discharging a disagreeable duty-- + +"Dorothea, here is a letter for you, which was enclosed in one +addressed to me." + +It was a letter of two pages, and she immediately looked at the +signature. + +"Mr. Ladislaw! What can he have to say to me?" she exclaimed, in a +tone of pleased surprise. "But," she added, looking at Mr. Casaubon, +"I can imagine what he has written to you about." + +"You can, if you please, read the letter," said Mr. Casaubon, severely +pointing to it with his pen, and not looking at her. "But I may as +well say beforehand, that I must decline the proposal it contains to +pay a visit here. I trust I may be excused for desiring an interval of +complete freedom from such distractions as have been hitherto +inevitable, and especially from guests whose desultory vivacity makes +their presence a fatigue." + +There had been no clashing of temper between Dorothea and her husband +since that little explosion in Rome, which had left such strong traces +in her mind that it had been easier ever since to quell emotion than to +incur the consequence of venting it. But this ill-tempered +anticipation that she could desire visits which might be disagreeable +to her husband, this gratuitous defence of himself against selfish +complaint on her part, was too sharp a sting to be meditated on until +after it had been resented. Dorothea had thought that she could have +been patient with John Milton, but she had never imagined him behaving +in this way; and for a moment Mr. Casaubon seemed to be stupidly +undiscerning and odiously unjust. Pity, that "new-born babe" which was +by-and-by to rule many a storm within her, did not "stride the blast" +on this occasion. With her first words, uttered in a tone that shook +him, she startled Mr. Casaubon into looking at her, and meeting the +flash of her eyes. + +"Why do you attribute to me a wish for anything that would annoy you? +You speak to me as if I were something you had to contend against. +Wait at least till I appear to consult my own pleasure apart from +yours." + +"Dorothea, you are hasty," answered Mr. Casaubon, nervously. + +Decidedly, this woman was too young to be on the formidable level of +wifehood--unless she had been pale and featureless and taken +everything for granted. + +"I think it was you who were first hasty in your false suppositions +about my feeling," said Dorothea, in the same tone. The fire was not +dissipated yet, and she thought it was ignoble in her husband not to +apologize to her. + +"We will, if you please, say no more on this subject, Dorothea. I have +neither leisure nor energy for this kind of debate." + +Here Mr. Casaubon dipped his pen and made as if he would return to his +writing, though his hand trembled so much that the words seemed to be +written in an unknown character. There are answers which, in turning +away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to have a +discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own +side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy. + +Dorothea left Ladislaw's two letters unread on her husband's +writing-table and went to her own place, the scorn and indignation +within her rejecting the reading of these letters, just as we hurl away +any trash towards which we seem to have been suspected of mean +cupidity. She did not in the least divine the subtle sources of her +husband's bad temper about these letters: she only knew that they had +caused him to offend her. She began to work at once, and her hand did +not tremble; on the contrary, in writing out the quotations which had +been given to her the day before, she felt that she was forming her +letters beautifully, and it seemed to her that she saw the construction +of the Latin she was copying, and which she was beginning to +understand, more clearly than usual. In her indignation there was a +sense of superiority, but it went out for the present in firmness of +stroke, and did not compress itself into an inward articulate voice +pronouncing the once "affable archangel" a poor creature. + +There had been this apparent quiet for half an hour, and Dorothea had +not looked away from her own table, when she heard the loud bang of a +book on the floor, and turning quickly saw Mr. Casaubon on the library +steps clinging forward as if he were in some bodily distress. She +started up and bounded towards him in an instant: he was evidently in +great straits for breath. Jumping on a stool she got close to his +elbow and said with her whole soul melted into tender alarm-- + +"Can you lean on me, dear?" + +He was still for two or three minutes, which seemed endless to her, +unable to speak or move, gasping for breath. When at last he descended +the three steps and fell backward in the large chair which Dorothea had +drawn close to the foot of the ladder, he no longer gasped but seemed +helpless and about to faint. Dorothea rang the bell violently, and +presently Mr. Casaubon was helped to the couch: he did not faint, and +was gradually reviving, when Sir James Chettam came in, having been met +in the hall with the news that Mr. Casaubon had "had a fit in the +library." + +"Good God! this is just what might have been expected," was his +immediate thought. If his prophetic soul had been urged to +particularize, it seemed to him that "fits" would have been the +definite expression alighted upon. He asked his informant, the butler, +whether the doctor had been sent for. The butler never knew his master +to want the doctor before; but would it not be right to send for a +physician? + +When Sir James entered the library, however, Mr. Casaubon could make +some signs of his usual politeness, and Dorothea, who in the reaction +from her first terror had been kneeling and sobbing by his side now +rose and herself proposed that some one should ride off for a medical +man. + +"I recommend you to send for Lydgate," said Sir James. "My mother has +called him in, and she has found him uncommonly clever. She has had a +poor opinion of the physicians since my father's death." + +Dorothea appealed to her husband, and he made a silent sign of +approval. So Mr. Lydgate was sent for and he came wonderfully soon, +for the messenger, who was Sir James Chettam's man and knew Mr. +Lydgate, met him leading his horse along the Lowick road and giving his +arm to Miss Vincy. + +Celia, in the drawing-room, had known nothing of the trouble till Sir +James told her of it. After Dorothea's account, he no longer +considered the illness a fit, but still something "of that nature." + +"Poor dear Dodo--how dreadful!" said Celia, feeling as much grieved as +her own perfect happiness would allow. Her little hands were clasped, +and enclosed by Sir James's as a bud is enfolded by a liberal calyx. +"It is very shocking that Mr. Casaubon should be ill; but I never did +like him. And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and he +ought to be, for I am sure no one else would have had him--do you +think they would?" + +"I always thought it a horrible sacrifice of your sister," said Sir +James. + +"Yes. But poor Dodo never did do what other people do, and I think she +never will." + +"She is a noble creature," said the loyal-hearted Sir James. He had +just had a fresh impression of this kind, as he had seen Dorothea +stretching her tender arm under her husband's neck and looking at him +with unspeakable sorrow. He did not know how much penitence there was +in the sorrow. + +"Yes," said Celia, thinking it was very well for Sir James to say so, +but _he_ would not have been comfortable with Dodo. "Shall I go to +her? Could I help her, do you think?" + +"I think it would be well for you just to go and see her before Lydgate +comes," said Sir James, magnanimously. "Only don't stay long." + +While Celia was gone he walked up and down remembering what he had +originally felt about Dorothea's engagement, and feeling a revival of +his disgust at Mr. Brooke's indifference. If Cadwallader--if every +one else had regarded the affair as he, Sir James, had done, the +marriage might have been hindered. It was wicked to let a young girl +blindly decide her fate in that way, without any effort to save her. +Sir James had long ceased to have any regrets on his own account: his +heart was satisfied with his engagement to Celia. But he had a +chivalrous nature (was not the disinterested service of woman among the +ideal glories of old chivalry?): his disregarded love had not turned to +bitterness; its death had made sweet odors--floating memories that +clung with a consecrating effect to Dorothea. He could remain her +brotherly friend, interpreting her actions with generous trustfulness. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + "Qui veut delasser hors de propos, lasse."--PASCAL. + + +Mr. Casaubon had no second attack of equal severity with the first, and +in a few days began to recover his usual condition. But Lydgate seemed +to think the case worth a great deal of attention. He not only used +his stethoscope (which had not become a matter of course in practice at +that time), but sat quietly by his patient and watched him. To Mr. +Casaubon's questions about himself, he replied that the source of the +illness was the common error of intellectual men--a too eager and +monotonous application: the remedy was, to be satisfied with moderate +work, and to seek variety of relaxation. Mr. Brooke, who sat by on one +occasion, suggested that Mr. Casaubon should go fishing, as Cadwallader +did, and have a turning-room, make toys, table-legs, and that kind of +thing. + +"In short, you recommend me to anticipate the arrival of my second +childhood," said poor Mr. Casaubon, with some bitterness. "These +things," he added, looking at Lydgate, "would be to me such relaxation +as tow-picking is to prisoners in a house of correction." + +"I confess," said Lydgate, smiling, "amusement is rather an +unsatisfactory prescription. It is something like telling people to +keep up their spirits. Perhaps I had better say, that you must submit +to be mildly bored rather than to go on working." + +"Yes, yes," said Mr. Brooke. "Get Dorothea to play backgammon with you +in the evenings. And shuttlecock, now--I don't know a finer game than +shuttlecock for the daytime. I remember it all the fashion. To be +sure, your eyes might not stand that, Casaubon. But you must unbend, +you know. Why, you might take to some light study: conchology, now: I +always think that must be a light study. Or get Dorothea to read you +light things, Smollett--'Roderick Random,' 'Humphrey Clinker:' they +are a little broad, but she may read anything now she's married, you +know. I remember they made me laugh uncommonly--there's a droll bit +about a postilion's breeches. We have no such humor now. I have gone +through all these things, but they might be rather new to you." + +"As new as eating thistles," would have been an answer to represent Mr. +Casaubon's feelings. But he only bowed resignedly, with due respect to +his wife's uncle, and observed that doubtless the works he mentioned +had "served as a resource to a certain order of minds." + +"You see," said the able magistrate to Lydgate, when they were outside +the door, "Casaubon has been a little narrow: it leaves him rather at a +loss when you forbid him his particular work, which I believe is +something very deep indeed--in the line of research, you know. I would +never give way to that; I was always versatile. But a clergyman is +tied a little tight. If they would make him a bishop, now!--he did a +very good pamphlet for Peel. He would have more movement then, more +show; he might get a little flesh. But I recommend you to talk to Mrs. +Casaubon. She is clever enough for anything, is my niece. Tell her, +her husband wants liveliness, diversion: put her on amusing tactics." + +Without Mr. Brooke's advice, Lydgate had determined on speaking to +Dorothea. She had not been present while her uncle was throwing out +his pleasant suggestions as to the mode in which life at Lowick might +be enlivened, but she was usually by her husband's side, and the +unaffected signs of intense anxiety in her face and voice about +whatever touched his mind or health, made a drama which Lydgate was +inclined to watch. He said to himself that he was only doing right in +telling her the truth about her husband's probable future, but he +certainly thought also that it would be interesting to talk +confidentially with her. A medical man likes to make psychological +observations, and sometimes in the pursuit of such studies is too +easily tempted into momentous prophecy which life and death easily set +at nought. Lydgate had often been satirical on this gratuitous +prediction, and he meant now to be guarded. + +He asked for Mrs. Casaubon, but being told that she was out walking, he +was going away, when Dorothea and Celia appeared, both glowing from +their struggle with the March wind. When Lydgate begged to speak with +her alone, Dorothea opened the library door which happened to be the +nearest, thinking of nothing at the moment but what he might have to +say about Mr. Casaubon. It was the first time she had entered this +room since her husband had been taken ill, and the servant had chosen +not to open the shutters. But there was light enough to read by from +the narrow upper panes of the windows. + +"You will not mind this sombre light," said Dorothea, standing in the +middle of the room. "Since you forbade books, the library has been out +of the question. But Mr. Casaubon will soon be here again, I hope. Is +he not making progress?" + +"Yes, much more rapid progress than I at first expected. Indeed, he is +already nearly in his usual state of health." + +"You do not fear that the illness will return?" said Dorothea, whose +quick ear had detected some significance in Lydgate's tone. + +"Such cases are peculiarly difficult to pronounce upon," said Lydgate. +"The only point on which I can be confident is that it will be +desirable to be very watchful on Mr. Casaubon's account, lest he should +in any way strain his nervous power." + +"I beseech you to speak quite plainly," said Dorothea, in an imploring +tone. "I cannot bear to think that there might be something which I +did not know, and which, if I had known it, would have made me act +differently." The words came out like a cry: it was evident that they +were the voice of some mental experience which lay not very far off. + +"Sit down," she added, placing herself on the nearest chair, and +throwing off her bonnet and gloves, with an instinctive discarding of +formality where a great question of destiny was concerned. + +"What you say now justifies my own view," said Lydgate. "I think it is +one's function as a medical man to hinder regrets of that sort as far +as possible. But I beg you to observe that Mr. Casaubon's case is +precisely of the kind in which the issue is most difficult to pronounce +upon. He may possibly live for fifteen years or more, without much +worse health than he has had hitherto." + +Dorothea had turned very pale, and when Lydgate paused she said in a +low voice, "You mean if we are very careful." + +"Yes--careful against mental agitation of all kinds, and against +excessive application." + +"He would be miserable, if he had to give up his work," said Dorothea, +with a quick prevision of that wretchedness. + +"I am aware of that. The only course is to try by all means, direct +and indirect, to moderate and vary his occupations. With a happy +concurrence of circumstances, there is, as I said, no immediate danger +from that affection of the heart, which I believe to have been the +cause of his late attack. On the other hand, it is possible that the +disease may develop itself more rapidly: it is one of those cases in +which death is sometimes sudden. Nothing should be neglected which +might be affected by such an issue." + +There was silence for a few moments, while Dorothea sat as if she had +been turned to marble, though the life within her was so intense that +her mind had never before swept in brief time over an equal range of +scenes and motives. + +"Help me, pray," she said, at last, in the same low voice as before. +"Tell me what I can do." + +"What do you think of foreign travel? You have been lately in Rome, I +think." + +The memories which made this resource utterly hopeless were a new +current that shook Dorothea out of her pallid immobility. + +"Oh, that would not do--that would be worse than anything," she said +with a more childlike despondency, while the tears rolled down. +"Nothing will be of any use that he does not enjoy." + +"I wish that I could have spared you this pain," said Lydgate, deeply +touched, yet wondering about her marriage. Women just like Dorothea +had not entered into his traditions. + +"It was right of you to tell me. I thank you for telling me the truth." + +"I wish you to understand that I shall not say anything to enlighten +Mr. Casaubon himself. I think it desirable for him to know nothing +more than that he must not overwork himself, and must observe certain +rules. Anxiety of any kind would be precisely the most unfavorable +condition for him." + +Lydgate rose, and Dorothea mechanically rose at the same time, +unclasping her cloak and throwing it off as if it stifled her. He was +bowing and quitting her, when an impulse which if she had been alone +would have turned into a prayer, made her say with a sob in her voice-- + +"Oh, you are a wise man, are you not? You know all about life and +death. Advise me. Think what I can do. He has been laboring all his +life and looking forward. He minds about nothing else.-- And I mind +about nothing else--" + +For years after Lydgate remembered the impression produced in him by +this involuntary appeal--this cry from soul to soul, without other +consciousness than their moving with kindred natures in the same +embroiled medium, the same troublous fitfully illuminated life. But +what could he say now except that he should see Mr. Casaubon again +to-morrow? + +When he was gone, Dorothea's tears gushed forth, and relieved her +stifling oppression. Then she dried her eyes, reminded that her +distress must not be betrayed to her husband; and looked round the room +thinking that she must order the servant to attend to it as usual, +since Mr. Casaubon might now at any moment wish to enter. On his +writing-table there were letters which had lain untouched since the +morning when he was taken ill, and among them, as Dorothea well +remembered, there were young Ladislaw's letters, the one addressed to +her still unopened. The associations of these letters had been made +the more painful by that sudden attack of illness which she felt that +the agitation caused by her anger might have helped to bring on: it +would be time enough to read them when they were again thrust upon her, +and she had had no inclination to fetch them from the library. But now +it occurred to her that they should be put out of her husband's sight: +whatever might have been the sources of his annoyance about them, he +must, if possible, not be annoyed again; and she ran her eyes first +over the letter addressed to him to assure herself whether or not it +would be necessary to write in order to hinder the offensive visit. + +Will wrote from Rome, and began by saying that his obligations to Mr. +Casaubon were too deep for all thanks not to seem impertinent. It was +plain that if he were not grateful, he must be the poorest-spirited +rascal who had ever found a generous friend. To expand in wordy thanks +would be like saying, "I am honest." But Will had come to perceive that +his defects--defects which Mr. Casaubon had himself often pointed +to--needed for their correction that more strenuous position which his +relative's generosity had hitherto prevented from being inevitable. He +trusted that he should make the best return, if return were possible, +by showing the effectiveness of the education for which he was +indebted, and by ceasing in future to need any diversion towards +himself of funds on which others might have a better claim. He was +coming to England, to try his fortune, as many other young men were +obliged to do whose only capital was in their brains. His friend +Naumann had desired him to take charge of the "Dispute"--the picture +painted for Mr. Casaubon, with whose permission, and Mrs. Casaubon's, +Will would convey it to Lowick in person. A letter addressed to the +Poste Restante in Paris within the fortnight would hinder him, if +necessary, from arriving at an inconvenient moment. He enclosed a +letter to Mrs. Casaubon in which he continued a discussion about art, +begun with her in Rome. + +Opening her own letter Dorothea saw that it was a lively continuation +of his remonstrance with her fanatical sympathy and her want of sturdy +neutral delight in things as they were--an outpouring of his young +vivacity which it was impossible to read just now. She had immediately +to consider what was to be done about the other letter: there was still +time perhaps to prevent Will from coming to Lowick. Dorothea ended by +giving the letter to her uncle, who was still in the house, and begging +him to let Will know that Mr. Casaubon had been ill, and that his +health would not allow the reception of any visitors. + +No one more ready than Mr. Brooke to write a letter: his only +difficulty was to write a short one, and his ideas in this case +expanded over the three large pages and the inward foldings. He had +simply said to Dorothea-- + +"To be sure, I will write, my dear. He's a very clever young +fellow--this young Ladislaw--I dare say will be a rising young man. +It's a good letter--marks his sense of things, you know. However, I +will tell him about Casaubon." + +But the end of Mr. Brooke's pen was a thinking organ, evolving +sentences, especially of a benevolent kind, before the rest of his mind +could well overtake them. It expressed regrets and proposed remedies, +which, when Mr. Brooke read them, seemed felicitously +worded--surprisingly the right thing, and determined a sequel which he +had never before thought of. In this case, his pen found it such a pity +young Ladislaw should not have come into the neighborhood just at +that time, in order that Mr. Brooke might make his acquaintance more +fully, and that they might go over the long-neglected Italian drawings +together--it also felt such an interest in a young man who was starting +in life with a stock of ideas--that by the end of the second page it +had persuaded Mr. Brooke to invite young Ladislaw, since he could not +be received at Lowick, to come to Tipton Grange. Why not? They could +find a great many things to do together, and this was a period of +peculiar growth--the political horizon was expanding, and--in short, +Mr. Brooke's pen went off into a little speech which it had lately +reported for that imperfectly edited organ the "Middlemarch Pioneer." +While Mr. Brooke was sealing this letter, he felt elated with an influx +of dim projects:--a young man capable of putting ideas into form, the +"Pioneer" purchased to clear the pathway for a new candidate, documents +utilized--who knew what might come of it all? Since Celia was going to +marry immediately, it would be very pleasant to have a young fellow at +table with him, at least for a time. + +But he went away without telling Dorothea what he had put into the +letter, for she was engaged with her husband, and--in fact, these +things were of no importance to her. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + How will you know the pitch of that great bell + Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute + Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal listen close + Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill. + Then shall the huge bell tremble--then the mass + With myriad waves concurrent shall respond + In low soft unison. + + +Lydgate that evening spoke to Miss Vincy of Mrs. Casaubon, and laid +some emphasis on the strong feeling she appeared to have for that +formal studious man thirty years older than herself. + +"Of course she is devoted to her husband," said Rosamond, implying a +notion of necessary sequence which the scientific man regarded as the +prettiest possible for a woman; but she was thinking at the same time +that it was not so very melancholy to be mistress of Lowick Manor with +a husband likely to die soon. "Do you think her very handsome?" + +"She certainly is handsome, but I have not thought about it," said +Lydgate. + +"I suppose it would be unprofessional," said Rosamond, dimpling. "But +how your practice is spreading! You were called in before to the +Chettams, I think; and now, the Casaubons." + +"Yes," said Lydgate, in a tone of compulsory admission. "But I don't +really like attending such people so well as the poor. The cases are +more monotonous, and one has to go through more fuss and listen more +deferentially to nonsense." + +"Not more than in Middlemarch," said Rosamond. "And at least you go +through wide corridors and have the scent of rose-leaves everywhere." + +"That is true, Mademoiselle de Montmorenci," said Lydgate, just bending +his head to the table and lifting with his fourth finger her delicate +handkerchief which lay at the mouth of her reticule, as if to enjoy its +scent, while he looked at her with a smile. + +But this agreeable holiday freedom with which Lydgate hovered about the +flower of Middlemarch, could not continue indefinitely. It was not +more possible to find social isolation in that town than elsewhere, and +two people persistently flirting could by no means escape from "the +various entanglements, weights, blows, clashings, motions, by which +things severally go on." Whatever Miss Vincy did must be remarked, and +she was perhaps the more conspicuous to admirers and critics because +just now Mrs. Vincy, after some struggle, had gone with Fred to stay a +little while at Stone Court, there being no other way of at once +gratifying old Featherstone and keeping watch against Mary Garth, who +appeared a less tolerable daughter-in-law in proportion as Fred's +illness disappeared. + +Aunt Bulstrode, for example, came a little oftener into Lowick Gate to +see Rosamond, now she was alone. For Mrs. Bulstrode had a true +sisterly feeling for her brother; always thinking that he might have +married better, but wishing well to the children. Now Mrs. Bulstrode +had a long-standing intimacy with Mrs. Plymdale. They had nearly the +same preferences in silks, patterns for underclothing, china-ware, and +clergymen; they confided their little troubles of health and household +management to each other, and various little points of superiority on +Mrs. Bulstrode's side, namely, more decided seriousness, more +admiration for mind, and a house outside the town, sometimes served to +give color to their conversation without dividing them--well-meaning +women both, knowing very little of their own motives. + +Mrs. Bulstrode, paying a morning visit to Mrs. Plymdale, happened to +say that she could not stay longer, because she was going to see poor +Rosamond. + +"Why do you say 'poor Rosamond'?" said Mrs. Plymdale, a round-eyed +sharp little woman, like a tamed falcon. + +"She is so pretty, and has been brought up in such thoughtlessness. +The mother, you know, had always that levity about her, which makes me +anxious for the children." + +"Well, Harriet, if I am to speak my mind," said Mrs. Plymdale, with +emphasis, "I must say, anybody would suppose you and Mr. Bulstrode +would be delighted with what has happened, for you have done everything +to put Mr. Lydgate forward." + +"Selina, what do you mean?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, in genuine surprise. + +"Not but what I am truly thankful for Ned's sake," said Mrs. Plymdale. +"He could certainly better afford to keep such a wife than some people +can; but I should wish him to look elsewhere. Still a mother has +anxieties, and some young men would take to a bad life in consequence. +Besides, if I was obliged to speak, I should say I was not fond of +strangers coming into a town." + +"I don't know, Selina," said Mrs. Bulstrode, with a little emphasis in +her turn. "Mr. Bulstrode was a stranger here at one time. Abraham and +Moses were strangers in the land, and we are told to entertain +strangers. And especially," she added, after a slight pause, "when +they are unexceptionable." + +"I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke as a +mother." + +"Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a niece +of mine marrying your son." + +"Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy--I am sure it is nothing else," said +Mrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to +"Harriet" on this subject. "No young man in Middlemarch was good +enough for her: I have heard her mother say as much. That is not a +Christian spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found a +man as proud as herself." + +"You don't mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr. +Lydgate?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her own +ignorance. + +"Is it possible you don't know, Harriet?" + +"Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really never +hear any. You see so many people that I don't see. Your circle is +rather different from ours." + +"Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite--and +yours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at one time, you meant him +for Kate, when she is a little older." + +"I don't believe there can be anything serious at present," said Mrs. +Bulstrode. "My brother would certainly have told me." + +"Well, people have different ways, but I understand that nobody can see +Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate together without taking them to be engaged. +However, it is not my business. Shall I put up the pattern of mittens?" + +After this Mrs. Bulstrode drove to her niece with a mind newly +weighted. She was herself handsomely dressed, but she noticed with a +little more regret than usual that Rosamond, who was just come in and +met her in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped. Mrs. +Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother, and had none +of her husband's low-toned pallor. She had a good honest glance and +used no circumlocution. + +"You are alone, I see, my dear," she said, as they entered the +drawing-room together, looking round gravely. Rosamond felt sure that +her aunt had something particular to say, and they sat down near each +other. Nevertheless, the quilling inside Rosamond's bonnet was so +charming that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thing +for Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes, which were rather fine, rolled +round that ample quilled circuit, while she spoke. + +"I have just heard something about you that has surprised me very much, +Rosamond." + +"What is that, aunt?" Rosamond's eyes also were roaming over her +aunt's large embroidered collar. + +"I can hardly believe it--that you should be engaged without my knowing +it--without your father's telling me." Here Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes +finally rested on Rosamond's, who blushed deeply, and said-- + +"I am not engaged, aunt." + +"How is it that every one says so, then--that it is the town's talk?" + +"The town's talk is of very little consequence, I think," said +Rosamond, inwardly gratified. + +"Oh, my dear, be more thoughtful; don't despise your neighbors so. +Remember you are turned twenty-two now, and you will have no fortune: +your father, I am sure, will not be able to spare you anything. Mr. +Lydgate is very intellectual and clever; I know there is an attraction +in that. I like talking to such men myself; and your uncle finds him +very useful. But the profession is a poor one here. To be sure, this +life is not everything; but it is seldom a medical man has true +religious views--there is too much pride of intellect. And you are not +fit to marry a poor man. + +"Mr. Lydgate is not a poor man, aunt. He has very high connections." + +"He told me himself he was poor." + +"That is because he is used to people who have a high style of living." + +"My dear Rosamond, _you_ must not think of living in high style." + +Rosamond looked down and played with her reticule. She was not a fiery +young lady and had no sharp answers, but she meant to live as she +pleased. + +"Then it is really true?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking very earnestly +at her niece. "You are thinking of Mr. Lydgate--there is some +understanding between you, though your father doesn't know. Be open, +my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?" + +Poor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. She had been quite easy +as to Lydgate's feeling and intention, but now when her aunt put this +question she did not like being unable to say Yes. Her pride was hurt, +but her habitual control of manner helped her. + +"Pray excuse me, aunt. I would rather not speak on the subject." + +"You would not give your heart to a man without a decided prospect, I +trust, my dear. And think of the two excellent offers I know of that +you have refused!--and one still within your reach, if you will not +throw it away. I knew a very great beauty who married badly at last, +by doing so. Mr. Ned Plymdale is a nice young man--some might think +good-looking; and an only son; and a large business of that kind is +better than a profession. Not that marrying is everything. I would +have you seek first the kingdom of God. But a girl should keep her +heart within her own power." + +"I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were. I have +already refused him. If I loved, I should love at once and without +change," said Rosamond, with a great sense of being a romantic heroine, +and playing the part prettily. + +"I see how it is, my dear," said Mrs. Bulstrode, in a melancholy voice, +rising to go. "You have allowed your affections to be engaged without +return." + +"No, indeed, aunt," said Rosamond, with emphasis. + +"Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a serious attachment +to you?" + +Rosamond's cheeks by this time were persistently burning, and she felt +much mortification. She chose to be silent, and her aunt went away all +the more convinced. + +Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do what +his wife bade him, and she now, without telling her reasons, desired +him on the next opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr. +Lydgate whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The result was +a decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being cross-questioned, showed +that Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had any attachment that +could issue in matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had a +serious duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tete-a-tete +with Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy's +health, and expressions of her sincere anxiety for her brother's large +family, to general remarks on the dangers which lay before young people +with regard to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild and +disappointing, making little return for the money spent on them, and a +girl was exposed to many circumstances which might interfere with her +prospects. + +"Especially when she has great attractions, and her parents see much +company," said Mrs. Bulstrode "Gentlemen pay her attention, and engross +her all to themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and that +drives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, +to interfere with the prospects of any girl." Here Mrs. Bulstrode fixed +her eyes on him, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, if not of +rebuke. + +"Clearly," said Lydgate, looking at her--perhaps even staring a little +in return. "On the other hand, a man must be a great coxcomb to go +about with a notion that he must not pay attention to a young lady lest +she should fall in love with him, or lest others should think she must." + +"Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your advantages are. You know +that our young men here cannot cope with you. Where you frequent a +house it may militate very much against a girl's making a desirable +settlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers even if they +are made." + +Lydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the Middlemarch +Orlandos than he was annoyed by the perception of Mrs. Bulstrode's +meaning. She felt that she had spoken as impressively as it was +necessary to do, and that in using the superior word "militate" she had +thrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were still +evident enough. + +Lydgate was fuming a little, pushed his hair back with one hand, felt +curiously in his waistcoat-pocket with the other, and then stooped to +beckon the tiny black spaniel, which had the insight to decline his +hollow caresses. It would not have been decent to go away, because he +had been dining with other guests, and had just taken tea. But Mrs. +Bulstrode, having no doubt that she had been understood, turned the +conversation. + +Solomon's Proverbs, I think, have omitted to say, that as the sore +palate findeth grit, so an uneasy consciousness heareth innuendoes. +The next day Mr. Farebrother, parting from Lydgate in the street, +supposed that they should meet at Vincy's in the evening. Lydgate +answered curtly, no--he had work to do--he must give up going out in +the evening. + +"What! you are going to get lashed to the mast, eh, and are stopping +your ears?" said the Vicar. "Well, if you don't mean to be won by the +sirens, you are right to take precautions in time." + +A few days before, Lydgate would have taken no notice of these words as +anything more than the Vicar's usual way of putting things. They +seemed now to convey an innuendo which confirmed the impression that he +had been making a fool of himself and behaving so as to be +misunderstood: not, he believed, by Rosamond herself; she, he felt +sure, took everything as lightly as he intended it. She had an +exquisite tact and insight in relation to all points of manners; but +the people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. However, +the mistake should go no farther. He resolved--and kept his +resolution--that he would not go to Mr. Vincy's except on business. + +Rosamond became very unhappy. The uneasiness first stirred by her +aunt's questions grew and grew till at the end of ten days that she had +not seen Lydgate, it grew into terror at the blank that might possibly +come--into foreboding of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply +wipes out the hopes of mortals. The world would have a new dreariness +for her, as a wilderness that a magician's spells had turned for a +little while into a garden. She felt that she was beginning to know +the pang of disappointed love, and that no other man could be the +occasion of such delightful aerial building as she had been enjoying +for the last six months. Poor Rosamond lost her appetite and felt as +forlorn as Ariadne--as a charming stage Ariadne left behind with all +her boxes full of costumes and no hope of a coach. + +There are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all alike +called love, and claim the privileges of a sublime rage which is an +apology for everything (in literature and the drama). Happily Rosamond +did not think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fair +hair as beautifully as usual, and kept herself proudly calm. Her most +cheerful supposition was that her aunt Bulstrode had interfered in some +way to hinder Lydgate's visits: everything was better than a +spontaneous indifference in him. Any one who imagines ten days too +short a time--not for falling into leanness, lightness, or other +measurable effects of passion, but--for the whole spiritual circuit of +alarmed conjecture and disappointment, is ignorant of what can go on in +the elegant leisure of a young lady's mind. + +On the eleventh day, however, Lydgate when leaving Stone Court was +requested by Mrs. Vincy to let her husband know that there was a marked +change in Mr. Featherstone's health, and that she wished him to come to +Stone Court on that day. Now Lydgate might have called at the +warehouse, or might have written a message on a leaf of his pocket-book +and left it at the door. Yet these simple devices apparently did not +occur to him, from which we may conclude that he had no strong +objection to calling at the house at an hour when Mr. Vincy was not at +home, and leaving the message with Miss Vincy. A man may, from various +motives, decline to give his company, but perhaps not even a sage would +be gratified that nobody missed him. It would be a graceful, easy way +of piecing on the new habits to the old, to have a few playful words +with Rosamond about his resistance to dissipation, and his firm resolve +to take long fasts even from sweet sounds. It must be confessed, also, +that momentary speculations as to all the possible grounds for Mrs. +Bulstrode's hints had managed to get woven like slight clinging hairs +into the more substantial web of his thoughts. + +Miss Vincy was alone, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in that +he felt a corresponding embarrassment, and instead of any playfulness, +he began at once to speak of his reason for calling, and to beg her, +almost formally, to deliver the message to her father. Rosamond, who +at the first moment felt as if her happiness were returning, was keenly +hurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and she assented +coldly, without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-work +which she had in her hands enabling her to avoid looking at Lydgate +higher than his chin. In all failures, the beginning is certainly the +half of the whole. After sitting two long moments while he moved his +whip and could say nothing, Lydgate rose to go, and Rosamond, made +nervous by her struggle between mortification and the wish not to +betray it, dropped her chain as if startled, and rose too, +mechanically. Lydgate instantaneously stooped to pick up the chain. +When he rose he was very near to a lovely little face set on a fair +long neck which he had been used to see turning about under the most +perfect management of self-contented grace. But as he raised his eyes +now he saw a certain helpless quivering which touched him quite newly, +and made him look at Rosamond with a questioning flash. At this moment +she was as natural as she had ever been when she was five years old: +she felt that her tears had risen, and it was no use to try to do +anything else than let them stay like water on a blue flower or let +them fall over her cheeks, even as they would. + +That moment of naturalness was the crystallizing feather-touch: it +shook flirtation into love. Remember that the ambitious man who was +looking at those Forget-me-nots under the water was very warm-hearted +and rash. He did not know where the chain went; an idea had thrilled +through the recesses within him which had a miraculous effect in +raising the power of passionate love lying buried there in no sealed +sepulchre, but under the lightest, easily pierced mould. His words +were quite abrupt and awkward; but the tone made them sound like an +ardent, appealing avowal. + +"What is the matter? you are distressed. Tell me, pray." + +Rosamond had never been spoken to in such tones before. I am not sure +that she knew what the words were: but she looked at Lydgate and the +tears fell over her cheeks. There could have been no more complete +answer than that silence, and Lydgate, forgetting everything else, +completely mastered by the outrush of tenderness at the sudden belief +that this sweet young creature depended on him for her joy, actually +put his arms round her, folding her gently and protectingly--he was +used to being gentle with the weak and suffering--and kissed each of +the two large tears. This was a strange way of arriving at an +understanding, but it was a short way. Rosamond was not angry, but she +moved backward a little in timid happiness, and Lydgate could now sit +near her and speak less incompletely. Rosamond had to make her little +confession, and he poured out words of gratitude and tenderness with +impulsive lavishment. In half an hour he left the house an engaged +man, whose soul was not his own, but the woman's to whom he had bound +himself. + +He came again in the evening to speak with Mr. Vincy, who, just +returned from Stone Court, was feeling sure that it would not be long +before he heard of Mr. Featherstone's demise. The felicitous word +"demise," which had seasonably occurred to him, had raised his spirits +even above their usual evening pitch. The right word is always a +power, and communicates its definiteness to our action. Considered as +a demise, old Featherstone's death assumed a merely legal aspect, so +that Mr. Vincy could tap his snuff-box over it and be jovial, without +even an intermittent affectation of solemnity; and Mr. Vincy hated both +solemnity and affectation. Who was ever awe struck about a testator, +or sang a hymn on the title to real property? Mr. Vincy was inclined +to take a jovial view of all things that evening: he even observed to +Lydgate that Fred had got the family constitution after all, and would +soon be as fine a fellow as ever again; and when his approbation of +Rosamond's engagement was asked for, he gave it with astonishing +facility, passing at once to general remarks on the desirableness of +matrimony for young men and maidens, and apparently deducing from the +whole the appropriateness of a little more punch. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + "They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk." + --SHAKESPEARE: Tempest. + + +The triumphant confidence of the Mayor founded on Mr. Featherstone's +insistent demand that Fred and his mother should not leave him, was a +feeble emotion compared with all that was agitating the breasts of the +old man's blood-relations, who naturally manifested more their sense of +the family tie and were more visibly numerous now that he had become +bedridden. Naturally: for when "poor Peter" had occupied his arm-chair +in the wainscoted parlor, no assiduous beetles for whom the cook +prepares boiling water could have been less welcome on a hearth which +they had reasons for preferring, than those persons whose Featherstone +blood was ill-nourished, not from penuriousness on their part, but from +poverty. Brother Solomon and Sister Jane were rich, and the family +candor and total abstinence from false politeness with which they were +always received seemed to them no argument that their brother in the +solemn act of making his will would overlook the superior claims of +wealth. Themselves at least he had never been unnatural enough to +banish from his house, and it seemed hardly eccentric that he should +have kept away Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and the rest, who had no +shadow of such claims. They knew Peter's maxim, that money was a good +egg, and should be laid in a warm nest. + +But Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and all the needy exiles, held a +different point of view. Probabilities are as various as the faces to +be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there, +from Jupiter to Judy, if you only look with creative inclination. To +the poorer and least favored it seemed likely that since Peter had done +nothing for them in his life, he would remember them at the last. +Jonah argued that men liked to make a surprise of their wills, while +Martha said that nobody need be surprised if he left the best part of +his money to those who least expected it. Also it was not to be +thought but that an own brother "lying there" with dropsy in his legs +must come to feel that blood was thicker than water, and if he didn't +alter his will, he might have money by him. At any rate some +blood-relations should be on the premises and on the watch against +those who were hardly relations at all. Such things had been known as +forged wills and disputed wills, which seemed to have the golden-hazy +advantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live out of them. Again, +those who were no blood-relations might be caught making away with +things--and poor Peter "lying there" helpless! Somebody should be on +the watch. But in this conclusion they were at one with Solomon and +Jane; also, some nephews, nieces, and cousins, arguing with still +greater subtilty as to what might be done by a man able to "will away" +his property and give himself large treats of oddity, felt in a +handsome sort of way that there was a family interest to be attended +to, and thought of Stone Court as a place which it would be nothing but +right for them to visit. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Cranch, living +with some wheeziness in the Chalky Flats, could not undertake the +journey; but her son, as being poor Peter's own nephew, could represent +her advantageously, and watch lest his uncle Jonah should make an +unfair use of the improbable things which seemed likely to happen. In +fact there was a general sense running in the Featherstone blood that +everybody must watch everybody else, and that it would be well for +everybody else to reflect that the Almighty was watching him. + +Thus Stone Court continually saw one or other blood-relation alighting +or departing, and Mary Garth had the unpleasant task of carrying their +messages to Mr. Featherstone, who would see none of them, and sent her +down with the still more unpleasant task of telling them so. As +manager of the household she felt bound to ask them in good provincial +fashion to stay and eat; but she chose to consult Mrs. Vincy on the +point of extra down-stairs consumption now that Mr. Featherstone was +laid up. + +"Oh, my dear, you must do things handsomely where there's last illness +and a property. God knows, I don't grudge them every ham in the +house--only, save the best for the funeral. Have some stuffed veal +always, and a fine cheese in cut. You must expect to keep open house +in these last illnesses," said liberal Mrs. Vincy, once more of +cheerful note and bright plumage. + +But some of the visitors alighted and did not depart after the handsome +treating to veal and ham. Brother Jonah, for example (there are such +unpleasant people in most families; perhaps even in the highest +aristocracy there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and +bloated at greater expense)--Brother Jonah, I say, having come down in +the world, was mainly supported by a calling which he was modest enough +not to boast of, though it was much better than swindling either on +exchange or turf, but which did not require his presence at Brassing so +long as he had a good corner to sit in and a supply of food. He chose +the kitchen-corner, partly because he liked it best, and partly because +he did not want to sit with Solomon, concerning whom he had a strong +brotherly opinion. Seated in a famous arm-chair and in his best suit, +constantly within sight of good cheer, he had a comfortable +consciousness of being on the premises, mingled with fleeting +suggestions of Sunday and the bar at the Green Man; and he informed +Mary Garth that he should not go out of reach of his brother Peter +while that poor fellow was above ground. The troublesome ones in a +family are usually either the wits or the idiots. Jonah was the wit +among the Featherstones, and joked with the maid-servants when they +came about the hearth, but seemed to consider Miss Garth a suspicious +character, and followed her with cold eyes. + +Mary would have borne this one pair of eyes with comparative ease, but +unfortunately there was young Cranch, who, having come all the way from +the Chalky Flats to represent his mother and watch his uncle Jonah, +also felt it his duty to stay and to sit chiefly in the kitchen to give +his uncle company. Young Cranch was not exactly the balancing point +between the wit and the idiot,--verging slightly towards the latter +type, and squinting so as to leave everything in doubt about his +sentiments except that they were not of a forcible character. When +Mary Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Jonah Featherstone began to +follow her with his cold detective eyes, young Cranch turning his head +in the same direction seemed to insist on it that she should remark how +he was squinting, as if he did it with design, like the gypsies when +Borrow read the New Testament to them. This was rather too much for +poor Mary; sometimes it made her bilious, sometimes it upset her +gravity. One day that she had an opportunity she could not resist +describing the kitchen scene to Fred, who would not be hindered from +immediately going to see it, affecting simply to pass through. But no +sooner did he face the four eyes than he had to rush through the +nearest door which happened to lead to the dairy, and there under the +high roof and among the pans he gave way to laughter which made a +hollow resonance perfectly audible in the kitchen. He fled by another +doorway, but Mr. Jonah, who had not before seen Fred's white +complexion, long legs, and pinched delicacy of face, prepared many +sarcasms in which these points of appearance were wittily combined with +the lowest moral attributes. + +"Why, Tom, _you_ don't wear such gentlemanly trousers--you haven't got +half such fine long legs," said Jonah to his nephew, winking at the +same time, to imply that there was something more in these statements +than their undeniableness. Tom looked at his legs, but left it +uncertain whether he preferred his moral advantages to a more vicious +length of limb and reprehensible gentility of trouser. + +In the large wainscoted parlor too there were constantly pairs of eyes +on the watch, and own relatives eager to be "sitters-up." Many came, +lunched, and departed, but Brother Solomon and the lady who had been +Jane Featherstone for twenty-five years before she was Mrs. Waule found +it good to be there every day for hours, without other calculable +occupation than that of observing the cunning Mary Garth (who was so +deep that she could be found out in nothing) and giving occasional dry +wrinkly indications of crying--as if capable of torrents in a wetter +season--at the thought that they were not allowed to go into Mr. +Featherstone's room. For the old man's dislike of his own family +seemed to get stronger as he got less able to amuse himself by saying +biting things to them. Too languid to sting, he had the more venom +refluent in his blood. + +Not fully believing the message sent through Mary Garth, they had +presented themselves together within the door of the bedroom, both in +black--Mrs. Waule having a white handkerchief partially unfolded in her +hand--and both with faces in a sort of half-mourning purple; while Mrs. +Vincy with her pink cheeks and pink ribbons flying was actually +administering a cordial to their own brother, and the +light-complexioned Fred, his short hair curling as might be expected in +a gambler's, was lolling at his ease in a large chair. + +Old Featherstone no sooner caught sight of these funereal figures +appearing in spite of his orders than rage came to strengthen him more +successfully than the cordial. He was propped up on a bed-rest, and +always had his gold-headed stick lying by him. He seized it now and +swept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he could, +apparently to ban these ugly spectres, crying in a hoarse sort of +screech-- + +"Back, back, Mrs. Waule! Back, Solomon!" + +"Oh, Brother. Peter," Mrs. Waule began--but Solomon put his hand +before her repressingly. He was a large-cheeked man, nearly seventy, +with small furtive eyes, and was not only of much blander temper but +thought himself much deeper than his brother Peter; indeed not likely +to be deceived in any of his fellow-men, inasmuch as they could not +well be more greedy and deceitful than he suspected them of being. +Even the invisible powers, he thought, were likely to be soothed by a +bland parenthesis here and there--coming from a man of property, who +might have been as impious as others. + +"Brother Peter," he said, in a wheedling yet gravely official tone, +"It's nothing but right I should speak to you about the Three Crofts +and the Manganese. The Almighty knows what I've got on my mind--" + +"Then he knows more than I want to know," said Peter, laying down his +stick with a show of truce which had a threat in it too, for he +reversed the stick so as to make the gold handle a club in case of +closer fighting, and looked hard at Solomon's bald head. + +"There's things you might repent of, Brother, for want of speaking to +me," said Solomon, not advancing, however. "I could sit up with you +to-night, and Jane with me, willingly, and you might take your own time +to speak, or let me speak." + +"Yes, I shall take my own time--you needn't offer me yours," said Peter. + +"But you can't take your own time to die in, Brother," began Mrs. +Waule, with her usual woolly tone. "And when you lie speechless you +may be tired of having strangers about you, and you may think of me and +my children"--but here her voice broke under the touching thought which +she was attributing to her speechless brother; the mention of ourselves +being naturally affecting. + +"No, I shan't," said old Featherstone, contradictiously. "I shan't +think of any of you. I've made my will, I tell you, I've made my +will." Here he turned his head towards Mrs. Vincy, and swallowed some +more of his cordial. + +"Some people would be ashamed to fill up a place belonging by rights to +others," said Mrs. Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the same direction. + +"Oh, sister," said Solomon, with ironical softness, "you and me are not +fine, and handsome, and clever enough: we must be humble and let smart +people push themselves before us." + +Fred's spirit could not bear this: rising and looking at Mr. +Featherstone, he said, "Shall my mother and I leave the room, sir, that +you may be alone with your friends?" + +"Sit down, I tell you," said old Featherstone, snappishly. "Stop where +you are. Good-by, Solomon," he added, trying to wield his stick again, +but failing now that he had reversed the handle. "Good-by, Mrs. Waule. +Don't you come again." + +"I shall be down-stairs, Brother, whether or no," said Solomon. "I +shall do my duty, and it remains to be seen what the Almighty will +allow." + +"Yes, in property going out of families," said Mrs. Waule, in +continuation,--"and where there's steady young men to carry on. But I +pity them who are not such, and I pity their mothers. Good-by, Brother +Peter." + +"Remember, I'm the eldest after you, Brother, and prospered from the +first, just as you did, and have got land already by the name of +Featherstone," said Solomon, relying much on that reflection, as one +which might be suggested in the watches of the night. "But I bid you +good-by for the present." + +Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr. Featherstone pull his +wig on each side and shut his eyes with his mouth-widening grimace, as +if he were determined to be deaf and blind. + +None the less they came to Stone Court daily and sat below at the post +of duty, sometimes carrying on a slow dialogue in an undertone in which +the observation and response were so far apart, that any one hearing +them might have imagined himself listening to speaking automata, in +some doubt whether the ingenious mechanism would really work, or wind +itself up for a long time in order to stick and be silent. Solomon and +Jane would have been sorry to be quick: what that led to might be seen +on the other side of the wall in the person of Brother Jonah. + +But their watch in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by the +presence of other guests from far or near. Now that Peter Featherstone +was up-stairs, his property could be discussed with all that local +enlightenment to be found on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch +neighbors expressed much agreement with the family and sympathy with +their interest against the Vincys, and feminine visitors were even +moved to tears, in conversation with Mrs. Waule, when they recalled the +fact that they themselves had been disappointed in times past by +codicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful elderly +gentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had been spared for +something better. Such conversation paused suddenly, like an organ +when the bellows are let drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; and +all eyes were turned on her as a possible legatee, or one who might get +access to iron chests. + +But the younger men who were relatives or connections of the family, +were disposed to admire her in this problematic light, as a girl who +showed much conduct, and who among all the chances that were flying +might turn out to be at least a moderate prize. Hence she had her +share of compliments and polite attentions. + +Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a distinguished bachelor and +auctioneer of those parts, much concerned in the sale of land and +cattle: a public character, indeed, whose name was seen on widely +distributed placards, and who might reasonably be sorry for those who +did not know of him. He was second cousin to Peter Featherstone, and +had been treated by him with more amenity than any other relative, +being useful in matters of business; and in that programme of his +funeral which the old man had himself dictated, he had been named as a +Bearer. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull--nothing +more than a sincere sense of his own merit, which, he was aware, in +case of rivalry might tell against competitors; so that if Peter +Featherstone, who so far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, had +behaved like as good a soul as ever breathed, should have done anything +handsome by him, all he could say was, that he had never fished and +fawned, but had advised him to the best of his experience, which now +extended over twenty years from the time of his apprenticeship at +fifteen, and was likely to yield a knowledge of no surreptitious kind. +His admiration was far from being confined to himself, but was +accustomed professionally as well as privately to delight in estimating +things at a high rate. He was an amateur of superior phrases, and +never used poor language without immediately correcting himself--which +was fortunate, as he was rather loud, and given to predominate, +standing or walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat with +the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion, trimming himself +rapidly with his fore-finger, and marking each new series in these +movements by a busy play with his large seals. There was occasionally +a little fierceness in his demeanor, but it was directed chiefly +against false opinion, of which there is so much to correct in the +world that a man of some reading and experience necessarily has his +patience tried. He felt that the Featherstone family generally was of +limited understanding, but being a man of the world and a public +character, took everything as a matter of course, and even went to +converse with Mr. Jonah and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubting +that he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questions +concerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody had observed that Mr. Borthrop +Trumbull, being an auctioneer, was bound to know the nature of +everything, he would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with the +sense that he came pretty near that. On the whole, in an auctioneering +way, he was an honorable man, not ashamed of his business, and feeling +that "the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert," if introduced to him, would +not fail to recognize his importance. + +"I don't mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale, +Miss Garth, if you will allow me," he said, coming into the parlor at +half-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeing +old Featherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs. +Waule and Solomon. + +"It's not necessary for you to go out;--let me ring the bell." + +"Thank you," said Mary, "I have an errand." + +"Well, Mr. Trumbull, you're highly favored," said Mrs. Waule. + +"What! seeing the old man?" said the auctioneer, playing with his seals +dispassionately. "Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably." Here +he pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively. + +"Might anybody ask what their brother has been saying?" said Solomon, +in a soft tone of humility, in which he had a sense of luxurious +cunning, he being a rich man and not in need of it. + +"Oh yes, anybody may ask," said Mr. Trumbull, with loud and +good-humored though cutting sarcasm. "Anybody may interrogate. Any +one may give their remarks an interrogative turn," he continued, his +sonorousness rising with his style. "This is constantly done by good +speakers, even when they anticipate no answer. It is what we call a +figure of speech--speech at a high figure, as one may say." The +eloquent auctioneer smiled at his own ingenuity. + +"I shouldn't be sorry to hear he'd remembered you, Mr. Trumbull," said +Solomon. "I never was against the deserving. It's the undeserving I'm +against." + +"Ah, there it is, you see, there it is," said Mr. Trumbull, +significantly. "It can't be denied that undeserving people have been +legatees, and even residuary legatees. It is so, with testamentary +dispositions." Again he pursed up his lips and frowned a little. + +"Do you mean to say for certain, Mr. Trumbull, that my brother has left +his land away from our family?" said Mrs. Waule, on whom, as an +unhopeful woman, those long words had a depressing effect. + +"A man might as well turn his land into charity land at once as leave +it to some people," observed Solomon, his sister's question having +drawn no answer. + +"What, Blue-Coat land?" said Mrs. Waule, again. "Oh, Mr. Trumbull, you +never can mean to say that. It would be flying in the face of the +Almighty that's prospered him." + +While Mrs. Waule was speaking, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walked away from +the fireplace towards the window, patrolling with his fore-finger round +the inside of his stock, then along his whiskers and the curves of his +hair. He now walked to Miss Garth's work-table, opened a book which +lay there and read the title aloud with pompous emphasis as if he were +offering it for sale: + +"'Anne of Geierstein' (pronounced Jeersteen) or the 'Maiden of the +Mist, by the author of Waverley.'" Then turning the page, he began +sonorously--"The course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since +the series of events which are related in the following chapters took +place on the Continent." He pronounced the last truly admirable word +with the accent on the last syllable, not as unaware of vulgar usage, +but feeling that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which +his reading had given to the whole. + +And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the moments for +answering Mrs. Waule's question had gone by safely, while she and +Solomon, watching Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that high +learning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop Trumbull +really knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but he could hardly +have been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been arrested +for misprision of treason. + +"I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale," he said, +reassuringly. "As a man with public business, I take a snack when I +can. I will back this ham," he added, after swallowing some morsels +with alarming haste, "against any ham in the three kingdoms. In my +opinion it is better than the hams at Freshitt Hall--and I think I am +a tolerable judge." + +"Some don't like so much sugar in their hams," said Mrs. Waule. "But +my poor brother would always have sugar." + +"If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, God +bless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, I +know. There is some gratification to a gentleman"--here Mr. +Trumbull's voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance--"in having this +kind of ham set on his table." + +He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew his +chair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner +side of his legs, which he stroked approvingly--Mr. Trumbull having +all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the +predominant races of the north. + +"You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth," he observed, +when Mary re-entered. "It is by the author of 'Waverley': that is Sir +Walter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself--a very nice +thing, a very superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe.' You will not +get any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think--he will not, in my +opinion, be speedily surpassed. I have just been reading a portion at +the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen.' It commences well." (Things +never began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both in +private life and on his handbills.) "You are a reader, I see. Do you +subscribe to our Middlemarch library?" + +"No," said Mary. "Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book." + +"I am a great bookman myself," returned Mr. Trumbull. "I have no less +than two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are well +selected. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, +and others. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention, +Miss Garth." + +"I am much obliged," said Mary, hastening away again, "but I have +little time for reading." + +"I should say my brother has done something for _her_ in his will," +said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the door +behind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary. + +"His first wife was a poor match for him, though," said Mrs. Waule. +"She brought him nothing: and this young woman is only her niece,--and +very proud. And my brother has always paid her wage." + +"A sensible girl though, in my opinion," said Mr. Trumbull, finishing +his ale and starting up with an emphatic adjustment of his waistcoat. +"I have observed her when she has been mixing medicine in drops. She +minds what she is doing, sir. That is a great point in a woman, and a +great point for our friend up-stairs, poor dear old soul. A man whose +life is of any value should think of his wife as a nurse: that is what +I should do, if I married; and I believe I have lived single long +enough not to make a mistake in that line. Some men must marry to +elevate themselves a little, but when I am in need of that, I hope some +one will tell me so--I hope some individual will apprise me of the +fact. I wish you good morning, Mrs. Waule. Good morning, Mr. Solomon. +I trust we shall meet under less melancholy auspices." + +When Mr. Trumbull had departed with a fine bow, Solomon, leaning +forward, observed to his sister, "You may depend, Jane, my brother has +left that girl a lumping sum." + +"Anybody would think so, from the way Mr. Trumbull talks," said Jane. +Then, after a pause, "He talks as if my daughters wasn't to be trusted +to give drops." + +"Auctioneers talk wild," said Solomon. "Not but what Trumbull has made +money." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + "Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; + And let us all to meditation." + --2 Henry VI. + + +That night after twelve o'clock Mary Garth relieved the watch in Mr. +Featherstone's room, and sat there alone through the small hours. She +often chose this task, in which she found some pleasure, +notwithstanding the old man's testiness whenever he demanded her +attentions. There were intervals in which she could sit perfectly +still, enjoying the outer stillness and the subdued light. The red +fire with its gently audible movement seemed like a solemn existence +calmly independent of the petty passions, the imbecile desires, the +straining after worthless uncertainties, which were daily moving her +contempt. Mary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse herself +well sitting in twilight with her hands in her lap; for, having early +had strong reason to believe that things were not likely to be arranged +for her peculiar satisfaction, she wasted no time in astonishment and +annoyance at that fact. And she had already come to take life very +much as a comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous resolution +not to act the mean or treacherous part. Mary might have become +cynical if she had not had parents whom she honored, and a well of +affectionate gratitude within her, which was all the fuller because she +had learned to make no unreasonable claims. + +She sat to-night revolving, as she was wont, the scenes of the day, her +lips often curling with amusement at the oddities to which her fancy +added fresh drollery: people were so ridiculous with their illusions, +carrying their fool's caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque +while everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptions +to everything, as if when all the world looked yellow under a lamp they +alone were rosy. Yet there were some illusions under Mary's eyes which +were not quite comic to her. She was secretly convinced, though she +had no other grounds than her close observation of old Featherstone's +nature, that in spite of his fondness for having the Vincys about him, +they were as likely to be disappointed as any of the relations whom he +kept at a distance. She had a good deal of disdain for Mrs. Vincy's +evident alarm lest she and Fred should be alone together, but it did +not hinder her from thinking anxiously of the way in which Fred would +be affected, if it should turn out that his uncle had left him as poor +as ever. She could make a butt of Fred when he was present, but she +did not enjoy his follies when he was absent. + +Yet she liked her thoughts: a vigorous young mind not overbalanced by +passion, finds a good in making acquaintance with life, and watches its +own powers with interest. Mary had plenty of merriment within. + +Her thought was not veined by any solemnity or pathos about the old man +on the bed: such sentiments are easier to affect than to feel about an +aged creature whose life is not visibly anything but a remnant of +vices. She had always seen the most disagreeable side of Mr. +Featherstone: he was not proud of her, and she was only useful to him. +To be anxious about a soul that is always snapping at you must be left +to the saints of the earth; and Mary was not one of them. She had +never returned him a harsh word, and had waited on him faithfully: that +was her utmost. Old Featherstone himself was not in the least anxious +about his soul, and had declined to see Mr. Tucker on the subject. + +To-night he had not snapped, and for the first hour or two he lay +remarkably still, until at last Mary heard him rattling his bunch of +keys against the tin box which he always kept in the bed beside him. +About three o'clock he said, with remarkable distinctness, "Missy, come +here!" + +Mary obeyed, and found that he had already drawn the tin box from under +the clothes, though he usually asked to have this done for him; and he +had selected the key. He now unlocked the box, and, drawing from it +another key, looked straight at her with eyes that seemed to have +recovered all their sharpness and said, "How many of 'em are in the +house?" + +"You mean of your own relations, sir," said Mary, well used to the old +man's way of speech. He nodded slightly and she went on. + +"Mr. Jonah Featherstone and young Cranch are sleeping here." + +"Oh ay, they stick, do they? and the rest--they come every day, I'll +warrant--Solomon and Jane, and all the young uns? They come peeping, +and counting and casting up?" + +"Not all of them every day. Mr. Solomon and Mrs. Waule are here every +day, and the others come often." + +The old man listened with a grimace while she spoke, and then said, +relaxing his face, "The more fools they. You hearken, missy. It's +three o'clock in the morning, and I've got all my faculties as well as +ever I had in my life. I know all my property, and where the money's +put out, and everything. And I've made everything ready to change my +mind, and do as I like at the last. Do you hear, missy? I've got my +faculties." + +"Well, sir?" said Mary, quietly. + +He now lowered his tone with an air of deeper cunning. "I've made two +wills, and I'm going to burn one. Now you do as I tell you. This is +the key of my iron chest, in the closet there. You push well at the +side of the brass plate at the top, till it goes like a bolt: then you +can put the key in the front lock and turn it. See and do that; and +take out the topmost paper--Last Will and Testament--big printed." + +"No, sir," said Mary, in a firm voice, "I cannot do that." + +"Not do it? I tell you, you must," said the old man, his voice +beginning to shake under the shock of this resistance. + +"I cannot touch your iron chest or your will. I must refuse to do +anything that might lay me open to suspicion." + +"I tell you, I'm in my right mind. Shan't I do as I like at the last? +I made two wills on purpose. Take the key, I say." + +"No, sir, I will not," said Mary, more resolutely still. Her repulsion +was getting stronger. + +"I tell you, there's no time to lose." + +"I cannot help that, sir. I will not let the close of your life soil +the beginning of mine. I will not touch your iron chest or your will." +She moved to a little distance from the bedside. + +The old man paused with a blank stare for a little while, holding the +one key erect on the ring; then with an agitated jerk he began to work +with his bony left hand at emptying the tin box before him. + +"Missy," he began to say, hurriedly, "look here! take the money--the +notes and gold--look here--take it--you shall have it all--do as I +tell you." + +He made an effort to stretch out the key towards her as far as +possible, and Mary again retreated. + +"I will not touch your key or your money, sir. Pray don't ask me to do +it again. If you do, I must go and call your brother." + +He let his hand fall, and for the first time in her life Mary saw old +Peter Featherstone begin to cry childishly. She said, in as gentle a +tone as she could command, "Pray put up your money, sir;" and then went +away to her seat by the fire, hoping this would help to convince him +that it was useless to say more. Presently he rallied and said +eagerly-- + +"Look here, then. Call the young chap. Call Fred Vincy." + +Mary's heart began to beat more quickly. Various ideas rushed through +her mind as to what the burning of a second will might imply. She had +to make a difficult decision in a hurry. + +"I will call him, if you will let me call Mr. Jonah and others with +him." + +"Nobody else, I say. The young chap. I shall do as I like." + +"Wait till broad daylight, sir, when every one is stirring. Or let me +call Simmons now, to go and fetch the lawyer? He can be here in less +than two hours." + +"Lawyer? What do I want with the lawyer? Nobody shall know--I say, +nobody shall know. I shall do as I like." + +"Let me call some one else, sir," said Mary, persuasively. She did not +like her position--alone with the old man, who seemed to show a strange +flaring of nervous energy which enabled him to speak again and again +without falling into his usual cough; yet she desired not to push +unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. "Let me, pray, +call some one else." + +"You let me alone, I say. Look here, missy. Take the money. You'll +never have the chance again. It's pretty nigh two hundred--there's +more in the box, and nobody knows how much there was. Take it and do +as I tell you." + +Mary, standing by the fire, saw its red light falling on the old man, +propped up on his pillows and bed-rest, with his bony hand holding out +the key, and the money lying on the quilt before him. She never forgot +that vision of a man wanting to do as he liked at the last. But the +way in which he had put the offer of the money urged her to speak with +harder resolution than ever. + +"It is of no use, sir. I will not do it. Put up your money. I will +not touch your money. I will do anything else I can to comfort you; +but I will not touch your keys or your money." + +"Anything else anything else!" said old Featherstone, with hoarse rage, +which, as if in a nightmare, tried to be loud, and yet was only just +audible. "I want nothing else. You come here--you come here." + +Mary approached him cautiously, knowing him too well. She saw him +dropping his keys and trying to grasp his stick, while he looked at her +like an aged hyena, the muscles of his face getting distorted with the +effort of his hand. She paused at a safe distance. + +"Let me give you some cordial," she said, quietly, "and try to compose +yourself. You will perhaps go to sleep. And to-morrow by daylight you +can do as you like." + +He lifted the stick, in spite of her being beyond his reach, and threw +it with a hard effort which was but impotence. It fell, slipping over +the foot of the bed. Mary let it lie, and retreated to her chair by +the fire. By-and-by she would go to him with the cordial. Fatigue +would make him passive. It was getting towards the chillest moment of +the morning, the fire had got low, and she could see through the chink +between the moreen window-curtains the light whitened by the blind. +Having put some wood on the fire and thrown a shawl over her, she sat +down, hoping that Mr. Featherstone might now fall asleep. If she went +near him the irritation might be kept up. He had said nothing after +throwing the stick, but she had seen him taking his keys again and +laying his right hand on the money. He did not put it up, however, and +she thought that he was dropping off to sleep. + +But Mary herself began to be more agitated by the remembrance of what +she had gone through, than she had been by the reality--questioning +those acts of hers which had come imperatively and excluded all +question in the critical moment. + +Presently the dry wood sent out a flame which illuminated every +crevice, and Mary saw that the old man was lying quietly with his head +turned a little on one side. She went towards him with inaudible +steps, and thought that his face looked strangely motionless; but the +next moment the movement of the flame communicating itself to all +objects made her uncertain. The violent beating of her heart rendered +her perceptions so doubtful that even when she touched him and listened +for his breathing, she could not trust her conclusions. She went to +the window and gently propped aside the curtain and blind, so that the +still light of the sky fell on the bed. + +The next moment she ran to the bell and rang it energetically. In a +very little while there was no longer any doubt that Peter Featherstone +was dead, with his right hand clasping the keys, and his left hand +lying on the heap of notes and gold. + + + + + +BOOK IV. + + + + + +THREE LOVE PROBLEMS. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + 1st Gent. Such men as this are feathers, chips, and straws. + Carry no weight, no force. + 2d Gent. But levity + Is causal too, and makes the sum of weight. + For power finds its place in lack of power; + Advance is cession, and the driven ship + May run aground because the helmsman's thought + Lacked force to balance opposites." + + +It was on a morning of May that Peter Featherstone was buried. In the +prosaic neighborhood of Middlemarch, May was not always warm and sunny, +and on this particular morning a chill wind was blowing the blossoms +from the surrounding gardens on to the green mounds of Lowick +churchyard. Swiftly moving clouds only now and then allowed a gleam to +light up any object, whether ugly or beautiful, that happened to stand +within its golden shower. In the churchyard the objects were +remarkably various, for there was a little country crowd waiting to see +the funeral. The news had spread that it was to be a "big burying;" +the old gentleman had left written directions about everything and +meant to have a funeral "beyond his betters." This was true; for old +Featherstone had not been a Harpagon whose passions had all been +devoured by the ever-lean and ever-hungry passion of saving, and who +would drive a bargain with his undertaker beforehand. He loved money, +but he also loved to spend it in gratifying his peculiar tastes, and +perhaps he loved it best of all as a means of making others feel his +power more or less uncomfortably. If any one will here contend that +there must have been traits of goodness in old Featherstone, I will not +presume to deny this; but I must observe that goodness is of a modest +nature, easily discouraged, and when much privacy, elbowed in early +life by unabashed vices, is apt to retire into extreme privacy, so that +it is more easily believed in by those who construct a selfish old +gentleman theoretically, than by those who form the narrower judgments +based on his personal acquaintance. In any case, he had been bent on +having a handsome funeral, and on having persons "bid" to it who would +rather have stayed at home. He had even desired that female relatives +should follow him to the grave, and poor sister Martha had taken a +difficult journey for this purpose from the Chalky Flats. She and Jane +would have been altogether cheered (in a tearful manner) by this sign +that a brother who disliked seeing them while he was living had been +prospectively fond of their presence when he should have become a +testator, if the sign had not been made equivocal by being extended to +Mrs. Vincy, whose expense in handsome crape seemed to imply the most +presumptuous hopes, aggravated by a bloom of complexion which told +pretty plainly that she was not a blood-relation, but of that generally +objectionable class called wife's kin. + +We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the +brood of desire; and poor old Featherstone, who laughed much at the way +in which others cajoled themselves, did not escape the fellowship of +illusion. In writing the programme for his burial he certainly did not +make clear to himself that his pleasure in the little drama of which it +formed a part was confined to anticipation. In chuckling over the +vexations he could inflict by the rigid clutch of his dead hand, he +inevitably mingled his consciousness with that livid stagnant presence, +and so far as he was preoccupied with a future life, it was with one of +gratification inside his coffin. Thus old Featherstone was +imaginative, after his fashion. + +However, the three mourning-coaches were filled according to the +written orders of the deceased. There were pall-bearers on horseback, +with the richest scarfs and hatbands, and even the under-bearers had +trappings of woe which were of a good well-priced quality. The black +procession, when dismounted, looked the larger for the smallness of the +churchyard; the heavy human faces and the black draperies shivering in +the wind seemed to tell of a world strangely incongruous with the +lightly dropping blossoms and the gleams of sunshine on the daisies. +The clergyman who met the procession was Mr. Cadwallader--also +according to the request of Peter Featherstone, prompted as usual by +peculiar reasons. Having a contempt for curates, whom he always called +understrappers, he was resolved to be buried by a beneficed clergyman. +Mr. Casaubon was out of the question, not merely because he declined +duty of this sort, but because Featherstone had an especial dislike to +him as the rector of his own parish, who had a lien on the land in the +shape of tithe, also as the deliverer of morning sermons, which the old +man, being in his pew and not at all sleepy, had been obliged to sit +through with an inward snarl. He had an objection to a parson stuck up +above his head preaching to him. But his relations with Mr. +Cadwallader had been of a different kind: the trout-stream which ran +through Mr. Casaubon's land took its course through Featherstone's +also, so that Mr. Cadwallader was a parson who had had to ask a favor +instead of preaching. Moreover, he was one of the high gentry living +four miles away from Lowick, and was thus exalted to an equal sky with +the sheriff of the county and other dignities vaguely regarded as +necessary to the system of things. There would be a satisfaction in +being buried by Mr. Cadwallader, whose very name offered a fine +opportunity for pronouncing wrongly if you liked. + +This distinction conferred on the Rector of Tipton and Freshitt was the +reason why Mrs. Cadwallader made one of the group that watched old +Featherstone's funeral from an upper window of the manor. She was not +fond of visiting that house, but she liked, as she said, to see +collections of strange animals such as there would be at this funeral; +and she had persuaded Sir James and the young Lady Chettam to drive the +Rector and herself to Lowick in order that the visit might be +altogether pleasant. + +"I will go anywhere with you, Mrs. Cadwallader," Celia had said; "but I +don't like funerals." + +"Oh, my dear, when you have a clergyman in your family you must +accommodate your tastes: I did that very early. When I married +Humphrey I made up my mind to like sermons, and I set out by liking the +end very much. That soon spread to the middle and the beginning, +because I couldn't have the end without them." + +"No, to be sure not," said the Dowager Lady Chettam, with stately +emphasis. + +The upper window from which the funeral could be well seen was in the +room occupied by Mr. Casaubon when he had been forbidden to work; but +he had resumed nearly his habitual style of life now in spite of +warnings and prescriptions, and after politely welcoming Mrs. +Cadwallader had slipped again into the library to chew a cud of erudite +mistake about Cush and Mizraim. + +But for her visitors Dorothea too might have been shut up in the +library, and would not have witnessed this scene of old Featherstone's +funeral, which, aloof as it seemed to be from the tenor of her life, +always afterwards came back to her at the touch of certain sensitive +points in memory, just as the vision of St. Peter's at Rome was inwoven +with moods of despondency. Scenes which make vital changes in our +neighbors' lot are but the background of our own, yet, like a +particular aspect of the fields and trees, they become associated for +us with the epochs of our own history, and make a part of that unity +which lies in the selection of our keenest consciousness. + +The dream-like association of something alien and ill-understood with +the deepest secrets of her experience seemed to mirror that sense of +loneliness which was due to the very ardor of Dorothea's nature. The +country gentry of old time lived in a rarefied social air: dotted apart +on their stations up the mountain they looked down with imperfect +discrimination on the belts of thicker life below. And Dorothea was +not at ease in the perspective and chilliness of that height. + +"I shall not look any more," said Celia, after the train had entered +the church, placing herself a little behind her husband's elbow so that +she could slyly touch his coat with her cheek. "I dare say Dodo likes +it: she is fond of melancholy things and ugly people." + +"I am fond of knowing something about the people I live among," said +Dorothea, who had been watching everything with the interest of a monk +on his holiday tour. "It seems to me we know nothing of our neighbors, +unless they are cottagers. One is constantly wondering what sort of +lives other people lead, and how they take things. I am quite obliged +to Mrs. Cadwallader for coming and calling me out of the library." + +"Quite right to feel obliged to me," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Your rich +Lowick farmers are as curious as any buffaloes or bisons, and I dare +say you don't half see them at church. They are quite different from +your uncle's tenants or Sir James's--monsters--farmers without +landlords--one can't tell how to class them." + +"Most of these followers are not Lowick people," said Sir James; "I +suppose they are legatees from a distance, or from Middlemarch. +Lovegood tells me the old fellow has left a good deal of money as well +as land." + +"Think of that now! when so many younger sons can't dine at their own +expense," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Ah," turning round at the sound of +the opening door, "here is Mr. Brooke. I felt that we were incomplete +before, and here is the explanation. You are come to see this odd +funeral, of course?" + +"No, I came to look after Casaubon--to see how he goes on, you know. +And to bring a little news--a little news, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, +nodding at Dorothea as she came towards him. "I looked into the +library, and I saw Casaubon over his books. I told him it wouldn't do: +I said, 'This will never do, you know: think of your wife, Casaubon.' +And he promised me to come up. I didn't tell him my news: I said, he +must come up." + +"Ah, now they are coming out of church," Mrs. Cadwallader exclaimed. +"Dear me, what a wonderfully mixed set! Mr. Lydgate as doctor, I +suppose. But that is really a good looking woman, and the fair young +man must be her son. Who are they, Sir James, do you know?" + +"I see Vincy, the Mayor of Middlemarch; they are probably his wife and +son," said Sir James, looking interrogatively at Mr. Brooke, who nodded +and said-- + +"Yes, a very decent family--a very good fellow is Vincy; a credit to +the manufacturing interest. You have seen him at my house, you know." + +"Ah, yes: one of your secret committee," said Mrs. Cadwallader, +provokingly. + +"A coursing fellow, though," said Sir James, with a fox-hunter's +disgust. + +"And one of those who suck the life out of the wretched handloom +weavers in Tipton and Freshitt. That is how his family look so fair +and sleek," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Those dark, purple-faced people +are an excellent foil. Dear me, they are like a set of jugs! Do look +at Humphrey: one might fancy him an ugly archangel towering above them +in his white surplice." + +"It's a solemn thing, though, a funeral," said Mr. Brooke, "if you take +it in that light, you know." + +"But I am not taking it in that light. I can't wear my solemnity too +often, else it will go to rags. It was time the old man died, and none +of these people are sorry." + +"How piteous!" said Dorothea. "This funeral seems to me the most +dismal thing I ever saw. It is a blot on the morning I cannot bear to +think that any one should die and leave no love behind." + +She was going to say more, but she saw her husband enter and seat +himself a little in the background. The difference his presence made +to her was not always a happy one: she felt that he often inwardly +objected to her speech. + +"Positively," exclaimed Mrs. Cadwallader, "there is a new face come out +from behind that broad man queerer than any of them: a little round +head with bulging eyes--a sort of frog-face--do look. He must be of +another blood, I think." + +"Let me see!" said Celia, with awakened curiosity, standing behind Mrs. +Cadwallader and leaning forward over her head. "Oh, what an odd face!" +Then with a quick change to another sort of surprised expression, she +added, "Why, Dodo, you never told me that Mr. Ladislaw was come again!" + +Dorothea felt a shock of alarm: every one noticed her sudden paleness +as she looked up immediately at her uncle, while Mr. Casaubon looked at +her. + +"He came with me, you know; he is my guest--puts up with me at the +Grange," said Mr. Brooke, in his easiest tone, nodding at Dorothea, as +if the announcement were just what she might have expected. "And we +have brought the picture at the top of the carriage. I knew you would +be pleased with the surprise, Casaubon. There you are to the very +life--as Aquinas, you know. Quite the right sort of thing. And you +will hear young Ladislaw talk about it. He talks uncommonly +well--points out this, that, and the other--knows art and everything of +that kind--companionable, you know--is up with you in any track--what +I've been wanting a long while." + +Mr. Casaubon bowed with cold politeness, mastering his irritation, but +only so far as to be silent. He remembered Will's letter quite as well +as Dorothea did; he had noticed that it was not among the letters which +had been reserved for him on his recovery, and secretly concluding that +Dorothea had sent word to Will not to come to Lowick, he had shrunk +with proud sensitiveness from ever recurring to the subject. He now +inferred that she had asked her uncle to invite Will to the Grange; and +she felt it impossible at that moment to enter into any explanation. + +Mrs. Cadwallader's eyes, diverted from the churchyard, saw a good deal +of dumb show which was not so intelligible to her as she could have +desired, and could not repress the question, "Who is Mr. Ladislaw?" + +"A young relative of Mr. Casaubon's," said Sir James, promptly. His +good-nature often made him quick and clear-seeing in personal matters, +and he had divined from Dorothea's glance at her husband that there was +some alarm in her mind. + +"A very nice young fellow--Casaubon has done everything for him," +explained Mr. Brooke. "He repays your expense in him, Casaubon," he +went on, nodding encouragingly. "I hope he will stay with me a long +while and we shall make something of my documents. I have plenty of +ideas and facts, you know, and I can see he is just the man to put them +into shape--remembers what the right quotations are, omne tulit +punctum, and that sort of thing--gives subjects a kind of turn. I +invited him some time ago when you were ill, Casaubon; Dorothea said +you couldn't have anybody in the house, you know, and she asked me to +write." + +Poor Dorothea felt that every word of her uncle's was about as pleasant +as a grain of sand in the eye to Mr. Casaubon. It would be altogether +unfitting now to explain that she had not wished her uncle to invite +Will Ladislaw. She could not in the least make clear to herself the +reasons for her husband's dislike to his presence--a dislike painfully +impressed on her by the scene in the library; but she felt the +unbecomingness of saying anything that might convey a notion of it to +others. Mr. Casaubon, indeed, had not thoroughly represented those +mixed reasons to himself; irritated feeling with him, as with all of +us, seeking rather for justification than for self-knowledge. But he +wished to repress outward signs, and only Dorothea could discern the +changes in her husband's face before he observed with more of dignified +bending and sing-song than usual-- + +"You are exceedingly hospitable, my dear sir; and I owe you +acknowledgments for exercising your hospitality towards a relative of +mine." + +The funeral was ended now, and the churchyard was being cleared. + +"Now you can see him, Mrs. Cadwallader," said Celia. "He is just like +a miniature of Mr. Casaubon's aunt that hangs in Dorothea's +boudoir--quite nice-looking." + +"A very pretty sprig," said Mrs. Cadwallader, dryly. "What is your +nephew to be, Mr. Casaubon?" + +"Pardon me, he is not my nephew. He is my cousin." + +"Well, you know," interposed Mr. Brooke, "he is trying his wings. He +is just the sort of young fellow to rise. I should be glad to give him +an opportunity. He would make a good secretary, now, like Hobbes, +Milton, Swift--that sort of man." + +"I understand," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "One who can write speeches." + +"I'll fetch him in now, eh, Casaubon?" said Mr. Brooke. "He wouldn't +come in till I had announced him, you know. And we'll go down and look +at the picture. There you are to the life: a deep subtle sort of +thinker with his fore-finger on the page, while Saint Bonaventure or +somebody else, rather fat and florid, is looking up at the Trinity. +Everything is symbolical, you know--the higher style of art: I like +that up to a certain point, but not too far--it's rather straining to +keep up with, you know. But you are at home in that, Casaubon. And +your painter's flesh is good--solidity, transparency, everything of +that sort. I went into that a great deal at one time. However, I'll +go and fetch Ladislaw." + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + "Non, je ne comprends pas de plus charmant plaisir + Que de voir d'heritiers une troupe affligee + Le maintien interdit, et la mine allongee, + Lire un long testament ou pales, etonnes + On leur laisse un bonsoir avec un pied de nez. + Pour voir au naturel leur tristesse profonde + Je reviendrais, je crois, expres de l'autre monde." + --REGNARD: Le Legataire Universel. + + +When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied +species made much private remark on each other, and were tempted to +think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were +eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. (I fear the +part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too painful for +art to represent, those birds being disadvantageously naked about the +gullet, and apparently without rites and ceremonies.) + +The same sort of temptation befell the Christian Carnivora who formed +Peter Featherstone's funeral procession; most of them having their +minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the +most of. The long-recognized blood-relations and connections by +marriage made already a goodly number, which, multiplied by +possibilities, presented a fine range for jealous conjecture and +pathetic hopefulness. Jealousy of the Vincys had created a fellowship +in hostility among all persons of the Featherstone blood, so that in +the absence of any decided indication that one of themselves was to +have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy +should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it left abundant +feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained +towards Mary Garth. Solomon found time to reflect that Jonah was +undeserving, and Jonah to abuse Solomon as greedy; Jane, the elder +sister, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the +young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was +sorry to think that Jane was so "having." These nearest of kin were +naturally impressed with the unreasonableness of expectations in +cousins and second cousins, and used their arithmetic in reckoning the +large sums that small legacies might mount to, if there were too many +of them. Two cousins were present to hear the will, and a second +cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. This second cousin was a Middlemarch +mercer of polite manners and superfluous aspirates. The two cousins +were elderly men from Brassing, one of them conscious of claims on the +score of inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of oysters +and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the other entirely +saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a stick, and conscious of +claims based on no narrow performance but on merit generally: both +blameless citizens of Brassing, who wished that Jonah Featherstone did +not live there. The wit of a family is usually best received among +strangers. + +"Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred--_that_ you may +depend,--I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him," said Solomon, +musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral. + +"Dear, dear!" said poor sister Martha, whose imagination of hundreds +had been habitually narrowed to the amount of her unpaid rent. + +But in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were +disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among +them as if from the moon. This was the stranger described by Mrs. +Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three and thirty, +whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and hair +sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge +of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness +of expression. Here, clearly, was a new legatee; else why was he +bidden as a mourner? Here were new possibilities, raising a new +uncertainty, which almost checked remark in the mourning-coaches. We +are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has existed +very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we +have been making up our world entirely without it. No one had seen +this questionable stranger before except Mary Garth, and she knew +nothing more of him than that he had twice been to Stone Court when Mr. +Featherstone was down-stairs, and had sat alone with him for several +hours. She had found an opportunity of mentioning this to her father, +and perhaps Caleb's were the only eyes, except the lawyer's, which +examined the stranger with more of inquiry than of disgust or +suspicion. Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity, +was interested in the verification of his own guesses, and the calmness +with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent +glances much as if he were valuing a tree, made a fine contrast with +the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, +whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and +took his seat near the door to make part of the audience when the will +should be read. Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone +up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. Waule, +seeing two vacant seats between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had +the spirit to move next to that great authority, who was handling his +watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a determination not to show +anything so compromising to a man of ability as wonder or surprise. + +"I suppose you know everything about what my poor brother's done, Mr. +Trumbull," said Mrs. Waule, in the lowest of her woolly tones, while +she turned her crape-shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbull's ear. + +"My good lady, whatever was told me was told in confidence," said the +auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret. + +"Them who've made sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet," +Mrs. Waule continued, finding some relief in this communication. + +"Hopes are often delusive," said Mr. Trumbull, still in confidence. + +"Ah!" said Mrs. Waule, looking across at the Vincys, and then moving +back to the side of her sister Martha. + +"It's wonderful how close poor Peter was," she said, in the same +undertones. "We none of us know what he might have had on his mind. I +only hope and trust he wasn't a worse liver than we think of, Martha." + +Poor Mrs. Cranch was bulky, and, breathing asthmatically, had the +additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving +them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to +sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ. + +"I never _was_ covetous, Jane," she replied; "but I have six children +and have buried three, and I didn't marry into money. The eldest, that +sits there, is but nineteen--so I leave you to guess. And stock always +short, and land most awkward. But if ever I've begged and prayed; it's +been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the +other childless after twice marrying--anybody might think!" + +Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg, and +had taken out his snuff-box and tapped it, but had put it again +unopened as an indulgence which, however clarifying to the judgment, +was unsuited to the occasion. "I shouldn't wonder if Featherstone had +better feelings than any of us gave him credit for," he observed, in +the ear of his wife. "This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it +looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they +are humble, not to be ashamed of them. I should be all the better +pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. They may be uncommonly +useful to fellows in a small way." + +"Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk and everything," +said Mrs. Vincy, contentedly. + +But I am sorry to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing +a laugh, which would have been more unsuitable than his father's +snuff-box. Fred had overheard Mr. Jonah suggesting something about a +"love-child," and with this thought in his mind, the stranger's face, +which happened to be opposite him, affected him too ludicrously. Mary +Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and his +recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to +change seats with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. Fred was +feeling as good-naturedly as possible towards everybody, including +Rigg; and having some relenting towards all these people who were less +lucky than he was aware of being himself, he would not for the world +have behaved amiss; still, it was particularly easy to laugh. + +But the entrance of the lawyer and the two brothers drew every one's +attention. The lawyer was Mr. Standish, and he had come to Stone Court +this morning believing that he knew thoroughly well who would be +pleased and who disappointed before the day was over. The will he +expected to read was the last of three which he had drawn up for Mr. +Featherstone. Mr. Standish was not a man who varied his manners: he +behaved with the same deep-voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as +if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, +which would be "very fine, by God!" of the last bulletins concerning +the King, and of the Duke of Clarence, who was a sailor every inch of +him, and just the man to rule over an island like Britain. + +Old Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking at the fire that +Standish would be surprised some day: it is true that if he had done as +he liked at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by another lawyer, he +would not have secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in +ruminating on it. And certainly Mr. Standish was surprised, but not at +all sorry; on the contrary, he rather enjoyed the zest of a little +curiosity in his own mind, which the discovery of a second will added +to the prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone family. + +As to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were held in utter +suspense: it seemed to them that the old will would have a certain +validity, and that there might be such an interlacement of poor Peter's +former and latter intentions as to create endless "lawing" before +anybody came by their own--an inconvenience which would have at least +the advantage of going all round. Hence the brothers showed a +thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-entered with Mr. Standish; but +Solomon took out his white handkerchief again with a sense that in any +case there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals, however +dry, was customarily served up in lawn. + +Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing excitement at this +moment was Mary Garth, in the consciousness that it was she who had +virtually determined the production of this second will, which might +have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. No soul +except herself knew what had passed on that final night. + +"The will I hold in my hand," said Mr. Standish, who, seated at the +table in the middle of the room, took his time about everything, +including the coughs with which he showed a disposition to clear his +voice, "was drawn up by myself and executed by our deceased friend on +the 9th of August, 1825. But I find that there is a subsequent +instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, +hardly a year later than the previous one. And there is farther, I +see"--Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his +spectacles--"a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1, 1828." + +"Dear, dear!" said sister Martha, not meaning to be audible, but driven +to some articulation under this pressure of dates. + +"I shall begin by reading the earlier will," continued Mr. Standish, +"since such, as appears by his not having destroyed the document, was +the intention of deceased." + +The preamble was felt to be rather long, and several besides Solomon +shook their heads pathetically, looking on the ground: all eyes avoided +meeting other eyes, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the +table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. +When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, it was +safe for her to look at them. And at the sound of the first "give and +bequeath" she could see all complexions changing subtly, as if some +faint vibration were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg. He +sat in unaltered calm, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more +important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests +which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. Fred +blushed, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box +in his hand, though he kept it closed. + +The small bequests came first, and even the recollection that there was +another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could +not quell the rising disgust and indignation. One likes to be done +well by in every tense, past, present, and future. And here was Peter +capable five years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own +brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own nephews and +nieces: the Garths were not mentioned, but Mrs. Vincy and Rosamond were +each to have a hundred. Mr. Trumbull was to have the gold-headed cane +and fifty pounds; the other second cousins and the cousins present were +each to have the like handsome sum, which, as the saturnine cousin +observed, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was +much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not +present--problematical, and, it was to be feared, low connections. +Altogether, reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand disposed of. +Where then had Peter meant the rest of the money to go--and where the +land? and what was revoked and what not revoked--and was the revocation +for better or for worse? All emotion must be conditional, and might turn +out to be the wrong thing. The men were strong enough to bear up and +keep quiet under this confused suspense; some letting their lower lip +fall, others pursing it up, according to the habit of their muscles. +But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; +poor Mrs. Cranch being half moved with the consolation of getting any +hundreds at all without working for them, and half aware that her share +was scanty; whereas Mrs. Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the +sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else +was to have much. The general expectation now was that the "much" +would fall to Fred Vincy, but the Vincys themselves were surprised when +ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be +bequeathed to him:--was the land coming too? Fred bit his lips: it was +difficult to help smiling, and Mrs. Vincy felt herself the happiest of +women--possible revocation shrinking out of sight in this dazzling +vision. + +There was still a residue of personal property as well as the land, but +the whole was left to one person, and that person was--O +possibilities! O expectations founded on the favor of "close" old +gentlemen! O endless vocatives that would still leave expression +slipping helpless from the measurement of mortal folly!--that +residuary legatee was Joshua Rigg, who was also sole executor, and who +was to take thenceforth the name of Featherstone. + +There was a rustling which seemed like a shudder running round the +room. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced +no surprise. + +"A most singular testamentary disposition!" exclaimed Mr. Trumbull, +preferring for once that he should be considered ignorant in the past. +"But there is a second will--there is a further document. We have not +yet heard the final wishes of the deceased." + +Mary Garth was feeling that what they had yet to hear were not the +final wishes. The second will revoked everything except the legacies +to the low persons before mentioned (some alterations in these being +the occasion of the codicil), and the bequest of all the land lying in +Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua +Rigg. The residue of the property was to be devoted to the erection +and endowment of almshouses for old men, to be called Featherstone's +Alms-Houses, and to be built on a piece of land near Middlemarch +already bought for the purpose by the testator, he wishing--so the +document declared--to please God Almighty. Nobody present had a +farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-headed cane. It took some time +for the company to recover the power of expression. Mary dared not +look at Fred. + +Mr. Vincy was the first to speak--after using his snuff-box +energetically--and he spoke with loud indignation. "The most +unaccountable will I ever heard! I should say he was not in his right +mind when he made it. I should say this last will was void," added Mr. +Vincy, feeling that this expression put the thing in the true light. +"Eh Standish?" + +"Our deceased friend always knew what he was about, I think," said Mr. +Standish. "Everything is quite regular. Here is a letter from +Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will. He drew it up. A very +respectable solicitor." + +"I never noticed any alienation of mind--any aberration of intellect in +the late Mr. Featherstone," said Borthrop Trumbull, "but I call this +will eccentric. I was always willingly of service to the old soul; and +he intimated pretty plainly a sense of obligation which would show +itself in his will. The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an +acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations." + +"There's nothing very surprising in the matter that I can see," said +Caleb Garth. "Anybody might have had more reason for wondering if the +will had been what you might expect from an open-minded straightforward +man. For my part, I wish there was no such thing as a will." + +"That's a strange sentiment to come from a Christian man, by God!" said +the lawyer. "I should like to know how you will back that up, Garth!" + +"Oh," said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-tips with +nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. It always seemed to him +that words were the hardest part of "business." + +But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard. "Well, he always +was a fine hypocrite, was my brother Peter. But this will cuts out +everything. If I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn +me from Brassing. I'll put a white hat and drab coat on to-morrow." + +"Dear, dear," wept Mrs. Cranch, "and we've been at the expense of +travelling, and that poor lad sitting idle here so long! It's the +first time I ever heard my brother Peter was so wishful to please God +Almighty; but if I was to be struck helpless I must say it's hard--I +can think no other." + +"It'll do him no good where he's gone, that's my belief," said Solomon, +with a bitterness which was remarkably genuine, though his tone could +not help being sly. "Peter was a bad liver, and almshouses won't cover +it, when he's had the impudence to show it at the last." + +"And all the while had got his own lawful family--brothers and sisters +and nephews and nieces--and has sat in church with 'em whenever he +thought well to come," said Mrs. Waule. "And might have left his +property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance +or unsteadiness in no manner of way--and not so poor but what they +could have saved every penny and made more of it. And me--the trouble +I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly--and him +with things on his mind all the while that might make anybody's flesh +creep. But if the Almighty's allowed it, he means to punish him for +it. Brother Solomon, I shall be going, if you'll drive me." + +"I've no desire to put my foot on the premises again," said Solomon. +"I've got land of my own and property of my own to will away." + +"It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world," said Jonah. "It never +answers to have a bit of spirit in you. You'd better be a dog in the +manger. But those above ground might learn a lesson. One fool's will +is enough in a family." + +"There's more ways than one of being a fool," said Solomon. "I shan't +leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I shan't leave it to +foundlings from Africay. I like Featherstones that were brewed such, +and not turned Featherstones with sticking the name on 'em." + +Solomon addressed these remarks in a loud aside to Mrs. Waule as he +rose to accompany her. Brother Jonah felt himself capable of much more +stinging wit than this, but he reflected that there was no use in +offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, until you were certain +that he was quite without intentions of hospitality towards witty men +whose name he was about to bear. + +Mr. Joshua Rigg, in fact, appeared to trouble himself little about any +innuendoes, but showed a notable change of manner, walking coolly up to +Mr. Standish and putting business questions with much coolness. He had +a high chirping voice and a vile accent. Fred, whom he no longer moved +to laughter, thought him the lowest monster he had ever seen. But Fred +was feeling rather sick. The Middlemarch mercer waited for an +opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no knowing +how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require hose for, and +profits were more to be relied on than legacies. Also, the mercer, as +a second cousin, was dispassionate enough to feel curiosity. + +Mr. Vincy, after his one outburst, had remained proudly silent, though +too much preoccupied with unpleasant feelings to think of moving, till +he observed that his wife had gone to Fred's side and was crying +silently while she held her darling's hand. He rose immediately, and +turning his back on the company while he said to her in an +undertone,--"Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my +dear, before these people," he added in his usual loud voice--"Go and +order the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste." + +Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her +father. She met Fred in the hall, and now for the first time had the +courage to look at him. He had that withered sort of paleness which +will sometimes come on young faces, and his hand was very cold when she +shook it. Mary too was agitated; she was conscious that fatally, +without will of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to +Fred's lot. + +"Good-by," she said, with affectionate sadness. "Be brave, Fred. I do +believe you are better without the money. What was the good of it to +Mr. Featherstone?" + +"That's all very fine," said Fred, pettishly. "What is a fellow to do? +I must go into the Church now." (He knew that this would vex Mary: +very well; then she must tell him what else he could do.) "And I +thought I should be able to pay your father at once and make everything +right. And you have not even a hundred pounds left you. What shall +you do now, Mary?" + +"Take another situation, of course, as soon as I can get one. My +father has enough to do to keep the rest, without me. Good-by." + +In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed +Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors. Another stranger had +been brought to settle in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, but in the +case of Mr. Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with immediate +visible consequences than speculation as to the effect which his +presence might have in the future. No soul was prophetic enough to +have any foreboding as to what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg. + +And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low +subject. Historical parallels are remarkably efficient in this way. +The chief objection to them is, that the diligent narrator may lack +space, or (what is often the same thing) may not be able to think of +them with any degree of particularity, though he may have a +philosophical confidence that if known they would be illustrative. It +seems an easier and shorter way to dignity, to observe that--since +there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where +you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa--whatever has +been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by +being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly +consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of +regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel +himself virtually in company with persons of some style. Thus while I +tell the truth about loobies, my reader's imagination need not be +entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and the petty sums +which any bankrupt of high standing would be sorry to retire upon, may +be lifted to the level of high commercial transactions by the +inexpensive addition of proportional ciphers. + +As to any provincial history in which the agents are all of high moral +rank, that must be of a date long posterior to the first Reform Bill, +and Peter Featherstone, you perceive, was dead and buried some months +before Lord Grey came into office. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + "'Tis strange to see the humors of these men, + These great aspiring spirits, that should be wise: + . . . . . . . . + For being the nature of great spirits to love + To be where they may be most eminent; + They, rating of themselves so farre above + Us in conceit, with whom they do frequent, + Imagine how we wonder and esteeme + All that they do or say; which makes them strive + To make our admiration more extreme, + Which they suppose they cannot, 'less they give + Notice of their extreme and highest thoughts. + --DANIEL: Tragedy of Philotas. + + +Mr. Vincy went home from the reading of the will with his point of view +considerably changed in relation to many subjects. He was an +open-minded man, but given to indirect modes of expressing himself: +when he was disappointed in a market for his silk braids, he swore at +the groom; when his brother-in-law Bulstrode had vexed him, he made +cutting remarks on Methodism; and it was now apparent that he regarded +Fred's idleness with a sudden increase of severity, by his throwing an +embroidered cap out of the smoking-room on to the hall-floor. + +"Well, sir," he observed, when that young gentleman was moving off to +bed, "I hope you've made up your mind now to go up next term and pass +your examination. I've taken my resolution, so I advise you to lose no +time in taking yours." + +Fred made no answer: he was too utterly depressed. Twenty-four hours +ago he had thought that instead of needing to know what he should do, +he should by this time know that he needed to do nothing: that he +should hunt in pink, have a first-rate hunter, ride to cover on a fine +hack, and be generally respected for doing so; moreover, that he should +be able at once to pay Mr. Garth, and that Mary could no longer have +any reason for not marrying him. And all this was to have come without +study or other inconvenience, purely by the favor of providence in the +shape of an old gentleman's caprice. But now, at the end of the +twenty-four hours, all those firm expectations were upset. It was +"rather hard lines" that while he was smarting under this +disappointment he should be treated as if he could have helped it. But +he went away silently and his mother pleaded for him. + +"Don't be hard on the poor boy, Vincy. He'll turn out well yet, though +that wicked man has deceived him. I feel as sure as I sit here, Fred +will turn out well--else why was he brought back from the brink of the +grave? And I call it a robbery: it was like giving him the land, to +promise it; and what is promising, if making everybody believe is not +promising? And you see he did leave him ten thousand pounds, and then +took it away again." + +"Took it away again!" said Mr. Vincy, pettishly. "I tell you the lad's +an unlucky lad, Lucy. And you've always spoiled him." + +"Well, Vincy, he was my first, and you made a fine fuss with him when +he came. You were as proud as proud," said Mrs. Vincy, easily +recovering her cheerful smile. + +"Who knows what babies will turn to? I was fool enough, I dare say," +said the husband--more mildly, however. + +"But who has handsomer, better children than ours? Fred is far beyond +other people's sons: you may hear it in his speech, that he has kept +college company. And Rosamond--where is there a girl like her? She +might stand beside any lady in the land, and only look the better for +it. You see--Mr. Lydgate has kept the highest company and been +everywhere, and he fell in love with her at once. Not but what I could +have wished Rosamond had not engaged herself. She might have met +somebody on a visit who would have been a far better match; I mean at +her schoolfellow Miss Willoughby's. There are relations in that family +quite as high as Mr. Lydgate's." + +"Damn relations!" said Mr. Vincy; "I've had enough of them. I don't +want a son-in-law who has got nothing but his relations to recommend +him." + +"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, "you seemed as pleased as could be +about it. It's true, I wasn't at home; but Rosamond told me you hadn't +a word to say against the engagement. And she has begun to buy in the +best linen and cambric for her underclothing." + +"Not by my will," said Mr. Vincy. "I shall have enough to do this +year, with an idle scamp of a son, without paying for wedding-clothes. +The times are as tight as can be; everybody is being ruined; and I +don't believe Lydgate has got a farthing. I shan't give my consent to +their marrying. Let 'em wait, as their elders have done before 'em." + +"Rosamond will take it hard, Vincy, and you know you never could bear +to cross her." + +"Yes, I could. The sooner the engagement's off, the better. I don't +believe he'll ever make an income, the way he goes on. He makes +enemies; that's all I hear of his making." + +"But he stands very high with Mr. Bulstrode, my dear. The marriage +would please _him_, I should think." + +"Please the deuce!" said Mr. Vincy. "Bulstrode won't pay for their +keep. And if Lydgate thinks I'm going to give money for them to set up +housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's all. I expect I shall have to put +down my horses soon. You'd better tell Rosy what I say." + +This was a not infrequent procedure with Mr. Vincy--to be rash in +jovial assent, and on becoming subsequently conscious that he had been +rash, to employ others in making the offensive retractation. However, +Mrs. Vincy, who never willingly opposed her husband, lost no time the +next morning in letting Rosamond know what he had said. Rosamond, +examining some muslin-work, listened in silence, and at the end gave a +certain turn of her graceful neck, of which only long experience could +teach you that it meant perfect obstinacy. + +"What do you say, my dear?" said her mother, with affectionate +deference. + +"Papa does not mean anything of the kind," said Rosamond, quite calmly. +"He has always said that he wished me to marry the man I loved. And I +shall marry Mr. Lydgate. It is seven weeks now since papa gave his +consent. And I hope we shall have Mrs. Bretton's house." + +"Well, my dear, I shall leave you to manage your papa. You always do +manage everybody. But if we ever do go and get damask, Sadler's is the +place--far better than Hopkins's. Mrs. Bretton's is very large, though: +I should love you to have such a house; but it will take a great deal +of furniture--carpeting and everything, besides plate and glass. And +you hear, your papa says he will give no money. Do you think Mr. +Lydgate expects it?" + +"You cannot imagine that I should ask him, mamma. Of course he +understands his own affairs." + +"But he may have been looking for money, my dear, and we all thought of +your having a pretty legacy as well as Fred;--and now everything is so +dreadful--there's no pleasure in thinking of anything, with that poor +boy disappointed as he is." + +"That has nothing to do with my marriage, mamma. Fred must leave off +being idle. I am going up-stairs to take this work to Miss Morgan: she +does the open hemming very well. Mary Garth might do some work for me +now, I should think. Her sewing is exquisite; it is the nicest thing I +know about Mary. I should so like to have all my cambric frilling +double-hemmed. And it takes a long time." + +Mrs. Vincy's belief that Rosamond could manage her papa was well +founded. Apart from his dinners and his coursing, Mr. Vincy, +blustering as he was, had as little of his own way as if he had been a +prime minister: the force of circumstances was easily too much for him, +as it is for most pleasure-loving florid men; and the circumstance +called Rosamond was particularly forcible by means of that mild +persistence which, as we know, enables a white soft living substance to +make its way in spite of opposing rock. Papa was not a rock: he had no +other fixity than that fixity of alternating impulses sometimes called +habit, and this was altogether unfavorable to his taking the only +decisive line of conduct in relation to his daughter's +engagement--namely, to inquire thoroughly into Lydgate's circumstances, +declare his own inability to furnish money, and forbid alike either a +speedy marriage or an engagement which must be too lengthy. That seems +very simple and easy in the statement; but a disagreeable resolve +formed in the chill hours of the morning had as many conditions against +it as the early frost, and rarely persisted under the warming +influences of the day. The indirect though emphatic expression of +opinion to which Mr. Vincy was prone suffered much restraint in this +case: Lydgate was a proud man towards whom innuendoes were obviously +unsafe, and throwing his hat on the floor was out of the question. Mr. +Vincy was a little in awe of him, a little vain that he wanted to marry +Rosamond, a little indisposed to raise a question of money in which his +own position was not advantageous, a little afraid of being worsted in +dialogue with a man better educated and more highly bred than himself, +and a little afraid of doing what his daughter would not like. The +part Mr. Vincy preferred playing was that of the generous host whom +nobody criticises. In the earlier half of the day there was business +to hinder any formal communication of an adverse resolve; in the later +there was dinner, wine, whist, and general satisfaction. And in the +mean while the hours were each leaving their little deposit and +gradually forming the final reason for inaction, namely, that action +was too late. The accepted lover spent most of his evenings in Lowick +Gate, and a love-making not at all dependent on money-advances from +fathers-in-law, or prospective income from a profession, went on +flourishingly under Mr. Vincy's own eyes. Young love-making--that +gossamer web! Even the points it clings to--the things whence its +subtle interlacings are swung--are scarcely perceptible: momentary +touches of fingertips, meetings of rays from blue and dark orbs, +unfinished phrases, lightest changes of cheek and lip, faintest +tremors. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and indefinable +joys, yearnings of one life towards another, visions of completeness, +indefinite trust. And Lydgate fell to spinning that web from his +inward self with wonderful rapidity, in spite of experience supposed to +be finished off with the drama of Laure--in spite too of medicine and +biology; for the inspection of macerated muscle or of eyes presented in +a dish (like Santa Lucia's), and other incidents of scientific inquiry, +are observed to be less incompatible with poetic love than a native +dulness or a lively addiction to the lowest prose. As for Rosamond, +she was in the water-lily's expanding wonderment at its own fuller +life, and she too was spinning industriously at the mutual web. All +this went on in the corner of the drawing-room where the piano stood, +and subtle as it was, the light made it a sort of rainbow visible to +many observers besides Mr. Farebrother. The certainty that Miss Vincy +and Mr. Lydgate were engaged became general in Middlemarch without the +aid of formal announcement. + +Aunt Bulstrode was again stirred to anxiety; but this time she +addressed herself to her brother, going to the warehouse expressly to +avoid Mrs. Vincy's volatility. His replies were not satisfactory. + +"Walter, you never mean to tell me that you have allowed all this to go +on without inquiry into Mr. Lydgate's prospects?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, +opening her eyes with wider gravity at her brother, who was in his +peevish warehouse humor. "Think of this girl brought up in luxury--in +too worldly a way, I am sorry to say--what will she do on a small +income?" + +"Oh, confound it, Harriet! What can I do when men come into the town +without any asking of mine? Did you shut your house up against +Lydgate? Bulstrode has pushed him forward more than anybody. I never +made any fuss about the young fellow. You should go and talk to your +husband about it, not me." + +"Well, really, Walter, how can Mr. Bulstrode be to blame? I am sure he +did not wish for the engagement." + +"Oh, if Bulstrode had not taken him by the hand, I should never have +invited him." + +"But you called him in to attend on Fred, and I am sure that was a +mercy," said Mrs. Bulstrode, losing her clew in the intricacies of the +subject. + +"I don't know about mercy," said Mr. Vincy, testily. "I know I am +worried more than I like with my family. I was a good brother to you, +Harriet, before you married Bulstrode, and I must say he doesn't always +show that friendly spirit towards your family that might have been +expected of him." Mr. Vincy was very little like a Jesuit, but no +accomplished Jesuit could have turned a question more adroitly. +Harriet had to defend her husband instead of blaming her brother, and +the conversation ended at a point as far from the beginning as some +recent sparring between the brothers-in-law at a vestry meeting. + +Mrs. Bulstrode did not repeat her brother's complaints to her husband, +but in the evening she spoke to him of Lydgate and Rosamond. He did +not share her warm interest, however; and only spoke with resignation +of the risks attendant on the beginning of medical practice and the +desirability of prudence. + +"I am sure we are bound to pray for that thoughtless girl--brought up +as she has been," said Mrs. Bulstrode, wishing to rouse her husband's +feelings. + +"Truly, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, assentingly. "Those who are not +of this world can do little else to arrest the errors of the +obstinately worldly. That is what we must accustom ourselves to +recognize with regard to your brother's family. I could have wished +that Mr. Lydgate had not entered into such a union; but my relations +with him are limited to that use of his gifts for God's purposes which +is taught us by the divine government under each dispensation." + +Mrs. Bulstrode said no more, attributing some dissatisfaction which she +felt to her own want of spirituality. She believed that her husband +was one of those men whose memoirs should be written when they died. + +As to Lydgate himself, having been accepted, he was prepared to accept +all the consequences which he believed himself to foresee with perfect +clearness. Of course he must be married in a year--perhaps even in +half a year. This was not what he had intended; but other schemes +would not be hindered: they would simply adjust themselves anew. +Marriage, of course, must be prepared for in the usual way. A house +must be taken instead of the rooms he at present occupied; and Lydgate, +having heard Rosamond speak with admiration of old Mrs. Bretton's house +(situated in Lowick Gate), took notice when it fell vacant after the +old lady's death, and immediately entered into treaty for it. + +He did this in an episodic way, very much as he gave orders to his +tailor for every requisite of perfect dress, without any notion of +being extravagant. On the contrary, he would have despised any +ostentation of expense; his profession had familiarized him with all +grades of poverty, and he cared much for those who suffered hardships. +He would have behaved perfectly at a table where the sauce was served +in a jug with the handle off, and he would have remembered nothing +about a grand dinner except that a man was there who talked well. But +it had never occurred to him that he should live in any other than what +he would have called an ordinary way, with green glasses for hock, and +excellent waiting at table. In warming himself at French social +theories he had brought away no smell of scorching. We may handle even +extreme opinions with impunity while our furniture, our dinner-giving, +and preference for armorial bearings in our own case, link us +indissolubly with the established order. And Lydgate's tendency was +not towards extreme opinions: he would have liked no barefooted +doctrines, being particular about his boots: he was no radical in +relation to anything but medical reform and the prosecution of +discovery. In the rest of practical life he walked by hereditary +habit; half from that personal pride and unreflecting egoism which I +have already called commonness, and half from that naivete which +belonged to preoccupation with favorite ideas. + +Any inward debate Lydgate had as to the consequences of this engagement +which had stolen upon him, turned on the paucity of time rather than of +money. Certainly, being in love and being expected continually by some +one who always turned out to be prettier than memory could represent +her to be, did interfere with the diligent use of spare hours which +might serve some "plodding fellow of a German" to make the great, +imminent discovery. This was really an argument for not deferring the +marriage too long, as he implied to Mr. Farebrother, one day that the +Vicar came to his room with some pond-products which he wanted to +examine under a better microscope than his own, and, finding Lydgate's +tableful of apparatus and specimens in confusion, said sarcastically-- + +"Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order and harmony, and +now he brings back chaos." + +"Yes, at some stages," said Lydgate, lifting his brows and smiling, +while he began to arrange his microscope. "But a better order will +begin after." + +"Soon?" said the Vicar. + +"I hope so, really. This unsettled state of affairs uses up the time, +and when one has notions in science, every moment is an opportunity. I +feel sure that marriage must be the best thing for a man who wants to +work steadily. He has everything at home then--no teasing with +personal speculations--he can get calmness and freedom." + +"You are an enviable dog," said the Vicar, "to have such a +prospect--Rosamond, calmness and freedom, all to your share. Here am +I with nothing but my pipe and pond-animalcules. Now, are you ready?" + +Lydgate did not mention to the Vicar another reason he had for wishing +to shorten the period of courtship. It was rather irritating to him, +even with the wine of love in his veins, to be obliged to mingle so +often with the family party at the Vincys', and to enter so much into +Middlemarch gossip, protracted good cheer, whist-playing, and general +futility. He had to be deferential when Mr. Vincy decided questions +with trenchant ignorance, especially as to those liquors which were the +best inward pickle, preserving you from the effects of bad air. Mrs. +Vincy's openness and simplicity were quite unstreaked with suspicion as +to the subtle offence she might give to the taste of her intended +son-in-law; and altogether Lydgate had to confess to himself that he +was descending a little in relation to Rosamond's family. But that +exquisite creature herself suffered in the same sort of way:--it was +at least one delightful thought that in marrying her, he could give her +a much-needed transplantation. + +"Dear!" he said to her one evening, in his gentlest tone, as he sat +down by her and looked closely at her face-- + +But I must first say that he had found her alone in the drawing-room, +where the great old-fashioned window, almost as large as the side of +the room, was opened to the summer scents of the garden at the back of +the house. Her father and mother were gone to a party, and the rest +were all out with the butterflies. + +"Dear! your eyelids are red." + +"Are they?" said Rosamond. "I wonder why." It was not in her nature +to pour forth wishes or grievances. They only came forth gracefully on +solicitation. + +"As if you could hide it from me!" said Lydgate, laying his hand +tenderly on both of hers. "Don't I see a tiny drop on one of the +lashes? Things trouble you, and you don't tell me. That is unloving." + +"Why should I tell you what you cannot alter? They are every-day +things:--perhaps they have been a little worse lately." + +"Family annoyances. Don't fear speaking. I guess them." + +"Papa has been more irritable lately. Fred makes him angry, and this +morning there was a fresh quarrel because Fred threatens to throw his +whole education away, and do something quite beneath him. And +besides--" + +Rosamond hesitated, and her cheeks were gathering a slight flush. +Lydgate had never seen her in trouble since the morning of their +engagement, and he had never felt so passionately towards her as at +this moment. He kissed the hesitating lips gently, as if to encourage +them. + +"I feel that papa is not quite pleased about our engagement," Rosamond +continued, almost in a whisper; "and he said last night that he should +certainly speak to you and say it must be given up." + +"Will you give it up?" said Lydgate, with quick energy--almost angrily. + +"I never give up anything that I choose to do," said Rosamond, +recovering her calmness at the touching of this chord. + +"God bless you!" said Lydgate, kissing her again. This constancy of +purpose in the right place was adorable. He went on:-- + +"It is too late now for your father to say that our engagement must be +given up. You are of age, and I claim you as mine. If anything is +done to make you unhappy,--that is a reason for hastening our marriage." + +An unmistakable delight shone forth from the blue eyes that met his, +and the radiance seemed to light up all his future with mild sunshine. +Ideal happiness (of the kind known in the Arabian Nights, in which you +are invited to step from the labor and discord of the street into a +paradise where everything is given to you and nothing claimed) seemed +to be an affair of a few weeks' waiting, more or less. + +"Why should we defer it?" he said, with ardent insistence. "I have +taken the house now: everything else can soon be got ready--can it +not? You will not mind about new clothes. Those can be bought +afterwards." + +"What original notions you clever men have!" said Rosamond, dimpling +with more thorough laughter than usual at this humorous incongruity. +"This is the first time I ever heard of wedding-clothes being bought +after marriage." + +"But you don't mean to say you would insist on my waiting months for +the sake of clothes?" said Lydgate, half thinking that Rosamond was +tormenting him prettily, and half fearing that she really shrank from +speedy marriage. "Remember, we are looking forward to a better sort of +happiness even than this--being continually together, independent of +others, and ordering our lives as we will. Come, dear, tell me how +soon you can be altogether mine." + +There was a serious pleading in Lydgate's tone, as if he felt that she +would be injuring him by any fantastic delays. Rosamond became serious +too, and slightly meditative; in fact, she was going through many +intricacies of lace-edging and hosiery and petticoat-tucking, in order +to give an answer that would at least be approximative. + +"Six weeks would be ample--say so, Rosamond," insisted Lydgate, +releasing her hands to put his arm gently round her. + +One little hand immediately went to pat her hair, while she gave her +neck a meditative turn, and then said seriously-- + +"There would be the house-linen and the furniture to be prepared. +Still, mamma could see to those while we were away." + +"Yes, to be sure. We must be away a week or so." + +"Oh, more than that!" said Rosamond, earnestly. She was thinking of +her evening dresses for the visit to Sir Godwin Lydgate's, which she +had long been secretly hoping for as a delightful employment of at +least one quarter of the honeymoon, even if she deferred her +introduction to the uncle who was a doctor of divinity (also a pleasing +though sober kind of rank, when sustained by blood). She looked at her +lover with some wondering remonstrance as she spoke, and he readily +understood that she might wish to lengthen the sweet time of double +solitude. + +"Whatever you wish, my darling, when the day is fixed. But let us take +a decided course, and put an end to any discomfort you may be +suffering. Six weeks!--I am sure they would be ample." + +"I could certainly hasten the work," said Rosamond. "Will you, then, +mention it to papa?--I think it would be better to write to him." She +blushed and looked at him as the garden flowers look at us when we walk +forth happily among them in the transcendent evening light: is there +not a soul beyond utterance, half nymph, half child, in those delicate +petals which glow and breathe about the centres of deep color? + +He touched her ear and a little bit of neck under it with his lips, and +they sat quite still for many minutes which flowed by them like a small +gurgling brook with the kisses of the sun upon it. Rosamond thought +that no one could be more in love than she was; and Lydgate thought +that after all his wild mistakes and absurd credulity, he had found +perfect womanhood--felt as if already breathed upon by exquisite wedded +affection such as would be bestowed by an accomplished creature who +venerated his high musings and momentous labors and would never +interfere with them; who would create order in the home and accounts +with still magic, yet keep her fingers ready to touch the lute and +transform life into romance at any moment; who was instructed to the +true womanly limit and not a hair's-breadth beyond--docile, therefore, +and ready to carry out behests which came from that limit. It was +plainer now than ever that his notion of remaining much longer a +bachelor had been a mistake: marriage would not be an obstruction but a +furtherance. And happening the next day to accompany a patient to +Brassing, he saw a dinner-service there which struck him as so exactly +the right thing that he bought it at once. It saved time to do these +things just when you thought of them, and Lydgate hated ugly crockery. +The dinner-service in question was expensive, but that might be in the +nature of dinner-services. Furnishing was necessarily expensive; but +then it had to be done only once. + +"It must be lovely," said Mrs. Vincy, when Lydgate mentioned his +purchase with some descriptive touches. "Just what Rosy ought to have. +I trust in heaven it won't be broken!" + +"One must hire servants who will not break things," said Lydgate. +(Certainly, this was reasoning with an imperfect vision of sequences. +But at that period there was no sort of reasoning which was not more or +less sanctioned by men of science.) + +Of course it was unnecessary to defer the mention of anything to mamma, +who did not readily take views that were not cheerful, and being a +happy wife herself, had hardly any feeling but pride in her daughter's +marriage. But Rosamond had good reasons for suggesting to Lydgate that +papa should be appealed to in writing. She prepared for the arrival of +the letter by walking with her papa to the warehouse the next morning, +and telling him on the way that Mr. Lydgate wished to be married soon. + +"Nonsense, my dear!" said Mr. Vincy. "What has he got to marry on? +You'd much better give up the engagement. I've told you so pretty +plainly before this. What have you had such an education for, if you +are to go and marry a poor man? It's a cruel thing for a father to +see." + +"Mr. Lydgate is not poor, papa. He bought Mr. Peacock's practice, +which, they say, is worth eight or nine hundred a-year." + +"Stuff and nonsense! What's buying a practice? He might as well buy +next year's swallows. It'll all slip through his fingers." + +"On the contrary, papa, he will increase the practice. See how he has +been called in by the Chettams and Casaubons." + +"I hope he knows I shan't give anything--with this disappointment about +Fred, and Parliament going to be dissolved, and machine-breaking +everywhere, and an election coming on--" + +"Dear papa! what can that have to do with my marriage?" + +"A pretty deal to do with it! We may all be ruined for what I know--the +country's in that state! Some say it's the end of the world, and +be hanged if I don't think it looks like it! Anyhow, it's not a time +for me to be drawing money out of my business, and I should wish +Lydgate to know that." + +"I am sure he expects nothing, papa. And he has such very high +connections: he is sure to rise in one way or another. He is engaged +in making scientific discoveries." + +Mr. Vincy was silent. + +"I cannot give up my only prospect of happiness, papa. Mr. Lydgate is a +gentleman. I could never love any one who was not a perfect gentleman. +You would not like me to go into a consumption, as Arabella Hawley did. +And you know that I never change my mind." + +Again papa was silent. + +"Promise me, papa, that you will consent to what we wish. We shall +never give each other up; and you know that you have always objected to +long courtships and late marriages." + +There was a little more urgency of this kind, till Mr. Vincy said, +"Well, well, child, he must write to me first before I can answer +him,"--and Rosamond was certain that she had gained her point. + +Mr. Vincy's answer consisted chiefly in a demand that Lydgate should +insure his life--a demand immediately conceded. This was a +delightfully reassuring idea supposing that Lydgate died, but in the +mean time not a self-supporting idea. However, it seemed to make +everything comfortable about Rosamond's marriage; and the necessary +purchases went on with much spirit. Not without prudential +considerations, however. A bride (who is going to visit at a +baronet's) must have a few first-rate pocket-handkerchiefs; but beyond +the absolutely necessary half-dozen, Rosamond contented herself without +the very highest style of embroidery and Valenciennes. Lydgate also, +finding that his sum of eight hundred pounds had been considerably +reduced since he had come to Middlemarch, restrained his inclination +for some plate of an old pattern which was shown to him when he went +into Kibble's establishment at Brassing to buy forks and spoons. He +was too proud to act as if he presupposed that Mr. Vincy would advance +money to provide furniture; and though, since it would not be +necessary to pay for everything at once, some bills would be left +standing over, he did not waste time in conjecturing how much his +father-in-law would give in the form of dowry, to make payment easy. +He was not going to do anything extravagant, but the requisite things +must be bought, and it would be bad economy to buy them of a poor +quality. All these matters were by the bye. Lydgate foresaw that +science and his profession were the objects he should alone pursue +enthusiastically; but he could not imagine himself pursuing them in +such a home as Wrench had--the doors all open, the oil-cloth worn, the +children in soiled pinafores, and lunch lingering in the form of bones, +black-handled knives, and willow-pattern. But Wrench had a wretched +lymphatic wife who made a mummy of herself indoors in a large shawl; +and he must have altogether begun with an ill-chosen domestic apparatus. + +Rosamond, however, was on her side much occupied with conjectures, +though her quick imitative perception warned her against betraying them +too crudely. + +"I shall like so much to know your family," she said one day, when the +wedding journey was being discussed. "We might perhaps take a +direction that would allow us to see them as we returned. Which of +your uncles do you like best?" + +"Oh,--my uncle Godwin, I think. He is a good-natured old fellow." + +"You were constantly at his house at Quallingham, when you were a boy, +were you not? I should so like to see the old spot and everything you +were used to. Does he know you are going to be married?" + +"No," said Lydgate, carelessly, turning in his chair and rubbing his +hair up. + +"Do send him word of it, you naughty undutiful nephew. He will perhaps +ask you to take me to Quallingham; and then you could show me about the +grounds, and I could imagine you there when you were a boy. Remember, +you see me in my home, just as it has been since I was a child. It is +not fair that I should be so ignorant of yours. But perhaps you would +be a little ashamed of me. I forgot that." + +Lydgate smiled at her tenderly, and really accepted the suggestion that +the proud pleasure of showing so charming a bride was worth some +trouble. And now he came to think of it, he would like to see the old +spots with Rosamond. + +"I will write to him, then. But my cousins are bores." + +It seemed magnificent to Rosamond to be able to speak so slightingly of +a baronet's family, and she felt much contentment in the prospect of +being able to estimate them contemptuously on her own account. + +But mamma was near spoiling all, a day or two later, by saying-- + +"I hope your uncle Sir Godwin will not look down on Rosy, Mr. Lydgate. +I should think he would do something handsome. A thousand or two can +be nothing to a baronet." + +"Mamma!" said Rosamond, blushing deeply; and Lydgate pitied her so much +that he remained silent and went to the other end of the room to +examine a print curiously, as if he had been absent-minded. Mamma had a +little filial lecture afterwards, and was docile as usual. But +Rosamond reflected that if any of those high-bred cousins who were +bores, should be induced to visit Middlemarch, they would see many +things in her own family which might shock them. Hence it seemed +desirable that Lydgate should by-and-by get some first-rate position +elsewhere than in Middlemarch; and this could hardly be difficult in +the case of a man who had a titled uncle and could make discoveries. +Lydgate, you perceive, had talked fervidly to Rosamond of his hopes as +to the highest uses of his life, and had found it delightful to be +listened to by a creature who would bring him the sweet furtherance of +satisfying affection--beauty--repose--such help as our thoughts get +from the summer sky and the flower-fringed meadows. + +Lydgate relied much on the psychological difference between what for +the sake of variety I will call goose and gander: especially on the +innate submissiveness of the goose as beautifully corresponding to the +strength of the gander. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + "Thrice happy she that is so well assured + Unto herself and settled so in heart + That neither will for better be allured + Ne fears to worse with any chance to start, + But like a steddy ship doth strongly part + The raging waves and keeps her course aright; + Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart, + Ne aught for fairer weather's false delight. + Such self-assurance need not fear the spight + Of grudging foes; ne favour seek of friends; + But in the stay of her own stedfast might + Neither to one herself nor other bends. + Most happy she that most assured doth rest, + But he most happy who such one loves best." + --SPENSER. + + +The doubt hinted by Mr. Vincy whether it were only the general election +or the end of the world that was coming on, now that George the Fourth +was dead, Parliament dissolved, Wellington and Peel generally +depreciated and the new King apologetic, was a feeble type of the +uncertainties in provincial opinion at that time. With the glow-worm +lights of country places, how could men see which were their own +thoughts in the confusion of a Tory Ministry passing Liberal measures, +of Tory nobles and electors being anxious to return Liberals rather +than friends of the recreant Ministers, and of outcries for remedies +which seemed to have a mysteriously remote bearing on private interest, +and were made suspicious by the advocacy of disagreeable neighbors? +Buyers of the Middlemarch newspapers found themselves in an anomalous +position: during the agitation on the Catholic Question many had given +up the "Pioneer"--which had a motto from Charles James Fox and was in +the van of progress--because it had taken Peel's side about the +Papists, and had thus blotted its Liberalism with a toleration of +Jesuitry and Baal; but they were ill-satisfied with the "Trumpet," +which--since its blasts against Rome, and in the general flaccidity of +the public mind (nobody knowing who would support whom)--had become +feeble in its blowing. + +It was a time, according to a noticeable article in the "Pioneer," when +the crying needs of the country might well counteract a reluctance to +public action on the part of men whose minds had from long experience +acquired breadth as well as concentration, decision of judgment as well +as tolerance, dispassionateness as well as energy--in fact, all those +qualities which in the melancholy experience of mankind have been the +least disposed to share lodgings. + +Mr. Hackbutt, whose fluent speech was at that time floating more widely +than usual, and leaving much uncertainty as to its ultimate channel, +was heard to say in Mr. Hawley's office that the article in question +"emanated" from Brooke of Tipton, and that Brooke had secretly bought +the "Pioneer" some months ago. + +"That means mischief, eh?" said Mr. Hawley. "He's got the freak of +being a popular man now, after dangling about like a stray tortoise. +So much the worse for him. I've had my eye on him for some time. He +shall be prettily pumped upon. He's a damned bad landlord. What +business has an old county man to come currying favor with a low set of +dark-blue freemen? As to his paper, I only hope he may do the writing +himself. It would be worth our paying for." + +"I understand he has got a very brilliant young fellow to edit it, who +can write the highest style of leading article, quite equal to anything +in the London papers. And he means to take very high ground on Reform." + +"Let Brooke reform his rent-roll. He's a cursed old screw, and the +buildings all over his estate are going to rack. I suppose this young +fellow is some loose fish from London." + +"His name is Ladislaw. He is said to be of foreign extraction." + +"I know the sort," said Mr. Hawley; "some emissary. He'll begin with +flourishing about the Rights of Man and end with murdering a wench. +That's the style." + +"You must concede that there are abuses, Hawley," said Mr. Hackbutt, +foreseeing some political disagreement with his family lawyer. "I +myself should never favor immoderate views--in fact I take my stand +with Huskisson--but I cannot blind myself to the consideration that the +non-representation of large towns--" + +"Large towns be damned!" said Mr. Hawley, impatient of exposition. "I +know a little too much about Middlemarch elections. Let 'em quash +every pocket borough to-morrow, and bring in every mushroom town in the +kingdom--they'll only increase the expense of getting into Parliament. +I go upon facts." + +Mr. Hawley's disgust at the notion of the "Pioneer" being edited by an +emissary, and of Brooke becoming actively political--as if a tortoise +of desultory pursuits should protrude its small head ambitiously and +become rampant--was hardly equal to the annoyance felt by some members +of Mr. Brooke's own family. The result had oozed forth gradually, like +the discovery that your neighbor has set up an unpleasant kind of +manufacture which will be permanently under your nostrils without legal +remedy. The "Pioneer" had been secretly bought even before Will +Ladislaw's arrival, the expected opportunity having offered itself in +the readiness of the proprietor to part with a valuable property which +did not pay; and in the interval since Mr. Brooke had written his +invitation, those germinal ideas of making his mind tell upon the world +at large which had been present in him from his younger years, but had +hitherto lain in some obstruction, had been sprouting under cover. + +The development was much furthered by a delight in his guest which +proved greater even than he had anticipated. For it seemed that Will +was not only at home in all those artistic and literary subjects which +Mr. Brooke had gone into at one time, but that he was strikingly ready +at seizing the points of the political situation, and dealing with them +in that large spirit which, aided by adequate memory, lends itself to +quotation and general effectiveness of treatment. + +"He seems to me a kind of Shelley, you know," Mr. Brooke took an +opportunity of saying, for the gratification of Mr. Casaubon. "I don't +mean as to anything objectionable--laxities or atheism, or anything of +that kind, you know--Ladislaw's sentiments in every way I am sure are +good--indeed, we were talking a great deal together last night. But he +has the same sort of enthusiasm for liberty, freedom, emancipation--a +fine thing under guidance--under guidance, you know. I think I shall +be able to put him on the right tack; and I am the more pleased because +he is a relation of yours, Casaubon." + +If the right tack implied anything more precise than the rest of Mr. +Brooke's speech, Mr. Casaubon silently hoped that it referred to some +occupation at a great distance from Lowick. He had disliked Will while +he helped him, but he had begun to dislike him still more now that Will +had declined his help. That is the way with us when we have any uneasy +jealousy in our disposition: if our talents are chiefly of the +burrowing kind, our honey-sipping cousin (whom we have grave reasons +for objecting to) is likely to have a secret contempt for us, and any +one who admires him passes an oblique criticism on ourselves. Having +the scruples of rectitude in our souls, we are above the meanness of +injuring him--rather we meet all his claims on us by active benefits; +and the drawing of cheques for him, being a superiority which he must +recognize, gives our bitterness a milder infusion. Now Mr. Casaubon +had been deprived of that superiority (as anything more than a +remembrance) in a sudden, capricious manner. His antipathy to Will did +not spring from the common jealousy of a winter-worn husband: it was +something deeper, bred by his lifelong claims and discontents; but +Dorothea, now that she was present--Dorothea, as a young wife who +herself had shown an offensive capability of criticism, necessarily +gave concentration to the uneasiness which had before been vague. + +Will Ladislaw on his side felt that his dislike was flourishing at the +expense of his gratitude, and spent much inward discourse in justifying +the dislike. Casaubon hated him--he knew that very well; on his first +entrance he could discern a bitterness in the mouth and a venom in the +glance which would almost justify declaring war in spite of past +benefits. He was much obliged to Casaubon in the past, but really the +act of marrying this wife was a set-off against the obligation. It was +a question whether gratitude which refers to what is done for one's +self ought not to give way to indignation at what is done against +another. And Casaubon had done a wrong to Dorothea in marrying her. A +man was bound to know himself better than that, and if he chose to grow +gray crunching bones in a cavern, he had no business to be luring a +girl into his companionship. "It is the most horrible of +virgin-sacrifices," said Will; and he painted to himself what were +Dorothea's inward sorrows as if he had been writing a choric wail. But +he would never lose sight of her: he would watch over her--if he gave +up everything else in life he would watch over her, and she should know +that she had one slave in the world, Will had--to use Sir Thomas +Browne's phrase--a "passionate prodigality" of statement both to +himself and others. The simple truth was that nothing then invited him +so strongly as the presence of Dorothea. + +Invitations of the formal kind had been wanting, however, for Will had +never been asked to go to Lowick. Mr. Brooke, indeed, confident of +doing everything agreeable which Casaubon, poor fellow, was too much +absorbed to think of, had arranged to bring Ladislaw to Lowick several +times (not neglecting meanwhile to introduce him elsewhere on every +opportunity as "a young relative of Casaubon's"). And though Will had +not seen Dorothea alone, their interviews had been enough to restore +her former sense of young companionship with one who was cleverer than +herself, yet seemed ready to be swayed by her. Poor Dorothea before +her marriage had never found much room in other minds for what she +cared most to say; and she had not, as we know, enjoyed her husband's +superior instruction so much as she had expected. If she spoke with +any keenness of interest to Mr. Casaubon, he heard her with an air of +patience as if she had given a quotation from the Delectus familiar to +him from his tender years, and sometimes mentioned curtly what ancient +sects or personages had held similar ideas, as if there were too much +of that sort in stock already; at other times he would inform her that +she was mistaken, and reassert what her remark had questioned. + +But Will Ladislaw always seemed to see more in what she said than she +herself saw. Dorothea had little vanity, but she had the ardent +woman's need to rule beneficently by making the joy of another soul. +Hence the mere chance of seeing Will occasionally was like a lunette +opened in the wall of her prison, giving her a glimpse of the sunny +air; and this pleasure began to nullify her original alarm at what her +husband might think about the introduction of Will as her uncle's +guest. On this subject Mr. Casaubon had remained dumb. + +But Will wanted to talk with Dorothea alone, and was impatient of slow +circumstance. However slight the terrestrial intercourse between Dante +and Beatrice or Petrarch and Laura, time changes the proportion of +things, and in later days it is preferable to have fewer sonnets and +more conversation. Necessity excused stratagem, but stratagem was +limited by the dread of offending Dorothea. He found out at last that +he wanted to take a particular sketch at Lowick; and one morning when +Mr. Brooke had to drive along the Lowick road on his way to the county +town, Will asked to be set down with his sketch-book and camp-stool at +Lowick, and without announcing himself at the Manor settled himself to +sketch in a position where he must see Dorothea if she came out to +walk--and he knew that she usually walked an hour in the morning. + +But the stratagem was defeated by the weather. Clouds gathered with +treacherous quickness, the rain came down, and Will was obliged to take +shelter in the house. He intended, on the strength of relationship, to +go into the drawing-room and wait there without being announced; and +seeing his old acquaintance the butler in the hall, he said, "Don't +mention that I am here, Pratt; I will wait till luncheon; I know Mr. +Casaubon does not like to be disturbed when he is in the library." + +"Master is out, sir; there's only Mrs. Casaubon in the library. I'd +better tell her you're here, sir," said Pratt, a red-cheeked man given +to lively converse with Tantripp, and often agreeing with her that it +must be dull for Madam. + +"Oh, very well; this confounded rain has hindered me from sketching," +said Will, feeling so happy that he affected indifference with +delightful ease. + +In another minute he was in the library, and Dorothea was meeting him +with her sweet unconstrained smile. + +"Mr. Casaubon has gone to the Archdeacon's," she said, at once. "I +don't know whether he will be at home again long before dinner. He was +uncertain how long he should be. Did you want to say anything +particular to him?" + +"No; I came to sketch, but the rain drove me in. Else I would not have +disturbed you yet. I supposed that Mr. Casaubon was here, and I know +he dislikes interruption at this hour." + +"I am indebted to the rain, then. I am so glad to see you." Dorothea +uttered these common words with the simple sincerity of an unhappy +child, visited at school. + +"I really came for the chance of seeing you alone," said Will, +mysteriously forced to be just as simple as she was. He could not stay +to ask himself, why not? "I wanted to talk about things, as we did in +Rome. It always makes a difference when other people are present." + +"Yes," said Dorothea, in her clear full tone of assent. "Sit down." +She seated herself on a dark ottoman with the brown books behind her, +looking in her plain dress of some thin woollen-white material, without +a single ornament on her besides her wedding-ring, as if she were under +a vow to be different from all other women; and Will sat down opposite +her at two yards' distance, the light falling on his bright curls and +delicate but rather petulant profile, with its defiant curves of lip +and chin. Each looked at the other as if they had been two flowers +which had opened then and there. Dorothea for the moment forgot her +husband's mysterious irritation against Will: it seemed fresh water at +her thirsty lips to speak without fear to the one person whom she had +found receptive; for in looking backward through sadness she +exaggerated a past solace. + +"I have often thought that I should like to talk to you again," she +said, immediately. "It seems strange to me how many things I said to +you." + +"I remember them all," said Will, with the unspeakable content in his +soul of feeling that he was in the presence of a creature worthy to be +perfectly loved. I think his own feelings at that moment were perfect, +for we mortals have our divine moments, when love is satisfied in the +completeness of the beloved object. + +"I have tried to learn a great deal since we were in Rome," said +Dorothea. "I can read Latin a little, and I am beginning to understand +just a little Greek. I can help Mr. Casaubon better now. I can find +out references for him and save his eyes in many ways. But it is very +difficult to be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way +to great thoughts, and can never enjoy them because they are too tired." + +"If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely to overtake +them before he is decrepit," said Will, with irrepressible quickness. +But through certain sensibilities Dorothea was as quick as he, and +seeing her face change, he added, immediately, "But it is quite true +that the best minds have been sometimes overstrained in working out +their ideas." + +"You correct me," said Dorothea. "I expressed myself ill. I should +have said that those who have great thoughts get too much worn in +working them out. I used to feel about that, even when I was a little +girl; and it always seemed to me that the use I should like to make of +my life would be to help some one who did great works, so that his +burthen might be lighter." + +Dorothea was led on to this bit of autobiography without any sense of +making a revelation. But she had never before said anything to Will +which threw so strong a light on her marriage. He did not shrug his +shoulders; and for want of that muscular outlet he thought the more +irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other emptinesses +ecclesiastically enshrined. Also he had to take care that his speech +should not betray that thought. + +"But you may easily carry the help too far," he said, "and get +over-wrought yourself. Are you not too much shut up? You already look +paler. It would be better for Mr. Casaubon to have a secretary; he +could easily get a man who would do half his work for him. It would +save him more effectually, and you need only help him in lighter ways." + +"How can you think of that?" said Dorothea, in a tone of earnest +remonstrance. "I should have no happiness if I did not help him in his +work. What could I do? There is no good to be done in Lowick. The +only thing I desire is to help him more. And he objects to a +secretary: please not to mention that again." + +"Certainly not, now I know your feeling. But I have heard both Mr. +Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the same wish." + +"Yes?" said Dorothea, "but they don't understand--they want me to be a +great deal on horseback, and have the garden altered and new +conservatories, to fill up my days. I thought you could understand +that one's mind has other wants," she added, rather +impatiently--"besides, Mr. Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary." + +"My mistake is excusable," said Will. "In old days I used to hear Mr. +Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to having a secretary. Indeed +he held out the prospect of that office to me. But I turned out to +be--not good enough for it." + +Dorothea was trying to extract out of this an excuse for her husband's +evident repulsion, as she said, with a playful smile, "You were not a +steady worker enough." + +"No," said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat after the manner of +a spirited horse. And then, the old irritable demon prompting him to +give another good pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubon's glory, +he went on, "And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does not like any +one to overlook his work and know thoroughly what he is doing. He is +too doubtful--too uncertain of himself. I may not be good for much, +but he dislikes me because I disagree with him." + +Will was not without his intentions to be always generous, but our +tongues are little triggers which have usually been pulled before +general intentions can be brought to bear. And it was too intolerable +that Casaubon's dislike of him should not be fairly accounted for to +Dorothea. Yet when he had spoken he was rather uneasy as to the effect +on her. + +But Dorothea was strangely quiet--not immediately indignant, as she had +been on a like occasion in Rome. And the cause lay deep. She was no +longer struggling against the perception of facts, but adjusting +herself to their clearest perception; and now when she looked steadily +at her husband's failure, still more at his possible consciousness of +failure, she seemed to be looking along the one track where duty became +tenderness. Will's want of reticence might have been met with more +severity, if he had not already been recommended to her mercy by her +husband's dislike, which must seem hard to her till she saw better +reason for it. + +She did not answer at once, but after looking down ruminatingly she +said, with some earnestness, "Mr. Casaubon must have overcome his +dislike of you so far as his actions were concerned: and that is +admirable." + +"Yes; he has shown a sense of justice in family matters. It was an +abominable thing that my grandmother should have been disinherited +because she made what they called a mesalliance, though there was +nothing to be said against her husband except that he was a Polish +refugee who gave lessons for his bread." + +"I wish I knew all about her!" said Dorothea. "I wonder how she bore +the change from wealth to poverty: I wonder whether she was happy with +her husband! Do you know much about them?" + +"No; only that my grandfather was a patriot--a bright fellow--could +speak many languages--musical--got his bread by teaching all sorts of +things. They both died rather early. And I never knew much of my +father, beyond what my mother told me; but he inherited the musical +talents. I remember his slow walk and his long thin hands; and one day +remains with me when he was lying ill, and I was very hungry, and had +only a little bit of bread." + +"Ah, what a different life from mine!" said Dorothea, with keen +interest, clasping her hands on her lap. "I have always had too much +of everything. But tell me how it was--Mr. Casaubon could not have +known about you then." + +"No; but my father had made himself known to Mr. Casaubon, and that was +my last hungry day. My father died soon after, and my mother and I +were well taken care of. Mr. Casaubon always expressly recognized it +as his duty to take care of us because of the harsh injustice which had +been shown to his mother's sister. But now I am telling you what is +not new to you." + +In his inmost soul Will was conscious of wishing to tell Dorothea what +was rather new even in his own construction of things--namely, that +Mr. Casaubon had never done more than pay a debt towards him. Will was +much too good a fellow to be easy under the sense of being ungrateful. +And when gratitude has become a matter of reasoning there are many ways +of escaping from its bonds. + +"No," answered Dorothea; "Mr. Casaubon has always avoided dwelling on +his own honorable actions." She did not feel that her husband's +conduct was depreciated; but this notion of what justice had required +in his relations with Will Ladislaw took strong hold on her mind. +After a moment's pause, she added, "He had never told me that he +supported your mother. Is she still living?" + +"No; she died by an accident--a fall--four years ago. It is curious +that my mother, too, ran away from her family, but not for the sake of +her husband. She never would tell me anything about her family, except +that she forsook them to get her own living--went on the stage, in +fact. She was a dark-eyed creature, with crisp ringlets, and never +seemed to be getting old. You see I come of rebellious blood on both +sides," Will ended, smiling brightly at Dorothea, while she was still +looking with serious intentness before her, like a child seeing a drama +for the first time. + +But her face, too, broke into a smile as she said, "That is your +apology, I suppose, for having yourself been rather rebellious; I mean, +to Mr. Casaubon's wishes. You must remember that you have not done +what he thought best for you. And if he dislikes you--you were +speaking of dislike a little while ago--but I should rather say, if he +has shown any painful feelings towards you, you must consider how +sensitive he has become from the wearing effect of study. Perhaps," +she continued, getting into a pleading tone, "my uncle has not told you +how serious Mr. Casaubon's illness was. It would be very petty of us +who are well and can bear things, to think much of small offences from +those who carry a weight of trial." + +"You teach me better," said Will. "I will never grumble on that +subject again." There was a gentleness in his tone which came from the +unutterable contentment of perceiving--what Dorothea was hardly +conscious of--that she was travelling into the remoteness of pure pity +and loyalty towards her husband. Will was ready to adore her pity and +loyalty, if she would associate himself with her in manifesting them. +"I have really sometimes been a perverse fellow," he went on, "but I +will never again, if I can help it, do or say what you would +disapprove." + +"That is very good of you," said Dorothea, with another open smile. "I +shall have a little kingdom then, where I shall give laws. But you +will soon go away, out of my rule, I imagine. You will soon be tired +of staying at the Grange." + +"That is a point I wanted to mention to you--one of the reasons why I +wished to speak to you alone. Mr. Brooke proposes that I should stay +in this neighborhood. He has bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers, +and he wishes me to conduct that, and also to help him in other ways." + +"Would not that be a sacrifice of higher prospects for you?" said +Dorothea. + +"Perhaps; but I have always been blamed for thinking of prospects, and +not settling to anything. And here is something offered to me. If you +would not like me to accept it, I will give it up. Otherwise I would +rather stay in this part of the country than go away. I belong to +nobody anywhere else." + +"I should like you to stay very much," said Dorothea, at once, as +simply and readily as she had spoken at Rome. There was not the shadow +of a reason in her mind at the moment why she should not say so. + +"Then I _will_ stay," said Ladislaw, shaking his head backward, rising +and going towards the window, as if to see whether the rain had ceased. + +But the next moment, Dorothea, according to a habit which was getting +continually stronger, began to reflect that her husband felt +differently from herself, and she colored deeply under the double +embarrassment of having expressed what might be in opposition to her +husband's feeling, and of having to suggest this opposition to Will. +His face was not turned towards her, and this made it easier to say-- + +"But my opinion is of little consequence on such a subject. I think +you should be guided by Mr. Casaubon. I spoke without thinking of +anything else than my own feeling, which has nothing to do with the +real question. But it now occurs to me--perhaps Mr. Casaubon might +see that the proposal was not wise. Can you not wait now and mention +it to him?" + +"I can't wait to-day," said Will, inwardly seared by the possibility +that Mr. Casaubon would enter. "The rain is quite over now. I told +Mr. Brooke not to call for me: I would rather walk the five miles. I +shall strike across Halsell Common, and see the gleams on the wet +grass. I like that." + +He approached her to shake hands quite hurriedly, longing but not +daring to say, "Don't mention the subject to Mr. Casaubon." No, he +dared not, could not say it. To ask her to be less simple and direct +would be like breathing on the crystal that you want to see the light +through. And there was always the other great dread--of himself +becoming dimmed and forever ray-shorn in her eyes. + +"I wish you could have stayed," said Dorothea, with a touch of +mournfulness, as she rose and put out her hand. She also had her +thought which she did not like to express:--Will certainly ought to +lose no time in consulting Mr. Casaubon's wishes, but for her to urge +this might seem an undue dictation. + +So they only said "Good-by," and Will quitted the house, striking +across the fields so as not to run any risk of encountering Mr. +Casaubon's carriage, which, however, did not appear at the gate until +four o'clock. That was an unpropitious hour for coming home: it was too +early to gain the moral support under ennui of dressing his person for +dinner, and too late to undress his mind of the day's frivolous +ceremony and affairs, so as to be prepared for a good plunge into the +serious business of study. On such occasions he usually threw into an +easy-chair in the library, and allowed Dorothea to read the London +papers to him, closing his eyes the while. To-day, however, he +declined that relief, observing that he had already had too many public +details urged upon him; but he spoke more cheerfully than usual, when +Dorothea asked about his fatigue, and added with that air of formal +effort which never forsook him even when he spoke without his waistcoat +and cravat-- + +"I have had the gratification of meeting my former acquaintance, Dr. +Spanning, to-day, and of being praised by one who is himself a worthy +recipient of praise. He spoke very handsomely of my late tractate on +the Egyptian Mysteries,--using, in fact, terms which it would not +become me to repeat." In uttering the last clause, Mr. Casaubon leaned +over the elbow of his chair, and swayed his head up and down, +apparently as a muscular outlet instead of that recapitulation which +would not have been becoming. + +"I am very glad you have had that pleasure," said Dorothea, delighted +to see her husband less weary than usual at this hour. "Before you +came I had been regretting that you happened to be out to-day." + +"Why so, my dear?" said Mr. Casaubon, throwing himself backward again. + +"Because Mr. Ladislaw has been here; and he has mentioned a proposal of +my uncle's which I should like to know your opinion of." Her husband +she felt was really concerned in this question. Even with her +ignorance of the world she had a vague impression that the position +offered to Will was out of keeping with his family connections, and +certainly Mr. Casaubon had a claim to be consulted. He did not speak, +but merely bowed. + +"Dear uncle, you know, has many projects. It appears that he has +bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers, and he has asked Mr. Ladislaw +to stay in this neighborhood and conduct the paper for him, besides +helping him in other ways." + +Dorothea looked at her husband while she spoke, but he had at first +blinked and finally closed his eyes, as if to save them; while his lips +became more tense. "What is your opinion?" she added, rather timidly, +after a slight pause. + +"Did Mr. Ladislaw come on purpose to ask my opinion?" said Mr. +Casaubon, opening his eyes narrowly with a knife-edged look at +Dorothea. She was really uncomfortable on the point he inquired about, +but she only became a little more serious, and her eyes did not swerve. + +"No," she answered immediately, "he did not say that he came to ask +your opinion. But when he mentioned the proposal, he of course +expected me to tell you of it." + +Mr. Casaubon was silent. + +"I feared that you might feel some objection. But certainly a young +man with so much talent might be very useful to my uncle--might help +him to do good in a better way. And Mr. Ladislaw wishes to have some +fixed occupation. He has been blamed, he says, for not seeking +something of that kind, and he would like to stay in this neighborhood +because no one cares for him elsewhere." + +Dorothea felt that this was a consideration to soften her husband. +However, he did not speak, and she presently recurred to Dr. Spanning +and the Archdeacon's breakfast. But there was no longer sunshine on +these subjects. + +The next morning, without Dorothea's knowledge, Mr. Casaubon despatched +the following letter, beginning "Dear Mr. Ladislaw" (he had always +before addressed him as "Will"):-- + + +"Mrs. Casaubon informs me that a proposal has been made to you, and +(according to an inference by no means stretched) has on your part been +in some degree entertained, which involves your residence in this +neighborhood in a capacity which I am justified in saying touches my +own position in such a way as renders it not only natural and +warrantable in me when that effect is viewed under the influence of +legitimate feeling, but incumbent on me when the same effect is +considered in the light of my responsibilities, to state at once that +your acceptance of the proposal above indicated would be highly +offensive to me. That I have some claim to the exercise of a veto +here, would not, I believe, be denied by any reasonable person +cognizant of the relations between us: relations which, though thrown +into the past by your recent procedure, are not thereby annulled in +their character of determining antecedents. I will not here make +reflections on any person's judgment. It is enough for me to point out +to yourself that there are certain social fitnesses and proprieties +which should hinder a somewhat near relative of mine from becoming any +wise conspicuous in this vicinity in a status not only much beneath my +own, but associated at best with the sciolism of literary or political +adventurers. At any rate, the contrary issue must exclude you from +further reception at my house. + + Yours faithfully, + "EDWARD CASAUBON." + + +Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was innocently at work towards the further +embitterment of her husband; dwelling, with a sympathy that grew to +agitation, on what Will had told her about his parents and +grandparents. Any private hours in her day were usually spent in her +blue-green boudoir, and she had come to be very fond of its pallid +quaintness. Nothing had been outwardly altered there; but while the +summer had gradually advanced over the western fields beyond the avenue +of elms, the bare room had gathered within it those memories of an +inward life which fill the air as with a cloud of good or bad angels, +the invisible yet active forms of our spiritual triumphs or our +spiritual falls. She had been so used to struggle for and to find +resolve in looking along the avenue towards the arch of western light +that the vision itself had gained a communicating power. Even the pale +stag seemed to have reminding glances and to mean mutely, "Yes, we +know." And the group of delicately touched miniatures had made an +audience as of beings no longer disturbed about their own earthly lot, +but still humanly interested. Especially the mysterious "Aunt Julia" +about whom Dorothea had never found it easy to question her husband. + +And now, since her conversation with Will, many fresh images had +gathered round that Aunt Julia who was Will's grandmother; the presence +of that delicate miniature, so like a living face that she knew, +helping to concentrate her feelings. What a wrong, to cut off the girl +from the family protection and inheritance only because she had chosen +a man who was poor! Dorothea, early troubling her elders with +questions about the facts around her, had wrought herself into some +independent clearness as to the historical, political reasons why +eldest sons had superior rights, and why land should be entailed: those +reasons, impressing her with a certain awe, might be weightier than she +knew, but here was a question of ties which left them uninfringed. +Here was a daughter whose child--even according to the ordinary aping +of aristocratic institutions by people who are no more aristocratic +than retired grocers, and who have no more land to "keep together" than +a lawn and a paddock--would have a prior claim. Was inheritance a +question of liking or of responsibility? All the energy of Dorothea's +nature went on the side of responsibility--the fulfilment of claims +founded on our own deeds, such as marriage and parentage. + +It was true, she said to herself, that Mr. Casaubon had a debt to the +Ladislaws--that he had to pay back what the Ladislaws had been wronged +of. And now she began to think of her husband's will, which had been +made at the time of their marriage, leaving the bulk of his property to +her, with proviso in case of her having children. That ought to be +altered; and no time ought to be lost. This very question which had +just arisen about Will Ladislaw's occupation, was the occasion for +placing things on a new, right footing. Her husband, she felt sure, +according to all his previous conduct, would be ready to take the just +view, if she proposed it--she, in whose interest an unfair +concentration of the property had been urged. His sense of right had +surmounted and would continue to surmount anything that might be called +antipathy. She suspected that her uncle's scheme was disapproved by +Mr. Casaubon, and this made it seem all the more opportune that a fresh +understanding should be begun, so that instead of Will's starting +penniless and accepting the first function that offered itself, he +should find himself in possession of a rightful income which should be +paid by her husband during his life, and, by an immediate alteration of +the will, should be secured at his death. The vision of all this as +what ought to be done seemed to Dorothea like a sudden letting in of +daylight, waking her from her previous stupidity and incurious +self-absorbed ignorance about her husband's relation to others. Will +Ladislaw had refused Mr. Casaubon's future aid on a ground that no +longer appeared right to her; and Mr. Casaubon had never himself seen +fully what was the claim upon him. "But he will!" said Dorothea. "The +great strength of his character lies here. And what are we doing with +our money? We make no use of half of our income. My own money buys me +nothing but an uneasy conscience." + +There was a peculiar fascination for Dorothea in this division of +property intended for herself, and always regarded by her as excessive. +She was blind, you see, to many things obvious to others--likely to +tread in the wrong places, as Celia had warned her; yet her blindness +to whatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried her safely by +the side of precipices where vision would have been perilous with fear. + +The thoughts which had gathered vividness in the solitude of her +boudoir occupied her incessantly through the day on which Mr. Casaubon +had sent his letter to Will. Everything seemed hindrance to her till +she could find an opportunity of opening her heart to her husband. To +his preoccupied mind all subjects were to be approached gently, and she +had never since his illness lost from her consciousness the dread of +agitating him. But when young ardor is set brooding over the +conception of a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with +independent life, mastering ideal obstacles. The day passed in a +sombre fashion, not unusual, though Mr. Casaubon was perhaps unusually +silent; but there were hours of the night which might be counted on as +opportunities of conversation; for Dorothea, when aware of her +husband's sleeplessness, had established a habit of rising, lighting a +candle, and reading him to sleep again. And this night she was from +the beginning sleepless, excited by resolves. He slept as usual for a +few hours, but she had risen softly and had sat in the darkness for +nearly an hour before he said-- + +"Dorothea, since you are up, will you light a candle?" + +"Do you feel ill, dear?" was her first question, as she obeyed him. + +"No, not at all; but I shall be obliged, since you are up, if you will +read me a few pages of Lowth." + +"May I talk to you a little instead?" said Dorothea. + +"Certainly." + +"I have been thinking about money all day--that I have always had too +much, and especially the prospect of too much." + +"These, my dear Dorothea, are providential arrangements." + +"But if one has too much in consequence of others being wronged, it +seems to me that the divine voice which tells us to set that wrong +right must be obeyed." + +"What, my love, is the bearing of your remark?" + +"That you have been too liberal in arrangements for me--I mean, with +regard to property; and that makes me unhappy." + +"How so? I have none but comparatively distant connections." + +"I have been led to think about your aunt Julia, and how she was left +in poverty only because she married a poor man, an act which was not +disgraceful, since he was not unworthy. It was on that ground, I know, +that you educated Mr. Ladislaw and provided for his mother." + +Dorothea waited a few moments for some answer that would help her +onward. None came, and her next words seemed the more forcible to her, +falling clear upon the dark silence. + +"But surely we should regard his claim as a much greater one, even to +the half of that property which I know that you have destined for me. +And I think he ought at once to be provided for on that understanding. +It is not right that he should be in the dependence of poverty while we +are rich. And if there is any objection to the proposal he mentioned, +the giving him his true place and his true share would set aside any +motive for his accepting it." + +"Mr. Ladislaw has probably been speaking to you on this subject?" said +Mr. Casaubon, with a certain biting quickness not habitual to him. + +"Indeed, no!" said Dorothea, earnestly. "How can you imagine it, since +he has so lately declined everything from you? I fear you think too +hardly of him, dear. He only told me a little about his parents and +grandparents, and almost all in answer to my questions. You are so +good, so just--you have done everything you thought to be right. But +it seems to me clear that more than that is right; and I must speak +about it, since I am the person who would get what is called benefit by +that 'more' not being done." + +There was a perceptible pause before Mr. Casaubon replied, not quickly +as before, but with a still more biting emphasis. + +"Dorothea, my love, this is not the first occasion, but it were well +that it should be the last, on which you have assumed a judgment on +subjects beyond your scope. Into the question how far conduct, +especially in the matter of alliances, constitutes a forfeiture of +family claims, I do not now enter. Suffice it, that you are not here +qualified to discriminate. What I now wish you to understand is, that +I accept no revision, still less dictation within that range of affairs +which I have deliberated upon as distinctly and properly mine. It is +not for you to interfere between me and Mr. Ladislaw, and still less to +encourage communications from him to you which constitute a criticism +on my procedure." + +Poor Dorothea, shrouded in the darkness, was in a tumult of conflicting +emotions. Alarm at the possible effect on himself of her husband's +strongly manifested anger, would have checked any expression of her own +resentment, even if she had been quite free from doubt and compunction +under the consciousness that there might be some justice in his last +insinuation. Hearing him breathe quickly after he had spoken, she sat +listening, frightened, wretched--with a dumb inward cry for help to +bear this nightmare of a life in which every energy was arrested by +dread. But nothing else happened, except that they both remained a +long while sleepless, without speaking again. + +The next day, Mr. Casaubon received the following answer from Will +Ladislaw:-- + + +"DEAR MR. CASAUBON,--I have given all due consideration to your letter +of yesterday, but I am unable to take precisely your view of our mutual +position. With the fullest acknowledgment of your generous conduct to +me in the past, I must still maintain that an obligation of this kind +cannot fairly fetter me as you appear to expect that it should. +Granted that a benefactor's wishes may constitute a claim; there must +always be a reservation as to the quality of those wishes. They may +possibly clash with more imperative considerations. Or a benefactor's +veto might impose such a negation on a man's life that the consequent +blank might be more cruel than the benefaction was generous. I am +merely using strong illustrations. In the present case I am unable to +take your view of the bearing which my acceptance of occupation--not +enriching certainly, but not dishonorable--will have on your own +position which seems to me too substantial to be affected in that +shadowy manner. And though I do not believe that any change in our +relations will occur (certainly none has yet occurred) which can +nullify the obligations imposed on me by the past, pardon me for not +seeing that those obligations should restrain me from using the +ordinary freedom of living where I choose, and maintaining myself by +any lawful occupation I may choose. Regretting that there exists this +difference between us as to a relation in which the conferring of +benefits has been entirely on your side-- + + I remain, yours with persistent obligation, + WILL LADISLAW." + + +Poor Mr. Casaubon felt (and must not we, being impartial, feel with him +a little?) that no man had juster cause for disgust and suspicion than +he. Young Ladislaw, he was sure, meant to defy and annoy him, meant to +win Dorothea's confidence and sow her mind with disrespect, and perhaps +aversion, towards her husband. Some motive beneath the surface had +been needed to account for Will's sudden change of course in rejecting Mr. +Casaubon's aid and quitting his travels; and this defiant determination +to fix himself in the neighborhood by taking up something so much at +variance with his former choice as Mr. Brooke's Middlemarch projects, +revealed clearly enough that the undeclared motive had relation to +Dorothea. Not for one moment did Mr. Casaubon suspect Dorothea of any +doubleness: he had no suspicions of her, but he had (what was little +less uncomfortable) the positive knowledge that her tendency to form +opinions about her husband's conduct was accompanied with a disposition +to regard Will Ladislaw favorably and be influenced by what he said. +His own proud reticence had prevented him from ever being undeceived in +the supposition that Dorothea had originally asked her uncle to invite +Will to his house. + +And now, on receiving Will's letter, Mr. Casaubon had to consider his +duty. He would never have been easy to call his action anything else +than duty; but in this case, contending motives thrust him back into +negations. + +Should he apply directly to Mr. Brooke, and demand of that troublesome +gentleman to revoke his proposal? Or should he consult Sir James +Chettam, and get him to concur in remonstrance against a step which +touched the whole family? In either case Mr. Casaubon was aware that +failure was just as probable as success. It was impossible for him to +mention Dorothea's name in the matter, and without some alarming +urgency Mr. Brooke was as likely as not, after meeting all +representations with apparent assent, to wind up by saying, "Never +fear, Casaubon! Depend upon it, young Ladislaw will do you credit. +Depend upon it, I have put my finger on the right thing." And Mr. +Casaubon shrank nervously from communicating on the subject with Sir +James Chettam, between whom and himself there had never been any +cordiality, and who would immediately think of Dorothea without any +mention of her. + +Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybody's feeling towards him, +especially as a husband. To let any one suppose that he was jealous +would be to admit their (suspected) view of his disadvantages: to let +them know that he did not find marriage particularly blissful would +imply his conversion to their (probably) earlier disapproval. It would +be as bad as letting Carp, and Brasenose generally, know how backward +he was in organizing the matter for his "Key to all Mythologies." All +through his life Mr. Casaubon had been trying not to admit even to +himself the inward sores of self-doubt and jealousy. And on the most +delicate of all personal subjects, the habit of proud suspicious +reticence told doubly. + +Thus Mr. Casaubon remained proudly, bitterly silent. But he had +forbidden Will to come to Lowick Manor, and he was mentally preparing +other measures of frustration. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + "C'est beaucoup que le jugement des hommes sur les actions + humaines; tôt ou tard il devient efficace."--GUIZOT. + + +Sir James Chettam could not look with any satisfaction on Mr. Brooke's +new courses; but it was easier to object than to hinder. Sir James +accounted for his having come in alone one day to lunch with the +Cadwalladers by saying-- + +"I can't talk to you as I want, before Celia: it might hurt her. +Indeed, it would not be right." + +"I know what you mean--the 'Pioneer' at the Grange!" darted in Mrs. +Cadwallader, almost before the last word was off her friend's tongue. +"It is frightful--this taking to buying whistles and blowing them in +everybody's hearing. Lying in bed all day and playing at dominoes, +like poor Lord Plessy, would be more private and bearable." + +"I see they are beginning to attack our friend Brooke in the +'Trumpet,'" said the Rector, lounging back and smiling easily, as he +would have done if he had been attacked himself. "There are tremendous +sarcasms against a landlord not a hundred miles from Middlemarch, who +receives his own rents, and makes no returns." + +"I do wish Brooke would leave that off," said Sir James, with his +little frown of annoyance. + +"Is he really going to be put in nomination, though?" said Mr. +Cadwallader. "I saw Farebrother yesterday--he's Whiggish himself, +hoists Brougham and Useful Knowledge; that's the worst I know of +him;--and he says that Brooke is getting up a pretty strong party. +Bulstrode, the banker, is his foremost man. But he thinks Brooke would +come off badly at a nomination." + +"Exactly," said Sir James, with earnestness. "I have been inquiring +into the thing, for I've never known anything about Middlemarch +politics before--the county being my business. What Brooke trusts to, +is that they are going to turn out Oliver because he is a Peelite. But +Hawley tells me that if they send up a Whig at all it is sure to be +Bagster, one of those candidates who come from heaven knows where, but +dead against Ministers, and an experienced Parliamentary man. Hawley's +rather rough: he forgot that he was speaking to me. He said if Brooke +wanted a pelting, he could get it cheaper than by going to the +hustings." + +"I warned you all of it," said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her hands +outward. "I said to Humphrey long ago, Mr. Brooke is going to make a +splash in the mud. And now he has done it." + +"Well, he might have taken it into his head to marry," said the Rector. +"That would have been a graver mess than a little flirtation with +politics." + +"He may do that afterwards," said Mrs. Cadwallader--"when he has come +out on the other side of the mud with an ague." + +"What I care for most is his own dignity," said Sir James. "Of course +I care the more because of the family. But he's getting on in life +now, and I don't like to think of his exposing himself. They will be +raking up everything against him." + +"I suppose it's no use trying any persuasion," said the Rector. +"There's such an odd mixture of obstinacy and changeableness in Brooke. +Have you tried him on the subject?" + +"Well, no," said Sir James; "I feel a delicacy in appearing to dictate. +But I have been talking to this young Ladislaw that Brooke is making a +factotum of. Ladislaw seems clever enough for anything. I thought it +as well to hear what he had to say; and he is against Brooke's standing +this time. I think he'll turn him round: I think the nomination may be +staved off." + +"I know," said Mrs. Cadwallader, nodding. "The independent member +hasn't got his speeches well enough by heart." + +"But this Ladislaw--there again is a vexatious business," said Sir +James. "We have had him two or three times to dine at the Hall (you +have met him, by the bye) as Brooke's guest and a relation of +Casaubon's, thinking he was only on a flying visit. And now I find +he's in everybody's mouth in Middlemarch as the editor of the +'Pioneer.' There are stories going about him as a quill-driving alien, +a foreign emissary, and what not." + +"Casaubon won't like that," said the Rector. + +"There _is_ some foreign blood in Ladislaw," returned Sir James. "I +hope he won't go into extreme opinions and carry Brooke on." + +"Oh, he's a dangerous young sprig, that Mr. Ladislaw," said Mrs. +Cadwallader, "with his opera songs and his ready tongue. A sort of +Byronic hero--an amorous conspirator, it strikes me. And Thomas +Aquinas is not fond of him. I could see that, the day the picture was +brought." + +"I don't like to begin on the subject with Casaubon," said Sir James. +"He has more right to interfere than I. But it's a disagreeable affair +all round. What a character for anybody with decent connections to +show himself in!--one of those newspaper fellows! You have only to +look at Keck, who manages the 'Trumpet.' I saw him the other day with +Hawley. His writing is sound enough, I believe, but he's such a low +fellow, that I wished he had been on the wrong side." + +"What can you expect with these peddling Middlemarch papers?" said the +Rector. "I don't suppose you could get a high style of man anywhere to +be writing up interests he doesn't really care about, and for pay that +hardly keeps him in at elbows." + +"Exactly: that makes it so annoying that Brooke should have put a man +who has a sort of connection with the family in a position of that +kind. For my part, I think Ladislaw is rather a fool for accepting." + +"It is Aquinas's fault," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Why didn't he use his +interest to get Ladislaw made an attache or sent to India? That is how +families get rid of troublesome sprigs." + +"There is no knowing to what lengths the mischief may go," said Sir +James, anxiously. "But if Casaubon says nothing, what can I do?" + +"Oh my dear Sir James," said the Rector, "don't let us make too much of +all this. It is likely enough to end in mere smoke. After a month or +two Brooke and this Master Ladislaw will get tired of each other; +Ladislaw will take wing; Brooke will sell the 'Pioneer,' and everything +will settle down again as usual." + +"There is one good chance--that he will not like to feel his money +oozing away," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "If I knew the items of election +expenses I could scare him. It's no use plying him with wide words +like Expenditure: I wouldn't talk of phlebotomy, I would empty a pot of +leeches upon him. What we good stingy people don't like, is having our +sixpences sucked away from us." + +"And he will not like having things raked up against him," said Sir +James. "There is the management of his estate. They have begun upon +that already. And it really is painful for me to see. It is a +nuisance under one's very nose. I do think one is bound to do the best +for one's land and tenants, especially in these hard times." + +"Perhaps the 'Trumpet' may rouse him to make a change, and some good +may come of it all," said the Rector. "I know I should be glad. I +should hear less grumbling when my tithe is paid. I don't know what I +should do if there were not a modus in Tipton." + +"I want him to have a proper man to look after things--I want him to +take on Garth again," said Sir James. "He got rid of Garth twelve +years ago, and everything has been going wrong since. I think of +getting Garth to manage for me--he has made such a capital plan for my +buildings; and Lovegood is hardly up to the mark. But Garth would not +undertake the Tipton estate again unless Brooke left it entirely to +him." + +"In the right of it too," said the Rector. "Garth is an independent +fellow: an original, simple-minded fellow. One day, when he was doing +some valuation for me, he told me point-blank that clergymen seldom +understood anything about business, and did mischief when they meddled; +but he said it as quietly and respectfully as if he had been talking to +me about sailors. He would make a different parish of Tipton, if +Brooke would let him manage. I wish, by the help of the 'Trumpet,' you +could bring that round." + +"If Dorothea had kept near her uncle, there would have been some +chance," said Sir James. "She might have got some power over him in +time, and she was always uneasy about the estate. She had wonderfully +good notions about such things. But now Casaubon takes her up +entirely. Celia complains a good deal. We can hardly get her to dine +with us, since he had that fit." Sir James ended with a look of pitying +disgust, and Mrs. Cadwallader shrugged her shoulders as much as to say +that _she_ was not likely to see anything new in that direction. + +"Poor Casaubon!" the Rector said. "That was a nasty attack. I thought +he looked shattered the other day at the Archdeacon's." + +"In point of fact," resumed Sir James, not choosing to dwell on "fits," +"Brooke doesn't mean badly by his tenants or any one else, but he has +got that way of paring and clipping at expenses." + +"Come, that's a blessing," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "That helps him to +find himself in a morning. He may not know his own opinions, but he +does know his own pocket." + +"I don't believe a man is in pocket by stinginess on his land," said +Sir James. + +"Oh, stinginess may be abused like other virtues: it will not do to +keep one's own pigs lean," said Mrs. Cadwallader, who had risen to look +out of the window. "But talk of an independent politician and he will +appear." + +"What! Brooke?" said her husband. + +"Yes. Now, you ply him with the 'Trumpet,' Humphrey; and I will put +the leeches on him. What will you do, Sir James?" + +"The fact is, I don't like to begin about it with Brooke, in our mutual +position; the whole thing is so unpleasant. I do wish people would +behave like gentlemen," said the good baronet, feeling that this was a +simple and comprehensive programme for social well-being. + +"Here you all are, eh?" said Mr. Brooke, shuffling round and shaking +hands. "I was going up to the Hall by-and-by, Chettam. But it's +pleasant to find everybody, you know. Well, what do you think of +things?--going on a little fast! It was true enough, what Lafitte +said--'Since yesterday, a century has passed away:'--they're in the +next century, you know, on the other side of the water. Going on +faster than we are." + +"Why, yes," said the Rector, taking up the newspaper. "Here is the +'Trumpet' accusing you of lagging behind--did you see?" + +"Eh? no," said Mr. Brooke, dropping his gloves into his hat and hastily +adjusting his eye-glass. But Mr. Cadwallader kept the paper in his +hand, saying, with a smile in his eyes-- + +"Look here! all this is about a landlord not a hundred miles from +Middlemarch, who receives his own rents. They say he is the most +retrogressive man in the county. I think you must have taught them +that word in the 'Pioneer.'" + +"Oh, that is Keck--an illiterate fellow, you know. Retrogressive, now! +Come, that's capital. He thinks it means destructive: they want to +make me out a destructive, you know," said Mr. Brooke, with that +cheerfulness which is usually sustained by an adversary's ignorance. + +"I think he knows the meaning of the word. Here is a sharp stroke or +two. If we had to describe a man who is retrogressive in the most evil +sense of the word--we should say, he is one who would dub himself a +reformer of our constitution, while every interest for which he is +immediately responsible is going to decay: a philanthropist who cannot +bear one rogue to be hanged, but does not mind five honest tenants +being half-starved: a man who shrieks at corruption, and keeps his +farms at rack-rent: who roars himself red at rotten boroughs, and does +not mind if every field on his farms has a rotten gate: a man very +open-hearted to Leeds and Manchester, no doubt; he would give any +number of representatives who will pay for their seats out of their own +pockets: what he objects to giving, is a little return on rent-days to +help a tenant to buy stock, or an outlay on repairs to keep the weather +out at a tenant's barn-door or make his house look a little less like +an Irish cottier's. But we all know the wag's definition of a +philanthropist: a man whose charity increases directly as the square of +the distance. And so on. All the rest is to show what sort of +legislator a philanthropist is likely to make," ended the Rector, +throwing down the paper, and clasping his hands at the back of his +head, while he looked at Mr. Brooke with an air of amused neutrality. + +"Come, that's rather good, you know," said Mr. Brooke, taking up the +paper and trying to bear the attack as easily as his neighbor did, but +coloring and smiling rather nervously; "that about roaring himself red +at rotten boroughs--I never made a speech about rotten boroughs in my +life. And as to roaring myself red and that kind of thing--these men +never understand what is good satire. Satire, you know, should be true +up to a certain point. I recollect they said that in 'The Edinburgh' +somewhere--it must be true up to a certain point." + +"Well, that is really a hit about the gates," said Sir James, anxious +to tread carefully. "Dagley complained to me the other day that he +hadn't got a decent gate on his farm. Garth has invented a new pattern +of gate--I wish you would try it. One ought to use some of one's +timber in that way." + +"You go in for fancy farming, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke, +appearing to glance over the columns of the "Trumpet." "That's your +hobby, and you don't mind the expense." + +"I thought the most expensive hobby in the world was standing for +Parliament," said Mrs. Cadwallader. "They said the last unsuccessful +candidate at Middlemarch--Giles, wasn't his name?--spent ten thousand +pounds and failed because he did not bribe enough. What a bitter +reflection for a man!" + +"Somebody was saying," said the Rector, laughingly, "that East Retford +was nothing to Middlemarch, for bribery." + +"Nothing of the kind," said Mr. Brooke. "The Tories bribe, you know: +Hawley and his set bribe with treating, hot codlings, and that sort of +thing; and they bring the voters drunk to the poll. But they are not +going to have it their own way in future--not in future, you know. +Middlemarch is a little backward, I admit--the freemen are a little +backward. But we shall educate them--we shall bring them on, you +know. The best people there are on our side." + +"Hawley says you have men on your side who will do you harm," remarked +Sir James. "He says Bulstrode the banker will do you harm." + +"And that if you got pelted," interposed Mrs. Cadwallader, "half the +rotten eggs would mean hatred of your committee-man. Good heavens! +Think what it must be to be pelted for wrong opinions. And I seem to +remember a story of a man they pretended to chair and let him fall into +a dust-heap on purpose!" + +"Pelting is nothing to their finding holes in one's coat," said the +Rector. "I confess that's what I should be afraid of, if we parsons +had to stand at the hustings for preferment. I should be afraid of +their reckoning up all my fishing days. Upon my word, I think the +truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with." + +"The fact is," said Sir James, "if a man goes into public life he must +be prepared for the consequences. He must make himself proof against +calumny." + +"My dear Chettam, that is all very fine, you know," said Mr. Brooke. +"But how will you make yourself proof against calumny? You should read +history--look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of +thing. They always happen to the best men, you know. But what is that +in Horace?--'fiat justitia, ruat . . . something or other." + +"Exactly," said Sir James, with a little more heat than usual. "What I +mean by being proof against calumny is being able to point to the fact +as a contradiction." + +"And it is not martyrdom to pay bills that one has run into one's +self," said Mrs. Cadwallader. + +But it was Sir James's evident annoyance that most stirred Mr. Brooke. +"Well, you know, Chettam," he said, rising, taking up his hat and +leaning on his stick, "you and I have a different system. You are all +for outlay with your farms. I don't want to make out that my system is +good under all circumstances--under all circumstances, you know." + +"There ought to be a new valuation made from time to time," said Sir +James. "Returns are very well occasionally, but I like a fair +valuation. What do you say, Cadwallader?" + +"I agree with you. If I were Brooke, I would choke the 'Trumpet' at +once by getting Garth to make a new valuation of the farms, and giving +him carte blanche about gates and repairs: that's my view of the +political situation," said the Rector, broadening himself by sticking +his thumbs in his armholes, and laughing towards Mr. Brooke. + +"That's a showy sort of thing to do, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "But +I should like you to tell me of another landlord who has distressed his +tenants for arrears as little as I have. I let the old tenants stay +on. I'm uncommonly easy, let me tell you, uncommonly easy. I have my +own ideas, and I take my stand on them, you know. A man who does that +is always charged with eccentricity, inconsistency, and that kind of +thing. When I change my line of action, I shall follow my own ideas." + +After that, Mr. Brooke remembered that there was a packet which he had +omitted to send off from the Grange, and he bade everybody hurriedly +good-by. + +"I didn't want to take a liberty with Brooke," said Sir James; "I see +he is nettled. But as to what he says about old tenants, in point of +fact no new tenant would take the farms on the present terms." + +"I have a notion that he will be brought round in time," said the +Rector. "But you were pulling one way, Elinor, and we were pulling +another. You wanted to frighten him away from expense, and we want to +frighten him into it. Better let him try to be popular and see that +his character as a landlord stands in his way. I don't think it +signifies two straws about the 'Pioneer,' or Ladislaw, or Brooke's +speechifying to the Middlemarchers. But it does signify about the +parishioners in Tipton being comfortable." + +"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack," said Mrs. +Cadwallader. "You should have proved to him that he loses money by bad +management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you put +him a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was +all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + "If, as I have, you also doe, + Vertue attired in woman see, + And dare love that, and say so too, + And forget the He and She; + + And if this love, though placed so, + From prophane men you hide, + Which will no faith on this bestow, + Or, if they doe, deride: + + Then you have done a braver thing + Than all the Worthies did, + And a braver thence will spring, + Which is, to keep that hid." + --DR. DONNE. + + +Sir James Chettam's mind was not fruitful in devices, but his growing +anxiety to "act on Brooke," once brought close to his constant belief +in Dorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and issued in a +little plan; namely, to plead Celia's indisposition as a reason for +fetching Dorothea by herself to the Hall, and to leave her at the +Grange with the carriage on the way, after making her fully aware of +the situation concerning the management of the estate. + +In this way it happened that one day near four o'clock, when Mr. Brooke +and Ladislaw were seated in the library, the door opened and Mrs. +Casaubon was announced. + +Will, the moment before, had been low in the depths of boredom, and, +obliged to help Mr. Brooke in arranging "documents" about hanging +sheep-stealers, was exemplifying the power our minds have of riding +several horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting a +lodging for himself in Middlemarch and cutting short his constant +residence at the Grange; while there flitted through all these steadier +images a tickling vision of a sheep-stealing epic written with Homeric +particularity. When Mrs. Casaubon was announced he started up as from +an electric shock, and felt a tingling at his finger-ends. Any one +observing him would have seen a change in his complexion, in the +adjustment of his facial muscles, in the vividness of his glance, which +might have made them imagine that every molecule in his body had passed +the message of a magic touch. And so it had. For effective magic is +transcendent nature; and who shall measure the subtlety of those +touches which convey the quality of soul as well as body, and make a +man's passion for one woman differ from his passion for another as joy +in the morning light over valley and river and white mountain-top +differs from joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels? Will, too, +was made of very impressible stuff. The bow of a violin drawn near him +cleverly, would at one stroke change the aspect of the world for him, +and his point of view shifted--as easily as his mood. Dorothea's +entrance was the freshness of morning. + +"Well, my dear, this is pleasant, now," said Mr. Brooke, meeting and +kissing her. "You have left Casaubon with his books, I suppose. +That's right. We must not have you getting too learned for a woman, +you know." + +"There is no fear of that, uncle," said Dorothea, turning to Will and +shaking hands with open cheerfulness, while she made no other form of +greeting, but went on answering her uncle. "I am very slow. When I +want to be busy with books, I am often playing truant among my +thoughts. I find it is not so easy to be learned as to plan cottages." + +She seated herself beside her uncle opposite to Will, and was evidently +preoccupied with something that made her almost unmindful of him. He +was ridiculously disappointed, as if he had imagined that her coming +had anything to do with him. + +"Why, yes, my dear, it was quite your hobby to draw plans. But it was +good to break that off a little. Hobbies are apt to ran away with us, +you know; it doesn't do to be run away with. We must keep the reins. +I have never let myself be run away with; I always pulled up. That is +what I tell Ladislaw. He and I are alike, you know: he likes to go +into everything. We are working at capital punishment. We shall do a +great deal together, Ladislaw and I." + +"Yes," said Dorothea, with characteristic directness, "Sir James has +been telling me that he is in hope of seeing a great change made soon +in your management of the estate--that you are thinking of having the +farms valued, and repairs made, and the cottages improved, so that +Tipton may look quite another place. Oh, how happy!"--she went on, +clasping her hands, with a return to that more childlike impetuous +manner, which had been subdued since her marriage. "If I were at home +still, I should take to riding again, that I might go about with you +and see all that! And you are going to engage Mr. Garth, who praised +my cottages, Sir James says." + +"Chettam is a little hasty, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, coloring +slightly; "a little hasty, you know. I never said I should do anything +of the kind. I never said I should _not_ do it, you know." + +"He only feels confident that you will do it," said Dorothea, in a +voice as clear and unhesitating as that of a young chorister chanting a +credo, "because you mean to enter Parliament as a member who cares for +the improvement of the people, and one of the first things to be made +better is the state of the land and the laborers. Think of Kit Downes, +uncle, who lives with his wife and seven children in a house with one +sitting room and one bedroom hardly larger than this table!--and those +poor Dagleys, in their tumble-down farmhouse, where they live in the +back kitchen and leave the other rooms to the rats! That is one reason +why I did not like the pictures here, dear uncle--which you think me +stupid about. I used to come from the village with all that dirt and +coarse ugliness like a pain within me, and the simpering pictures in +the drawing-room seemed to me like a wicked attempt to find delight in +what is false, while we don't mind how hard the truth is for the +neighbors outside our walls. I think we have no right to come forward +and urge wider changes for good, until we have tried to alter the evils +which lie under our own hands." + +Dorothea had gathered emotion as she went on, and had forgotten +everything except the relief of pouring forth her feelings, unchecked: +an experience once habitual with her, but hardly ever present since her +marriage, which had been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear. For +the moment, Will's admiration was accompanied with a chilling sense of +remoteness. A man is seldom ashamed of feeling that he cannot love a +woman so well when he sees a certain greatness in her: nature having +intended greatness for men. But nature has sometimes made sad +oversights in carrying out her intention; as in the case of good Mr. +Brooke, whose masculine consciousness was at this moment in rather a +stammering condition under the eloquence of his niece. He could not +immediately find any other mode of expressing himself than that of +rising, fixing his eye-glass, and fingering the papers before him. At +last he said-- + +"There is something in what you say, my dear, something in what you +say--but not everything--eh, Ladislaw? You and I don't like our +pictures and statues being found fault with. Young ladies are a little +ardent, you know--a little one-sided, my dear. Fine art, poetry, that +kind of thing, elevates a nation--emollit mores--you understand a +little Latin now. But--eh? what?" + +These interrogatives were addressed to the footman who had come in to +say that the keeper had found one of Dagley's boys with a leveret in +his hand just killed. + +"I'll come, I'll come. I shall let him off easily, you know," said Mr. +Brooke aside to Dorothea, shuffling away very cheerfully. + +"I hope you feel how right this change is that I--that Sir James wishes +for," said Dorothea to Will, as soon as her uncle was gone. + +"I do, now I have heard you speak about it. I shall not forget what +you have said. But can you think of something else at this moment? I +may not have another opportunity of speaking to you about what has +occurred," said Will, rising with a movement of impatience, and holding +the back of his chair with both hands. + +"Pray tell me what it is," said Dorothea, anxiously, also rising and +going to the open window, where Monk was looking in, panting and +wagging his tail. She leaned her back against the window-frame, and +laid her hand on the dog's head; for though, as we know, she was not +fond of pets that must be held in the hands or trodden on, she was +always attentive to the feelings of dogs, and very polite if she had to +decline their advances. + +Will followed her only with his eyes and said, "I presume you know that +Mr. Casaubon has forbidden me to go to his house." + +"No, I did not," said Dorothea, after a moment's pause. She was +evidently much moved. "I am very, very sorry," she added, mournfully. +She was thinking of what Will had no knowledge of--the conversation +between her and her husband in the darkness; and she was anew smitten +with hopelessness that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. But +the marked expression of her sorrow convinced Will that it was not all +given to him personally, and that Dorothea had not been visited by the +idea that Mr. Casaubon's dislike and jealousy of him turned upon +herself. He felt an odd mixture of delight and vexation: of delight +that he could dwell and be cherished in her thought as in a pure home, +without suspicion and without stint--of vexation because he was of too +little account with her, was not formidable enough, was treated with an +unhesitating benevolence which did not flatter him. But his dread of +any change in Dorothea was stronger than his discontent, and he began +to speak again in a tone of mere explanation. + +"Mr. Casaubon's reason is, his displeasure at my taking a position here +which he considers unsuited to my rank as his cousin. I have told him +that I cannot give way on this point. It is a little too hard on me to +expect that my course in life is to be hampered by prejudices which I +think ridiculous. Obligation may be stretched till it is no better +than a brand of slavery stamped on us when we were too young to know +its meaning. I would not have accepted the position if I had not meant +to make it useful and honorable. I am not bound to regard family +dignity in any other light." + +Dorothea felt wretched. She thought her husband altogether in the +wrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned. + +"It is better for us not to speak on the subject," she said, with a +tremulousness not common in her voice, "since you and Mr. Casaubon +disagree. You intend to remain?" She was looking out on the lawn, +with melancholy meditation. + +"Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now," said Will, in a tone of +almost boyish complaint. + +"No," said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, "hardly ever. But +I shall hear of you. I shall know what you are doing for my uncle." + +"I shall know hardly anything about you," said Will. "No one will tell +me anything." + +"Oh, my life is very simple," said Dorothea, her lips curling with an +exquisite smile, which irradiated her melancholy. "I am always at +Lowick." + +"That is a dreadful imprisonment," said Will, impetuously. + +"No, don't think that," said Dorothea. "I have no longings." + +He did not speak, but she replied to some change in his expression. "I +mean, for myself. Except that I should like not to have so much more +than my share without doing anything for others. But I have a belief +of my own, and it comforts me." + +"What is that?" said Will, rather jealous of the belief. + +"That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don't quite know +what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divine power +against evil--widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with +darkness narrower." + +"That is a beautiful mysticism--it is a--" + +"Please not to call it by any name," said Dorothea, putting out her +hands entreatingly. "You will say it is Persian, or something else +geographical. It is my life. I have found it out, and cannot part +with it. I have always been finding out my religion since I was a +little girl. I used to pray so much--now I hardly ever pray. I try +not to have desires merely for myself, because they may not be good for +others, and I have too much already. I only told you, that you might +know quite well how my days go at Lowick." + +"God bless you for telling me!" said Will, ardently, and rather +wondering at himself. They were looking at each other like two fond +children who were talking confidentially of birds. + +"What is _your_ religion?" said Dorothea. "I mean--not what you know +about religion, but the belief that helps you most?" + +"To love what is good and beautiful when I see it," said Will. "But I +am a rebel: I don't feel bound, as you do, to submit to what I don't +like." + +"But if you like what is good, that comes to the same thing," said +Dorothea, smiling. + +"Now you are subtle," said Will. + +"Yes; Mr. Casaubon often says I am too subtle. I don't feel as if I +were subtle," said Dorothea, playfully. "But how long my uncle is! I +must go and look for him. I must really go on to the Hall. Celia is +expecting me." + +Will offered to tell Mr. Brooke, who presently came and said that he +would step into the carriage and go with Dorothea as far as Dagley's, +to speak about the small delinquent who had been caught with the +leveret. Dorothea renewed the subject of the estate as they drove +along, but Mr. Brooke, not being taken unawares, got the talk under his +own control. + +"Chettam, now," he replied; "he finds fault with me, my dear; but I +should not preserve my game if it were not for Chettam, and he can't +say that that expense is for the sake of the tenants, you know. It's a +little against my feeling:--poaching, now, if you come to look into +it--I have often thought of getting up the subject. Not long ago, +Flavell, the Methodist preacher, was brought up for knocking down a +hare that came across his path when he and his wife were walking out +together. He was pretty quick, and knocked it on the neck." + +"That was very brutal, I think," said Dorothea + +"Well, now, it seemed rather black to me, I confess, in a Methodist +preacher, you know. And Johnson said, 'You may judge what a +_hypocrite_ he is.' And upon my word, I thought Flavell looked very +little like 'the highest style of man'--as somebody calls the +Christian--Young, the poet Young, I think--you know Young? Well, now, +Flavell in his shabby black gaiters, pleading that he thought the Lord +had sent him and his wife a good dinner, and he had a right to knock it +down, though not a mighty hunter before the Lord, as Nimrod was--I +assure you it was rather comic: Fielding would have made something of +it--or Scott, now--Scott might have worked it up. But really, when I +came to think of it, I couldn't help liking that the fellow should have +a bit of hare to say grace over. It's all a matter of +prejudice--prejudice with the law on its side, you know--about the +stick and the gaiters, and so on. However, it doesn't do to reason +about things; and law is law. But I got Johnson to be quiet, and I +hushed the matter up. I doubt whether Chettam would not have been more +severe, and yet he comes down on me as if I were the hardest man in the +county. But here we are at Dagley's." + +Mr. Brooke got down at a farmyard-gate, and Dorothea drove on. It is +wonderful how much uglier things will look when we only suspect that we +are blamed for them. Even our own persons in the glass are apt to +change their aspect for us after we have heard some frank remark on +their less admirable points; and on the other hand it is astonishing +how pleasantly conscience takes our encroachments on those who never +complain or have nobody to complain for them. Dagley's homestead never +before looked so dismal to Mr. Brooke as it did today, with his mind +thus sore about the fault-finding of the "Trumpet," echoed by Sir James. + +It is true that an observer, under that softening influence of the fine +arts which makes other people's hardships picturesque, might have been +delighted with this homestead called Freeman's End: the old house had +dormer-windows in the dark red roof, two of the chimneys were choked +with ivy, the large porch was blocked up with bundles of sticks, and +half the windows were closed with gray worm-eaten shutters about which +the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the mouldering garden wall +with hollyhocks peeping over it was a perfect study of highly mingled +subdued color, and there was an aged goat (kept doubtless on +interesting superstitious grounds) lying against the open back-kitchen +door. The mossy thatch of the cow-shed, the broken gray barn-doors, +the pauper laborers in ragged breeches who had nearly finished +unloading a wagon of corn into the barn ready for early thrashing; the +scanty dairy of cows being tethered for milking and leaving one half of +the shed in brown emptiness; the very pigs and white ducks seeming to +wander about the uneven neglected yard as if in low spirits from +feeding on a too meagre quality of rinsings,--all these objects under +the quiet light of a sky marbled with high clouds would have made a +sort of picture which we have all paused over as a "charming bit," +touching other sensibilities than those which are stirred by the +depression of the agricultural interest, with the sad lack of farming +capital, as seen constantly in the newspapers of that time. But these +troublesome associations were just now strongly present to Mr. Brooke, +and spoiled the scene for him. Mr. Dagley himself made a figure in the +landscape, carrying a pitchfork and wearing his milking-hat--a very old +beaver flattened in front. His coat and breeches were the best he had, +and he would not have been wearing them on this weekday occasion if he +had not been to market and returned later than usual, having given +himself the rare treat of dining at the public table of the Blue Bull. +How he came to fall into this extravagance would perhaps be matter of +wonderment to himself on the morrow; but before dinner something in the +state of the country, a slight pause in the harvest before the Far Dips +were cut, the stories about the new King and the numerous handbills on +the walls, had seemed to warrant a little recklessness. It was a maxim +about Middlemarch, and regarded as self-evident, that good meat should +have good drink, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale +well followed up by rum-and-water. These liquors have so far truth in +them that they were not false enough to make poor Dagley seem merry: +they only made his discontent less tongue-tied than usual. He had also +taken too much in the shape of muddy political talk, a stimulant +dangerously disturbing to his farming conservatism, which consisted in +holding that whatever is, is bad, and any change is likely to be worse. +He was flushed, and his eyes had a decidedly quarrelsome stare as he +stood still grasping his pitchfork, while the landlord approached with +his easy shuffling walk, one hand in his trouser-pocket and the other +swinging round a thin walking-stick. + +"Dagley, my good fellow," began Mr. Brooke, conscious that he was going +to be very friendly about the boy. + +"Oh, ay, I'm a good feller, am I? Thank ye, sir, thank ye," said +Dagley, with a loud snarling irony which made Fag the sheep-dog stir +from his seat and prick his ears; but seeing Monk enter the yard after +some outside loitering, Fag seated himself again in an attitude of +observation. "I'm glad to hear I'm a good feller." + +Mr. Brooke reflected that it was market-day, and that his worthy tenant +had probably been dining, but saw no reason why he should not go on, +since he could take the precaution of repeating what he had to say to +Mrs. Dagley. + +"Your little lad Jacob has been caught killing a leveret, Dagley: I +have told Johnson to lock him up in the empty stable an hour or two, +just to frighten him, you know. But he will be brought home by-and-by, +before night: and you'll just look after him, will you, and give him a +reprimand, you know?" + +"No, I woon't: I'll be dee'd if I'll leather my boy to please you or +anybody else, not if you was twenty landlords istid o' one, and that a +bad un." + +Dagley's words were loud enough to summon his wife to the back-kitchen +door--the only entrance ever used, and one always open except in bad +weather--and Mr. Brooke, saying soothingly, "Well, well, I'll speak to +your wife--I didn't mean beating, you know," turned to walk to the +house. But Dagley, only the more inclined to "have his say" with a +gentleman who walked away from him, followed at once, with Fag +slouching at his heels and sullenly evading some small and probably +charitable advances on the part of Monk. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Dagley?" said Mr. Brooke, making some haste. "I +came to tell you about your boy: I don't want you to give him the +stick, you know." He was careful to speak quite plainly this time. + +Overworked Mrs. Dagley--a thin, worn woman, from whose life pleasure +had so entirely vanished that she had not even any Sunday clothes which +could give her satisfaction in preparing for church--had already had a +misunderstanding with her husband since he had come home, and was in +low spirits, expecting the worst. But her husband was beforehand in +answering. + +"No, nor he woon't hev the stick, whether you want it or no," pursued +Dagley, throwing out his voice, as if he wanted it to hit hard. +"You've got no call to come an' talk about sticks o' these primises, as +you woon't give a stick tow'rt mending. Go to Middlemarch to ax for +_your_ charrickter." + +"You'd far better hold your tongue, Dagley," said the wife, "and not +kick your own trough over. When a man as is father of a family has +been an' spent money at market and made himself the worse for liquor, +he's done enough mischief for one day. But I should like to know what +my boy's done, sir." + +"Niver do you mind what he's done," said Dagley, more fiercely, "it's +my business to speak, an' not yourn. An' I wull speak, too. I'll hev +my say--supper or no. An' what I say is, as I've lived upo' your +ground from my father and grandfather afore me, an' hev dropped our +money into't, an' me an' my children might lie an' rot on the ground +for top-dressin' as we can't find the money to buy, if the King wasn't +to put a stop." + +"My good fellow, you're drunk, you know," said Mr. Brooke, +confidentially but not judiciously. "Another day, another day," he +added, turning as if to go. + +But Dagley immediately fronted him, and Fag at his heels growled low, +as his master's voice grew louder and more insulting, while Monk also +drew close in silent dignified watch. The laborers on the wagon were +pausing to listen, and it seemed wiser to be quite passive than to +attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a bawling man. + +"I'm no more drunk nor you are, nor so much," said Dagley. "I can +carry my liquor, an' I know what I meean. An' I meean as the King 'ull +put a stop to 't, for them say it as knows it, as there's to be a +Rinform, and them landlords as never done the right thing by their +tenants 'ull be treated i' that way as they'll hev to scuttle off. An' +there's them i' Middlemarch knows what the Rinform is--an' as knows +who'll hev to scuttle. Says they, 'I know who _your_ landlord is.' +An' says I, 'I hope you're the better for knowin' him, I arn't.' Says +they, 'He's a close-fisted un.' 'Ay ay,' says I. 'He's a man for the +Rinform,' says they. That's what they says. An' I made out what the +Rinform were--an' it were to send you an' your likes a-scuttlin' an' +wi' pretty strong-smellin' things too. An' you may do as you like now, +for I'm none afeard on you. An' you'd better let my boy aloan, an' +look to yoursen, afore the Rinform has got upo' your back. That's what +I'n got to say," concluded Mr. Dagley, striking his fork into the +ground with a firmness which proved inconvenient as he tried to draw it +up again. + +At this last action Monk began to bark loudly, and it was a moment for +Mr. Brooke to escape. He walked out of the yard as quickly as he +could, in some amazement at the novelty of his situation. He had never +been insulted on his own land before, and had been inclined to regard +himself as a general favorite (we are all apt to do so, when we think +of our own amiability more than of what other people are likely to want +of us). When he had quarrelled with Caleb Garth twelve years before he +had thought that the tenants would be pleased at the landlord's taking +everything into his own hands. + +Some who follow the narrative of his experience may wonder at the +midnight darkness of Mr. Dagley; but nothing was easier in those times +than for an hereditary farmer of his grade to be ignorant, in spite +somehow of having a rector in the twin parish who was a gentleman to +the backbone, a curate nearer at hand who preached more learnedly than +the rector, a landlord who had gone into everything, especially fine +art and social improvement, and all the lights of Middlemarch only +three miles off. As to the facility with which mortals escape +knowledge, try an average acquaintance in the intellectual blaze of +London, and consider what that eligible person for a dinner-party would +have been if he had learned scant skill in "summing" from the +parish-clerk of Tipton, and read a chapter in the Bible with immense +difficulty, because such names as Isaiah or Apollos remained +unmanageable after twice spelling. Poor Dagley read a few verses +sometimes on a Sunday evening, and the world was at least not darker to +him than it had been before. Some things he knew thoroughly, namely, +the slovenly habits of farming, and the awkwardness of weather, stock +and crops, at Freeman's End--so called apparently by way of sarcasm, +to imply that a man was free to quit it if he chose, but that there was +no earthly "beyond" open to him. + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + Wise in his daily work was he: + To fruits of diligence, + And not to faiths or polity, + He plied his utmost sense. + These perfect in their little parts, + Whose work is all their prize-- + Without them how could laws, or arts, + Or towered cities rise? + + +In watching effects, if only of an electric battery, it is often +necessary to change our place and examine a particular mixture or group +at some distance from the point where the movement we are interested in +was set up. The group I am moving towards is at Caleb Garth's +breakfast-table in the large parlor where the maps and desk were: +father, mother, and five of the children. Mary was just now at home +waiting for a situation, while Christy, the boy next to her, was +getting cheap learning and cheap fare in Scotland, having to his +father's disappointment taken to books instead of that sacred calling +"business." + +The letters had come--nine costly letters, for which the postman had +been paid three and twopence, and Mr. Garth was forgetting his tea and +toast while he read his letters and laid them open one above the other, +sometimes swaying his head slowly, sometimes screwing up his mouth in +inward debate, but not forgetting to cut off a large red seal unbroken, +which Letty snatched up like an eager terrier. + +The talk among the rest went on unrestrainedly, for nothing disturbed +Caleb's absorption except shaking the table when he was writing. + +Two letters of the nine had been for Mary. After reading them, she had +passed them to her mother, and sat playing with her tea-spoon absently, +till with a sudden recollection she returned to her sewing, which she +had kept on her lap during breakfast. + +"Oh, don't sew, Mary!" said Ben, pulling her arm down. "Make me a +peacock with this bread-crumb." He had been kneading a small mass for +the purpose. + +"No, no, Mischief!" said Mary, good-humoredly, while she pricked his +hand lightly with her needle. "Try and mould it yourself: you have +seen me do it often enough. I must get this sewing done. It is for +Rosamond Vincy: she is to be married next week, and she can't be +married without this handkerchief." Mary ended merrily, amused with +the last notion. + +"Why can't she, Mary?" said Letty, seriously interested in this +mystery, and pushing her head so close to her sister that Mary now +turned the threatening needle towards Letty's nose. + +"Because this is one of a dozen, and without it there would only be +eleven," said Mary, with a grave air of explanation, so that Letty sank +back with a sense of knowledge. + +"Have you made up your mind, my dear?" said Mrs. Garth, laying the +letters down. + +"I shall go to the school at York," said Mary. "I am less unfit to +teach in a school than in a family. I like to teach classes best. +And, you see, I must teach: there is nothing else to be done." + +"Teaching seems to me the most delightful work in the world," said Mrs. +Garth, with a touch of rebuke in her tone. "I could understand your +objection to it if you had not knowledge enough, Mary, or if you +disliked children." + +"I suppose we never quite understand why another dislikes what we like, +mother," said Mary, rather curtly. "I am not fond of a schoolroom: I +like the outside world better. It is a very inconvenient fault of +mine." + +"It must be very stupid to be always in a girls' school," said Alfred. +"Such a set of nincompoops, like Mrs. Ballard's pupils walking two and +two." + +"And they have no games worth playing at," said Jim. "They can neither +throw nor leap. I don't wonder at Mary's not liking it." + +"What is that Mary doesn't like, eh?" said the father, looking over his +spectacles and pausing before he opened his next letter. + +"Being among a lot of nincompoop girls," said Alfred. + +"Is it the situation you had heard of, Mary?" said Caleb, gently, +looking at his daughter. + +"Yes, father: the school at York. I have determined to take it. It is +quite the best. Thirty-five pounds a-year, and extra pay for teaching +the smallest strummers at the piano." + +"Poor child! I wish she could stay at home with us, Susan," said +Caleb, looking plaintively at his wife. + +"Mary would not be happy without doing her duty," said Mrs. Garth, +magisterially, conscious of having done her own. + +"It wouldn't make me happy to do such a nasty duty as that," said +Alfred--at which Mary and her father laughed silently, but Mrs. Garth +said, gravely-- + +"Do find a fitter word than nasty, my dear Alfred, for everything that +you think disagreeable. And suppose that Mary could help you to go to +Mr. Hanmer's with the money she gets?" + +"That seems to me a great shame. But she's an old brick," said Alfred, +rising from his chair, and pulling Mary's head backward to kiss her. + +Mary colored and laughed, but could not conceal that the tears were +coming. Caleb, looking on over his spectacles, with the angles of his +eyebrows falling, had an expression of mingled delight and sorrow as he +returned to the opening of his letter; and even Mrs. Garth, her lips +curling with a calm contentment, allowed that inappropriate language to +pass without correction, although Ben immediately took it up, and sang, +"She's an old brick, old brick, old brick!" to a cantering measure, +which he beat out with his fist on Mary's arm. + +But Mrs. Garth's eyes were now drawn towards her husband, who was +already deep in the letter he was reading. His face had an expression +of grave surprise, which alarmed her a little, but he did not like to +be questioned while he was reading, and she remained anxiously watching +till she saw him suddenly shaken by a little joyous laugh as he turned +back to the beginning of the letter, and looking at her above his +spectacles, said, in a low tone, "What do you think, Susan?" + +She went and stood behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder, while +they read the letter together. It was from Sir James Chettam, offering +to Mr. Garth the management of the family estates at Freshitt and +elsewhere, and adding that Sir James had been requested by Mr. Brooke +of Tipton to ascertain whether Mr. Garth would be disposed at the same +time to resume the agency of the Tipton property. The Baronet added in +very obliging words that he himself was particularly desirous of seeing +the Freshitt and Tipton estates under the same management, and he hoped +to be able to show that the double agency might be held on terms +agreeable to Mr. Garth, whom he would be glad to see at the Hall at +twelve o'clock on the following day. + +"He writes handsomely, doesn't he, Susan?" said Caleb, turning his eyes +upward to his wife, who raised her hand from his shoulder to his ear, +while she rested her chin on his head. "Brooke didn't like to ask me +himself, I can see," he continued, laughing silently. + +"Here is an honor to your father, children," said Mrs. Garth, looking +round at the five pair of eyes, all fixed on the parents. "He is asked +to take a post again by those who dismissed him long ago. That shows +that he did his work well, so that they feel the want of him." + +"Like Cincinnatus--hooray!" said Ben, riding on his chair, with a +pleasant confidence that discipline was relaxed. + +"Will they come to fetch him, mother?" said Letty, thinking of the +Mayor and Corporation in their robes. + +Mrs. Garth patted Letty's head and smiled, but seeing that her husband +was gathering up his letters and likely soon to be out of reach in that +sanctuary "business," she pressed his shoulder and said emphatically-- + +"Now, mind you ask fair pay, Caleb." + +"Oh yes," said Caleb, in a deep voice of assent, as if it would be +unreasonable to suppose anything else of him. "It'll come to between +four and five hundred, the two together." Then with a little start of +remembrance he said, "Mary, write and give up that school. Stay and +help your mother. I'm as pleased as Punch, now I've thought of that." + +No manner could have been less like that of Punch triumphant than +Caleb's, but his talents did not lie in finding phrases, though he was +very particular about his letter-writing, and regarded his wife as a +treasury of correct language. + +There was almost an uproar among the children now, and Mary held up the +cambric embroidery towards her mother entreatingly, that it might be +put out of reach while the boys dragged her into a dance. Mrs. Garth, +in placid joy, began to put the cups and plates together, while Caleb +pushing his chair from the table, as if he were going to move to the +desk, still sat holding his letters in his hand and looking on the +ground meditatively, stretching out the fingers of his left hand, +according to a mute language of his own. At last he said-- + +"It's a thousand pities Christy didn't take to business, Susan. I +shall want help by-and-by. And Alfred must go off to the +engineering--I've made up my mind to that." He fell into meditation and +finger-rhetoric again for a little while, and then continued: "I shall +make Brooke have new agreements with the tenants, and I shall draw up a +rotation of crops. And I'll lay a wager we can get fine bricks out of +the clay at Bott's corner. I must look into that: it would cheapen the +repairs. It's a fine bit of work, Susan! A man without a family would +be glad to do it for nothing." + +"Mind you don't, though," said his wife, lifting up her finger. + +"No, no; but it's a fine thing to come to a man when he's seen into the +nature of business: to have the chance of getting a bit of the country +into good fettle, as they say, and putting men into the right way with +their farming, and getting a bit of good contriving and solid building +done--that those who are living and those who come after will be the +better for. I'd sooner have it than a fortune. I hold it the most +honorable work that is." Here Caleb laid down his letters, thrust his +fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat, and sat upright, but +presently proceeded with some awe in his voice and moving his head +slowly aside--"It's a great gift of God, Susan." + +"That it is, Caleb," said his wife, with answering fervor. "And it +will be a blessing to your children to have had a father who did such +work: a father whose good work remains though his name may be +forgotten." She could not say any more to him then about the pay. + +In the evening, when Caleb, rather tired with his day's work, was +seated in silence with his pocket-book open on his knee, while Mrs. +Garth and Mary were at their sewing, and Letty in a corner was +whispering a dialogue with her doll, Mr. Farebrother came up the +orchard walk, dividing the bright August lights and shadows with the +tufted grass and the apple-tree boughs. We know that he was fond of +his parishioners the Garths, and had thought Mary worth mentioning to +Lydgate. He used to the full the clergyman's privilege of disregarding +the Middlemarch discrimination of ranks, and always told his mother +that Mrs. Garth was more of a lady than any matron in the town. Still, +you see, he spent his evenings at the Vincys', where the matron, though +less of a lady, presided over a well-lit drawing-room and whist. In +those days human intercourse was not determined solely by respect. But +the Vicar did heartily respect the Garths, and a visit from him was no +surprise to that family. Nevertheless he accounted for it even while +he was shaking hands, by saying, "I come as an envoy, Mrs. Garth: I +have something to say to you and Garth on behalf of Fred Vincy. The +fact is, poor fellow," he continued, as he seated himself and looked +round with his bright glance at the three who were listening to him, +"he has taken me into his confidence." + +Mary's heart beat rather quickly: she wondered how far Fred's +confidence had gone. + +"We haven't seen the lad for months," said Caleb. "I couldn't think +what was become of him." + +"He has been away on a visit," said the Vicar, "because home was a +little too hot for him, and Lydgate told his mother that the poor +fellow must not begin to study yet. But yesterday he came and poured +himself out to me. I am very glad he did, because I have seen him grow +up from a youngster of fourteen, and I am so much at home in the house +that the children are like nephews and nieces to me. But it is a +difficult case to advise upon. However, he has asked me to come and +tell you that he is going away, and that he is so miserable about his +debt to you, and his inability to pay, that he can't bear to come +himself even to bid you good by." + +"Tell him it doesn't signify a farthing," said Caleb, waving his hand. +"We've had the pinch and have got over it. And now I'm going to be as +rich as a Jew." + +"Which means," said Mrs. Garth, smiling at the Vicar, "that we are +going to have enough to bring up the boys well and to keep Mary at +home." + +"What is the treasure-trove?" said Mr. Farebrother. + +"I'm going to be agent for two estates, Freshitt and Tipton; and +perhaps for a pretty little bit of land in Lowick besides: it's all the +same family connection, and employment spreads like water if it's once +set going. It makes me very happy, Mr. Farebrother"--here Caleb threw +back his head a little, and spread his arms on the elbows of his +chair--"that I've got an opportunity again with the letting of the +land, and carrying out a notion or two with improvements. It's a most +uncommonly cramping thing, as I've often told Susan, to sit on +horseback and look over the hedges at the wrong thing, and not be able +to put your hand to it to make it right. What people do who go into +politics I can't think: it drives me almost mad to see mismanagement +over only a few hundred acres." + +It was seldom that Caleb volunteered so long a speech, but his +happiness had the effect of mountain air: his eyes were bright, and the +words came without effort. + +"I congratulate you heartily, Garth," said the Vicar. "This is the +best sort of news I could have had to carry to Fred Vincy, for he dwelt +a good deal on the injury he had done you in causing you to part with +money--robbing you of it, he said--which you wanted for other purposes. +I wish Fred were not such an idle dog; he has some very good points, +and his father is a little hard upon him." + +"Where is he going?" said Mrs. Garth, rather coldly. + +"He means to try again for his degree, and he is going up to study +before term. I have advised him to do that. I don't urge him to enter +the Church--on the contrary. But if he will go and work so as to pass, +that will be some guarantee that he has energy and a will; and he is +quite at sea; he doesn't know what else to do. So far he will please +his father, and I have promised in the mean time to try and reconcile +Vincy to his son's adopting some other line of life. Fred says frankly +he is not fit for a clergyman, and I would do anything I could to +hinder a man from the fatal step of choosing the wrong profession. He +quoted to me what you said, Miss Garth--do you remember it?" (Mr. +Farebrother used to say "Mary" instead of "Miss Garth," but it was part +of his delicacy to treat her with the more deference because, according +to Mrs. Vincy's phrase, she worked for her bread.) + +Mary felt uncomfortable, but, determined to take the matter lightly, +answered at once, "I have said so many impertinent things to Fred--we +are such old playfellows." + +"You said, according to him, that he would be one of those ridiculous +clergymen who help to make the whole clergy ridiculous. Really, that +was so cutting that I felt a little cut myself." + +Caleb laughed. "She gets her tongue from you, Susan," he said, with +some enjoyment. + +"Not its flippancy, father," said Mary, quickly, fearing that her +mother would be displeased. "It is rather too bad of Fred to repeat my +flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother." + +"It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear," said Mrs. Garth, with whom +speaking evil of dignities was a high misdemeanor. "We should not +value our Vicar the less because there was a ridiculous curate in the +next parish." + +"There's something in what she says, though," said Caleb, not disposed +to have Mary's sharpness undervalued. "A bad workman of any sort makes +his fellows mistrusted. Things hang together," he added, looking on +the floor and moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were +scantier than thoughts. + +"Clearly," said the Vicar, amused. "By being contemptible we set men's +minds, to the tune of contempt. I certainly agree with Miss Garth's +view of the matter, whether I am condemned by it or not. But as to +Fred Vincy, it is only fair he should be excused a little: old +Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to spoil him. There was +something quite diabolical in not leaving him a farthing after all. +But Fred has the good taste not to dwell on that. And what he cares +most about is having offended you, Mrs. Garth; he supposes you will +never think well of him again." + +"I have been disappointed in Fred," said Mrs. Garth, with decision. +"But I shall be ready to think well of him again when he gives me good +reason to do so." + +At this point Mary went out of the room, taking Letty with her. + +"Oh, we must forgive young people when they're sorry," said Caleb, +watching Mary close the door. "And as you say, Mr. Farebrother, there +was the very devil in that old man. Now Mary's gone out, I must tell you +a thing--it's only known to Susan and me, and you'll not tell it again. +The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one of the wills the very night +he died, when she was sitting up with him by herself, and he offered her +a sum of money that he had in the box by him if she would do it. But Mary, +you understand, could do no such thing--would not be handling his iron +chest, and so on. Now, you see, the will he wanted burnt was this last, +so that if Mary had done what he wanted, Fred Vincy would have had ten +thousand pounds. The old man did turn to him at the last. That touches +poor Mary close; she couldn't help it--she was in the right to do what +she did, but she feels, as she says, much as if she had knocked down +somebody's property and broken it against her will, when she was +rightfully defending herself. I feel with her, somehow, and if I could +make any amends to the poor lad, instead of bearing him a grudge for +the harm he did us, I should be glad to do it. Now, what is your opinion, +sir? Susan doesn't agree with me. She says--tell what you say, Susan." + +"Mary could not have acted otherwise, even if she had known what would +be the effect on Fred," said Mrs. Garth, pausing from her work, and +looking at Mr. Farebrother. + +"And she was quite ignorant of it. It seems to me, a loss which falls +on another because we have done right is not to lie upon our +conscience." + +The Vicar did not answer immediately, and Caleb said, "It's the +feeling. The child feels in that way, and I feel with her. You don't +mean your horse to tread on a dog when you're backing out of the way; +but it goes through you, when it's done." + +"I am sure Mrs. Garth would agree with you there," said Mr. +Farebrother, who for some reason seemed more inclined to ruminate than +to speak. "One could hardly say that the feeling you mention about +Fred is wrong--or rather, mistaken--though no man ought to make a claim +on such feeling." + +"Well, well," said Caleb, "it's a secret. You will not tell Fred." + +"Certainly not. But I shall carry the other good news--that you can +afford the loss he caused you." + +Mr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing Mary in the +orchard with Letty, went to say good-by to her. They made a pretty +picture in the western light which brought out the brightness of the +apples on the old scant-leaved boughs--Mary in her lavender gingham and +black ribbons holding a basket, while Letty in her well-worn nankin +picked up the fallen apples. If you want to know more particularly how +Mary looked, ten to one you will see a face like hers in the crowded +street to-morrow, if you are there on the watch: she will not be among +those daughters of Zion who are haughty, and walk with stretched-out +necks and wanton eyes, mincing as they go: let all those pass, and fix +your eyes on some small plump brownish person of firm but quiet +carriage, who looks about her, but does not suppose that anybody is +looking at her. If she has a broad face and square brow, well-marked +eyebrows and curly dark hair, a certain expression of amusement in her +glance which her mouth keeps the secret of, and for the rest features +entirely insignificant--take that ordinary but not disagreeable person +for a portrait of Mary Garth. If you made her smile, she would show +you perfect little teeth; if you made her angry, she would not raise +her voice, but would probably say one of the bitterest things you have +ever tasted the flavor of; if you did her a kindness, she would never +forget it. Mary admired the keen-faced handsome little Vicar in his +well-brushed threadbare clothes more than any man she had had the +opportunity of knowing. She had never heard him say a foolish thing, +though she knew that he did unwise ones; and perhaps foolish sayings +were more objectionable to her than any of Mr. Farebrother's unwise +doings. At least, it was remarkable that the actual imperfections of +the Vicar's clerical character never seemed to call forth the same +scorn and dislike which she showed beforehand for the predicted +imperfections of the clerical character sustained by Fred Vincy. These +irregularities of judgment, I imagine, are found even in riper minds +than Mary Garth's: our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and +demerit, which none of us ever saw. Will any one guess towards which +of those widely different men Mary had the peculiar woman's +tenderness?--the one she was most inclined to be severe on, or the +contrary? + +"Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth?" said the +Vicar, as he took a fragrant apple from the basket which she held +towards him, and put it in his pocket. "Something to soften down that +harsh judgment? I am going straight to see him." + +"No," said Mary, shaking her head, and smiling. "If I were to say that +he would not be ridiculous as a clergyman, I must say that he would be +something worse than ridiculous. But I am very glad to hear that he is +going away to work." + +"On the other hand, I am very glad to hear that _you_ are not going +away to work. My mother, I am sure, will be all the happier if you +will come to see her at the vicarage: you know she is fond of having +young people to talk to, and she has a great deal to tell about old +times. You will really be doing a kindness." + +"I should like it very much, if I may," said Mary. "Everything seems +too happy for me all at once. I thought it would always be part of my +life to long for home, and losing that grievance makes me feel rather +empty: I suppose it served instead of sense to fill up my mind?" + +"May I go with you, Mary?" whispered Letty--a most inconvenient child, +who listened to everything. But she was made exultant by having her +chin pinched and her cheek kissed by Mr. Farebrother--an incident +which she narrated to her mother and father. + +As the Vicar walked to Lowick, any one watching him closely might have +seen him twice shrug his shoulders. I think that the rare Englishmen +who have this gesture are never of the heavy type--for fear of any +lumbering instance to the contrary, I will say, hardly ever; they have +usually a fine temperament and much tolerance towards the smaller +errors of men (themselves inclusive). The Vicar was holding an inward +dialogue in which he told himself that there was probably something +more between Fred and Mary Garth than the regard of old playfellows, +and replied with a question whether that bit of womanhood were not a +great deal too choice for that crude young gentleman. The rejoinder to +this was the first shrug. Then he laughed at himself for being likely +to have felt jealous, as if he had been a man able to marry, which, +added he, it is as clear as any balance-sheet that I am not. Whereupon +followed the second shrug. + +What could two men, so different from each other, see in this "brown +patch," as Mary called herself? It was certainly not her plainness +that attracted them (and let all plain young ladies be warned against +the dangerous encouragement given them by Society to confide in their +want of beauty). A human being in this aged nation of ours is a very +wonderful whole, the slow creation of long interchanging influences: +and charm is a result of two such wholes, the one loving and the one +loved. + +When Mr. and Mrs. Garth were sitting alone, Caleb said, "Susan, guess +what I'm thinking of." + +"The rotation of crops," said Mrs. Garth, smiling at him, above her +knitting, "or else the back-doors of the Tipton cottages." + +"No," said Caleb, gravely; "I am thinking that I could do a great turn +for Fred Vincy. Christy's gone, Alfred will be gone soon, and it will +be five years before Jim is ready to take to business. I shall want +help, and Fred might come in and learn the nature of things and act +under me, and it might be the making of him into a useful man, if he +gives up being a parson. What do you think?" + +"I think, there is hardly anything honest that his family would object +to more," said Mrs. Garth, decidedly. + +"What care I about their objecting?" said Caleb, with a sturdiness +which he was apt to show when he had an opinion. "The lad is of age +and must get his bread. He has sense enough and quickness enough; he +likes being on the land, and it's my belief that he could learn +business well if he gave his mind to it." + +"But would he? His father and mother wanted him to be a fine +gentleman, and I think he has the same sort of feeling himself. They +all think us beneath them. And if the proposal came from you, I am +sure Mrs. Vincy would say that we wanted Fred for Mary." + +"Life is a poor tale, if it is to be settled by nonsense of that sort," +said Caleb, with disgust. + +"Yes, but there is a certain pride which is proper, Caleb." + +"I call it improper pride to let fools' notions hinder you from doing a +good action. There's no sort of work," said Caleb, with fervor, +putting out his hand and moving it up and down to mark his emphasis, +"that could ever be done well, if you minded what fools say. You must +have it inside you that your plan is right, and that plan you must +follow." + +"I will not oppose any plan you have set your mind on, Caleb," said +Mrs. Garth, who was a firm woman, but knew that there were some points +on which her mild husband was yet firmer. "Still, it seems to be fixed +that Fred is to go back to college: will it not be better to wait and +see what he will choose to do after that? It is not easy to keep +people against their will. And you are not yet quite sure enough of +your own position, or what you will want." + +"Well, it may be better to wait a bit. But as to my getting plenty of +work for two, I'm pretty sure of that. I've always had my hands full +with scattered things, and there's always something fresh turning up. +Why, only yesterday--bless me, I don't think I told you!--it was rather +odd that two men should have been at me on different sides to do the +same bit of valuing. And who do you think they were?" said Caleb, +taking a pinch of snuff and holding it up between his fingers, as if it +were a part of his exposition. He was fond of a pinch when it occurred +to him, but he usually forgot that this indulgence was at his command. + +His wife held down her knitting and looked attentive. + +"Why, that Rigg, or Rigg Featherstone, was one. But Bulstrode was +before him, so I'm going to do it for Bulstrode. Whether it's mortgage +or purchase they're going for, I can't tell yet." + +"Can that man be going to sell the land just left him--which he has +taken the name for?" said Mrs. Garth. + +"Deuce knows," said Caleb, who never referred the knowledge of +discreditable doings to any higher power than the deuce. "But +Bulstrode has long been wanting to get a handsome bit of land under his +fingers--that I know. And it's a difficult matter to get, in this part +of the country." + +Caleb scattered his snuff carefully instead of taking it, and then +added, "The ins and outs of things are curious. Here is the land +they've been all along expecting for Fred, which it seems the old man +never meant to leave him a foot of, but left it to this side-slip of a +son that he kept in the dark, and thought of his sticking there and +vexing everybody as well as he could have vexed 'em himself if he could +have kept alive. I say, it would be curious if it got into Bulstrode's +hands after all. The old man hated him, and never would bank with him." + +"What reason could the miserable creature have for hating a man whom he +had nothing to do with?" said Mrs. Garth. + +"Pooh! where's the use of asking for such fellows' reasons? The soul +of man," said Caleb, with the deep tone and grave shake of the head +which always came when he used this phrase--"The soul of man, when it +gets fairly rotten, will bear you all sorts of poisonous toad-stools, +and no eye can see whence came the seed thereof." + +It was one of Caleb's quaintnesses, that in his difficulty of finding +speech for his thought, he caught, as it were, snatches of diction +which he associated with various points of view or states of mind; and +whenever he had a feeling of awe, he was haunted by a sense of Biblical +phraseology, though he could hardly have given a strict quotation. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + "By swaggering could I never thrive, + For the rain it raineth every day. + --Twelfth Night + + +The transactions referred to by Caleb Garth as having gone forward +between Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Joshua Rigg Featherstone concerning the +land attached to Stone Court, had occasioned the interchange of a +letter or two between these personages. + +Who shall tell what may be the effect of writing? If it happens to +have been cut in stone, though it lie face down-most for ages on a +forsaken beach, or "rest quietly under the drums and tramplings of many +conquests," it may end by letting us into the secret of usurpations and +other scandals gossiped about long empires ago:--this world being +apparently a huge whispering-gallery. Such conditions are often +minutely represented in our petty lifetimes. As the stone which has +been kicked by generations of clowns may come by curious little links +of effect under the eyes of a scholar, through whose labors it may at +last fix the date of invasions and unlock religions, so a bit of ink +and paper which has long been an innocent wrapping or stop-gap may at +last be laid open under the one pair of eyes which have knowledge +enough to turn it into the opening of a catastrophe. To Uriel watching +the progress of planetary history from the sun, the one result would be +just as much of a coincidence as the other. + +Having made this rather lofty comparison I am less uneasy in calling +attention to the existence of low people by whose interference, however +little we may like it, the course of the world is very much determined. +It would be well, certainly, if we could help to reduce their number, +and something might perhaps be done by not lightly giving occasion to +their existence. Socially speaking, Joshua Rigg would have been +generally pronounced a superfluity. But those who like Peter +Featherstone never had a copy of themselves demanded, are the very last +to wait for such a request either in prose or verse. The copy in this +case bore more of outside resemblance to the mother, in whose sex +frog-features, accompanied with fresh-colored cheeks and a well-rounded +figure, are compatible with much charm for a certain order of admirers. +The result is sometimes a frog-faced male, desirable, surely, to no +order of intelligent beings. Especially when he is suddenly brought +into evidence to frustrate other people's expectations--the very +lowest aspect in which a social superfluity can present himself. + +But Mr. Rigg Featherstone's low characteristics were all of the sober, +water-drinking kind. From the earliest to the latest hour of the day +he was always as sleek, neat, and cool as the frog he resembled, and +old Peter had secretly chuckled over an offshoot almost more +calculating, and far more imperturbable, than himself. I will add that +his finger-nails were scrupulously attended to, and that he meant to +marry a well-educated young lady (as yet unspecified) whose person was +good, and whose connections, in a solid middle-class way, were +undeniable. Thus his nails and modesty were comparable to those of +most gentlemen; though his ambition had been educated only by the +opportunities of a clerk and accountant in the smaller commercial +houses of a seaport. He thought the rural Featherstones very simple +absurd people, and they in their turn regarded his "bringing up" in a +seaport town as an exaggeration of the monstrosity that their brother +Peter, and still more Peter's property, should have had such belongings. + +The garden and gravel approach, as seen from the two windows of the +wainscoted parlor at Stone Court, were never in better trim than now, +when Mr. Rigg Featherstone stood, with his hands behind him, looking +out on these grounds as their master. But it seemed doubtful whether +he looked out for the sake of contemplation or of turning his back to a +person who stood in the middle of the room, with his legs considerably +apart and his hands in his trouser-pockets: a person in all respects a +contrast to the sleek and cool Rigg. He was a man obviously on the way +towards sixty, very florid and hairy, with much gray in his bushy +whiskers and thick curly hair, a stoutish body which showed to +disadvantage the somewhat worn joinings of his clothes, and the air of +a swaggerer, who would aim at being noticeable even at a show of +fireworks, regarding his own remarks on any other person's performance +as likely to be more interesting than the performance itself. + +His name was John Raffles, and he sometimes wrote jocosely W.A.G. +after his signature, observing when he did so, that he was once taught +by Leonard Lamb of Finsbury who wrote B.A. after his name, and that he, +Raffles, originated the witticism of calling that celebrated principal +Ba-Lamb. Such were the appearance and mental flavor of Mr. Raffles, +both of which seemed to have a stale odor of travellers' rooms in the +commercial hotels of that period. + +"Come, now, Josh," he was saying, in a full rumbling tone, "look at it +in this light: here is your poor mother going into the vale of years, +and you could afford something handsome now to make her comfortable." + +"Not while you live. Nothing would make her comfortable while you +live," returned Rigg, in his cool high voice. "What I give her, you'll +take." + +"You bear me a grudge, Josh, that I know. But come, now--as between +man and man--without humbug--a little capital might enable me to make a +first-rate thing of the shop. The tobacco trade is growing. I should +cut my own nose off in not doing the best I could at it. I should +stick to it like a flea to a fleece for my own sake. I should always +be on the spot. And nothing would make your poor mother so happy. +I've pretty well done with my wild oats--turned fifty-five. I want to +settle down in my chimney-corner. And if I once buckled to the tobacco +trade, I could bring an amount of brains and experience to bear on it +that would not be found elsewhere in a hurry. I don't want to be +bothering you one time after another, but to get things once for all +into the right channel. Consider that, Josh--as between man and +man--and with your poor mother to be made easy for her life. I was +always fond of the old woman, by Jove!" + +"Have you done?" said Mr. Rigg, quietly, without looking away from the +window. + +"Yes, I've done," said Raffles, taking hold of his hat which stood +before him on the table, and giving it a sort of oratorical push. + +"Then just listen to me. The more you say anything, the less I shall +believe it. The more you want me to do a thing, the more reason I +shall have for never doing it. Do you think I mean to forget your +kicking me when I was a lad, and eating all the best victual away from +me and my mother? Do you think I forget your always coming home to +sell and pocket everything, and going off again leaving us in the +lurch? I should be glad to see you whipped at the cart-tail. My +mother was a fool to you: she'd no right to give me a father-in-law, +and she's been punished for it. She shall have her weekly allowance +paid and no more: and that shall be stopped if you dare to come on to +these premises again, or to come into this country after me again. The +next time you show yourself inside the gates here, you shall be driven +off with the dogs and the wagoner's whip." + +As Rigg pronounced the last words he turned round and looked at Raffles +with his prominent frozen eyes. The contrast was as striking as it +could have been eighteen years before, when Rigg was a most unengaging +kickable boy, and Raffles was the rather thick-set Adonis of bar-rooms +and back-parlors. But the advantage now was on the side of Rigg, and +auditors of this conversation might probably have expected that Raffles +would retire with the air of a defeated dog. Not at all. He made a +grimace which was habitual with him whenever he was "out" in a game; +then subsided into a laugh, and drew a brandy-flask from his pocket. + +"Come, Josh," he said, in a cajoling tone, "give us a spoonful of +brandy, and a sovereign to pay the way back, and I'll go. Honor +bright! I'll go like a bullet, _by_ Jove!" + +"Mind," said Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, "if I ever see you +again, I shan't speak to you. I don't own you any more than if I saw a +crow; and if you want to own me you'll get nothing by it but a +character for being what you are--a spiteful, brassy, bullying rogue." + +"That's a pity, now, Josh," said Raffles, affecting to scratch his head +and wrinkle his brows upward as if he were nonplussed. "I'm very fond +of you; _by_ Jove, I am! There's nothing I like better than plaguing +you--you're so like your mother, and I must do without it. But the +brandy and the sovereign's a bargain." + +He jerked forward the flask and Rigg went to a fine old oaken bureau +with his keys. But Raffles had reminded himself by his movement with +the flask that it had become dangerously loose from its leather +covering, and catching sight of a folded paper which had fallen within +the fender, he took it up and shoved it under the leather so as to make +the glass firm. + +By that time Rigg came forward with a brandy-bottle, filled the flask, +and handed Raffles a sovereign, neither looking at him nor speaking to +him. After locking up the bureau again, he walked to the window and +gazed out as impassibly as he had done at the beginning of the +interview, while Raffles took a small allowance from the flask, screwed +it up, and deposited it in his side-pocket, with provoking slowness, +making a grimace at his stepson's back. + +"Farewell, Josh--and if forever!" said Raffles, turning back his head +as he opened the door. + +Rigg saw him leave the grounds and enter the lane. The gray day had +turned to a light drizzling rain, which freshened the hedgerows and the +grassy borders of the by-roads, and hastened the laborers who were +loading the last shocks of corn. Raffles, walking with the uneasy gait +of a town loiterer obliged to do a bit of country journeying on foot, +looked as incongruous amid this moist rural quiet and industry as if he +had been a baboon escaped from a menagerie. But there were none to +stare at him except the long-weaned calves, and none to show dislike of +his appearance except the little water-rats which rustled away at his +approach. + +He was fortunate enough when he got on to the highroad to be overtaken +by the stage-coach, which carried him to Brassing; and there he took +the new-made railway, observing to his fellow-passengers that he +considered it pretty well seasoned now it had done for Huskisson. Mr. +Raffles on most occasions kept up the sense of having been educated at +an academy, and being able, if he chose, to pass well everywhere; +indeed, there was not one of his fellow-men whom he did not feel +himself in a position to ridicule and torment, confident of the +entertainment which he thus gave to all the rest of the company. + +He played this part now with as much spirit as if his journey had been +entirely successful, resorting at frequent intervals to his flask. The +paper with which he had wedged it was a letter signed Nicholas +Bulstrode, but Raffles was not likely to disturb it from its present +useful position. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + "How much, methinks, I could despise this man + Were I not bound in charity against it! + --SHAKESPEARE: Henry VIII. + + +One of the professional calls made by Lydgate soon after his return +from his wedding-journey was to Lowick Manor, in consequence of a +letter which had requested him to fix a time for his visit. + +Mr. Casaubon had never put any question concerning the nature of his +illness to Lydgate, nor had he even to Dorothea betrayed any anxiety as +to how far it might be likely to cut short his labors or his life. On +this point, as on all others, he shrank from pity; and if the suspicion +of being pitied for anything in his lot surmised or known in spite of +himself was embittering, the idea of calling forth a show of compassion +by frankly admitting an alarm or a sorrow was necessarily intolerable +to him. Every proud mind knows something of this experience, and +perhaps it is only to be overcome by a sense of fellowship deep enough +to make all efforts at isolation seem mean and petty instead of +exalting. + +But Mr. Casaubon was now brooding over something through which the +question of his health and life haunted his silence with a more +harassing importunity even than through the autumnal unripeness of his +authorship. It is true that this last might be called his central +ambition; but there are some kinds of authorship in which by far the +largest result is the uneasy susceptibility accumulated in the +consciousness of the author--one knows of the river by a few streaks +amid a long-gathered deposit of uncomfortable mud. That was the way +with Mr. Casaubon's hard intellectual labors. Their most +characteristic result was not the "Key to all Mythologies," but a +morbid consciousness that others did not give him the place which he +had not demonstrably merited--a perpetual suspicious conjecture that +the views entertained of him were not to his advantage--a melancholy +absence of passion in his efforts at achievement, and a passionate +resistance to the confession that he had achieved nothing. + +Thus his intellectual ambition which seemed to others to have absorbed +and dried him, was really no security against wounds, least of all +against those which came from Dorothea. And he had begun now to frame +possibilities for the future which were somehow more embittering to him +than anything his mind had dwelt on before. + +Against certain facts he was helpless: against Will Ladislaw's +existence, his defiant stay in the neighborhood of Lowick, and his +flippant state of mind with regard to the possessors of authentic, +well-stamped erudition: against Dorothea's nature, always taking on +some new shape of ardent activity, and even in submission and silence +covering fervid reasons which it was an irritation to think of: against +certain notions and likings which had taken possession of her mind in +relation to subjects that he could not possibly discuss with her. +There was no denying that Dorothea was as virtuous and lovely a young +lady as he could have obtained for a wife; but a young lady turned out +to be something more troublesome than he had conceived. She nursed +him, she read to him, she anticipated his wants, and was solicitous +about his feelings; but there had entered into the husband's mind the +certainty that she judged him, and that her wifely devotedness was like +a penitential expiation of unbelieving thoughts--was accompanied with a +power of comparison by which himself and his doings were seen too +luminously as a part of things in general. His discontent passed +vapor-like through all her gentle loving manifestations, and clung to +that inappreciative world which she had only brought nearer to him. + +Poor Mr. Casaubon! This suffering was the harder to bear because it +seemed like a betrayal: the young creature who had worshipped him with +perfect trust had quickly turned into the critical wife; and early +instances of criticism and resentment had made an impression which no +tenderness and submission afterwards could remove. To his suspicious +interpretation Dorothea's silence now was a suppressed rebellion; a +remark from her which he had not in any way anticipated was an +assertion of conscious superiority; her gentle answers had an +irritating cautiousness in them; and when she acquiesced it was a +self-approved effort of forbearance. The tenacity with which he strove +to hide this inward drama made it the more vivid for him; as we hear +with the more keenness what we wish others not to hear. + +Instead of wondering at this result of misery in Mr. Casaubon, I think +it quite ordinary. Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot +out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the +blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self. And who, if Mr. +Casaubon had chosen to expound his discontents--his suspicions that he +was not any longer adored without criticism--could have denied that +they were founded on good reasons? On the contrary, there was a strong +reason to be added, which he had not himself taken explicitly into +account--namely, that he was not unmixedly adorable. He suspected +this, however, as he suspected other things, without confessing it, and +like the rest of us, felt how soothing it would have been to have a +companion who would never find it out. + +This sore susceptibility in relation to Dorothea was thoroughly +prepared before Will Ladislaw had returned to Lowick, and what had +occurred since then had brought Mr. Casaubon's power of suspicious +construction into exasperated activity. To all the facts which he +knew, he added imaginary facts both present and future which became +more real to him than those because they called up a stronger dislike, +a more predominating bitterness. Suspicion and jealousy of Will +Ladislaw's intentions, suspicion and jealousy of Dorothea's +impressions, were constantly at their weaving work. It would be quite +unjust to him to suppose that he could have entered into any coarse +misinterpretation of Dorothea: his own habits of mind and conduct, +quite as much as the open elevation of her nature, saved him from any +such mistake. What he was jealous of was her opinion, the sway that +might be given to her ardent mind in its judgments, and the future +possibilities to which these might lead her. As to Will, though until +his last defiant letter he had nothing definite which he would choose +formally to allege against him, he felt himself warranted in believing +that he was capable of any design which could fascinate a rebellious +temper and an undisciplined impulsiveness. He was quite sure that +Dorothea was the cause of Will's return from Rome, and his +determination to settle in the neighborhood; and he was penetrating +enough to imagine that Dorothea had innocently encouraged this course. +It was as clear as possible that she was ready to be attached to Will +and to be pliant to his suggestions: they had never had a tete-a-tete +without her bringing away from it some new troublesome impression, and +the last interview that Mr. Casaubon was aware of (Dorothea, on +returning from Freshitt Hall, had for the first time been silent about +having seen Will) had led to a scene which roused an angrier feeling +against them both than he had ever known before. Dorothea's outpouring +of her notions about money, in the darkness of the night, had done +nothing but bring a mixture of more odious foreboding into her +husband's mind. + +And there was the shock lately given to his health always sadly present +with him. He was certainly much revived; he had recovered all his +usual power of work: the illness might have been mere fatigue, and +there might still be twenty years of achievement before him, which +would justify the thirty years of preparation. That prospect was made +the sweeter by a flavor of vengeance against the hasty sneers of Carp & +Company; for even when Mr. Casaubon was carrying his taper among the +tombs of the past, those modern figures came athwart the dim light, and +interrupted his diligent exploration. To convince Carp of his mistake, +so that he would have to eat his own words with a good deal of +indigestion, would be an agreeable accident of triumphant authorship, +which the prospect of living to future ages on earth and to all +eternity in heaven could not exclude from contemplation. Since, thus, +the prevision of his own unending bliss could not nullify the bitter +savors of irritated jealousy and vindictiveness, it is the less +surprising that the probability of a transient earthly bliss for other +persons, when he himself should have entered into glory, had not a +potently sweetening effect. If the truth should be that some +undermining disease was at work within him, there might be large +opportunity for some people to be the happier when he was gone; and if +one of those people should be Will Ladislaw, Mr. Casaubon objected so +strongly that it seemed as if the annoyance would make part of his +disembodied existence. + +This is a very bare and therefore a very incomplete way of putting the +case. The human soul moves in many channels, and Mr. Casaubon, we +know, had a sense of rectitude and an honorable pride in satisfying the +requirements of honor, which compelled him to find other reasons for +his conduct than those of jealousy and vindictiveness. The way in +which Mr. Casaubon put the case was this:--"In marrying Dorothea Brooke +I had to care for her well-being in case of my death. But well-being +is not to be secured by ample, independent possession of property; on +the contrary, occasions might arise in which such possession might +expose her to the more danger. She is ready prey to any man who knows +how to play adroitly either on her affectionate ardor or her Quixotic +enthusiasm; and a man stands by with that very intention in his mind--a +man with no other principle than transient caprice, and who has a +personal animosity towards me--I am sure of it--an animosity which is +fed by the consciousness of his ingratitude, and which he has +constantly vented in ridicule of which I am as well assured as if I had +heard it. Even if I live I shall not be without uneasiness as to what +he may attempt through indirect influence. This man has gained +Dorothea's ear: he has fascinated her attention; he has evidently tried +to impress her mind with the notion that he has claims beyond anything +I have done for him. If I die--and he is waiting here on the watch for +that--he will persuade her to marry him. That would be calamity for +her and success for him. _She_ would not think it calamity: he would +make her believe anything; she has a tendency to immoderate attachment +which she inwardly reproaches me for not responding to, and already her +mind is occupied with his fortunes. He thinks of an easy conquest and +of entering into my nest. That I will hinder! Such a marriage would be +fatal to Dorothea. Has he ever persisted in anything except from +contradiction? In knowledge he has always tried to be showy at small +cost. In religion he could be, as long as it suited him, the facile +echo of Dorothea's vagaries. When was sciolism ever dissociated from +laxity? I utterly distrust his morals, and it is my duty to hinder to +the utmost the fulfilment of his designs." + +The arrangements made by Mr. Casaubon on his marriage left strong +measures open to him, but in ruminating on them his mind inevitably +dwelt so much on the probabilities of his own life that the longing to +get the nearest possible calculation had at last overcome his proud +reticence, and had determined him to ask Lydgate's opinion as to the +nature of his illness. + +He had mentioned to Dorothea that Lydgate was coming by appointment at +half-past three, and in answer to her anxious question, whether he had +felt ill, replied,--"No, I merely wish to have his opinion concerning +some habitual symptoms. You need not see him, my dear. I shall give +orders that he may be sent to me in the Yew-tree Walk, where I shall be +taking my usual exercise." + +When Lydgate entered the Yew-tree Walk he saw Mr. Casaubon slowly +receding with his hands behind him according to his habit, and his head +bent forward. It was a lovely afternoon; the leaves from the lofty +limes were falling silently across the sombre evergreens, while the +lights and shadows slept side by side: there was no sound but the +cawing of the rooks, which to the accustomed ear is a lullaby, or that +last solemn lullaby, a dirge. Lydgate, conscious of an energetic frame +in its prime, felt some compassion when the figure which he was likely +soon to overtake turned round, and in advancing towards him showed more +markedly than ever the signs of premature age--the student's bent +shoulders, the emaciated limbs, and the melancholy lines of the mouth. +"Poor fellow," he thought, "some men with his years are like lions; one +can tell nothing of their age except that they are full grown." + +"Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. Casaubon, with his invariably polite air, "I am +exceedingly obliged to you for your punctuality. We will, if you +please, carry on our conversation in walking to and fro." + +"I hope your wish to see me is not due to the return of unpleasant +symptoms," said Lydgate, filling up a pause. + +"Not immediately--no. In order to account for that wish I must +mention--what it were otherwise needless to refer to--that my life, on +all collateral accounts insignificant, derives a possible importance +from the incompleteness of labors which have extended through all its +best years. In short, I have long had on hand a work which I would +fain leave behind me in such a state, at least, that it might be +committed to the press by--others. Were I assured that this is the +utmost I can reasonably expect, that assurance would be a useful +circumscription of my attempts, and a guide in both the positive and +negative determination of my course." + +Here Mr. Casaubon paused, removed one hand from his back and thrust it +between the buttons of his single-breasted coat. To a mind largely +instructed in the human destiny hardly anything could be more +interesting than the inward conflict implied in his formal measured +address, delivered with the usual sing-song and motion of the head. +Nay, are there many situations more sublimely tragic than the struggle +of the soul with the demand to renounce a work which has been all the +significance of its life--a significance which is to vanish as the +waters which come and go where no man has need of them? But there was +nothing to strike others as sublime about Mr. Casaubon, and Lydgate, +who had some contempt at hand for futile scholarship, felt a little +amusement mingling with his pity. He was at present too ill acquainted +with disaster to enter into the pathos of a lot where everything is +below the level of tragedy except the passionate egoism of the sufferer. + +"You refer to the possible hindrances from want of health?" he said, +wishing to help forward Mr. Casaubon's purpose, which seemed to be +clogged by some hesitation. + +"I do. You have not implied to me that the symptoms which--I am bound +to testify--you watched with scrupulous care, were those of a fatal +disease. But were it so, Mr. Lydgate, I should desire to know the +truth without reservation, and I appeal to you for an exact statement +of your conclusions: I request it as a friendly service. If you can +tell me that my life is not threatened by anything else than ordinary +casualties, I shall rejoice, on grounds which I have already indicated. +If not, knowledge of the truth is even more important to me." + +"Then I can no longer hesitate as to my course," said Lydgate; "but the +first thing I must impress on you is that my conclusions are doubly +uncertain--uncertain not only because of my fallibility, but because +diseases of the heart are eminently difficult to found predictions on. +In any case, one can hardly increase appreciably the tremendous +uncertainty of life." + +Mr. Casaubon winced perceptibly, but bowed. + +"I believe that you are suffering from what is called fatty +degeneration of the heart, a disease which was first divined and +explored by Laennec, the man who gave us the stethoscope, not so very +many years ago. A good deal of experience--a more lengthened +observation--is wanting on the subject. But after what you have said, +it is my duty to tell you that death from this disease is often sudden. +At the same time, no such result can be predicted. Your condition may +be consistent with a tolerably comfortable life for another fifteen +years, or even more. I could add no information to this beyond +anatomical or medical details, which would leave expectation at +precisely the same point." Lydgate's instinct was fine enough to tell +him that plain speech, quite free from ostentatious caution, would be +felt by Mr. Casaubon as a tribute of respect. + +"I thank you, Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. Casaubon, after a moment's pause. +"One thing more I have still to ask: did you communicate what you have +now told me to Mrs. Casaubon?" + +"Partly--I mean, as to the possible issues." Lydgate was going to +explain why he had told Dorothea, but Mr. Casaubon, with an +unmistakable desire to end the conversation, waved his hand slightly, +and said again, "I thank you," proceeding to remark on the rare beauty +of the day. + +Lydgate, certain that his patient wished to be alone, soon left him; +and the black figure with hands behind and head bent forward continued +to pace the walk where the dark yew-trees gave him a mute companionship +in melancholy, and the little shadows of bird or leaf that fleeted +across the isles of sunlight, stole along in silence as in the presence +of a sorrow. Here was a man who now for the first time found himself +looking into the eyes of death--who was passing through one of those +rare moments of experience when we feel the truth of a commonplace, +which is as different from what we call knowing it, as the vision of +waters upon the earth is different from the delirious vision of the +water which cannot be had to cool the burning tongue. When the +commonplace "We must all die" transforms itself suddenly into the acute +consciousness "I must die--and soon," then death grapples us, and his +fingers are cruel; afterwards, he may come to fold us in his arms as +our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be +like the first. To Mr. Casaubon now, it was as if he suddenly found +himself on the dark river-brink and heard the plash of the oncoming +oar, not discerning the forms, but expecting the summons. In such an +hour the mind does not change its lifelong bias, but carries it onward +in imagination to the other side of death, gazing backward--perhaps +with the divine calm of beneficence, perhaps with the petty anxieties +of self-assertion. What was Mr. Casaubon's bias his acts will give us a +clew to. He held himself to be, with some private scholarly +reservations, a believing Christian, as to estimates of the present and +hopes of the future. But what we strive to gratify, though we may call +it a distant hope, is an immediate desire: the future estate for which +men drudge up city alleys exists already in their imagination and love. +And Mr. Casaubon's immediate desire was not for divine communion and +light divested of earthly conditions; his passionate longings, poor +man, clung low and mist-like in very shady places. + +Dorothea had been aware when Lydgate had ridden away, and she had +stepped into the garden, with the impulse to go at once to her husband. +But she hesitated, fearing to offend him by obtruding herself; for her +ardor, continually repulsed, served, with her intense memory, to +heighten her dread, as thwarted energy subsides into a shudder; and she +wandered slowly round the nearer clumps of trees until she saw him +advancing. Then she went towards him, and might have represented a +heaven-sent angel coming with a promise that the short hours remaining +should yet be filled with that faithful love which clings the closer to +a comprehended grief. His glance in reply to hers was so chill that +she felt her timidity increased; yet she turned and passed her hand +through his arm. + +Mr. Casaubon kept his hands behind him and allowed her pliant arm to +cling with difficulty against his rigid arm. + +There was something horrible to Dorothea in the sensation which this +unresponsive hardness inflicted on her. That is a strong word, but not +too strong: it is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of +joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard +faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth +bears no harvest of sweetness--calling their denial knowledge. You may +ask why, in the name of manliness, Mr. Casaubon should have behaved in +that way. Consider that his was a mind which shrank from pity: have +you ever watched in such a mind the effect of a suspicion that what is +pressing it as a grief may be really a source of contentment, either +actual or future, to the being who already offends by pitying? +Besides, he knew little of Dorothea's sensations, and had not reflected +that on such an occasion as the present they were comparable in +strength to his own sensibilities about Carp's criticisms. + +Dorothea did not withdraw her arm, but she could not venture to speak. +Mr. Casaubon did not say, "I wish to be alone," but he directed his +steps in silence towards the house, and as they entered by the glass +door on this eastern side, Dorothea withdrew her arm and lingered on +the matting, that she might leave her husband quite free. He entered +the library and shut himself in, alone with his sorrow. + +She went up to her boudoir. The open bow-window let in the serene +glory of the afternoon lying in the avenue, where the lime-trees cast +long shadows. But Dorothea knew nothing of the scene. She threw +herself on a chair, not heeding that she was in the dazzling sun-rays: +if there were discomfort in that, how could she tell that it was not +part of her inward misery? + +She was in the reaction of a rebellious anger stronger than any she had +felt since her marriage. Instead of tears there came words:-- + +"What have I done--what am I--that he should treat me so? He never +knows what is in my mind--he never cares. What is the use of anything +I do? He wishes he had never married me." + +She began to hear herself, and was checked into stillness. Like one +who has lost his way and is weary, she sat and saw as in one glance all +the paths of her young hope which she should never find again. And +just as clearly in the miserable light she saw her own and her +husband's solitude--how they walked apart so that she was obliged to +survey him. If he had drawn her towards him, she would never have +surveyed him--never have said, "Is he worth living for?" but would have +felt him simply a part of her own life. Now she said bitterly, "It is +his fault, not mine." In the jar of her whole being, Pity was +overthrown. Was it her fault that she had believed in him--had +believed in his worthiness?--And what, exactly, was he?-- She was able +enough to estimate him--she who waited on his glances with trembling, +and shut her best soul in prison, paying it only hidden visits, that +she might be petty enough to please him. In such a crisis as this, +some women begin to hate. + +The sun was low when Dorothea was thinking that she would not go down +again, but would send a message to her husband saying that she was not +well and preferred remaining up-stairs. She had never deliberately +allowed her resentment to govern her in this way before, but she +believed now that she could not see him again without telling him the +truth about her feeling, and she must wait till she could do it without +interruption. He might wonder and be hurt at her message. It was good +that he should wonder and be hurt. Her anger said, as anger is apt to +say, that God was with her--that all heaven, though it were crowded +with spirits watching them, must be on her side. She had determined to +ring her bell, when there came a rap at the door. + +Mr. Casaubon had sent to say that he would have his dinner in the +library. He wished to be quite alone this evening, being much occupied. + +"I shall not dine, then, Tantripp." + +"Oh, madam, let me bring you a little something?" + +"No; I am not well. Get everything ready in my dressing room, but pray +do not disturb me again." + +Dorothea sat almost motionless in her meditative struggle, while the +evening slowly deepened into night. But the struggle changed +continually, as that of a man who begins with a movement towards +striking and ends with conquering his desire to strike. The energy +that would animate a crime is not more than is wanted to inspire a +resolved submission, when the noble habit of the soul reasserts itself. +That thought with which Dorothea had gone out to meet her husband--her +conviction that he had been asking about the possible arrest of all his +work, and that the answer must have wrung his heart, could not be long +without rising beside the image of him, like a shadowy monitor looking +at her anger with sad remonstrance. It cost her a litany of pictured +sorrows and of silent cries that she might be the mercy for those +sorrows--but the resolved submission did come; and when the house was +still, and she knew that it was near the time when Mr. Casaubon +habitually went to rest, she opened her door gently and stood outside +in the darkness waiting for his coming up-stairs with a light in his +hand. If he did not come soon she thought that she would go down and +even risk incurring another pang. She would never again expect +anything else. But she did hear the library door open, and slowly the +light advanced up the staircase without noise from the footsteps on the +carpet. When her husband stood opposite to her, she saw that his face +was more haggard. He started slightly on seeing her, and she looked up +at him beseechingly, without speaking. + +"Dorothea!" he said, with a gentle surprise in his tone. "Were you +waiting for me?" + +"Yes, I did not like to disturb you." + +"Come, my dear, come. You are young, and need not to extend your life +by watching." + +When the kind quiet melancholy of that speech fell on Dorothea's ears, +she felt something like the thankfulness that might well up in us if we +had narrowly escaped hurting a lamed creature. She put her hand into +her husband's, and they went along the broad corridor together. + + + + + +BOOK V. + + + + + +THE DEAD HAND. + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + This figure hath high price: 't was wrought with love + Ages ago in finest ivory; + Nought modish in it, pure and noble lines + Of generous womanhood that fits all time + That too is costly ware; majolica + Of deft design, to please a lordly eye: + The smile, you see, is perfect--wonderful + As mere Faience! a table ornament + To suit the richest mounting." + + +Dorothea seldom left home without her husband, but she did occasionally +drive into Middlemarch alone, on little errands of shopping or charity +such as occur to every lady of any wealth when she lives within three +miles of a town. Two days after that scene in the Yew-tree Walk, she +determined to use such an opportunity in order if possible to see +Lydgate, and learn from him whether her husband had really felt any +depressing change of symptoms which he was concealing from her, and +whether he had insisted on knowing the utmost about himself. She felt +almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from another, but the +dread of being without it--the dread of that ignorance which would make +her unjust or hard--overcame every scruple. That there had been some +crisis in her husband's mind she was certain: he had the very next day +begun a new method of arranging his notes, and had associated her quite +newly in carrying out his plan. Poor Dorothea needed to lay up stores +of patience. + +It was about four o'clock when she drove to Lydgate's house in Lowick +Gate, wishing, in her immediate doubt of finding him at home, that she +had written beforehand. And he was not at home. + +"Is Mrs. Lydgate at home?" said Dorothea, who had never, that she knew +of, seen Rosamond, but now remembered the fact of the marriage. Yes, +Mrs. Lydgate was at home. + +"I will go in and speak to her, if she will allow me. Will you ask her +if she can see me--see Mrs. Casaubon, for a few minutes?" + +When the servant had gone to deliver that message, Dorothea could hear +sounds of music through an open window--a few notes from a man's voice +and then a piano bursting into roulades. But the roulades broke off +suddenly, and then the servant came back saying that Mrs. Lydgate would +be happy to see Mrs. Casaubon. + +When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea entered, there was a +sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the habits of the +different ranks were less blent than now. Let those who know, tell us +exactly what stuff it was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild +autumn--that thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch and soft to the +eye. It always seemed to have been lately washed, and to smell of the +sweet hedges--was always in the shape of a pelisse with sleeves hanging +all out of the fashion. Yet if she had entered before a still audience +as Imogene or Cato's daughter, the dress might have seemed right +enough: the grace and dignity were in her limbs and neck; and about her +simply parted hair and candid eyes the large round poke which was then +in the fate of women, seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold +trencher we call a halo. By the present audience of two persons, no +dramatic heroine could have been expected with more interest than Mrs. +Casaubon. To Rosamond she was one of those county divinities not +mixing with Middlemarch mortality, whose slightest marks of manner or +appearance were worthy of her study; moreover, Rosamond was not without +satisfaction that Mrs. Casaubon should have an opportunity of studying +_her_. What is the use of being exquisite if you are not seen by the +best judges? and since Rosamond had received the highest compliments at +Sir Godwin Lydgate's, she felt quite confident of the impression she +must make on people of good birth. Dorothea put out her hand with her +usual simple kindness, and looked admiringly at Lydgate's lovely +bride--aware that there was a gentleman standing at a distance, but +seeing him merely as a coated figure at a wide angle. The gentleman +was too much occupied with the presence of the one woman to reflect on +the contrast between the two--a contrast that would certainly have been +striking to a calm observer. They were both tall, and their eyes were +on a level; but imagine Rosamond's infantine blondness and wondrous +crown of hair-plaits, with her pale-blue dress of a fit and fashion so +perfect that no dressmaker could look at it without emotion, a large +embroidered collar which it was to be hoped all beholders would know +the price of, her small hands duly set off with rings, and that +controlled self-consciousness of manner which is the expensive +substitute for simplicity. + +"Thank you very much for allowing me to interrupt you," said Dorothea, +immediately. "I am anxious to see Mr. Lydgate, if possible, before I +go home, and I hoped that you might possibly tell me where I could find +him, or even allow me to wait for him, if you expect him soon." + +"He is at the New Hospital," said Rosamond; "I am not sure how soon he +will come home. But I can send for him." + +"Will you let me go and fetch him?" said Will Ladislaw, coming forward. +He had already taken up his hat before Dorothea entered. She colored +with surprise, but put out her hand with a smile of unmistakable +pleasure, saying-- + +"I did not know it was you: I had no thought of seeing you here." + +"May I go to the Hospital and tell Mr. Lydgate that you wish to see +him?" said Will. + +"It would be quicker to send the carriage for him," said Dorothea, "if +you will be kind enough to give the message to the coachman." + +Will was moving to the door when Dorothea, whose mind had flashed in an +instant over many connected memories, turned quickly and said, "I will +go myself, thank you. I wish to lose no time before getting home +again. I will drive to the Hospital and see Mr. Lydgate there. Pray +excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate. I am very much obliged to you." + +Her mind was evidently arrested by some sudden thought, and she left +the room hardly conscious of what was immediately around her--hardly +conscious that Will opened the door for her and offered her his arm to +lead her to the carriage. She took the arm but said nothing. Will was +feeling rather vexed and miserable, and found nothing to say on his +side. He handed her into the carriage in silence, they said good-by, +and Dorothea drove away. + +In the five minutes' drive to the Hospital she had time for some +reflections that were quite new to her. Her decision to go, and her +preoccupation in leaving the room, had come from the sudden sense that +there would be a sort of deception in her voluntarily allowing any +further intercourse between herself and Will which she was unable to +mention to her husband, and already her errand in seeking Lydgate was a +matter of concealment. That was all that had been explicitly in her +mind; but she had been urged also by a vague discomfort. Now that she +was alone in her drive, she heard the notes of the man's voice and the +accompanying piano, which she had not noted much at the time, returning +on her inward sense; and she found herself thinking with some wonder +that Will Ladislaw was passing his time with Mrs. Lydgate in her +husband's absence. And then she could not help remembering that he had +passed some time with her under like circumstances, so why should there +be any unfitness in the fact? But Will was Mr. Casaubon's relative, +and one towards whom she was bound to show kindness. Still there had +been signs which perhaps she ought to have understood as implying that +Mr. Casaubon did not like his cousin's visits during his own absence. +"Perhaps I have been mistaken in many things," said poor Dorothea to +herself, while the tears came rolling and she had to dry them quickly. +She felt confusedly unhappy, and the image of Will which had been so +clear to her before was mysteriously spoiled. But the carriage stopped +at the gate of the Hospital. She was soon walking round the grass +plots with Lydgate, and her feelings recovered the strong bent which +had made her seek for this interview. + +Will Ladislaw, meanwhile, was mortified, and knew the reason of it +clearly enough. His chances of meeting Dorothea were rare; and here +for the first time there had come a chance which had set him at a +disadvantage. It was not only, as it had been hitherto, that she was +not supremely occupied with him, but that she had seen him under +circumstances in which he might appear not to be supremely occupied +with her. He felt thrust to a new distance from her, amongst the +circles of Middlemarchers who made no part of her life. But that was +not his fault: of course, since he had taken his lodgings in the town, +he had been making as many acquaintances as he could, his position +requiring that he should know everybody and everything. Lydgate was +really better worth knowing than any one else in the neighborhood, and +he happened to have a wife who was musical and altogether worth calling +upon. Here was the whole history of the situation in which Diana had +descended too unexpectedly on her worshipper. It was mortifying. Will +was conscious that he should not have been at Middlemarch but for +Dorothea; and yet his position there was threatening to divide him from +her with those barriers of habitual sentiment which are more fatal to +the persistence of mutual interest than all the distance between Rome +and Britain. Prejudices about rank and status were easy enough to defy +in the form of a tyrannical letter from Mr. Casaubon; but prejudices, +like odorous bodies, have a double existence both solid and subtle--solid +as the pyramids, subtle as the twentieth echo of an echo, or as +the memory of hyacinths which once scented the darkness. And Will was +of a temperament to feel keenly the presence of subtleties: a man of +clumsier perceptions would not have felt, as he did, that for the first +time some sense of unfitness in perfect freedom with him had sprung up +in Dorothea's mind, and that their silence, as he conducted her to the +carriage, had had a chill in it. Perhaps Casaubon, in his hatred and +jealousy, had been insisting to Dorothea that Will had slid below her +socially. Confound Casaubon! + +Will re-entered the drawing-room, took up his hat, and looking +irritated as he advanced towards Mrs. Lydgate, who had seated herself +at her work-table, said-- + +"It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted. May I come +another day and just finish about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro +bene'?" + +"I shall be happy to be taught," said Rosamond. "But I am sure you +admit that the interruption was a very beautiful one. I quite envy +your acquaintance with Mrs. Casaubon. Is she very clever? She looks +as if she were." + +"Really, I never thought about it," said Will, sulkily. + +"That is just the answer Tertius gave me, when I first asked him if she +were handsome. What is it that you gentlemen are thinking of when you +are with Mrs. Casaubon?" + +"Herself," said Will, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs. +Lydgate. "When one sees a perfect woman, one never thinks of her +attributes--one is conscious of her presence." + +"I shall be jealous when Tertius goes to Lowick," said Rosamond, +dimpling, and speaking with aery lightness. "He will come back and +think nothing of me." + +"That does not seem to have been the effect on Lydgate hitherto. Mrs. +Casaubon is too unlike other women for them to be compared with her." + +"You are a devout worshipper, I perceive. You often see her, I +suppose." + +"No," said Will, almost pettishly. "Worship is usually a matter of +theory rather than of practice. But I am practising it to excess just +at this moment--I must really tear myself away." + +"Pray come again some evening: Mr. Lydgate will like to hear the music, +and I cannot enjoy it so well without him." + +When her husband was at home again, Rosamond said, standing in front of +him and holding his coat-collar with both her hands, "Mr. Ladislaw was +here singing with me when Mrs. Casaubon came in. He seemed vexed. Do +you think he disliked her seeing him at our house? Surely your +position is more than equal to his--whatever may be his relation to the +Casaubons." + +"No, no; it must be something else if he were really vexed, Ladislaw is +a sort of gypsy; he thinks nothing of leather and prunella." + +"Music apart, he is not always very agreeable. Do you like him?" + +"Yes: I think he is a good fellow: rather miscellaneous and +bric-a-brac, but likable." + +"Do you know, I think he adores Mrs. Casaubon." + +"Poor devil!" said Lydgate, smiling and pinching his wife's ears. + +Rosamond felt herself beginning to know a great deal of the world, +especially in discovering what when she was in her unmarried girlhood +had been inconceivable to her except as a dim tragedy in by-gone +costumes--that women, even after marriage, might make conquests and +enslave men. At that time young ladies in the country, even when +educated at Mrs. Lemon's, read little French literature later than +Racine, and public prints had not cast their present magnificent +illumination over the scandals of life. Still, vanity, with a woman's +whole mind and day to work in, can construct abundantly on slight +hints, especially on such a hint as the possibility of indefinite +conquests. How delightful to make captives from the throne of marriage +with a husband as crown-prince by your side--himself in fact a +subject--while the captives look up forever hopeless, losing their +rest probably, and if their appetite too, so much the better! But +Rosamond's romance turned at present chiefly on her crown-prince, and +it was enough to enjoy his assured subjection. When he said, "Poor +devil!" she asked, with playful curiosity-- + +"Why so?" + +"Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring one of you mermaids? +He only neglects his work and runs up bills." + +"I am sure you do not neglect your work. You are always at the +Hospital, or seeing poor patients, or thinking about some doctor's +quarrel; and then at home you always want to pore over your microscope +and phials. Confess you like those things better than me." + +"Haven't you ambition enough to wish that your husband should be +something better than a Middlemarch doctor?" said Lydgate, letting his +hands fall on to his wife's shoulders, and looking at her with +affectionate gravity. "I shall make you learn my favorite bit from an +old poet-- + + 'Why should our pride make such a stir to be + And be forgot? What good is like to this, + To do worthy the writing, and to write + Worthy the reading and the worlds delight?' + +What I want, Rosy, is to do worthy the writing,--and to write out +myself what I have done. A man must work, to do that, my pet." + +"Of course, I wish you to make discoveries: no one could more wish you +to attain a high position in some better place than Middlemarch. You +cannot say that I have ever tried to hinder you from working. But we +cannot live like hermits. You are not discontented with me, Tertius?" + +"No, dear, no. I am too entirely contented." + +"But what did Mrs. Casaubon want to say to you?" + +"Merely to ask about her husband's health. But I think she is going to +be splendid to our New Hospital: I think she will give us two hundred +a-year." + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + I would not creep along the coast but steer + Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars. + + +When Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted plots of the New +Hospital with Lydgate, had learned from him that there were no signs of +change in Mr. Casaubon's bodily condition beyond the mental sign of +anxiety to know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a few +moments, wondering whether she had said or done anything to rouse this +new anxiety. Lydgate, not willing to let slip an opportunity of +furthering a favorite purpose, ventured to say-- + +"I don't know whether your or Mr.--Casaubon's attention has been drawn +to the needs of our New Hospital. Circumstances have made it seem +rather egotistic in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault: +it is because there is a fight being made against it by the other +medical men. I think you are generally interested in such things, for +I remember that when I first had the pleasure of seeing you at Tipton +Grange before your marriage, you were asking me some questions about +the way in which the health of the poor was affected by their miserable +housing." + +"Yes, indeed," said Dorothea, brightening. "I shall be quite grateful +to you if you will tell me how I can help to make things a little +better. Everything of that sort has slipped away from me since I have +been married. I mean," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "that +the people in our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has +been too much taken up for me to inquire further. But here--in such a +place as Middlemarch--there must be a great deal to be done." + +"There is everything to be done," said Lydgate, with abrupt energy. +"And this Hospital is a capital piece of work, due entirely to Mr. +Bulstrode's exertions, and in a great degree to his money. But one man +can't do everything in a scheme of this sort. Of course he looked +forward to help. And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the +thing in the town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure." + +"What can be their reasons?" said Dorothea, with naive surprise. + +"Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with. Half the town +would almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him. In this +stupid world most people never consider that a thing is good to be done +unless it is done by their own set. I had no connection with Bulstrode +before I came here. I look at him quite impartially, and I see that he +has some notions--that he has set things on foot--which I can turn to +good public purpose. If a fair number of the better educated men went +to work with the belief that their observations might contribute to the +reform of medical doctrine and practice, we should soon see a change +for the better. That's my point of view. I hold that by refusing to +work with Mr. Bulstrode I should be turning my back on an opportunity +of making my profession more generally serviceable." + +"I quite agree with you," said Dorothea, at once fascinated by the +situation sketched in Lydgate's words. "But what is there against Mr. +Bulstrode? I know that my uncle is friendly with him." + +"People don't like his religious tone," said Lydgate, breaking off +there. + +"That is all the stronger reason for despising such an opposition," +said Dorothea, looking at the affairs of Middlemarch by the light of +the great persecutions. + +"To put the matter quite fairly, they have other objections to him:--he +is masterful and rather unsociable, and he is concerned with trade, +which has complaints of its own that I know nothing about. But what +has that to do with the question whether it would not be a fine thing +to establish here a more valuable hospital than any they have in the +county? The immediate motive to the opposition, however, is the fact +that Bulstrode has put the medical direction into my hands. Of course +I am glad of that. It gives me an opportunity of doing some good +work,--and I am aware that I have to justify his choice of me. But the +consequence is, that the whole profession in Middlemarch have set +themselves tooth and nail against the Hospital, and not only refuse to +cooperate themselves, but try to blacken the whole affair and hinder +subscriptions." + +"How very petty!" exclaimed Dorothea, indignantly. + +"I suppose one must expect to fight one's way: there is hardly anything +to be done without it. And the ignorance of people about here is +stupendous. I don't lay claim to anything else than having used some +opportunities which have not come within everybody's reach; but there +is no stifling the offence of being young, and a new-comer, and +happening to know something more than the old inhabitants. Still, if I +believe that I can set going a better method of treatment--if I +believe that I can pursue certain observations and inquiries which may +be a lasting benefit to medical practice, I should be a base truckler +if I allowed any consideration of personal comfort to hinder me. And +the course is all the clearer from there being no salary in question to +put my persistence in an equivocal light." + +"I am glad you have told me this, Mr. Lydgate," said Dorothea, +cordially. "I feel sure I can help a little. I have some money, and +don't know what to do with it--that is often an uncomfortable thought +to me. I am sure I can spare two hundred a-year for a grand purpose +like this. How happy you must be, to know things that you feel sure +will do great good! I wish I could awake with that knowledge every +morning. There seems to be so much trouble taken that one can hardly +see the good of!" + +There was a melancholy cadence in Dorothea's voice as she spoke these +last words. But she presently added, more cheerfully, "Pray come to +Lowick and tell us more of this. I will mention the subject to Mr. +Casaubon. I must hasten home now." + +She did mention it that evening, and said that she should like to +subscribe two hundred a-year--she had seven hundred a-year as the +equivalent of her own fortune, settled on her at her marriage. Mr. +Casaubon made no objection beyond a passing remark that the sum might +be disproportionate in relation to other good objects, but when +Dorothea in her ignorance resisted that suggestion, he acquiesced. He +did not care himself about spending money, and was not reluctant to +give it. If he ever felt keenly any question of money it was through +the medium of another passion than the love of material property. + +Dorothea told him that she had seen Lydgate, and recited the gist of +her conversation with him about the Hospital. Mr. Casaubon did not +question her further, but he felt sure that she had wished to know what +had passed between Lydgate and himself. "She knows that I know," said +the ever-restless voice within; but that increase of tacit knowledge +only thrust further off any confidence between them. He distrusted her +affection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust? + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their + forefathers, and declaim against the wickedness of times + present. Which notwithstanding they cannot handsomely do, + without the borrowed help and satire of times past; + condemning the vices of their own times, by the expressions + of vices in times which they commend, which cannot but argue + the community of vice in both. Horace, therefore, Juvenal, + and Persius, were no prophets, although their lines did seem + to indigitate and point at our times.--SIR THOMAS BROWNE: + Pseudodoxia Epidemica. + + +That opposition to the New Fever Hospital which Lydgate had sketched to +Dorothea was, like other oppositions, to be viewed in many different +lights. He regarded it as a mixture of jealousy and dunderheaded +prejudice. Mr. Bulstrode saw in it not only medical jealousy but a +determination to thwart himself, prompted mainly by a hatred of that +vital religion of which he had striven to be an effectual lay +representative--a hatred which certainly found pretexts apart from +religion such as were only too easy to find in the entanglements of +human action. These might be called the ministerial views. But +oppositions have the illimitable range of objections at command, which +need never stop short at the boundary of knowledge, but can draw +forever on the vasts of ignorance. What the opposition in Middlemarch +said about the New Hospital and its administration had certainly a +great deal of echo in it, for heaven has taken care that everybody +shall not be an originator; but there were differences which +represented every social shade between the polished moderation of Dr. +Minchin and the trenchant assertion of Mrs. Dollop, the landlady of the +Tankard in Slaughter Lane. + +Mrs. Dollop became more and more convinced by her own asseveration, +that Dr. Lydgate meant to let the people die in the Hospital, if not to +poison them, for the sake of cutting them up without saying by your +leave or with your leave; for it was a known "fac" that he had wanted +to cut up Mrs. Goby, as respectable a woman as any in Parley Street, +who had money in trust before her marriage--a poor tale for a doctor, +who if he was good for anything should know what was the matter with +you before you died, and not want to pry into your inside after you +were gone. If that was not reason, Mrs. Dollop wished to know what +was; but there was a prevalent feeling in her audience that her opinion +was a bulwark, and that if it were overthrown there would be no limits +to the cutting-up of bodies, as had been well seen in Burke and Hare +with their pitch-plaisters--such a hanging business as that was not +wanted in Middlemarch! + +And let it not be supposed that opinion at the Tankard in Slaughter +Lane was unimportant to the medical profession: that old authentic +public-house--the original Tankard, known by the name of Dollop's--was +the resort of a great Benefit Club, which had some months before put to +the vote whether its long-standing medical man, "Doctor Gambit," should +not be cashiered in favor of "this Doctor Lydgate," who was capable of +performing the most astonishing cures, and rescuing people altogether +given up by other practitioners. But the balance had been turned +against Lydgate by two members, who for some private reasons held that +this power of resuscitating persons as good as dead was an equivocal +recommendation, and might interfere with providential favors. In the +course of the year, however, there had been a change in the public +sentiment, of which the unanimity at Dollop's was an index. + +A good deal more than a year ago, before anything was known of +Lydgate's skill, the judgments on it had naturally been divided, +depending on a sense of likelihood, situated perhaps in the pit of the +stomach or in the pineal gland, and differing in its verdicts, but not +the less valuable as a guide in the total deficit of evidence. +Patients who had chronic diseases or whose lives had long been worn +threadbare, like old Featherstone's, had been at once inclined to try +him; also, many who did not like paying their doctor's bills, thought +agreeably of opening an account with a new doctor and sending for him +without stint if the children's temper wanted a dose, occasions when +the old practitioners were often crusty; and all persons thus inclined +to employ Lydgate held it likely that he was clever. Some considered +that he might do more than others "where there was liver;"--at least +there would be no harm in getting a few bottles of "stuff" from him, +since if these proved useless it would still be possible to return to +the Purifying Pills, which kept you alive if they did not remove the +yellowness. But these were people of minor importance. Good +Middlemarch families were of course not going to change their doctor +without reason shown; and everybody who had employed Mr. Peacock did +not feel obliged to accept a new man merely in the character of his +successor, objecting that he was "not likely to be equal to Peacock." + +But Lydgate had not been long in the town before there were particulars +enough reported of him to breed much more specific expectations and to +intensify differences into partisanship; some of the particulars being +of that impressive order of which the significance is entirely hidden, +like a statistical amount without a standard of comparison, but with a +note of exclamation at the end. The cubic feet of oxygen yearly +swallowed by a full-grown man--what a shudder they might have created +in some Middlemarch circles! "Oxygen! nobody knows what that may +be--is it any wonder the cholera has got to Dantzic? And yet there are +people who say quarantine is no good!" + +One of the facts quickly rumored was that Lydgate did not dispense +drugs. This was offensive both to the physicians whose exclusive +distinction seemed infringed on, and to the surgeon-apothecaries with +whom he ranged himself; and only a little while before, they might have +counted on having the law on their side against a man who without +calling himself a London-made M.D. dared to ask for pay except as a +charge on drugs. But Lydgate had not been experienced enough to +foresee that his new course would be even more offensive to the laity; +and to Mr. Mawmsey, an important grocer in the Top Market, who, though +not one of his patients, questioned him in an affable manner on the +subject, he was injudicious enough to give a hasty popular explanation +of his reasons, pointing out to Mr. Mawmsey that it must lower the +character of practitioners, and be a constant injury to the public, if +their only mode of getting paid for their work was by their making out +long bills for draughts, boluses, and mixtures. + +"It is in that way that hard-working medical men may come to be almost +as mischievous as quacks," said Lydgate, rather thoughtlessly. "To get +their own bread they must overdose the king's lieges; and that's a bad +sort of treason, Mr. Mawmsey--undermines the constitution in a fatal +way." + +Mr. Mawmsey was not only an overseer (it was about a question of +outdoor pay that he was having an interview with Lydgate), he was also +asthmatic and had an increasing family: thus, from a medical point of +view, as well as from his own, he was an important man; indeed, an +exceptional grocer, whose hair was arranged in a flame-like pyramid, +and whose retail deference was of the cordial, encouraging +kind--jocosely complimentary, and with a certain considerate abstinence +from letting out the full force of his mind. It was Mr. Mawmsey's +friendly jocoseness in questioning him which had set the tone of +Lydgate's reply. But let the wise be warned against too great +readiness at explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake, +lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong. + +Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot into the +stirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he would have done if he had +known who the king's lieges were, giving his "Good morning, sir, +good-morning, sir," with the air of one who saw everything clearly +enough. But in truth his views were perturbed. For years he had been +paying bills with strictly made items, so that for every half-crown and +eighteen-pence he was certain something measurable had been delivered. +He had done this with satisfaction, including it among his +responsibilities as a husband and father, and regarding a longer bill +than usual as a dignity worth mentioning. Moreover, in addition to the +massive benefit of the drugs to "self and family," he had enjoyed the +pleasure of forming an acute judgment as to their immediate effects, so +as to give an intelligent statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit--a +practitioner just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, and +especially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr. Mawmsey had +the poorest opinion on all other points, but in doctoring, he was wont +to say in an undertone, he placed Gambit above any of them. + +Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a new man, which +appeared still flimsier in the drawing-room over the shop, when they +were recited to Mrs. Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be made much of as +a fertile mother,--generally under attendance more or less frequent +from Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks which required Dr. +Minchin. + +"Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in taking medicine?" +said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly given to drawling. "I should like +him to tell me how I could bear up at Fair time, if I didn't take +strengthening medicine for a month beforehand. Think of what I have to +provide for calling customers, my dear!"--here Mrs. Mawmsey turned to +an intimate female friend who sat by--"a large veal pie--a stuffed +fillet--a round of beef--ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera! But what +keeps me up best is the pink mixture, not the brown. I wonder, Mr. +Mawmsey, with _your_ experience, you could have patience to listen. I +should have told him at once that I knew a little better than that." + +"No, no, no," said Mr. Mawmsey; "I was not going to tell him my +opinion. Hear everything and judge for yourself is my motto. But he +didn't know who he was talking to. I was not to be turned on _his_ +finger. People often pretend to tell me things, when they might as +well say, 'Mawmsey, you're a fool.' But I smile at it: I humor +everybody's weak place. If physic had done harm to self and family, I +should have found it out by this time." + +The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went about saying physic +was of no use. + +"Indeed!" said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious surprise. (He +was a stout husky man with a large ring on his fourth finger.) "How +will he cure his patients, then?" + +"That is what I say," returned Mrs. Mawmsey, who habitually gave weight +to her speech by loading her pronouns. "Does _he_ suppose that people +will pay him only to come and sit with them and go away again?" + +Mrs. Mawmsey had had a great deal of sitting from Mr. Gambit, including +very full accounts of his own habits of body and other affairs; but of +course he knew there was no innuendo in her remark, since his spare +time and personal narrative had never been charged for. So he replied, +humorously-- + +"Well, Lydgate is a good-looking young fellow, you know." + +"Not one that I would employ," said Mrs. Mawmsey. "_Others_ may do as +they please." + +Hence Mr. Gambit could go away from the chief grocer's without fear of +rivalry, but not without a sense that Lydgate was one of those +hypocrites who try to discredit others by advertising their own +honesty, and that it might be worth some people's while to show him up. +Mr. Gambit, however, had a satisfactory practice, much pervaded by the +smells of retail trading which suggested the reduction of cash payments +to a balance. And he did not think it worth his while to show Lydgate +up until he knew how. He had not indeed great resources of education, +and had had to work his own way against a good deal of professional +contempt; but he made none the worse accoucheur for calling the +breathing apparatus "longs." + +Other medical men felt themselves more capable. Mr. Toller shared the +highest practice in the town and belonged to an old Middlemarch family: +there were Tollers in the law and everything else above the line of +retail trade. Unlike our irascible friend Wrench, he had the easiest +way in the world of taking things which might be supposed to annoy him, +being a well-bred, quietly facetious man, who kept a good house, was +very fond of a little sporting when he could get it, very friendly with +Mr. Hawley, and hostile to Mr. Bulstrode. It may seem odd that with +such pleasant habits he should have been given to the heroic treatment, +bleeding and blistering and starving his patients, with a dispassionate +disregard to his personal example; but the incongruity favored the +opinion of his ability among his patients, who commonly observed that +Mr. Toller had lazy manners, but his treatment was as active as you +could desire: no man, said they, carried more seriousness into his +profession: he was a little slow in coming, but when he came, he _did_ +something. He was a great favorite in his own circle, and whatever he +implied to any one's disadvantage told doubly from his careless +ironical tone. + +He naturally got tired of smiling and saying, "Ah!" when he was told +that Mr. Peacock's successor did not mean to dispense medicines; and +Mr. Hackbutt one day mentioning it over the wine at a dinner-party, Mr. +Toller said, laughingly, "Dibbitts will get rid of his stale drugs, +then. I'm fond of little Dibbitts--I'm glad he's in luck." + +"I see your meaning, Toller," said Mr. Hackbutt, "and I am entirely of +your opinion. I shall take an opportunity of expressing myself to that +effect. A medical man should be responsible for the quality of the +drugs consumed by his patients. That is the rationale of the system of +charging which has hitherto obtained; and nothing is more offensive +than this ostentation of reform, where there is no real amelioration." + +"Ostentation, Hackbutt?" said Mr. Toller, ironically. "I don't see +that. A man can't very well be ostentatious of what nobody believes +in. There's no reform in the matter: the question is, whether the +profit on the drugs is paid to the medical man by the druggist or by +the patient, and whether there shall be extra pay under the name of +attendance." + +"Ah, to be sure; one of your damned new versions of old humbug," said +Mr. Hawley, passing the decanter to Mr. Wrench. + +Mr. Wrench, generally abstemious, often drank wine rather freely at a +party, getting the more irritable in consequence. + +"As to humbug, Hawley," he said, "that's a word easy to fling about. +But what I contend against is the way medical men are fouling their own +nest, and setting up a cry about the country as if a general +practitioner who dispenses drugs couldn't be a gentleman. I throw back +the imputation with scorn. I say, the most ungentlemanly trick a man +can be guilty of is to come among the members of his profession with +innovations which are a libel on their time-honored procedure. That is +my opinion, and I am ready to maintain it against any one who +contradicts me." Mr. Wrench's voice had become exceedingly sharp. + +"I can't oblige you there, Wrench," said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his +hands into his trouser-pockets. + +"My dear fellow," said Mr. Toller, striking in pacifically, and looking +at Mr. Wrench, "the physicians have their toes trodden on more than we +have. If you come to dignity it is a question for Minchin and Sprague." + +"Does medical jurisprudence provide nothing against these +infringements?" said Mr. Hackbutt, with a disinterested desire to offer +his lights. "How does the law stand, eh, Hawley?" + +"Nothing to be done there," said Mr. Hawley. "I looked into it for +Sprague. You'd only break your nose against a damned judge's decision." + +"Pooh! no need of law," said Mr. Toller. "So far as practice is +concerned the attempt is an absurdity. No patient will like +it--certainly not Peacock's, who have been used to depletion. Pass the +wine." + +Mr. Toller's prediction was partly verified. If Mr. and Mrs. Mawmsey, +who had no idea of employing Lydgate, were made uneasy by his supposed +declaration against drugs, it was inevitable that those who called him +in should watch a little anxiously to see whether he did "use all the +means he might use" in the case. Even good Mr. Powderell, who in his +constant charity of interpretation was inclined to esteem Lydgate the +more for what seemed a conscientious pursuit of a better plan, had his +mind disturbed with doubts during his wife's attack of erysipelas, and +could not abstain from mentioning to Lydgate that Mr. Peacock on a +similar occasion had administered a series of boluses which were not +otherwise definable than by their remarkable effect in bringing Mrs. +Powderell round before Michaelmas from an illness which had begun in a +remarkably hot August. At last, indeed, in the conflict between his +desire not to hurt Lydgate and his anxiety that no "means" should be +lacking, he induced his wife privately to take Widgeon's Purifying +Pills, an esteemed Middlemarch medicine, which arrested every disease +at the fountain by setting to work at once upon the blood. This +co-operative measure was not to be mentioned to Lydgate, and Mr. +Powderell himself had no certain reliance on it, only hoping that it +might be attended with a blessing. + +But in this doubtful stage of Lydgate's introduction he was helped by +what we mortals rashly call good fortune. I suppose no doctor ever +came newly to a place without making cures that surprised somebody--cures +which may be called fortune's testimonials, and deserve as much +credit as the written or printed kind. Various patients got well while +Lydgate was attending them, some even of dangerous illnesses; and it +was remarked that the new doctor with his new ways had at least the +merit of bringing people back from the brink of death. The trash +talked on such occasions was the more vexatious to Lydgate, because it +gave precisely the sort of prestige which an incompetent and +unscrupulous man would desire, and was sure to be imputed to him by the +simmering dislike of the other medical men as an encouragement on his +own part of ignorant puffing. But even his proud outspokenness was +checked by the discernment that it was as useless to fight against the +interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog; and "good fortune" +insisted on using those interpretations. + +Mrs. Larcher having just become charitably concerned about alarming +symptoms in her charwoman, when Dr. Minchin called, asked him to see +her then and there, and to give her a certificate for the Infirmary; +whereupon after examination he wrote a statement of the case as one of +tumor, and recommended the bearer Nancy Nash as an out-patient. Nancy, +calling at home on her way to the Infirmary, allowed the stay maker and +his wife, in whose attic she lodged, to read Dr. Minchin's paper, and +by this means became a subject of compassionate conversation in the +neighboring shops of Churchyard Lane as being afflicted with a tumor at +first declared to be as large and hard as a duck's egg, but later in +the day to be about the size of "your fist." Most hearers agreed that +it would have to be cut out, but one had known of oil and another of +"squitchineal" as adequate to soften and reduce any lump in the body +when taken enough of into the inside--the oil by gradually "soopling," +the squitchineal by eating away. + +Meanwhile when Nancy presented herself at the Infirmary, it happened to +be one of Lydgate's days there. After questioning and examining her, +Lydgate said to the house-surgeon in an undertone, "It's not tumor: +it's cramp." He ordered her a blister and some steel mixture, and told +her to go home and rest, giving her at the same time a note to Mrs. +Larcher, who, she said, was her best employer, to testify that she was +in need of good food. + +But by-and-by Nancy, in her attic, became portentously worse, the +supposed tumor having indeed given way to the blister, but only +wandered to another region with angrier pain. The staymaker's wife +went to fetch Lydgate, and he continued for a fortnight to attend Nancy +in her own home, until under his treatment she got quite well and went +to work again. But the case continued to be described as one of tumor +in Churchyard Lane and other streets--nay, by Mrs. Larcher also; for +when Lydgate's remarkable cure was mentioned to Dr. Minchin, he +naturally did not like to say, "The case was not one of tumor, and I +was mistaken in describing it as such," but answered, "Indeed! ah! I +saw it was a surgical case, not of a fatal kind." He had been inwardly +annoyed, however, when he had asked at the Infirmary about the woman he +had recommended two days before, to hear from the house-surgeon, a +youngster who was not sorry to vex Minchin with impunity, exactly what +had occurred: he privately pronounced that it was indecent in a general +practitioner to contradict a physician's diagnosis in that open manner, +and afterwards agreed with Wrench that Lydgate was disagreeably +inattentive to etiquette. Lydgate did not make the affair a ground for +valuing himself or (very particularly) despising Minchin, such +rectification of misjudgments often happening among men of equal +qualifications. But report took up this amazing case of tumor, not +clearly distinguished from cancer, and considered the more awful for +being of the wandering sort; till much prejudice against Lydgate's +method as to drugs was overcome by the proof of his marvellous skill in +the speedy restoration of Nancy Nash after she had been rolling and +rolling in agonies from the presence of a tumor both hard and +obstinate, but nevertheless compelled to yield. + +How could Lydgate help himself? It is offensive to tell a lady when +she is expressing her amazement at your skill, that she is altogether +mistaken and rather foolish in her amazement. And to have entered into +the nature of diseases would only have added to his breaches of medical +propriety. Thus he had to wince under a promise of success given by +that ignorant praise which misses every valid quality. + +In the case of a more conspicuous patient, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, +Lydgate was conscious of having shown himself something better than an +every-day doctor, though here too it was an equivocal advantage that he +won. The eloquent auctioneer was seized with pneumonia, and having +been a patient of Mr. Peacock's, sent for Lydgate, whom he had +expressed his intention to patronize. Mr Trumbull was a robust man, a +good subject for trying the expectant theory upon--watching the course +of an interesting disease when left as much as possible to itself, so +that the stages might be noted for future guidance; and from the air +with which he described his sensations Lydgate surmised that he would +like to be taken into his medical man's confidence, and be represented +as a partner in his own cure. The auctioneer heard, without much +surprise, that his was a constitution which (always with due watching) +might be left to itself, so as to offer a beautiful example of a +disease with all its phases seen in clear delineation, and that he +probably had the rare strength of mind voluntarily to become the test +of a rational procedure, and thus make the disorder of his pulmonary +functions a general benefit to society. + +Mr. Trumbull acquiesced at once, and entered strongly into the view +that an illness of his was no ordinary occasion for medical science. + +"Never fear, sir; you are not speaking to one who is altogether +ignorant of the vis medicatrix," said he, with his usual superiority of +expression, made rather pathetic by difficulty of breathing. And he +went without shrinking through his abstinence from drugs, much +sustained by application of the thermometer which implied the +importance of his temperature, by the sense that he furnished objects +for the microscope, and by learning many new words which seemed suited +to the dignity of his secretions. For Lydgate was acute enough to +indulge him with a little technical talk. + +It may be imagined that Mr. Trumbull rose from his couch with a +disposition to speak of an illness in which he had manifested the +strength of his mind as well as constitution; and he was not backward +in awarding credit to the medical man who had discerned the quality of +patient he had to deal with. The auctioneer was not an ungenerous man, +and liked to give others their due, feeling that he could afford it. +He had caught the words "expectant method," and rang chimes on this and +other learned phrases to accompany the assurance that Lydgate "knew a +thing or two more than the rest of the doctors--was far better versed +in the secrets of his profession than the majority of his compeers." + +This had happened before the affair of Fred Vincy's illness had given +to Mr. Wrench's enmity towards Lydgate more definite personal ground. +The new-comer already threatened to be a nuisance in the shape of +rivalry, and was certainly a nuisance in the shape of practical +criticism or reflections on his hard-driven elders, who had had +something else to do than to busy themselves with untried notions. His +practice had spread in one or two quarters, and from the first the +report of his high family had led to his being pretty generally +invited, so that the other medical men had to meet him at dinner in the +best houses; and having to meet a man whom you dislike is not observed +always to end in a mutual attachment. There was hardly ever so much +unanimity among them as in the opinion that Lydgate was an arrogant +young fellow, and yet ready for the sake of ultimately predominating to +show a crawling subservience to Bulstrode. That Mr. Farebrother, whose +name was a chief flag of the anti-Bulstrode party, always defended +Lydgate and made a friend of him, was referred to Farebrother's +unaccountable way of fighting on both sides. + +Here was plenty of preparation for the outburst of professional disgust +at the announcement of the laws Mr. Bulstrode was laying down for the +direction of the New Hospital, which were the more exasperating because +there was no present possibility of interfering with his will and +pleasure, everybody except Lord Medlicote having refused help towards +the building, on the ground that they preferred giving to the Old +Infirmary. Mr. Bulstrode met all the expenses, and had ceased to be +sorry that he was purchasing the right to carry out his notions of +improvement without hindrance from prejudiced coadjutors; but he had +had to spend large sums, and the building had lingered. Caleb Garth +had undertaken it, had failed during its progress, and before the +interior fittings were begun had retired from the management of the +business; and when referring to the Hospital he often said that however +Bulstrode might ring if you tried him, he liked good solid carpentry +and masonry, and had a notion both of drains and chimneys. In fact, +the Hospital had become an object of intense interest to Bulstrode, and +he would willingly have continued to spare a large yearly sum that he +might rule it dictatorially without any Board; but he had another +favorite object which also required money for its accomplishment: he +wished to buy some land in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, and +therefore he wished to get considerable contributions towards +maintaining the Hospital. Meanwhile he framed his plan of management. +The Hospital was to be reserved for fever in all its forms; Lydgate was +to be chief medical superintendent, that he might have free authority +to pursue all comparative investigations which his studies, +particularly in Paris, had shown him the importance of, the other +medical visitors having a consultative influence, but no power to +contravene Lydgate's ultimate decisions; and the general management was +to be lodged exclusively in the hands of five directors associated with +Mr. Bulstrode, who were to have votes in the ratio of their +contributions, the Board itself filling up any vacancy in its numbers, +and no mob of small contributors being admitted to a share of +government. + +There was an immediate refusal on the part of every medical man in the +town to become a visitor at the Fever Hospital. + +"Very well," said Lydgate to Mr. Bulstrode, "we have a capital +house-surgeon and dispenser, a clear-headed, neat-handed fellow; we'll +get Webbe from Crabsley, as good a country practitioner as any of them, +to come over twice a-week, and in case of any exceptional operation, +Protheroe will come from Brassing. I must work the harder, that's all, +and I have given up my post at the Infirmary. The plan will flourish +in spite of them, and then they'll be glad to come in. Things can't +last as they are: there must be all sorts of reform soon, and then +young fellows may be glad to come and study here." Lydgate was in high +spirits. + +"I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. +Bulstrode. "While I see you carrying out high intentions with vigor, +you shall have my unfailing support. And I have humble confidence that +the blessing which has hitherto attended my efforts against the spirit +of evil in this town will not be withdrawn. Suitable directors to +assist me I have no doubt of securing. Mr. Brooke of Tipton has +already given me his concurrence, and a pledge to contribute yearly: he +has not specified the sum--probably not a great one. But he will be a +useful member of the board." + +A useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who would originate +nothing, and always vote with Mr. Bulstrode. + +The medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised now. Neither Dr. +Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he disliked Lydgate's knowledge, or +his disposition to improve treatment: what they disliked was his +arrogance, which nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They implied +that he was insolent, pretentious, and given to that reckless +innovation for the sake of noise and show which was the essence of the +charlatan. + +The word charlatan once thrown on the air could not be let drop. In +those days the world was agitated about the wondrous doings of Mr. St. +John Long, "noblemen and gentlemen" attesting his extraction of a fluid +like mercury from the temples of a patient. + +Mr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft, that "Bulstrode +had found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a charlatan in religion is sure +to like other sorts of charlatans." + +"Yes, indeed, I can imagine," said Mrs. Taft, keeping the number of +thirty stitches carefully in her mind all the while; "there are so many +of that sort. I remember Mr. Cheshire, with his irons, trying to make +people straight when the Almighty had made them crooked." + +"No, no," said Mr. Toller, "Cheshire was all right--all fair and above +board. But there's St. John Long--that's the kind of fellow we call a +charlatan, advertising cures in ways nobody knows anything about: a +fellow who wants to make a noise by pretending to go deeper than other +people. The other day he was pretending to tap a man's brain and get +quicksilver out of it." + +"Good gracious! what dreadful trifling with people's constitutions!" +said Mrs. Taft. + +After this, it came to be held in various quarters that Lydgate played +even with respectable constitutions for his own purposes, and how much +more likely that in his flighty experimenting he should make sixes and +sevens of hospital patients. Especially it was to be expected, as the +landlady of the Tankard had said, that he would recklessly cut up their +dead bodies. For Lydgate having attended Mrs. Goby, who died +apparently of a heart-disease not very clearly expressed in the +symptoms, too daringly asked leave of her relatives to open the body, +and thus gave an offence quickly spreading beyond Parley Street, where +that lady had long resided on an income such as made this association +of her body with the victims of Burke and Hare a flagrant insult to her +memory. + +Affairs were in this stage when Lydgate opened the subject of the +Hospital to Dorothea. We see that he was bearing enmity and silly +misconception with much spirit, aware that they were partly created by +his good share of success. + +"They will not drive me away," he said, talking confidentially in Mr. +Farebrother's study. "I have got a good opportunity here, for the ends +I care most about; and I am pretty sure to get income enough for our +wants. By-and-by I shall go on as quietly as possible: I have no +seductions now away from home and work. And I am more and more +convinced that it will be possible to demonstrate the homogeneous +origin of all the tissues. Raspail and others are on the same track, +and I have been losing time." + +"I have no power of prophecy there," said Mr. Farebrother, who had been +puffing at his pipe thoughtfully while Lydgate talked; "but as to the +hostility in the town, you'll weather it if you are prudent." + +"How am I to be prudent?" said Lydgate, "I just do what comes before me +to do. I can't help people's ignorance and spite, any more than +Vesalius could. It isn't possible to square one's conduct to silly +conclusions which nobody can foresee." + +"Quite true; I didn't mean that. I meant only two things. One is, +keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as you can: of course, you +can go on doing good work of your own by his help; but don't get tied. +Perhaps it seems like personal feeling in me to say so--and there's a +good deal of that, I own--but personal feeling is not always in the +wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make it simply an +opinion." + +"Bulstrode is nothing to me," said Lydgate, carelessly, "except on +public grounds. As to getting very closely united to him, I am not +fond enough of him for that. But what was the other thing you meant?" +said Lydgate, who was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible, and +feeling in no great need of advice. + +"Why, this. Take care--experto crede--take care not to get hampered +about money matters. I know, by a word you let fall one day, that you +don't like my playing at cards so much for money. You are right enough +there. But try and keep clear of wanting small sums that you haven't +got. I am perhaps talking rather superfluously; but a man likes to +assume superiority over himself, by holding up his bad example and +sermonizing on it." + +Lydgate took Mr. Farebrother's hints very cordially, though he would +hardly have borne them from another man. He could not help remembering +that he had lately made some debts, but these had seemed inevitable, +and he had no intention now to do more than keep house in a simple way. +The furniture for which he owed would not want renewing; nor even the +stock of wine for a long while. + +Many thoughts cheered him at that time--and justly. A man conscious of +enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty hostilities by the +memory of great workers who had to fight their way not without wounds, +and who hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping. At +home, that same evening when he had been chatting with Mr. Farebrother, +he had his long legs stretched on the sofa, his head thrown back, and +his hands clasped behind it according to his favorite ruminating +attitude, while Rosamond sat at the piano, and played one tune after +another, of which her husband only knew (like the emotional elephant he +was!) that they fell in with his mood as if they had been melodious +sea-breezes. + +There was something very fine in Lydgate's look just then, and any one +might have been encouraged to bet on his achievement. In his dark eyes +and on his mouth and brow there was that placidity which comes from the +fulness of contemplative thought--the mind not searching, but +beholding, and the glance seeming to be filled with what is behind it. + +Presently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself on a chair close +to the sofa and opposite her husband's face. + +"Is that enough music for you, my lord?" she said, folding her hands +before her and putting on a little air of meekness. + +"Yes, dear, if you are tired," said Lydgate, gently, turning his eyes +and resting them on her, but not otherwise moving. Rosamond's presence +at that moment was perhaps no more than a spoonful brought to the lake, +and her woman's instinct in this matter was not dull. + + +"What is absorbing you?" she said, leaning forward and bringing her +face nearer to his. + +He moved his hands and placed them gently behind her shoulders. + +"I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old as I am three +hundred years ago, and had already begun a new era in anatomy." + +"I can't guess," said Rosamond, shaking her head. "We used to play at +guessing historical characters at Mrs. Lemon's, but not anatomists." + +"I'll tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way he could get +to know anatomy as he did, was by going to snatch bodies at night, from +graveyards and places of execution." + +"Oh!" said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her pretty face, "I am +very glad you are not Vesalius. I should have thought he might find +some less horrible way than that." + +"No, he couldn't," said Lydgate, going on too earnestly to take much +notice of her answer. "He could only get a complete skeleton by +snatching the whitened bones of a criminal from the gallows, and +burying them, and fetching them away by bits secretly, in the dead of +night." + +"I hope he is not one of your great heroes," said Rosamond, half +playfully, half anxiously, "else I shall have you getting up in the +night to go to St. Peter's churchyard. You know how angry you told me +the people were about Mrs. Goby. You have enemies enough already." + +"So had Vesalius, Rosy. No wonder the medical fogies in Middlemarch +are jealous, when some of the greatest doctors living were fierce upon +Vesalius because they had believed in Galen, and he showed that Galen +was wrong. They called him a liar and a poisonous monster. But the +facts of the human frame were on his side; and so he got the better of +them." + +"And what happened to him afterwards?" said Rosamond, with some +interest. + +"Oh, he had a good deal of fighting to the last. And they did +exasperate him enough at one time to make him burn a good deal of his +work. Then he got shipwrecked just as he was coming from Jerusalem to +take a great chair at Padua. He died rather miserably." + +There was a moment's pause before Rosamond said, "Do you know, Tertius, +I often wish you had not been a medical man." + +"Nay, Rosy, don't say that," said Lydgate, drawing her closer to him. +"That is like saying you wish you had married another man." + +"Not at all; you are clever enough for anything: you might easily have +been something else. And your cousins at Quallingham all think that +you have sunk below them in your choice of a profession." + +"The cousins at Quallingham may go to the devil!" said Lydgate, with +scorn. "It was like their impudence if they said anything of the sort +to you." + +"Still," said Rosamond, "I do _not_ think it is a nice profession, +dear." We know that she had much quiet perseverance in her opinion. + +"It is the grandest profession in the world, Rosamond," said Lydgate, +gravely. "And to say that you love me without loving the medical man +in me, is the same sort of thing as to say that you like eating a peach +but don't like its flavor. Don't say that again, dear, it pains me." + +"Very well, Doctor Grave-face," said Rosy, dimpling, "I will declare in +future that I dote on skeletons, and body-snatchers, and bits of things +in phials, and quarrels with everybody, that end in your dying +miserably." + +"No, no, not so bad as that," said Lydgate, giving up remonstrance and +petting her resignedly. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + Pues no podemos haber aquello que queremos, queramos + aquello que podremos. + + Since we cannot get what we like, let us like + what we can get. + --Spanish Proverb. + + +While Lydgate, safely married and with the Hospital under his command, +felt himself struggling for Medical Reform against Middlemarch, +Middlemarch was becoming more and more conscious of the national +struggle for another kind of Reform. + +By the time that Lord John Russell's measure was being debated in the +House of Commons, there was a new political animation in Middlemarch, +and a new definition of parties which might show a decided change of +balance if a new election came. And there were some who already +predicted this event, declaring that a Reform Bill would never be +carried by the actual Parliament. This was what Will Ladislaw dwelt on +to Mr. Brooke as a reason for congratulation that he had not yet tried +his strength at the hustings. + +"Things will grow and ripen as if it were a comet year," said Will. +"The public temper will soon get to a cometary heat, now the question +of Reform has set in. There is likely to be another election before +long, and by that time Middlemarch will have got more ideas into its +head. What we have to work at now is the 'Pioneer' and political +meetings." + +"Quite right, Ladislaw; we shall make a new thing of opinion here," +said Mr. Brooke. "Only I want to keep myself independent about Reform, +you know; I don't want to go too far. I want to take up +Wilberforce's and Romilly's line, you know, and work at Negro +Emancipation, Criminal Law--that kind of thing. But of course I should +support Grey." + +"If you go in for the principle of Reform, you must be prepared to take +what the situation offers," said Will. "If everybody pulled for his +own bit against everybody else, the whole question would go to tatters." + +"Yes, yes, I agree with you--I quite take that point of view. I should +put it in that light. I should support Grey, you know. But I don't +want to change the balance of the constitution, and I don't think Grey +would." + +"But that is what the country wants," said Will. "Else there would be +no meaning in political unions or any other movement that knows what +it's about. It wants to have a House of Commons which is not weighted +with nominees of the landed class, but with representatives of the +other interests. And as to contending for a reform short of that, it +is like asking for a bit of an avalanche which has already begun to +thunder." + +"That is fine, Ladislaw: that is the way to put it. Write that down, +now. We must begin to get documents about the feeling of the country, +as well as the machine-breaking and general distress." + +"As to documents," said Will, "a two-inch card will hold plenty. A few +rows of figures are enough to deduce misery from, and a few more will +show the rate at which the political determination of the people is +growing." + +"Good: draw that out a little more at length, Ladislaw. That is an +idea, now: write it out in the 'Pioneer.' Put the figures and deduce +the misery, you know; and put the other figures and deduce--and so on. +You have a way of putting things. Burke, now:--when I think of Burke, +I can't help wishing somebody had a pocket-borough to give you, +Ladislaw. You'd never get elected, you know. And we shall always want +talent in the House: reform as we will, we shall always want talent. +That avalanche and the thunder, now, was really a little like Burke. I +want that sort of thing--not ideas, you know, but a way of putting +them." + +"Pocket-boroughs would be a fine thing," said Ladislaw, "if they were +always in the right pocket, and there were always a Burke at hand." + +Will was not displeased with that complimentary comparison, even from +Mr. Brooke; for it is a little too trying to human flesh to be +conscious of expressing one's self better than others and never to have +it noticed, and in the general dearth of admiration for the right +thing, even a chance bray of applause falling exactly in time is rather +fortifying. Will felt that his literary refinements were usually +beyond the limits of Middlemarch perception; nevertheless, he was +beginning thoroughly to like the work of which when he began he had +said to himself rather languidly, "Why not?"--and he studied the +political situation with as ardent an interest as he had ever given to +poetic metres or mediaevalism. It is undeniable that but for the +desire to be where Dorothea was, and perhaps the want of knowing what +else to do, Will would not at this time have been meditating on the +needs of the English people or criticising English statesmanship: he +would probably have been rambling in Italy sketching plans for several +dramas, trying prose and finding it too jejune, trying verse and +finding it too artificial, beginning to copy "bits" from old pictures, +leaving off because they were "no good," and observing that, after all, +self-culture was the principal point; while in politics he would have +been sympathizing warmly with liberty and progress in general. Our +sense of duty must often wait for some work which shall take the place +of dilettanteism and make us feel that the quality of our action is not +a matter of indifference. + +Ladislaw had now accepted his bit of work, though it was not that +indeterminate loftiest thing which he had once dreamed of as alone +worthy of continuous effort. His nature warmed easily in the presence +of subjects which were visibly mixed with life and action, and the +easily stirred rebellion in him helped the glow of public spirit. In +spite of Mr. Casaubon and the banishment from Lowick, he was rather +happy; getting a great deal of fresh knowledge in a vivid way and for +practical purposes, and making the "Pioneer" celebrated as far as +Brassing (never mind the smallness of the area; the writing was not +worse than much that reaches the four corners of the earth). + +Mr. Brooke was occasionally irritating; but Will's impatience was +relieved by the division of his time between visits to the Grange and +retreats to his Middlemarch lodgings, which gave variety to his life. + +"Shift the pegs a little," he said to himself, "and Mr. Brooke might be +in the Cabinet, while I was Under-Secretary. That is the common order +of things: the little waves make the large ones and are of the same +pattern. I am better here than in the sort of life Mr. Casaubon would +have trained me for, where the doing would be all laid down by a +precedent too rigid for me to react upon. I don't care for prestige or +high pay." + +As Lydgate had said of him, he was a sort of gypsy, rather enjoying the +sense of belonging to no class; he had a feeling of romance in his +position, and a pleasant consciousness of creating a little surprise +wherever he went. That sort of enjoyment had been disturbed when he +had felt some new distance between himself and Dorothea in their +accidental meeting at Lydgate's, and his irritation had gone out +towards Mr. Casaubon, who had declared beforehand that Will would lose +caste. "I never had any caste," he would have said, if that prophecy +had been uttered to him, and the quick blood would have come and gone +like breath in his transparent skin. But it is one thing to like +defiance, and another thing to like its consequences. + +Meanwhile, the town opinion about the new editor of the "Pioneer" was +tending to confirm Mr. Casaubon's view. Will's relationship in that +distinguished quarter did not, like Lydgate's high connections, serve +as an advantageous introduction: if it was rumored that young Ladislaw +was Mr. Casaubon's nephew or cousin, it was also rumored that "Mr. +Casaubon would have nothing to do with him." + +"Brooke has taken him up," said Mr. Hawley, "because that is what no +man in his senses could have expected. Casaubon has devilish good +reasons, you may be sure, for turning the cold shoulder on a young +fellow whose bringing-up he paid for. Just like Brooke--one of those +fellows who would praise a cat to sell a horse." + +And some oddities of Will's, more or less poetical, appeared to support +Mr. Keck, the editor of the "Trumpet," in asserting that Ladislaw, if +the truth were known, was not only a Polish emissary but crack-brained, +which accounted for the preternatural quickness and glibness of his +speech when he got on to a platform--as he did whenever he had an +opportunity, speaking with a facility which cast reflections on solid +Englishmen generally. It was disgusting to Keck to see a strip of a +fellow, with light curls round his head, get up and speechify by the +hour against institutions "which had existed when he was in his +cradle." And in a leading article of the "Trumpet," Keck characterized +Ladislaw's speech at a Reform meeting as "the violence of an +energumen--a miserable effort to shroud in the brilliancy of fireworks +the daring of irresponsible statements and the poverty of a knowledge +which was of the cheapest and most recent description." + +"That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck," said Dr. Sprague, with +sarcastic intentions. "But what is an energumen?" + +"Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution," said Keck. + +This dangerous aspect of Ladislaw was strangely contrasted with other +habits which became matter of remark. He had a fondness, half +artistic, half affectionate, for little children--the smaller they were +on tolerably active legs, and the funnier their clothing, the better +Will liked to surprise and please them. We know that in Rome he was +given to ramble about among the poor people, and the taste did not quit +him in Middlemarch. + +He had somehow picked up a troop of droll children, little hatless boys +with their galligaskins much worn and scant shirting to hang out, +little girls who tossed their hair out of their eyes to look at him, +and guardian brothers at the mature age of seven. This troop he had +led out on gypsy excursions to Halsell Wood at nutting-time, and since +the cold weather had set in he had taken them on a clear day to gather +sticks for a bonfire in the hollow of a hillside, where he drew out a +small feast of gingerbread for them, and improvised a Punch-and-Judy +drama with some private home-made puppets. Here was one oddity. +Another was, that in houses where he got friendly, he was given to +stretch himself at full length on the rug while he talked, and was apt +to be discovered in this attitude by occasional callers for whom such +an irregularity was likely to confirm the notions of his dangerously +mixed blood and general laxity. + +But Will's articles and speeches naturally recommended him in families +which the new strictness of party division had marked off on the side +of Reform. He was invited to Mr. Bulstrode's; but here he could not +lie down on the rug, and Mrs. Bulstrode felt that his mode of talking +about Catholic countries, as if there were any truce with Antichrist, +illustrated the usual tendency to unsoundness in intellectual men. + +At Mr. Farebrother's, however, whom the irony of events had brought on +the same side with Bulstrode in the national movement, Will became a +favorite with the ladies; especially with little Miss Noble, whom it +was one of his oddities to escort when he met her in the street with +her little basket, giving her his arm in the eyes of the town, and +insisting on going with her to pay some call where she distributed her +small filchings from her own share of sweet things. + +But the house where he visited oftenest and lay most on the rug was +Lydgate's. The two men were not at all alike, but they agreed none the +worse. Lydgate was abrupt but not irritable, taking little notice of +megrims in healthy people; and Ladislaw did not usually throw away his +susceptibilities on those who took no notice of them. With Rosamond, +on the other hand, he pouted and was wayward--nay, often +uncomplimentary, much to her inward surprise; nevertheless he was +gradually becoming necessary to her entertainment by his companionship +in her music, his varied talk, and his freedom from the grave +preoccupation which, with all her husband's tenderness and indulgence, +often made his manners unsatisfactory to her, and confirmed her dislike +of the medical profession. + +Lydgate, inclined to be sarcastic on the superstitious faith of the +people in the efficacy of "the bill," while nobody cared about the low +state of pathology, sometimes assailed Will with troublesome questions. +One evening in March, Rosamond in her cherry-colored dress with +swansdown trimming about the throat sat at the tea-table; Lydgate, +lately come in tired from his outdoor work, was seated sideways on an +easy-chair by the fire with one leg over the elbow, his brow looking a +little troubled as his eyes rambled over the columns of the "Pioneer," +while Rosamond, having noticed that he was perturbed, avoided looking +at him, and inwardly thanked heaven that she herself had not a moody +disposition. Will Ladislaw was stretched on the rug contemplating the +curtain-pole abstractedly, and humming very low the notes of "When +first I saw thy face;" while the house spaniel, also stretched out with +small choice of room, looked from between his paws at the usurper of +the rug with silent but strong objection. + +Rosamond bringing Lydgate his cup of tea, he threw down the paper, and +said to Will, who had started up and gone to the table-- + +"It's no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw: +they only pick the more holes in his coat in the 'Trumpet.'" + +"No matter; those who read the 'Pioneer' don't read the 'Trumpet,'" +said Will, swallowing his tea and walking about. "Do you suppose the +public reads with a view to its own conversion? We should have a +witches' brewing with a vengeance then--'Mingle, mingle, mingle, +mingle, You that mingle may'--and nobody would know which side he was +going to take." + +"Farebrother says, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected if the +opportunity came: the very men who profess to be for him would bring +another member out of the bag at the right moment." + +"There's no harm in trying. It's good to have resident members." + +"Why?" said Lydgate, who was much given to use that inconvenient word +in a curt tone. + +"They represent the local stupidity better," said Will, laughing, and +shaking his curls; "and they are kept on their best behavior in the +neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad fellow, but he has done some good +things on his estate that he never would have done but for this +Parliamentary bite." + +"He's not fitted to be a public man," said Lydgate, with contemptuous +decision. "He would disappoint everybody who counted on him: I can see +that at the Hospital. Only, there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives +him." + +"That depends on how you fix your standard of public men," said Will. +"He's good enough for the occasion: when the people have made up their +mind as they are making it up now, they don't want a man--they only +want a vote." + +"That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw--crying up a +measure as if it were a universal cure, and crying up men who are a +part of the very disease that wants curing." + +"Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the face of the land +without knowing it," said Will, who could find reasons impromptu, when +he had not thought of a question beforehand. + +"That is no excuse for encouraging the superstitious exaggeration of +hopes about this particular measure, helping the cry to swallow it +whole and to send up voting popinjays who are good for nothing but to +carry it. You go against rottenness, and there is nothing more +thoroughly rotten than making people believe that society can be cured +by a political hocus-pocus." + +"That's very fine, my dear fellow. But your cure must begin somewhere, +and put it that a thousand things which debase a population can never +be reformed without this particular reform to begin with. Look what +Stanley said the other day--that the House had been tinkering long +enough at small questions of bribery, inquiring whether this or that +voter has had a guinea when everybody knows that the seats have been +sold wholesale. Wait for wisdom and conscience in public +agents--fiddlestick! The only conscience we can trust to is the +massive sense of wrong in a class, and the best wisdom that will work +is the wisdom of balancing claims. That's my text--which side is +injured? I support the man who supports their claims; not the virtuous +upholder of the wrong." + +"That general talk about a particular case is mere question begging, +Ladislaw. When I say, I go in for the dose that cures, it doesn't +follow that I go in for opium in a given case of gout." + +"I am not begging the question we are upon--whether we are to try for +nothing till we find immaculate men to work with. Should you go on +that plan? If there were one man who would carry you a medical reform +and another who would oppose it, should you inquire which had the +better motives or even the better brains?" + +"Oh, of course," said Lydgate, seeing himself checkmated by a move +which he had often used himself, "if one did not work with such men as +are at hand, things must come to a dead-lock. Suppose the worst opinion +in the town about Bulstrode were a true one, that would not make it +less true that he has the sense and the resolution to do what I think +ought to be done in the matters I know and care most about; but that is +the only ground on which I go with him," Lydgate added rather proudly, +bearing in mind Mr. Farebrother's remarks. "He is nothing to me +otherwise; I would not cry him up on any personal ground--I would keep +clear of that." + +"Do you mean that I cry up Brooke on any personal ground?" said Will +Ladislaw, nettled, and turning sharp round. For the first time he felt +offended with Lydgate; not the less so, perhaps, because he would have +declined any close inquiry into the growth of his relation to Mr. +Brooke. + +"Not at all," said Lydgate, "I was simply explaining my own action. I +meant that a man may work for a special end with others whose motives +and general course are equivocal, if he is quite sure of his personal +independence, and that he is not working for his private +interest--either place or money." + +"Then, why don't you extend your liberality to others?" said Will, +still nettled. "My personal independence is as important to me as +yours is to you. You have no more reason to imagine that I have +personal expectations from Brooke, than I have to imagine that you have +personal expectations from Bulstrode. Motives are points of honor, I +suppose--nobody can prove them. But as to money and place in the +world." Will ended, tossing back his head, "I think it is pretty clear +that I am not determined by considerations of that sort." + +"You quite mistake me, Ladislaw," said Lydgate, surprised. He had been +preoccupied with his own vindication, and had been blind to what +Ladislaw might infer on his own account. "I beg your pardon for +unintentionally annoying you. In fact, I should rather attribute to +you a romantic disregard of your own worldly interests. On the +political question, I referred simply to intellectual bias." + +"How very unpleasant you both are this evening!" said Rosamond. "I +cannot conceive why money should have been referred to. Polities and +Medicine are sufficiently disagreeable to quarrel upon. You can both +of you go on quarrelling with all the world and with each other on +those two topics." + +Rosamond looked mildly neutral as she said this, rising to ring the +bell, and then crossing to her work-table. + +"Poor Rosy!" said Lydgate, putting out his hand to her as she was +passing him. "Disputation is not amusing to cherubs. Have some music. +Ask Ladislaw to sing with you." + +When Will was gone Rosamond said to her husband, "What put you out of +temper this evening, Tertius?" + +"Me? It was Ladislaw who was out of temper. He is like a bit of +tinder." + +"But I mean, before that. Something had vexed you before you came in, +you looked cross. And that made you begin to dispute with Mr. +Ladislaw. You hurt me very much when you look so, Tertius." + +"Do I? Then I am a brute," said Lydgate, caressing her penitently. + +"What vexed you?" + +"Oh, outdoor things--business." It was really a letter insisting on +the payment of a bill for furniture. But Rosamond was expecting to +have a baby, and Lydgate wished to save her from any perturbation. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + Was never true love loved in vain, + For truest love is highest gain. + No art can make it: it must spring + Where elements are fostering. + So in heaven's spot and hour + Springs the little native flower, + Downward root and upward eye, + Shapen by the earth and sky. + + +It happened to be on a Saturday evening that Will Ladislaw had that +little discussion with Lydgate. Its effect when he went to his own +rooms was to make him sit up half the night, thinking over again, under +a new irritation, all that he had before thought of his having settled +in Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Mr. Brooke. Hesitations +before he had taken the step had since turned into susceptibility to +every hint that he would have been wiser not to take it; and hence came +his heat towards Lydgate--a heat which still kept him restless. Was he +not making a fool of himself?--and at a time when he was more than +ever conscious of being something better than a fool? And for what end? + +Well, for no definite end. True, he had dreamy visions of +possibilities: there is no human being who having both passions and +thoughts does not think in consequence of his passions--does not find +images rising in his mind which soothe the passion with hope or sting +it with dread. But this, which happens to us all, happens to some with +a wide difference; and Will was not one of those whose wit "keeps the +roadway:" he had his bypaths where there were little joys of his own +choosing, such as gentlemen cantering on the highroad might have +thought rather idiotic. The way in which he made a sort of happiness +for himself out of his feeling for Dorothea was an example of this. It +may seem strange, but it is the fact, that the ordinary vulgar vision +of which Mr. Casaubon suspected him--namely, that Dorothea might become +a widow, and that the interest he had established in her mind might +turn into acceptance of him as a husband--had no tempting, arresting +power over him; he did not live in the scenery of such an event, and +follow it out, as we all do with that imagined "otherwise" which is our +practical heaven. It was not only that he was unwilling to entertain +thoughts which could be accused of baseness, and was already uneasy in +the sense that he had to justify himself from the charge of +ingratitude--the latent consciousness of many other barriers between +himself and Dorothea besides the existence of her husband, had helped +to turn away his imagination from speculating on what might befall Mr. +Casaubon. And there were yet other reasons. Will, we know, could not +bear the thought of any flaw appearing in his crystal: he was at once +exasperated and delighted by the calm freedom with which Dorothea +looked at him and spoke to him, and there was something so exquisite in +thinking of her just as she was, that he could not long for a change +which must somehow change her. Do we not shun the street version of a +fine melody?--or shrink from the news that the rarity--some bit of +chiselling or engraving perhaps--which we have dwelt on even with +exultation in the trouble it has cost us to snatch glimpses of it, is +really not an uncommon thing, and may be obtained as an every-day +possession? Our good depends on the quality and breadth of our +emotion; and to Will, a creature who cared little for what are called +the solid things of life and greatly for its subtler influences, to +have within him such a feeling as he had towards Dorothea, was like the +inheritance of a fortune. What others might have called the futility +of his passion, made an additional delight for his imagination: he was +conscious of a generous movement, and of verifying in his own +experience that higher love-poetry which had charmed his fancy. +Dorothea, he said to himself, was forever enthroned in his soul: no +other woman could sit higher than her footstool; and if he could have +written out in immortal syllables the effect she wrought within him, he +might have boasted after the example of old Drayton, that,-- + + "Queens hereafter might be glad to live + Upon the alms of her superfluous praise." + +But this result was questionable. And what else could he do for +Dorothea? What was his devotion worth to her? It was impossible to +tell. He would not go out of her reach. He saw no creature among her +friends to whom he could believe that she spoke with the same simple +confidence as to him. She had once said that she would like him to +stay; and stay he would, whatever fire-breathing dragons might hiss +around her. + +This had always been the conclusion of Will's hesitations. But he was +not without contradictoriness and rebellion even towards his own +resolve. He had often got irritated, as he was on this particular +night, by some outside demonstration that his public exertions with Mr. +Brooke as a chief could not seem as heroic as he would like them to be, +and this was always associated with the other ground of +irritation--that notwithstanding his sacrifice of dignity for +Dorothea's sake, he could hardly ever see her. Whereupon, not being +able to contradict these unpleasant facts, he contradicted his own +strongest bias and said, "I am a fool." + +Nevertheless, since the inward debate necessarily turned on Dorothea, +he ended, as he had done before, only by getting a livelier sense of +what her presence would be to him; and suddenly reflecting that the +morrow would be Sunday, he determined to go to Lowick Church and see +her. He slept upon that idea, but when he was dressing in the rational +morning light, Objection said-- + +"That will be a virtual defiance of Mr. Casaubon's prohibition to visit +Lowick, and Dorothea will be displeased." + +"Nonsense!" argued Inclination, "it would be too monstrous for him to +hinder me from going out to a pretty country church on a spring +morning. And Dorothea will be glad." + +"It will be clear to Mr. Casaubon that you have come either to annoy +him or to see Dorothea." + +"It is not true that I go to annoy him, and why should I not go to see +Dorothea? Is he to have everything to himself and be always +comfortable? Let him smart a little, as other people are obliged to +do. I have always liked the quaintness of the church and congregation; +besides, I know the Tuckers: I shall go into their pew." + +Having silenced Objection by force of unreason, Will walked to Lowick +as if he had been on the way to Paradise, crossing Halsell Common and +skirting the wood, where the sunlight fell broadly under the budding +boughs, bringing out the beauties of moss and lichen, and fresh green +growths piercing the brown. Everything seemed to know that it was +Sunday, and to approve of his going to Lowick Church. Will easily felt +happy when nothing crossed his humor, and by this time the thought of +vexing Mr. Casaubon had become rather amusing to him, making his face +break into its merry smile, pleasant to see as the breaking of sunshine +on the water--though the occasion was not exemplary. But most of us +are apt to settle within ourselves that the man who blocks our way is +odious, and not to mind causing him a little of the disgust which his +personality excites in ourselves. Will went along with a small book +under his arm and a hand in each side-pocket, never reading, but +chanting a little, as he made scenes of what would happen in church and +coming out. He was experimenting in tunes to suit some words of his +own, sometimes trying a ready-made melody, sometimes improvising. The +words were not exactly a hymn, but they certainly fitted his Sunday +experience:-- + + "O me, O me, what frugal cheer + My love doth feed upon! + A touch, a ray, that is not here, + A shadow that is gone: + + "A dream of breath that might be near, + An inly-echoed tone, + The thought that one may think me dear, + The place where one was known, + + "The tremor of a banished fear, + An ill that was not done-- + O me, O me, what frugal cheer + My love doth feed upon!" + +Sometimes, when he took off his hat, shaking his head backward, and +showing his delicate throat as he sang, he looked like an incarnation +of the spring whose spirit filled the air--a bright creature, abundant +in uncertain promises. + +The bells were still ringing when he got to Lowick, and he went into +the curate's pew before any one else arrived there. But he was still +left alone in it when the congregation had assembled. The curate's pew +was opposite the rector's at the entrance of the small chancel, and +Will had time to fear that Dorothea might not come while he looked +round at the group of rural faces which made the congregation from year +to year within the white-washed walls and dark old pews, hardly with +more change than we see in the boughs of a tree which breaks here and +there with age, but yet has young shoots. Mr. Rigg's frog-face was +something alien and unaccountable, but notwithstanding this shock to +the order of things, there were still the Waules and the rural stock of +the Powderells in their pews side by side; brother Samuel's cheek had +the same purple round as ever, and the three generations of decent +cottagers came as of old with a sense of duty to their betters +generally--the smaller children regarding Mr. Casaubon, who wore the +black gown and mounted to the highest box, as probably the chief of all +betters, and the one most awful if offended. Even in 1831 Lowick was +at peace, not more agitated by Reform than by the solemn tenor of the +Sunday sermon. The congregation had been used to seeing Will at church +in former days, and no one took much note of him except the choir, who +expected him to make a figure in the singing. + +Dorothea did at last appear on this quaint background, walking up the +short aisle in her white beaver bonnet and gray cloak--the same she had +worn in the Vatican. Her face being, from her entrance, towards the +chancel, even her shortsighted eyes soon discerned Will, but there was +no outward show of her feeling except a slight paleness and a grave bow +as she passed him. To his own surprise Will felt suddenly +uncomfortable, and dared not look at her after they had bowed to each +other. Two minutes later, when Mr. Casaubon came out of the vestry, +and, entering the pew, seated himself in face of Dorothea, Will felt +his paralysis more complete. He could look nowhere except at the choir +in the little gallery over the vestry-door: Dorothea was perhaps +pained, and he had made a wretched blunder. It was no longer amusing +to vex Mr. Casaubon, who had the advantage probably of watching him and +seeing that he dared not turn his head. Why had he not imagined this +beforehand?--but he could not expect that he should sit in that square +pew alone, unrelieved by any Tuckers, who had apparently departed from +Lowick altogether, for a new clergyman was in the desk. Still he +called himself stupid now for not foreseeing that it would be +impossible for him to look towards Dorothea--nay, that she might feel +his coming an impertinence. There was no delivering himself from his +cage, however; and Will found his places and looked at his book as if +he had been a school-mistress, feeling that the morning service had +never been so immeasurably long before, that he was utterly ridiculous, +out of temper, and miserable. This was what a man got by worshipping +the sight of a woman! The clerk observed with surprise that Mr. +Ladislaw did not join in the tune of Hanover, and reflected that he +might have a cold. + +Mr. Casaubon did not preach that morning, and there was no change in +Will's situation until the blessing had been pronounced and every one +rose. It was the fashion at Lowick for "the betters" to go out first. +With a sudden determination to break the spell that was upon him, Will +looked straight at Mr. Casaubon. But that gentleman's eyes were on the +button of the pew-door, which he opened, allowing Dorothea to pass, and +following her immediately without raising his eyelids. Will's glance +had caught Dorothea's as she turned out of the pew, and again she +bowed, but this time with a look of agitation, as if she were +repressing tears. Will walked out after them, but they went on towards +the little gate leading out of the churchyard into the shrubbery, never +looking round. + +It was impossible for him to follow them, and he could only walk back +sadly at mid-day along the same road which he had trodden hopefully in +the morning. The lights were all changed for him both without and +within. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + + Surely the golden hours are turning gray + And dance no more, and vainly strive to run: + I see their white locks streaming in the wind-- + Each face is haggard as it looks at me, + Slow turning in the constant clasping round + Storm-driven. + + +Dorothea's distress when she was leaving the church came chiefly from +the perception that Mr. Casaubon was determined not to speak to his +cousin, and that Will's presence at church had served to mark more +strongly the alienation between them. Will's coming seemed to her +quite excusable, nay, she thought it an amiable movement in him towards +a reconciliation which she herself had been constantly wishing for. He +had probably imagined, as she had, that if Mr. Casaubon and he could +meet easily, they would shake hands and friendly intercourse might +return. But now Dorothea felt quite robbed of that hope. Will was +banished further than ever, for Mr. Casaubon must have been newly +embittered by this thrusting upon him of a presence which he refused to +recognize. + +He had not been very well that morning, suffering from some difficulty +in breathing, and had not preached in consequence; she was not +surprised, therefore, that he was nearly silent at luncheon, still less +that he made no allusion to Will Ladislaw. For her own part she felt +that she could never again introduce that subject. They usually spent +apart the hours between luncheon and dinner on a Sunday; Mr. Casaubon +in the library dozing chiefly, and Dorothea in her boudoir, where she +was wont to occupy herself with some of her favorite books. There was +a little heap of them on the table in the bow-window--of various sorts, +from Herodotus, which she was learning to read with Mr. Casaubon, to +her old companion Pascal, and Keble's "Christian Year." But to-day +opened one after another, and could read none of them. Everything +seemed dreary: the portents before the birth of Cyrus--Jewish +antiquities--oh dear!--devout epigrams--the sacred chime of favorite +hymns--all alike were as flat as tunes beaten on wood: even the spring +flowers and the grass had a dull shiver in them under the afternoon +clouds that hid the sun fitfully; even the sustaining thoughts which +had become habits seemed to have in them the weariness of long future +days in which she would still live with them for her sole companions. +It was another or rather a fuller sort of companionship that poor +Dorothea was hungering for, and the hunger had grown from the perpetual +effort demanded by her married life. She was always trying to be what +her husband wished, and never able to repose on his delight in what she +was. The thing that she liked, that she spontaneously cared to have, +seemed to be always excluded from her life; for if it was only granted +and not shared by her husband it might as well have been denied. About +Will Ladislaw there had been a difference between them from the first, +and it had ended, since Mr. Casaubon had so severely repulsed +Dorothea's strong feeling about his claims on the family property, by +her being convinced that she was in the right and her husband in the +wrong, but that she was helpless. This afternoon the helplessness was +more wretchedly benumbing than ever: she longed for objects who could +be dear to her, and to whom she could be dear. She longed for work +which would be directly beneficent like the sunshine and the rain, and +now it appeared that she was to live more and more in a virtual tomb, +where there was the apparatus of a ghastly labor producing what would +never see the light. Today she had stood at the door of the tomb and +seen Will Ladislaw receding into the distant world of warm activity and +fellowship--turning his face towards her as he went. + +Books were of no use. Thinking was of no use. It was Sunday, and she +could not have the carriage to go to Celia, who had lately had a baby. +There was no refuge now from spiritual emptiness and discontent, and +Dorothea had to bear her bad mood, as she would have borne a headache. + +After dinner, at the hour when she usually began to read aloud, Mr. +Casaubon proposed that they should go into the library, where, he said, +he had ordered a fire and lights. He seemed to have revived, and to be +thinking intently. + +In the library Dorothea observed that he had newly arranged a row of +his note-books on a table, and now he took up and put into her hand a +well-known volume, which was a table of contents to all the others. + +"You will oblige me, my dear," he said, seating himself, "if instead of +other reading this evening, you will go through this aloud, pencil in +hand, and at each point where I say 'mark,' will make a cross with your +pencil. This is the first step in a sifting process which I have long +had in view, and as we go on I shall be able to indicate to you certain +principles of selection whereby you will, I trust, have an intelligent +participation in my purpose." + +This proposal was only one more sign added to many since his memorable +interview with Lydgate, that Mr. Casaubon's original reluctance to let +Dorothea work with him had given place to the contrary disposition, +namely, to demand much interest and labor from her. + +After she had read and marked for two hours, he said, "We will take the +volume up-stairs--and the pencil, if you please--and in case of +reading in the night, we can pursue this task. It is not wearisome to +you, I trust, Dorothea?" + +"I prefer always reading what you like best to hear," said Dorothea, +who told the simple truth; for what she dreaded was to exert herself in +reading or anything else which left him as joyless as ever. + +It was a proof of the force with which certain characteristics in +Dorothea impressed those around her, that her husband, with all his +jealousy and suspicion, had gathered implicit trust in the integrity of +her promises, and her power of devoting herself to her idea of the +right and best. Of late he had begun to feel that these qualities were +a peculiar possession for himself, and he wanted to engross them. + +The reading in the night did come. Dorothea in her young weariness had +slept soon and fast: she was awakened by a sense of light, which seemed +to her at first like a sudden vision of sunset after she had climbed a +steep hill: she opened her eyes and saw her husband wrapped in his warm +gown seating himself in the arm-chair near the fire-place where the +embers were still glowing. He had lit two candles, expecting that +Dorothea would awake, but not liking to rouse her by more direct means. + +"Are you ill, Edward?" she said, rising immediately. + +"I felt some uneasiness in a reclining posture. I will sit here for a +time." She threw wood on the fire, wrapped herself up, and said, "You +would like me to read to you?" + +"You would oblige me greatly by doing so, Dorothea," said Mr. Casaubon, +with a shade more meekness than usual in his polite manner. "I am +wakeful: my mind is remarkably lucid." + +"I fear that the excitement may be too great for you," said Dorothea, +remembering Lydgate's cautions. + +"No, I am not conscious of undue excitement. Thought is easy." +Dorothea dared not insist, and she read for an hour or more on the same +plan as she had done in the evening, but getting over the pages with +more quickness. Mr. Casaubon's mind was more alert, and he seemed to +anticipate what was coming after a very slight verbal indication, +saying, "That will do--mark that"--or "Pass on to the next head--I omit +the second excursus on Crete." Dorothea was amazed to think of the +bird-like speed with which his mind was surveying the ground where it +had been creeping for years. At last he said-- + +"Close the book now, my dear. We will resume our work to-morrow. I +have deferred it too long, and would gladly see it completed. But you +observe that the principle on which my selection is made, is to give +adequate, and not disproportionate illustration to each of the theses +enumerated in my introduction, as at present sketched. You have +perceived that distinctly, Dorothea?" + +"Yes," said Dorothea, rather tremulously. She felt sick at heart. + +"And now I think that I can take some repose," said Mr. Casaubon. He +laid down again and begged her to put out the lights. When she had +lain down too, and there was a darkness only broken by a dull glow on +the hearth, he said-- + +"Before I sleep, I have a request to make, Dorothea." + +"What is it?" said Dorothea, with dread in her mind. + +"It is that you will let me know, deliberately, whether, in case of my +death, you will carry out my wishes: whether you will avoid doing what +I should deprecate, and apply yourself to do what I should desire." + +Dorothea was not taken by surprise: many incidents had been leading her +to the conjecture of some intention on her husband's part which might +make a new yoke for her. She did not answer immediately. + +"You refuse?" said Mr. Casaubon, with more edge in his tone. + +"No, I do not yet refuse," said Dorothea, in a clear voice, the need of +freedom asserting itself within her; "but it is too solemn--I think it +is not right--to make a promise when I am ignorant what it will bind me +to. Whatever affection prompted I would do without promising." + +"But you would use your own judgment: I ask you to obey mine; you +refuse." + +"No, dear, no!" said Dorothea, beseechingly, crushed by opposing fears. +"But may I wait and reflect a little while? I desire with my whole +soul to do what will comfort you; but I cannot give any pledge +suddenly--still less a pledge to do I know not what." + +"You cannot then confide in the nature of my wishes?" + +"Grant me till to-morrow," said Dorothea, beseechingly. + +"Till to-morrow then," said Mr. Casaubon. + +Soon she could hear that he was sleeping, but there was no more sleep +for her. While she constrained herself to lie still lest she should +disturb him, her mind was carrying on a conflict in which imagination +ranged its forces first on one side and then on the other. She had no +presentiment that the power which her husband wished to establish over +her future action had relation to anything else than his work. But it +was clear enough to her that he would expect her to devote herself to +sifting those mixed heaps of material, which were to be the doubtful +illustration of principles still more doubtful. The poor child had +become altogether unbelieving as to the trustworthiness of that Key +which had made the ambition and the labor of her husband's life. It +was not wonderful that, in spite of her small instruction, her judgment +in this matter was truer than his: for she looked with unbiassed +comparison and healthy sense at probabilities on which he had risked +all his egoism. And now she pictured to herself the days, and months, +and years which she must spend in sorting what might be called +shattered mummies, and fragments of a tradition which was itself a +mosaic wrought from crushed ruins--sorting them as food for a theory +which was already withered in the birth like an elfin child. Doubtless +a vigorous error vigorously pursued has kept the embryos of truth +a-breathing: the quest of gold being at the same time a questioning of +substances, the body of chemistry is prepared for its soul, and +Lavoisier is born. But Mr. Casaubon's theory of the elements which +made the seed of all tradition was not likely to bruise itself unawares +against discoveries: it floated among flexible conjectures no more +solid than those etymologies which seemed strong because of likeness in +sound until it was shown that likeness in sound made them impossible: +it was a method of interpretation which was not tested by the necessity +of forming anything which had sharper collisions than an elaborate +notion of Gog and Magog: it was as free from interruption as a plan for +threading the stars together. And Dorothea had so often had to check +her weariness and impatience over this questionable riddle-guessing, as +it revealed itself to her instead of the fellowship in high knowledge +which was to make life worthier! She could understand well enough now +why her husband had come to cling to her, as possibly the only hope +left that his labors would ever take a shape in which they could be +given to the world. At first it had seemed that he wished to keep even +her aloof from any close knowledge of what he was doing; but gradually +the terrible stringency of human need--the prospect of a too speedy +death-- + +And here Dorothea's pity turned from her own future to her husband's +past--nay, to his present hard struggle with a lot which had grown out +of that past: the lonely labor, the ambition breathing hardly under the +pressure of self-distrust; the goal receding, and the heavier limbs; +and now at last the sword visibly trembling above him! And had she not +wished to marry him that she might help him in his life's labor?--But +she had thought the work was to be something greater, which she could +serve in devoutly for its own sake. Was it right, even to soothe his +grief--would it be possible, even if she promised--to work as in a +treadmill fruitlessly? + +And yet, could she deny him? Could she say, "I refuse to content this +pining hunger?" It would be refusing to do for him dead, what she was +almost sure to do for him living. If he lived as Lydgate had said he +might, for fifteen years or more, her life would certainly be spent in +helping him and obeying him. + +Still, there was a deep difference between that devotion to the living +and that indefinite promise of devotion to the dead. While he lived, +he could claim nothing that she would not still be free to remonstrate +against, and even to refuse. But--the thought passed through her mind +more than once, though she could not believe in it--might he not mean +to demand something more from her than she had been able to imagine, +since he wanted her pledge to carry out his wishes without telling her +exactly what they were? No; his heart was bound up in his work only: +that was the end for which his failing life was to be eked out by hers. + +And now, if she were to say, "No! if you die, I will put no finger to +your work"--it seemed as if she would be crushing that bruised heart. + +For four hours Dorothea lay in this conflict, till she felt ill and +bewildered, unable to resolve, praying mutely. Helpless as a child +which has sobbed and sought too long, she fell into a late morning +sleep, and when she waked Mr. Casaubon was already up. Tantripp told +her that he had read prayers, breakfasted, and was in the library. + +"I never saw you look so pale, madam," said Tantripp, a solid-figured +woman who had been with the sisters at Lausanne. + +"Was I ever high-colored, Tantripp?" said Dorothea, smiling faintly. + +"Well, not to say high-colored, but with a bloom like a Chiny rose. +But always smelling those leather books, what can be expected? Do rest +a little this morning, madam. Let me say you are ill and not able to +go into that close library." + +"Oh no, no! let me make haste," said Dorothea. "Mr. Casaubon wants me +particularly." + +When she went down she felt sure that she should promise to fulfil his +wishes; but that would be later in the day--not yet. + +As Dorothea entered the library, Mr. Casaubon turned round from the +table where he had been placing some books, and said-- + +"I was waiting for your appearance, my dear. I had hoped to set to +work at once this morning, but I find myself under some indisposition, +probably from too much excitement yesterday. I am going now to take a +turn in the shrubbery, since the air is milder." + +"I am glad to hear that," said Dorothea. "Your mind, I feared, was too +active last night." + +"I would fain have it set at rest on the point I last spoke of, +Dorothea. You can now, I hope, give me an answer." + +"May I come out to you in the garden presently?" said Dorothea, winning +a little breathing space in that way. + +"I shall be in the Yew-tree Walk for the next half-hour," said Mr. +Casaubon, and then he left her. + +Dorothea, feeling very weary, rang and asked Tantripp to bring her some +wraps. She had been sitting still for a few minutes, but not in any +renewal of the former conflict: she simply felt that she was going to +say "Yes" to her own doom: she was too weak, too full of dread at the +thought of inflicting a keen-edged blow on her husband, to do anything +but submit completely. She sat still and let Tantripp put on her +bonnet and shawl, a passivity which was unusual with her, for she liked +to wait on herself. + +"God bless you, madam!" said Tantripp, with an irrepressible movement +of love towards the beautiful, gentle creature for whom she felt unable +to do anything more, now that she had finished tying the bonnet. + +This was too much for Dorothea's highly-strung feeling, and she burst +into tears, sobbing against Tantripp's arm. But soon she checked +herself, dried her eyes, and went out at the glass door into the +shrubbery. + +"I wish every book in that library was built into a caticom for your +master," said Tantripp to Pratt, the butler, finding him in the +breakfast-room. She had been at Rome, and visited the antiquities, as +we know; and she always declined to call Mr. Casaubon anything but +"your master," when speaking to the other servants. + +Pratt laughed. He liked his master very well, but he liked Tantripp +better. + +When Dorothea was out on the gravel walks, she lingered among the +nearer clumps of trees, hesitating, as she had done once before, though +from a different cause. Then she had feared lest her effort at +fellowship should be unwelcome; now she dreaded going to the spot where +she foresaw that she must bind herself to a fellowship from which she +shrank. Neither law nor the world's opinion compelled her to +this--only her husband's nature and her own compassion, only the ideal +and not the real yoke of marriage. She saw clearly enough the whole +situation, yet she was fettered: she could not smite the stricken soul +that entreated hers. If that were weakness, Dorothea was weak. But +the half-hour was passing, and she must not delay longer. When she +entered the Yew-tree Walk she could not see her husband; but the walk +had bends, and she went, expecting to catch sight of his figure wrapped +in a blue cloak, which, with a warm velvet cap, was his outer garment +on chill days for the garden. It occurred to her that he might be +resting in the summer-house, towards which the path diverged a little. +Turning the angle, she could see him seated on the bench, close to a +stone table. His arms were resting on the table, and his brow was +bowed down on them, the blue cloak being dragged forward and screening +his face on each side. + +"He exhausted himself last night," Dorothea said to herself, thinking +at first that he was asleep, and that the summer-house was too damp a +place to rest in. But then she remembered that of late she had seen +him take that attitude when she was reading to him, as if he found it +easier than any other; and that he would sometimes speak, as well as +listen, with his face down in that way. She went into the summerhouse +and said, "I am come, Edward; I am ready." + +He took no notice, and she thought that he must be fast asleep. She +laid her hand on his shoulder, and repeated, "I am ready!" Still he was +motionless; and with a sudden confused fear, she leaned down to him, +took off his velvet cap, and leaned her cheek close to his head, crying +in a distressed tone-- + +"Wake, dear, wake! Listen to me. I am come to answer." But Dorothea +never gave her answer. + +Later in the day, Lydgate was seated by her bedside, and she was +talking deliriously, thinking aloud, and recalling what had gone +through her mind the night before. She knew him, and called him by his +name, but appeared to think it right that she should explain everything +to him; and again, and again, begged him to explain everything to her +husband. + +"Tell him I shall go to him soon: I am ready to promise. Only, +thinking about it was so dreadful--it has made me ill. Not very ill. +I shall soon be better. Go and tell him." + +But the silence in her husband's ear was never more to be broken. + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + A task too strong for wizard spells + This squire had brought about; + 'T is easy dropping stones in wells, + But who shall get them out?" + + +"I wish to God we could hinder Dorothea from knowing this," said Sir +James Chettam, with a little frown on his brow, and an expression of +intense disgust about his mouth. + +He was standing on the hearth-rug in the library at Lowick Grange, and +speaking to Mr. Brooke. It was the day after Mr. Casaubon had been +buried, and Dorothea was not yet able to leave her room. + +"That would be difficult, you know, Chettam, as she is an executrix, +and she likes to go into these things--property, land, that kind of +thing. She has her notions, you know," said Mr. Brooke, sticking his +eye-glasses on nervously, and exploring the edges of a folded paper +which he held in his hand; "and she would like to act--depend upon it, +as an executrix Dorothea would want to act. And she was twenty-one +last December, you know. I can hinder nothing." + +Sir James looked at the carpet for a minute in silence, and then +lifting his eyes suddenly fixed them on Mr. Brooke, saying, "I will +tell you what we can do. Until Dorothea is well, all business must be +kept from her, and as soon as she is able to be moved she must come to +us. Being with Celia and the baby will be the best thing in the world +for her, and will pass away the time. And meanwhile you must get rid +of Ladislaw: you must send him out of the country." Here Sir James's +look of disgust returned in all its intensity. + +Mr. Brooke put his hands behind him, walked to the window and +straightened his back with a little shake before he replied. + +"That is easily said, Chettam, easily said, you know." + +"My dear sir," persisted Sir James, restraining his indignation within +respectful forms, "it was you who brought him here, and you who keep +him here--I mean by the occupation you give him." + +"Yes, but I can't dismiss him in an instant without assigning reasons, +my dear Chettam. Ladislaw has been invaluable, most satisfactory. I +consider that I have done this part of the country a service by +bringing him--by bringing him, you know." Mr. Brooke ended with a nod, +turning round to give it. + +"It's a pity this part of the country didn't do without him, that's all +I have to say about it. At any rate, as Dorothea's brother-in-law, I +feel warranted in objecting strongly to his being kept here by any +action on the part of her friends. You admit, I hope, that I have a +right to speak about what concerns the dignity of my wife's sister?" + +Sir James was getting warm. + +"Of course, my dear Chettam, of course. But you and I have different +ideas--different--" + +"Not about this action of Casaubon's, I should hope," interrupted Sir +James. "I say that he has most unfairly compromised Dorothea. I say +that there never was a meaner, more ungentlemanly action than this--a +codicil of this sort to a will which he made at the time of his +marriage with the knowledge and reliance of her family--a positive +insult to Dorothea!" + +"Well, you know, Casaubon was a little twisted about Ladislaw. +Ladislaw has told me the reason--dislike of the bent he took, you +know--Ladislaw didn't think much of Casaubon's notions, Thoth and +Dagon--that sort of thing: and I fancy that Casaubon didn't like the +independent position Ladislaw had taken up. I saw the letters between +them, you know. Poor Casaubon was a little buried in books--he didn't +know the world." + +"It's all very well for Ladislaw to put that color on it," said Sir +James. "But I believe Casaubon was only jealous of him on Dorothea's +account, and the world will suppose that she gave him some reason; and +that is what makes it so abominable--coupling her name with this young +fellow's." + +"My dear Chettam, it won't lead to anything, you know," said Mr. +Brooke, seating himself and sticking on his eye-glass again. "It's all +of a piece with Casaubon's oddity. This paper, now, 'Synoptical +Tabulation' and so on, 'for the use of Mrs. Casaubon,' it was locked up +in the desk with the will. I suppose he meant Dorothea to publish his +researches, eh? and she'll do it, you know; she has gone into his +studies uncommonly." + +"My dear sir," said Sir James, impatiently, "that is neither here nor +there. The question is, whether you don't see with me the propriety of +sending young Ladislaw away?" + +"Well, no, not the urgency of the thing. By-and-by, perhaps, it may +come round. As to gossip, you know, sending him away won't hinder +gossip. People say what they like to say, not what they have chapter +and verse for," said Mr Brooke, becoming acute about the truths that +lay on the side of his own wishes. "I might get rid of Ladislaw up to +a certain point--take away the 'Pioneer' from him, and that sort of +thing; but I couldn't send him out of the country if he didn't choose +to go--didn't choose, you know." + +Mr. Brooke, persisting as quietly as if he were only discussing the +nature of last year's weather, and nodding at the end with his usual +amenity, was an exasperating form of obstinacy. + +"Good God!" said Sir James, with as much passion as he ever showed, +"let us get him a post; let us spend money on him. If he could go in +the suite of some Colonial Governor! Grampus might take him--and I +could write to Fulke about it." + +"But Ladislaw won't be shipped off like a head of cattle, my dear +fellow; Ladislaw has his ideas. It's my opinion that if he were to +part from me to-morrow, you'd only hear the more of him in the country. +With his talent for speaking and drawing up documents, there are few +men who could come up to him as an agitator--an agitator, you know." + +"Agitator!" said Sir James, with bitter emphasis, feeling that the +syllables of this word properly repeated were a sufficient exposure of +its hatefulness. + +"But be reasonable, Chettam. Dorothea, now. As you say, she had +better go to Celia as soon as possible. She can stay under your roof, +and in the mean time things may come round quietly. Don't let us be +firing off our guns in a hurry, you know. Standish will keep our +counsel, and the news will be old before it's known. Twenty things may +happen to carry off Ladislaw--without my doing anything, you know." + +"Then I am to conclude that you decline to do anything?" + +"Decline, Chettam?--no--I didn't say decline. But I really don't see +what I could do. Ladislaw is a gentleman." + +"I am glad to hear it!" said Sir James, his irritation making him +forget himself a little. "I am sure Casaubon was not." + +"Well, it would have been worse if he had made the codicil to hinder +her from marrying again at all, you know." + +"I don't know that," said Sir James. "It would have been less +indelicate." + +"One of poor Casaubon's freaks! That attack upset his brain a little. +It all goes for nothing. She doesn't _want_ to marry Ladislaw." + +"But this codicil is framed so as to make everybody believe that she +did. I don't believe anything of the sort about Dorothea," said Sir +James--then frowningly, "but I suspect Ladislaw. I tell you frankly, +I suspect Ladislaw." + +"I couldn't take any immediate action on that ground, Chettam. In +fact, if it were possible to pack him off--send him to Norfolk +Island--that sort of thing--it would look all the worse for Dorothea +to those who knew about it. It would seem as if we distrusted +her--distrusted her, you know." + +That Mr. Brooke had hit on an undeniable argument, did not tend to +soothe Sir James. He put out his hand to reach his hat, implying that +he did not mean to contend further, and said, still with some heat-- + +"Well, I can only say that I think Dorothea was sacrificed once, +because her friends were too careless. I shall do what I can, as her +brother, to protect her now." + +"You can't do better than get her to Freshitt as soon as possible, +Chettam. I approve that plan altogether," said Mr. Brooke, well +pleased that he had won the argument. It would have been highly +inconvenient to him to part with Ladislaw at that time, when a +dissolution might happen any day, and electors were to be convinced of +the course by which the interests of the country would be best served. +Mr. Brooke sincerely believed that this end could be secured by his own +return to Parliament: he offered the forces of his mind honestly to the +nation. + + + +CHAPTER L. + + "'This Loller here wol precilen us somewhat.' + 'Nay by my father's soule! that schal he nat,' + Sayde the Schipman, 'here schal he not preche, + We schal no gospel glosen here ne teche. + We leven all in the gret God,' quod he. + He wolden sowen some diffcultee." + Canterbury Tales. + + +Dorothea had been safe at Freshitt Hall nearly a week before she had +asked any dangerous questions. Every morning now she sat with Celia in +the prettiest of up-stairs sitting-rooms, opening into a small +conservatory--Celia all in white and lavender like a bunch of mixed +violets, watching the remarkable acts of the baby, which were so +dubious to her inexperienced mind that all conversation was interrupted +by appeals for their interpretation made to the oracular nurse. +Dorothea sat by in her widow's dress, with an expression which rather +provoked Celia, as being much too sad; for not only was baby quite +well, but really when a husband had been so dull and troublesome while +he lived, and besides that had--well, well! Sir James, of course, had +told Celia everything, with a strong representation how important it +was that Dorothea should not know it sooner than was inevitable. + +But Mr. Brooke had been right in predicting that Dorothea would not +long remain passive where action had been assigned to her; she knew the +purport of her husband's will made at the time of their marriage, and +her mind, as soon as she was clearly conscious of her position, was +silently occupied with what she ought to do as the owner of Lowick +Manor with the patronage of the living attached to it. + +One morning when her uncle paid his usual visit, though with an unusual +alacrity in his manner which he accounted for by saying that it was now +pretty certain Parliament would be dissolved forthwith, Dorothea said-- + +"Uncle, it is right now that I should consider who is to have the +living at Lowick. After Mr. Tucker had been provided for, I never +heard my husband say that he had any clergyman in his mind as a +successor to himself. I think I ought to have the keys now and go to +Lowick to examine all my husband's papers. There may be something that +would throw light on his wishes." + +"No hurry, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, quietly. "By-and-by, you know, +you can go, if you like. But I cast my eyes over things in the desks +and drawers--there was nothing--nothing but deep subjects, you +know--besides the will. Everything can be done by-and-by. As to the +living, I have had an application for interest already--I should say +rather good. Mr. Tyke has been strongly recommended to me--I had +something to do with getting him an appointment before. An apostolic +man, I believe--the sort of thing that would suit you, my dear." + +"I should like to have fuller knowledge about him, uncle, and judge for +myself, if Mr. Casaubon has not left any expression of his wishes. He +has perhaps made some addition to his will--there may be some +instructions for me," said Dorothea, who had all the while had this +conjecture in her mind with relation to her husband's work. + +"Nothing about the rectory, my dear--nothing," said Mr. Brooke, rising +to go away, and putting out his hand to his nieces: "nor about his +researches, you know. Nothing in the will." + +Dorothea's lip quivered. + +"Come, you must not think of these things yet, my dear. By-and-by, you +know." + +"I am quite well now, uncle; I wish to exert myself." + +"Well, well, we shall see. But I must run away now--I have no end of +work now--it's a crisis--a political crisis, you know. And here is +Celia and her little man--you are an aunt, you know, now, and I am a +sort of grandfather," said Mr. Brooke, with placid hurry, anxious to +get away and tell Chettam that it would not be his (Mr. Brooke's) fault +if Dorothea insisted on looking into everything. + +Dorothea sank back in her chair when her uncle had left the room, and +cast her eyes down meditatively on her crossed hands. + +"Look, Dodo! look at him! Did you ever see anything like that?" said +Celia, in her comfortable staccato. + +"What, Kitty?" said Dorothea, lifting her eyes rather absently. + +"What? why, his upper lip; see how he is drawing it down, as if he +meant to make a face. Isn't it wonderful! He may have his little +thoughts. I wish nurse were here. Do look at him." + +A large tear which had been for some time gathering, rolled down +Dorothea's cheek as she looked up and tried to smile. + +"Don't be sad, Dodo; kiss baby. What are you brooding over so? I am +sure you did everything, and a great deal too much. You should be +happy now." + +"I wonder if Sir James would drive me to Lowick. I want to look over +everything--to see if there were any words written for me." + +"You are not to go till Mr. Lydgate says you may go. And he has not +said so yet (here you are, nurse; take baby and walk up and down the +gallery). Besides, you have got a wrong notion in your head as usual, +Dodo--I can see that: it vexes me." + +"Where am I wrong, Kitty?" said Dorothea, quite meekly. She was almost +ready now to think Celia wiser than herself, and was really wondering +with some fear what her wrong notion was. Celia felt her advantage, +and was determined to use it. None of them knew Dodo as well as she +did, or knew how to manage her. Since Celia's baby was born, she had +had a new sense of her mental solidity and calm wisdom. It seemed +clear that where there was a baby, things were right enough, and that +error, in general, was a mere lack of that central poising force. + +"I can see what you are thinking of as well as can be, Dodo," said +Celia. "You are wanting to find out if there is anything uncomfortable +for you to do now, only because Mr. Casaubon wished it. As if you had +not been uncomfortable enough before. And he doesn't deserve it, and +you will find that out. He has behaved very badly. James is as angry +with him as can be. And I had better tell you, to prepare you." + +"Celia," said Dorothea, entreatingly, "you distress me. Tell me at +once what you mean." It glanced through her mind that Mr. Casaubon +had left the property away from her--which would not be so very +distressing. + +"Why, he has made a codicil to his will, to say the property was all to +go away from you if you married--I mean--" + +"That is of no consequence," said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously. + +"But if you married Mr. Ladislaw, not anybody else," Celia went on with +persevering quietude. "Of course that is of no consequence in one +way--you never _would_ marry Mr. Ladislaw; but that only makes it worse +of Mr. Casaubon." + +The blood rushed to Dorothea's face and neck painfully. But Celia was +administering what she thought a sobering dose of fact. It was taking +up notions that had done Dodo's health so much harm. So she went on in +her neutral tone, as if she had been remarking on baby's robes. + +"James says so. He says it is abominable, and not like a gentleman. +And there never was a better judge than James. It is as if Mr. +Casaubon wanted to make people believe that you would wish to marry Mr. +Ladislaw--which is ridiculous. Only James says it was to hinder Mr. +Ladislaw from wanting to marry you for your money--just as if he ever +would think of making you an offer. Mrs. Cadwallader said you might as +well marry an Italian with white mice! But I must just go and look at +baby," Celia added, without the least change of tone, throwing a light +shawl over her, and tripping away. + +Dorothea by this time had turned cold again, and now threw herself back +helplessly in her chair. She might have compared her experience at +that moment to the vague, alarmed consciousness that her life was +taking on a new form, that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which +memory would not adjust itself to the stirring of new organs. +Everything was changing its aspect: her husband's conduct, her own +duteous feeling towards him, every struggle between them--and yet +more, her whole relation to Will Ladislaw. Her world was in a state of +convulsive change; the only thing she could say distinctly to herself +was, that she must wait and think anew. One change terrified her as if +it had been a sin; it was a violent shock of repulsion from her +departed husband, who had had hidden thoughts, perhaps perverting +everything she said and did. Then again she was conscious of another +change which also made her tremulous; it was a sudden strange yearning +of heart towards Will Ladislaw. It had never before entered her mind +that he could, under any circumstances, be her lover: conceive the +effect of the sudden revelation that another had thought of him in that +light--that perhaps he himself had been conscious of such a +possibility,--and this with the hurrying, crowding vision of unfitting +conditions, and questions not soon to be solved. + +It seemed a long while--she did not know how long--before she heard +Celia saying, "That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now. +You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room." "What I +think, Dodo," Celia went on, observing nothing more than that Dorothea +was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be passive, "is that Mr. +Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like him, and James never did. I +think the corners of his mouth were dreadfully spiteful. And now he +has behaved in this way, I am sure religion does not require you to +make yourself uncomfortable about him. If he has been taken away, that +is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful. We should not grieve, should +we, baby?" said Celia confidentially to that unconscious centre and +poise of the world, who had the most remarkable fists all complete even +to the nails, and hair enough, really, when you took his cap off, to +make--you didn't know what:--in short, he was Bouddha in a Western +form. + +At this crisis Lydgate was announced, and one of the first things he +said was, "I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have +you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse." Dorothea's hand was +of a marble coldness. + +"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers," said Celia. "She +ought not, ought she?" + +Lydgate did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, looking at +Dorothea. "I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what +would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always +come from being forbidden to act." + +"Thank you," said Dorothea, exerting herself, "I am sure that is wise. +There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit +here idle?" Then, with an effort to recall subjects not connected with +her agitation, she added, abruptly, "You know every one in Middlemarch, +I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have +serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr. +Tyke and all the--" But Dorothea's effort was too much for her; she +broke off and burst into sobs. Lydgate made her drink a dose of sal +volatile. + +"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes," he said to Sir James, whom he +asked to see before quitting the house. "She wants perfect freedom, I +think, more than any other prescription." + +His attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had enabled him +to form some true conclusions concerning the trials of her life. He +felt sure that she had been suffering from the strain and conflict of +self-repression; and that she was likely now to feel herself only in +another sort of pinfold than that from which she had been released. + +Lydgate's advice was all the easier for Sir James to follow when he +found that Celia had already told Dorothea the unpleasant fact about +the will. There was no help for it now--no reason for any further +delay in the execution of necessary business. And the next day Sir +James complied at once with her request that he would drive her to +Lowick. + +"I have no wish to stay there at present," said Dorothea; "I could +hardly bear it. I am much happier at Freshitt with Celia. I shall be +able to think better about what should be done at Lowick by looking at +it from a distance. And I should like to be at the Grange a little +while with my uncle, and go about in all the old walks and among the +people in the village." + +"Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political company, and you are +better out of the way of such doings," said Sir James, who at that +moment thought of the Grange chiefly as a haunt of young Ladislaw's. +But no word passed between him and Dorothea about the objectionable +part of the will; indeed, both of them felt that the mention of it +between them would be impossible. Sir James was shy, even with men, +about disagreeable subjects; and the one thing that Dorothea would have +chosen to say, if she had spoken on the matter at all, was forbidden to +her at present because it seemed to be a further exposure of her +husband's injustice. Yet she did wish that Sir James could know what +had passed between her and her husband about Will Ladislaw's moral +claim on the property: it would then, she thought, be apparent to him +as it was to her, that her husband's strange indelicate proviso had +been chiefly urged by his bitter resistance to that idea of claim, and +not merely by personal feelings more difficult to talk about. Also, it +must be admitted, Dorothea wished that this could be known for Will's +sake, since her friends seemed to think of him as simply an object of +Mr. Casaubon's charity. Why should he be compared with an Italian +carrying white mice? That word quoted from Mrs. Cadwallader seemed +like a mocking travesty wrought in the dark by an impish finger. + +At Lowick Dorothea searched desk and drawer--searched all her husband's +places of deposit for private writing, but found no paper addressed +especially to her, except that "Synoptical Tabulation," which was +probably only the beginning of many intended directions for her +guidance. In carrying out this bequest of labor to Dorothea, as in all +else, Mr. Casaubon had been slow and hesitating, oppressed in the plan +of transmitting his work, as he had been in executing it, by the sense +of moving heavily in a dim and clogging medium: distrust of Dorothea's +competence to arrange what he had prepared was subdued only by distrust +of any other redactor. But he had come at last to create a trust for +himself out of Dorothea's nature: she could do what she resolved to do: +and he willingly imagined her toiling under the fetters of a promise to +erect a tomb with his name upon it. (Not that Mr. Casaubon called the +future volumes a tomb; he called them the Key to all Mythologies.) But +the months gained on him and left his plans belated: he had only had +time to ask for that promise by which he sought to keep his cold grasp +on Dorothea's life. + +The grasp had slipped away. Bound by a pledge given from the depths of +her pity, she would have been capable of undertaking a toil which her +judgment whispered was vain for all uses except that consecration of +faithfulness which is a supreme use. But now her judgment, instead of +being controlled by duteous devotion, was made active by the +imbittering discovery that in her past union there had lurked the +hidden alienation of secrecy and suspicion. The living, suffering man +was no longer before her to awaken her pity: there remained only the +retrospect of painful subjection to a husband whose thoughts had been +lower than she had believed, whose exorbitant claims for himself had +even blinded his scrupulous care for his own character, and made him +defeat his own pride by shocking men of ordinary honor. As for the +property which was the sign of that broken tie, she would have been +glad to be free from it and have nothing more than her original fortune +which had been settled on her, if there had not been duties attached to +ownership, which she ought not to flinch from. About this property +many troublous questions insisted on rising: had she not been right in +thinking that the half of it ought to go to Will Ladislaw?--but was it +not impossible now for her to do that act of justice? Mr. Casaubon had +taken a cruelly effective means of hindering her: even with indignation +against him in her heart, any act that seemed a triumphant eluding of +his purpose revolted her. + +After collecting papers of business which she wished to examine, she +locked up again the desks and drawers--all empty of personal words for +her--empty of any sign that in her husband's lonely brooding his heart +had gone out to her in excuse or explanation; and she went back to +Freshitt with the sense that around his last hard demand and his last +injurious assertion of his power, the silence was unbroken. + +Dorothea tried now to turn her thoughts towards immediate duties, and +one of these was of a kind which others were determined to remind her +of. Lydgate's ear had caught eagerly her mention of the living, and as +soon as he could, he reopened the subject, seeing here a possibility of +making amends for the casting-vote he had once given with an +ill-satisfied conscience. "Instead of telling you anything about Mr. +Tyke," he said, "I should like to speak of another man--Mr. +Farebrother, the Vicar of St. Botolph's. His living is a poor one, and +gives him a stinted provision for himself and his family. His mother, +aunt, and sister all live with him, and depend upon him. I believe he +has never married because of them. I never heard such good preaching +as his--such plain, easy eloquence. He would have done to preach at +St. Paul's Cross after old Latimer. His talk is just as good about all +subjects: original, simple, clear. I think him a remarkable fellow: he +ought to have done more than he has done." + +"Why has he not done more?" said Dorothea, interested now in all who +had slipped below their own intention. + +"That's a hard question," said Lydgate. "I find myself that it's +uncommonly difficult to make the right thing work: there are so many +strings pulling at once. Farebrother often hints that he has got into +the wrong profession; he wants a wider range than that of a poor +clergyman, and I suppose he has no interest to help him on. He is very +fond of Natural History and various scientific matters, and he is +hampered in reconciling these tastes with his position. He has no +money to spare--hardly enough to use; and that has led him into +card-playing--Middlemarch is a great place for whist. He does play for +money, and he wins a good deal. Of course that takes him into company +a little beneath him, and makes him slack about some things; and yet, +with all that, looking at him as a whole, I think he is one of the most +blameless men I ever knew. He has neither venom nor doubleness in him, +and those often go with a more correct outside." + +"I wonder whether he suffers in his conscience because of that habit," +said Dorothea; "I wonder whether he wishes he could leave it off." + +"I have no doubt he would leave it off, if he were transplanted into +plenty: he would be glad of the time for other things." + +"My uncle says that Mr. Tyke is spoken of as an apostolic man," said +Dorothea, meditatively. She was wishing it were possible to restore +the times of primitive zeal, and yet thinking of Mr. Farebrother with a +strong desire to rescue him from his chance-gotten money. + +"I don't pretend to say that Farebrother is apostolic," said Lydgate. +"His position is not quite like that of the Apostles: he is only a +parson among parishioners whose lives he has to try and make better. +Practically I find that what is called being apostolic now, is an +impatience of everything in which the parson doesn't cut the principal +figure. I see something of that in Mr. Tyke at the Hospital: a good +deal of his doctrine is a sort of pinching hard to make people +uncomfortably aware of him. Besides, an apostolic man at Lowick!--he +ought to think, as St. Francis did, that it is needful to preach to the +birds." + +"True," said Dorothea. "It is hard to imagine what sort of notions our +farmers and laborers get from their teaching. I have been looking into +a volume of sermons by Mr. Tyke: such sermons would be of no use at +Lowick--I mean, about imputed righteousness and the prophecies in the +Apocalypse. I have always been thinking of the different ways in which +Christianity is taught, and whenever I find one way that makes it a +wider blessing than any other, I cling to that as the truest--I mean +that which takes in the most good of all kinds, and brings in the most +people as sharers in it. It is surely better to pardon too much, than +to condemn too much. But I should like to see Mr. Farebrother and hear +him preach." + +"Do," said Lydgate; "I trust to the effect of that. He is very much +beloved, but he has his enemies too: there are always people who can't +forgive an able man for differing from them. And that money-winning +business is really a blot. You don't, of course, see many Middlemarch +people: but Mr. Ladislaw, who is constantly seeing Mr. Brooke, is a +great friend of Mr. Farebrother's old ladies, and would be glad to sing +the Vicar's praises. One of the old ladies--Miss Noble, the aunt--is a +wonderfully quaint picture of self-forgetful goodness, and Ladislaw +gallants her about sometimes. I met them one day in a back street: you +know Ladislaw's look--a sort of Daphnis in coat and waistcoat; and this +little old maid reaching up to his arm--they looked like a couple +dropped out of a romantic comedy. But the best evidence about +Farebrother is to see him and hear him." + +Happily Dorothea was in her private sitting-room when this conversation +occurred, and there was no one present to make Lydgate's innocent +introduction of Ladislaw painful to her. As was usual with him in +matters of personal gossip, Lydgate had quite forgotten Rosamond's +remark that she thought Will adored Mrs. Casaubon. At that moment he +was only caring for what would recommend the Farebrother family; and he +had purposely given emphasis to the worst that could be said about the +Vicar, in order to forestall objections. In the weeks since Mr. +Casaubon's death he had hardly seen Ladislaw, and he had heard no rumor +to warn him that Mr. Brooke's confidential secretary was a dangerous +subject with Mrs. Casaubon. When he was gone, his picture of Ladislaw +lingered in her mind and disputed the ground with that question of the +Lowick living. What was Will Ladislaw thinking about her? Would he +hear of that fact which made her cheeks burn as they never used to do? +And how would he feel when he heard it?--But she could see as well as +possible how he smiled down at the little old maid. An Italian with +white mice!--on the contrary, he was a creature who entered into every +one's feelings, and could take the pressure of their thought instead of +urging his own with iron resistance. + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + Party is Nature too, and you shall see + By force of Logic how they both agree: + The Many in the One, the One in Many; + All is not Some, nor Some the same as Any: + Genus holds species, both are great or small; + One genus highest, one not high at all; + Each species has its differentia too, + This is not That, and He was never You, + Though this and that are AYES, and you and he + Are like as one to one, or three to three. + + +No gossip about Mr. Casaubon's will had yet reached Ladislaw: the air +seemed to be filled with the dissolution of Parliament and the coming +election, as the old wakes and fairs were filled with the rival clatter +of itinerant shows; and more private noises were taken little notice +of. The famous "dry election" was at hand, in which the depths of +public feeling might be measured by the low flood-mark of drink. Will +Ladislaw was one of the busiest at this time; and though Dorothea's +widowhood was continually in his thought, he was so far from wishing to +be spoken to on the subject, that when Lydgate sought him out to tell +him what had passed about the Lowick living, he answered rather +waspishly-- + +"Why should you bring me into the matter? I never see Mrs. Casaubon, +and am not likely to see her, since she is at Freshitt. I never go +there. It is Tory ground, where I and the 'Pioneer' are no more +welcome than a poacher and his gun." + +The fact was that Will had been made the more susceptible by observing +that Mr. Brooke, instead of wishing him, as before, to come to the +Grange oftener than was quite agreeable to himself, seemed now to +contrive that he should go there as little as possible. This was a +shuffling concession of Mr. Brooke's to Sir James Chettam's indignant +remonstrance; and Will, awake to the slightest hint in this direction, +concluded that he was to be kept away from the Grange on Dorothea's +account. Her friends, then, regarded him with some suspicion? Their +fears were quite superfluous: they were very much mistaken if they +imagined that he would put himself forward as a needy adventurer trying +to win the favor of a rich woman. + +Until now Will had never fully seen the chasm between himself and +Dorothea--until now that he was come to the brink of it, and saw her on +the other side. He began, not without some inward rage, to think of +going away from the neighborhood: it would be impossible for him to +show any further interest in Dorothea without subjecting himself to +disagreeable imputations--perhaps even in her mind, which others might +try to poison. + +"We are forever divided," said Will. "I might as well be at Rome; she +would be no farther from me." But what we call our despair is often +only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. There were plenty of reasons +why he should not go--public reasons why he should not quit his post at +this crisis, leaving Mr. Brooke in the lurch when he needed "coaching" +for the election, and when there was so much canvassing, direct and +indirect, to be carried on. Will could not like to leave his own +chessmen in the heat of a game; and any candidate on the right side, +even if his brain and marrow had been as soft as was consistent with a +gentlemanly bearing, might help to turn a majority. To coach Mr. +Brooke and keep him steadily to the idea that he must pledge himself to +vote for the actual Reform Bill, instead of insisting on his +independence and power of pulling up in time, was not an easy task. +Mr. Farebrother's prophecy of a fourth candidate "in the bag" had not +yet been fulfilled, neither the Parliamentary Candidate Society nor any +other power on the watch to secure a reforming majority seeing a worthy +nodus for interference while there was a second reforming candidate +like Mr. Brooke, who might be returned at his own expense; and the +fight lay entirely between Pinkerton the old Tory member, Bagster the +new Whig member returned at the last election, and Brooke the future +independent member, who was to fetter himself for this occasion only. +Mr. Hawley and his party would bend all their forces to the return of +Pinkerton, and Mr. Brooke's success must depend either on plumpers +which would leave Bagster in the rear, or on the new minting of Tory +votes into reforming votes. The latter means, of course, would be +preferable. + +This prospect of converting votes was a dangerous distraction to Mr. +Brooke: his impression that waverers were likely to be allured by +wavering statements, and also the liability of his mind to stick afresh +at opposing arguments as they turned up in his memory, gave Will +Ladislaw much trouble. + +"You know there are tactics in these things," said Mr. Brooke; "meeting +people half-way--tempering your ideas--saying, 'Well now, there's +something in that,' and so on. I agree with you that this is a +peculiar occasion--the country with a will of its own--political +unions--that sort of thing--but we sometimes cut with rather too sharp +a knife, Ladislaw. These ten-pound householders, now: why ten? Draw +the line somewhere--yes: but why just at ten? That's a difficult +question, now, if you go into it." + +"Of course it is," said Will, impatiently. "But if you are to wait +till we get a logical Bill, you must put yourself forward as a +revolutionist, and then Middlemarch would not elect you, I fancy. As +for trimming, this is not a time for trimming." + +Mr. Brooke always ended by agreeing with Ladislaw, who still appeared +to him a sort of Burke with a leaven of Shelley; but after an interval +the wisdom of his own methods reasserted itself, and he was again drawn +into using them with much hopefulness. At this stage of affairs he was +in excellent spirits, which even supported him under large advances of +money; for his powers of convincing and persuading had not yet been +tested by anything more difficult than a chairman's speech introducing +other orators, or a dialogue with a Middlemarch voter, from which he +came away with a sense that he was a tactician by nature, and that it +was a pity he had not gone earlier into this kind of thing. He was a +little conscious of defeat, however, with Mr. Mawmsey, a chief +representative in Middlemarch of that great social power, the retail +trader, and naturally one of the most doubtful voters in the +borough--willing for his own part to supply an equal quality of teas +and sugars to reformer and anti-reformer, as well as to agree +impartially with both, and feeling like the burgesses of old that this +necessity of electing members was a great burthen to a town; for even +if there were no danger in holding out hopes to all parties beforehand, +there would be the painful necessity at last of disappointing +respectable people whose names were on his books. He was accustomed to +receive large orders from Mr. Brooke of Tipton; but then, there were +many of Pinkerton's committee whose opinions had a great weight of +grocery on their side. Mr. Mawmsey thinking that Mr. Brooke, as not +too "clever in his intellects," was the more likely to forgive a grocer +who gave a hostile vote under pressure, had become confidential in his +back parlor. + +"As to Reform, sir, put it in a family light," he said, rattling the +small silver in his pocket, and smiling affably. "Will it support Mrs. +Mawmsey, and enable her to bring up six children when I am no more? I +put the question _fictiously_, knowing what must be the answer. Very +well, sir. I ask you what, as a husband and a father, I am to do when +gentlemen come to me and say, 'Do as you like, Mawmsey; but if you vote +against us, I shall get my groceries elsewhere: when I sugar my liquor +I like to feel that I am benefiting the country by maintaining +tradesmen of the right color.' Those very words have been spoken to +me, sir, in the very chair where you are now sitting. I don't mean by +your honorable self, Mr. Brooke." + +"No, no, no--that's narrow, you know. Until my butler complains to me +of your goods, Mr. Mawmsey," said Mr. Brooke, soothingly, "until I hear +that you send bad sugars, spices--that sort of thing--I shall never +order him to go elsewhere." + +"Sir, I am your humble servant, and greatly obliged," said Mr. Mawmsey, +feeling that politics were clearing up a little. "There would be some +pleasure in voting for a gentleman who speaks in that honorable manner." + +"Well, you know, Mr. Mawmsey, you would find it the right thing to put +yourself on our side. This Reform will touch everybody by-and-by--a +thoroughly popular measure--a sort of A, B, C, you know, that must come +first before the rest can follow. I quite agree with you that you've +got to look at the thing in a family light: but public spirit, now. +We're all one family, you know--it's all one cupboard. Such a thing +as a vote, now: why, it may help to make men's fortunes at the +Cape--there's no knowing what may be the effect of a vote," Mr. Brooke +ended, with a sense of being a little out at sea, though finding it +still enjoyable. But Mr. Mawmsey answered in a tone of decisive check. + +"I beg your pardon, sir, but I can't afford that. When I give a vote I +must know what I am doing; I must look to what will be the effects on +my till and ledger, speaking respectfully. Prices, I'll admit, are +what nobody can know the merits of; and the sudden falls after you've +bought in currants, which are a goods that will not keep--I've never; +myself seen into the ins and outs there; which is a rebuke to human +pride. But as to one family, there's debtor and creditor, I hope; +they're not going to reform that away; else I should vote for things +staying as they are. Few men have less need to cry for change than I +have, personally speaking--that is, for self and family. I am not one +of those who have nothing to lose: I mean as to respectability both in +parish and private business, and noways in respect of your honorable +self and custom, which you was good enough to say you would not +withdraw from me, vote or no vote, while the article sent in was +satisfactory." + +After this conversation Mr. Mawmsey went up and boasted to his wife +that he had been rather too many for Brooke of Tipton, and that he +didn't mind so much now about going to the poll. + +Mr. Brooke on this occasion abstained from boasting of his tactics to +Ladislaw, who for his part was glad enough to persuade himself that he +had no concern with any canvassing except the purely argumentative +sort, and that he worked no meaner engine than knowledge. Mr. Brooke, +necessarily, had his agents, who understood the nature of the +Middlemarch voter and the means of enlisting his ignorance on the side +of the Bill--which were remarkably similar to the means of enlisting it +on the side against the Bill. Will stopped his ears. Occasionally +Parliament, like the rest of our lives, even to our eating and apparel, +could hardly go on if our imaginations were too active about processes. +There were plenty of dirty-handed men in the world to do dirty +business; and Will protested to himself that his share in bringing Mr. +Brooke through would be quite innocent. + +But whether he should succeed in that mode of contributing to the +majority on the right side was very doubtful to him. He had written +out various speeches and memoranda for speeches, but he had begun to +perceive that Mr. Brooke's mind, if it had the burthen of remembering +any train of thought, would let it drop, run away in search of it, and +not easily come back again. To collect documents is one mode of +serving your country, and to remember the contents of a document is +another. No! the only way in which Mr. Brooke could be coerced into +thinking of the right arguments at the right time was to be well plied +with them till they took up all the room in his brain. But here there +was the difficulty of finding room, so many things having been taken in +beforehand. Mr. Brooke himself observed that his ideas stood rather in +his way when he was speaking. + +However, Ladislaw's coaching was forthwith to be put to the test, for +before the day of nomination Mr. Brooke was to explain himself to the +worthy electors of Middlemarch from the balcony of the White Hart, +which looked out advantageously at an angle of the market-place, +commanding a large area in front and two converging streets. It was a +fine May morning, and everything seemed hopeful: there was some +prospect of an understanding between Bagster's committee and Brooke's, +to which Mr. Bulstrode, Mr. Standish as a Liberal lawyer, and such +manufacturers as Mr. Plymdale and Mr. Vincy, gave a solidity which +almost counterbalanced Mr. Hawley and his associates who sat for +Pinkerton at the Green Dragon. Mr. Brooke, conscious of having +weakened the blasts of the "Trumpet" against him, by his reforms as a +landlord in the last half year, and hearing himself cheered a little as +he drove into the town, felt his heart tolerably light under his +buff-colored waistcoat. But with regard to critical occasions, it +often happens that all moments seem comfortably remote until the last. + +"This looks well, eh?" said Mr. Brooke as the crowd gathered. "I shall +have a good audience, at any rate. I like this, now--this kind of +public made up of one's own neighbors, you know." + +The weavers and tanners of Middlemarch, unlike Mr. Mawmsey, had never +thought of Mr. Brooke as a neighbor, and were not more attached to him +than if he had been sent in a box from London. But they listened +without much disturbance to the speakers who introduced the candidate, +one of them--a political personage from Brassing, who came to tell +Middlemarch its duty--spoke so fully, that it was alarming to think +what the candidate could find to say after him. Meanwhile the crowd +became denser, and as the political personage neared the end of his +speech, Mr. Brooke felt a remarkable change in his sensations while he +still handled his eye-glass, trifled with documents before him, and +exchanged remarks with his committee, as a man to whom the moment of +summons was indifferent. + +"I'll take another glass of sherry, Ladislaw," he said, with an easy +air, to Will, who was close behind him, and presently handed him the +supposed fortifier. It was ill-chosen; for Mr. Brooke was an +abstemious man, and to drink a second glass of sherry quickly at no +great interval from the first was a surprise to his system which tended +to scatter his energies instead of collecting them. Pray pity him: so +many English gentlemen make themselves miserable by speechifying on +entirely private grounds! whereas Mr. Brooke wished to serve his +country by standing for Parliament--which, indeed, may also be done on +private grounds, but being once undertaken does absolutely demand some +speechifying. + +It was not about the beginning of his speech that Mr. Brooke was at all +anxious; this, he felt sure, would be all right; he should have it +quite pat, cut out as neatly as a set of couplets from Pope. Embarking +would be easy, but the vision of open sea that might come after was +alarming. "And questions, now," hinted the demon just waking up in his +stomach, "somebody may put questions about the schedules.--Ladislaw," +he continued, aloud, "just hand me the memorandum of the schedules." + +When Mr. Brooke presented himself on the balcony, the cheers were quite +loud enough to counterbalance the yells, groans, brayings, and other +expressions of adverse theory, which were so moderate that Mr. Standish +(decidedly an old bird) observed in the ear next to him, "This looks +dangerous, by God! Hawley has got some deeper plan than this." Still, +the cheers were exhilarating, and no candidate could look more amiable +than Mr. Brooke, with the memorandum in his breast-pocket, his left +hand on the rail of the balcony, and his right trifling with his +eye-glass. The striking points in his appearance were his buff +waistcoat, short-clipped blond hair, and neutral physiognomy. He began +with some confidence. + +"Gentlemen--Electors of Middlemarch!" + +This was so much the right thing that a little pause after it seemed +natural. + +"I'm uncommonly glad to be here--I was never so proud and happy in my +life--never so happy, you know." + +This was a bold figure of speech, but not exactly the right thing; for, +unhappily, the pat opening had slipped away--even couplets from Pope +may be but "fallings from us, vanishings," when fear clutches us, and a +glass of sherry is hurrying like smoke among our ideas. Ladislaw, who +stood at the window behind the speaker, thought, "it's all up now. The +only chance is that, since the best thing won't always do, floundering +may answer for once." Mr. Brooke, meanwhile, having lost other clews, +fell back on himself and his qualifications--always an appropriate +graceful subject for a candidate. + +"I am a close neighbor of yours, my good friends--you've known me on +the bench a good while--I've always gone a good deal into public +questions--machinery, now, and machine-breaking--you're many of you +concerned with machinery, and I've been going into that lately. It +won't do, you know, breaking machines: everything must go on--trade, +manufactures, commerce, interchange of staples--that kind of +thing--since Adam Smith, that must go on. We must look all over the +globe:--'Observation with extensive view,' must look everywhere, 'from +China to Peru,' as somebody says--Johnson, I think, 'The Rambler,' you +know. That is what I have done up to a certain point--not as far as +Peru; but I've not always stayed at home--I saw it wouldn't do. I've +been in the Levant, where some of your Middlemarch goods go--and then, +again, in the Baltic. The Baltic, now." + +Plying among his recollections in this way, Mr. Brooke might have got +along, easily to himself, and would have come back from the remotest +seas without trouble; but a diabolical procedure had been set up by the +enemy. At one and the same moment there had risen above the shoulders +of the crowd, nearly opposite Mr. Brooke, and within ten yards of him, +the effigy of himself: buff-colored waistcoat, eye-glass, and neutral +physiognomy, painted on rag; and there had arisen, apparently in the +air, like the note of the cuckoo, a parrot-like, Punch-voiced echo of +his words. Everybody looked up at the open windows in the houses at +the opposite angles of the converging streets; but they were either +blank, or filled by laughing listeners. The most innocent echo has an +impish mockery in it when it follows a gravely persistent speaker, and +this echo was not at all innocent; if it did not follow with the +precision of a natural echo, it had a wicked choice of the words it +overtook. By the time it said, "The Baltic, now," the laugh which had +been running through the audience became a general shout, and but for +the sobering effects of party and that great public cause which the +entanglement of things had identified with "Brooke of Tipton," the +laugh might have caught his committee. Mr. Bulstrode asked, +reprehensively, what the new police was doing; but a voice could not +well be collared, and an attack on the effigy of the candidate would +have been too equivocal, since Hawley probably meant it to be pelted. + +Mr. Brooke himself was not in a position to be quickly conscious of +anything except a general slipping away of ideas within himself: he had +even a little singing in the ears, and he was the only person who had +not yet taken distinct account of the echo or discerned the image of +himself. Few things hold the perceptions more thoroughly captive than +anxiety about what we have got to say. Mr. Brooke heard the laughter; +but he had expected some Tory efforts at disturbance, and he was at +this moment additionally excited by the tickling, stinging sense that +his lost exordium was coming back to fetch him from the Baltic. + +"That reminds me," he went on, thrusting a hand into his side-pocket, +with an easy air, "if I wanted a precedent, you know--but we never want +a precedent for the right thing--but there is Chatham, now; I can't say +I should have supported Chatham, or Pitt, the younger Pitt--he was not +a man of ideas, and we want ideas, you know." + +"Blast your ideas! we want the Bill," said a loud rough voice from the +crowd below. + +Immediately the invisible Punch, who had hitherto followed Mr. Brooke, +repeated, "Blast your ideas! we want the Bill." The laugh was louder +than ever, and for the first time Mr. Brooke being himself silent, +heard distinctly the mocking echo. But it seemed to ridicule his +interrupter, and in that light was encouraging; so he replied with +amenity-- + +"There is something in what you say, my good friend, and what do we +meet for but to speak our minds--freedom of opinion, freedom of the +press, liberty--that kind of thing? The Bill, now--you shall have the +Bill"--here Mr. Brooke paused a moment to fix on his eye-glass and take +the paper from his breast-pocket, with a sense of being practical and +coming to particulars. The invisible Punch followed:-- + +"You shall have the Bill, Mr. Brooke, per electioneering contest, and a +seat outside Parliament as delivered, five thousand pounds, seven +shillings, and fourpence." + +Mr. Brooke, amid the roars of laughter, turned red, let his eye-glass +fall, and looking about him confusedly, saw the image of himself, which +had come nearer. The next moment he saw it dolorously bespattered with +eggs. His spirit rose a little, and his voice too. + +"Buffoonery, tricks, ridicule the test of truth--all that is very +well"--here an unpleasant egg broke on Mr. Brooke's shoulder, as the +echo said, "All that is very well;" then came a hail of eggs, chiefly +aimed at the image, but occasionally hitting the original, as if by +chance. There was a stream of new men pushing among the crowd; +whistles, yells, bellowings, and fifes made all the greater hubbub +because there was shouting and struggling to put them down. No voice +would have had wing enough to rise above the uproar, and Mr. Brooke, +disagreeably anointed, stood his ground no longer. The frustration +would have been less exasperating if it had been less gamesome and +boyish: a serious assault of which the newspaper reporter "can aver +that it endangered the learned gentleman's ribs," or can respectfully +bear witness to "the soles of that gentleman's boots having been +visible above the railing," has perhaps more consolations attached to +it. + +Mr. Brooke re-entered the committee-room, saying, as carelessly as he +could, "This is a little too bad, you know. I should have got the ear +of the people by-and-by--but they didn't give me time. I should have +gone into the Bill by-and-by, you know," he added, glancing at +Ladislaw. "However, things will come all right at the nomination." + +But it was not resolved unanimously that things would come right; on +the contrary, the committee looked rather grim, and the political +personage from Brassing was writing busily, as if he were brewing new +devices. + +"It was Bowyer who did it," said Mr. Standish, evasively. "I know it +as well as if he had been advertised. He's uncommonly good at +ventriloquism, and he did it uncommonly well, by God! Hawley has been +having him to dinner lately: there's a fund of talent in Bowyer." + +"Well, you know, you never mentioned him to me, Standish, else I would +have invited him to dine," said poor Mr. Brooke, who had gone through a +great deal of inviting for the good of his country. + +"There's not a more paltry fellow in Middlemarch than Bowyer," said +Ladislaw, indignantly, "but it seems as if the paltry fellows were +always to turn the scale." + +Will was thoroughly out of temper with himself as well as with his +"principal," and he went to shut himself in his rooms with a +half-formed resolve to throw up the "Pioneer" and Mr. Brooke together. +Why should he stay? If the impassable gulf between himself and +Dorothea were ever to be filled up, it must rather be by his going away +and getting into a thoroughly different position than by staying here +and slipping into deserved contempt as an understrapper of Brooke's. +Then came the young dream of wonders that he might do--in five years, +for example: political writing, political speaking, would get a higher +value now public life was going to be wider and more national, and they +might give him such distinction that he would not seem to be asking +Dorothea to step down to him. Five years:--if he could only be sure +that she cared for him more than for others; if he could only make her +aware that he stood aloof until he could tell his love without lowering +himself--then he could go away easily, and begin a career which at +five-and-twenty seemed probable enough in the inward order of things, +where talent brings fame, and fame everything else which is delightful. +He could speak and he could write; he could master any subject if he +chose, and he meant always to take the side of reason and justice, on +which he would carry all his ardor. Why should he not one day be +lifted above the shoulders of the crowd, and feel that he had won that +eminence well? Without doubt he would leave Middlemarch, go to town, +and make himself fit for celebrity by "eating his dinners." + +But not immediately: not until some kind of sign had passed between him +and Dorothea. He could not be satisfied until she knew why, even if he +were the man she would choose to marry, he would not marry her. Hence +he must keep his post and bear with Mr. Brooke a little longer. + +But he soon had reason to suspect that Mr. Brooke had anticipated him +in the wish to break up their connection. Deputations without and +voices within had concurred in inducing that philanthropist to take a +stronger measure than usual for the good of mankind; namely, to +withdraw in favor of another candidate, to whom he left the advantages +of his canvassing machinery. He himself called this a strong measure, +but observed that his health was less capable of sustaining excitement +than he had imagined. + +"I have felt uneasy about the chest--it won't do to carry that too +far," he said to Ladislaw in explaining the affair. "I must pull up. +Poor Casaubon was a warning, you know. I've made some heavy advances, +but I've dug a channel. It's rather coarse work--this electioneering, +eh, Ladislaw? dare say you are tired of it. However, we have dug a +channel with the 'Pioneer'--put things in a track, and so on. A more +ordinary man than you might carry it on now--more ordinary, you know." + +"Do you wish me to give it up?" said Will, the quick color coming in +his face, as he rose from the writing-table, and took a turn of three +steps with his hands in his pockets. "I am ready to do so whenever you +wish it." + +"As to wishing, my dear Ladislaw, I have the highest opinion of your +powers, you know. But about the 'Pioneer,' I have been consulting a +little with some of the men on our side, and they are inclined to take +it into their hands--indemnify me to a certain extent--carry it on, in +fact. And under the circumstances, you might like to give up--might +find a better field. These people might not take that high view of you +which I have always taken, as an alter ego, a right hand--though I +always looked forward to your doing something else. I think of having +a run into France. But I'll write you any letters, you know--to +Althorpe and people of that kind. I've met Althorpe." + +"I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Ladislaw, proudly. "Since you +are going to part with the 'Pioneer,' I need not trouble you about the +steps I shall take. I may choose to continue here for the present." + +After Mr. Brooke had left him Will said to himself, "The rest of the +family have been urging him to get rid of me, and he doesn't care now +about my going. I shall stay as long as I like. I shall go of my own +movements and not because they are afraid of me." + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + "His heart + The lowliest duties on itself did lay." + --WORDSWORTH. + + +On that June evening when Mr. Farebrother knew that he was to have the +Lowick living, there was joy in the old fashioned parlor, and even the +portraits of the great lawyers seemed to look on with satisfaction. +His mother left her tea and toast untouched, but sat with her usual +pretty primness, only showing her emotion by that flush in the cheeks +and brightness in the eyes which give an old woman a touching momentary +identity with her far-off youthful self, and saying decisively-- + +"The greatest comfort, Camden, is that you have deserved it." + +"When a man gets a good berth, mother, half the deserving must come +after," said the son, brimful of pleasure, and not trying to conceal +it. The gladness in his face was of that active kind which seems to +have energy enough not only to flash outwardly, but to light up busy +vision within: one seemed to see thoughts, as well as delight, in his +glances. + +"Now, aunt," he went on, rubbing his hands and looking at Miss Noble, +who was making tender little beaver-like noises, "There shall be +sugar-candy always on the table for you to steal and give to the +children, and you shall have a great many new stockings to make +presents of, and you shall darn your own more than ever!" + +Miss Noble nodded at her nephew with a subdued half-frightened laugh, +conscious of having already dropped an additional lump of sugar into +her basket on the strength of the new preferment. + +"As for you, Winny"--the Vicar went on--"I shall make no difficulty +about your marrying any Lowick bachelor--Mr. Solomon Featherstone, for +example, as soon as I find you are in love with him." + +Miss Winifred, who had been looking at her brother all the while and +crying heartily, which was her way of rejoicing, smiled through her +tears and said, "You must set me the example, Cam: _you_ must marry +now." + +"With all my heart. But who is in love with me? I am a seedy old +fellow," said the Vicar, rising, pushing his chair away and looking +down at himself. "What do you say, mother?" + +"You are a handsome man, Camden: though not so fine a figure of a man +as your father," said the old lady. + +"I wish you would marry Miss Garth, brother," said Miss Winifred. "She +would make us so lively at Lowick." + +"Very fine! You talk as if young women were tied up to be chosen, like +poultry at market; as if I had only to ask and everybody would have +me," said the Vicar, not caring to specify. + +"We don't want everybody," said Miss Winifred. "But _you_ would like +Miss Garth, mother, shouldn't you?" + +"My son's choice shall be mine," said Mrs. Farebrother, with majestic +discretion, "and a wife would be most welcome, Camden. You will want +your whist at home when we go to Lowick, and Henrietta Noble never was +a whist-player." (Mrs. Farebrother always called her tiny old sister by +that magnificent name.) + +"I shall do without whist now, mother." + +"Why so, Camden? In my time whist was thought an undeniable amusement +for a good churchman," said Mrs. Farebrother, innocent of the meaning +that whist had for her son, and speaking rather sharply, as at some +dangerous countenancing of new doctrine. + +"I shall be too busy for whist; I shall have two parishes," said the +Vicar, preferring not to discuss the virtues of that game. + +He had already said to Dorothea, "I don't feel bound to give up St. +Botolph's. It is protest enough against the pluralism they want to +reform if I give somebody else most of the money. The stronger thing +is not to give up power, but to use it well." + +"I have thought of that," said Dorothea. "So far as self is concerned, +I think it would be easier to give up power and money than to keep +them. It seems very unfitting that I should have this patronage, yet I +felt that I ought not to let it be used by some one else instead of me." + +"It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret your power," +said Mr. Farebrother. + +His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the more active +when the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He made no display of +humility on the subject, but in his heart he felt rather ashamed that +his conduct had shown laches which others who did not get benefices +were free from. + +"I used often to wish I had been something else than a clergyman," he +said to Lydgate, "but perhaps it will be better to try and make as good +a clergyman out of myself as I can. That is the well-beneficed point +of view, you perceive, from which difficulties are much simplified," he +ended, smiling. + +The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would be easy. But +Duty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly--something like a heavy +friend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his leg +within our gates. + +Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study under the +disguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from Omnibus College with his +bachelor's degree. + +"I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred, whose fair +open face was propitiating, "but you are the only friend I can consult. +I told you everything once before, and you were so good that I can't +help coming to you again." + +"Sit down, Fred, I'm ready to hear and do anything I can," said the +Vicar, who was busy packing some small objects for removal, and went on +with his work. + +"I wanted to tell you--" Fred hesitated an instant and then went on +plungingly, "I might go into the Church now; and really, look where I +may, I can't see anything else to do. I don't like it, but I know it's +uncommonly hard on my father to say so, after he has spent a good deal +of money in educating me for it." Fred paused again an instant, and +then repeated, "and I can't see anything else to do." + +"I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little way with +him. He said it was too late. But you have got over one bridge now: +what are your other difficulties?" + +"Merely that I don't like it. I don't like divinity, and preaching, +and feeling obliged to look serious. I like riding across country, and +doing as other men do. I don't mean that I want to be a bad fellow in +any way; but I've no taste for the sort of thing people expect of a +clergyman. And yet what else am I to do? My father can't spare me any +capital, else I might go into farming. And he has no room for me in +his trade. And of course I can't begin to study for law or physic now, +when my father wants me to earn something. It's all very well to say +I'm wrong to go into the Church; but those who say so might as well +tell me to go into the backwoods." + +Fred's voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance, and Mr. +Farebrother might have been inclined to smile if his mind had not been +too busy in imagining more than Fred told him. + +"Have you any difficulties about doctrines--about the Articles?" he +said, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred's sake. + +"No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with any +arguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than I am +go in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculous in me +to urge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge," said Fred, quite +simply. + +"I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fair +parish priest without being much of a divine?" + +"Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and do my +duty, though I mayn't like it. Do you think any body ought to blame +me?" + +"For going into the Church under the circumstances? That depends on +your conscience, Fred--how far you have counted the cost, and seen what +your position will require of you. I can only tell you about myself, +that I have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in consequence." + +"But there is another hindrance," said Fred, coloring. "I did not tell +you before, though perhaps I may have said things that made you guess +it. There is somebody I am very fond of: I have loved her ever since +we were children." + +"Miss Garth, I suppose?" said the Vicar, examining some labels very +closely. + +"Yes. I shouldn't mind anything if she would have me. And I know I +could be a good fellow then." + +"And you think she returns the feeling?" + +"She never will say so; and a good while ago she made me promise not to +speak to her about it again. And she has set her mind especially +against my being a clergyman; I know that. But I can't give her up. I +do think she cares about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and she said +that Mary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss Farebrother." + +"Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish to go there?" + +"No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed to bother you in +this way; but Mary might listen to what you said, if you mentioned the +subject to her--I mean about my going into the Church." + +"That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have to +presuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the subject as you +wish me to do, will be asking her to tell me whether she returns it." + +"That is what I want her to tell you," said Fred, bluntly. "I don't +know what to do, unless I can get at her feeling." + +"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going into the +Church?" + +"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong in one +way as another." + +"That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but they don't +outlive the consequences of their recklessness." + +"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary. If I had +to give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs." + +"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?" + +"No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more than any one, and +she would not put you off with fun as she does me. Of course I could +not have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her, but +you. There is no one else who could be such a friend to both of us." +Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly, "And she +ought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass. She ought to +believe that I would exert myself for her sake." + +There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down his work, +and putting out his hand to Fred said-- + +"Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish." + +That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nag which +he had just set up. "Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought, "the +young growths are pushing me aside." + +He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling the petals +on a sheet. The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadows across +the grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol. She +did not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass, and had +just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier, which would +persist in walking on the sheet and smelling at the rose-leaves as Mary +sprinkled them. She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up the +forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and looked +embarrassed. "Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you," Mary was saying in a +grave contralto. "This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybody +would think you were a silly young gentleman." + +"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar, +within two yards of her. + +Mary started up and blushed. "It always answers to reason with Fly," +she said, laughingly. + +"But not with young gentlemen?" + +"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellent men." + +"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very moment to +interest you in a young gentleman." + +"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluck the roses +again, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably. + +"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point, but rather +affection and sincerity. However, wisdom lies more in those two +qualities than people are apt to imagine. I hope you know by those +marks what young gentleman I mean." + +"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious, +and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy." + +"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church. I +hope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty in promising +to do so." + +"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses, and +folding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you have anything to +say to me I feel honored." + +"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point on +which your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was that very +evening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, just +after he had gone to college. Mr. Garth told me what happened on the +night of Featherstone's death--how you refused to burn the will; and he +said that you had some heart-prickings on that subject, because you had +been the innocent means of hindering Fred from getting his ten thousand +pounds. I have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that may +relieve you on that score--may show you that no sin-offering is +demanded from you there." + +Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meant to give +Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clear her +mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they do +a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Mary's cheeks +had begun to burn a little, and she was mute. + +"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot. I +find that the first will would not have been legally good after the +burning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed, +and you may be sure it would have been disputed. So, on that score, +you may feel your mind free." + +"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am grateful to +you for remembering my feelings." + +"Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree. He has +worked his way so far, and now the question is, what is he to do? That +question is so difficult that he is inclined to follow his father's +wishes and enter the Church, though you know better than I do that he +was quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him on the +subject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection to his being a +clergyman, as things go. He says that he could turn his mind to doing +his best in that vocation, on one condition. If that condition were +fulfilled I would do my utmost in helping Fred on. After a time--not, +of course, at first--he might be with me as my curate, and he would +have so much to do that his stipend would be nearly what I used to get +as vicar. But I repeat that there is a condition without which all +this good cannot come to pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss +Garth, and asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely in +your feeling." + +Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, "Let us walk a +little;" and when they were walking he added, "To speak quite plainly, +Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance that you +would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try his +best at anything you approve." + +"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother: +but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. What +you say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a moment to correct +your judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way of +looking at things," said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulness +in her answer which only made its modesty more charming. + +"He wishes me to report exactly what you think," said Mr. Farebrother. + +"I could not love a man who is ridiculous," said Mary, not choosing to +go deeper. "Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make him +respectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can +never imagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, +and praying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a +caricature. His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake, +and I think there is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile +gentility. I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and +neat umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such men +to represent Christianity--as if it were an institution for getting up +idiots genteelly--as if--" Mary checked herself. She had been carried +along as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother. + +"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of action as men +do, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But you +don't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?" + +"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show it +as a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation." + +"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have no +hope?" + +Mary shook her head. + +"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in some +other way--will you give him the support of hope? May he count on +winning you?" + +"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have already said +to him," Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner. "I +mean that he ought not to put such questions until he has done +something worthy, instead of saying that he could do it." + +Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as they +turned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassy +walk, said, "I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you, +but either your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaining +another attachment, or it does not: either he may count on your +remaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or he may in any +case be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary--you know I used to catechise +you under that name--but when the state of a woman's affections touches +the happiness of another life--of more lives than one--I think it would +be the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open." + +Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother's manner +but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it. When the +strange idea flashed across her that his words had reference to +himself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She had +never thought that any man could love her except Fred, who had espoused +her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and little strapped +shoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr. +Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle. She had only time +to feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was +clear and determined--her answer. + +"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that I +have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for any one else. I +should never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss of +me. It has taken such deep root in me--my gratitude to him for always +loving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the time +when we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming to +make that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthy +of every one's respect. But please tell him I will not promise to +marry him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother. +He is free to choose some one else." + +"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly," said Mr. Farebrother, +putting out his hand to Mary, "and I shall ride back to Middlemarch +forthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fred into the +right niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God +bless you!" + +"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea," said Mary. Her eyes +filled with tears, for something indefinable, something like the +resolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner, made her +feel suddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her father's +hands trembling in a moment of trouble. + +"No, my dear, no. I must get back." + +In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gone +magnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciation of +whist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations. + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity from + what outsiders call inconsistency--putting a dead mechanism + of "ifs" and "therefores" for the living myriad of hidden + suckers whereby the belief and the conduct are wrought into + mutual sustainment. + + +Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new interest in Lowick, +had naturally had an especial wish that the new clergyman should be one +whom he thoroughly approved; and he believed it to be a chastisement +and admonition directed to his own shortcomings and those of the nation +at large, that just about the time when he came in possession of the +deeds which made him the proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Farebrother +"read himself" into the quaint little church and preached his first +sermon to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and village artisans. +It was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent Lowick Church or to +reside at Stone Court for a good while to come: he had bought the +excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a retreat which he might +gradually enlarge as to the land and beautify as to the dwelling, until +it should be conducive to the divine glory that he should enter on it +as a residence, partially withdrawing from his present exertions in the +administration of business, and throwing more conspicuously on the side +of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which +Providence might increase by unforeseen occasions of purchase. A +strong leading in this direction seemed to have been given in the +surprising facility of getting Stone Court, when every one had expected +that Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have clung to it as the Garden of +Eden. That was what poor old Peter himself had expected; having often, +in imagination, looked up through the sods above him, and, unobstructed +by perspective, seen his frog-faced legatee enjoying the fine old +place to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors. + +But how little we know what would make paradise for our neighbors! We +judge from our own desires, and our neighbors themselves are not always +open enough even to throw out a hint of theirs. The cool and judicious +Joshua Rigg had not allowed his parent to perceive that Stone Court was +anything less than the chief good in his estimation, and he had +certainly wished to call it his own. But as Warren Hastings looked at +gold and thought of buying Daylesford, so Joshua Rigg looked at Stone +Court and thought of buying gold. He had a very distinct and intense +vision of his chief good, the vigorous greed which he had inherited +having taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his chief good +was to be a moneychanger. From his earliest employment as an +errand-boy in a seaport, he had looked through the windows of the +moneychangers as other boys look through the windows of the +pastry-cooks; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a deep +special passion; he meant, when he had property, to do many things, one +of them being to marry a genteel young person; but these were all +accidents and joys that imagination could dispense with. The one joy +after which his soul thirsted was to have a money-changer's shop on a +much-frequented quay, to have locks all round him of which he held the +keys, and to look sublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins of +all nations, while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously from the +other side of an iron lattice. The strength of that passion had been a +power enabling him to master all the knowledge necessary to gratify it. +And when others were thinking that he had settled at Stone Court for +life, Joshua himself was thinking that the moment now was not far off +when he should settle on the North Quay with the best appointments in +safes and locks. + +Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of his +land from Mr. Bulstrode's point of view, and he interpreted it as a +cheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purpose which +he had for some time entertained without external encouragement; he +interpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up his +thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. His doubts did not arise from the +possible relations of the event to Joshua Rigg's destiny, which +belonged to the unmapped regions not taken under the providential +government, except perhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arose +from reflecting that this dispensation too might be a chastisement for +himself, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the living clearly was. + +This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for the sake of +deceiving him: it was what he said to himself--it was as genuinely his +mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, if you happen +to disagree with him. For the egoism which enters into our theories +does not affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism is +satisfied, the more robust is our belief. + +However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode, +hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone, had become +the proprietor of Stone Court, and what Peter would say "if he were +worthy to know," had become an inexhaustible and consolatory subject of +conversation to his disappointed relatives. The tables were now turned +on that dear brother departed, and to contemplate the frustration of +his cunning by the superior cunning of things in general was a cud of +delight to Solomon. Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the proof +that it did not answer to make false Featherstones and cut off the +genuine; and Sister Martha receiving the news in the Chalky Flats said, +"Dear, dear! then the Almighty could have been none so pleased with the +almshouses after all." + +Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the advantage +which her husband's health was likely to get from the purchase of Stone +Court. Few days passed without his riding thither and looking over +some part of the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings were delicious +in that quiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending +forth odors to mingle with the breath of the rich old garden. One +evening, while the sun was still above the horizon and burning in +golden lamps among the great walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode was pausing +on horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth, who had +met him by appointment to give an opinion on a question of stable +drainage, and was now advising the bailiff in the rick-yard. + +Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good spiritual frame and more +than usually serene, under the influence of his innocent recreation. +He was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of merit in +himself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without pain when +the sense of demerit does not take a distinct shape in memory and +revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Nay, it may be +held with intense satisfaction when the depth of our sinning is but a +measure for the depth of forgiveness, and a clenching proof that we are +peculiar instruments of the divine intention. The memory has as many +moods as the temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama. At this +moment Mr. Bulstrode felt as if the sunshine were all one with that of +far-off evenings when he was a very young man and used to go out +preaching beyond Highbury. And he would willingly have had that +service of exhortation in prospect now. The texts were there still, +and so was his own facility in expounding them. His brief reverie was +interrupted by the return of Caleb Garth, who also was on horseback, +and was just shaking his bridle before starting, when he exclaimed-- + +"Bless my heart! what's this fellow in black coming along the lane? +He's like one of those men one sees about after the races." + +Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the lane, but made no +reply. The comer was our slight acquaintance Mr. Raffles, whose +appearance presented no other change than such as was due to a suit of +black and a crape hat-band. He was within three yards of the horseman +now, and they could see the flash of recognition in his face as he +whirled his stick upward, looking all the while at Mr. Bulstrode, and +at last exclaiming:-- + +"By Jove, Nick, it's you! I couldn't be mistaken, though the +five-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us both! How are you, +eh? you didn't expect to see _me_ here. Come, shake us by the hand." +To say that Mr. Raffles' manner was rather excited would be only one +mode of saying that it was evening. Caleb Garth could see that there +was a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode, but it ended +in his putting out his hand coldly to Raffles and saying-- + +"I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote country place." + +"Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine," said Raffles, adjusting +himself in a swaggering attitude. "I came to see him here before. I'm +not so surprised at seeing you, old fellow, because I picked up a +letter--what you may call a providential thing. It's uncommonly +fortunate I met you, though; for I don't care about seeing my stepson: +he's not affectionate, and his poor mother's gone now. To tell the +truth, I came out of love to you, Nick: I came to get your address, +for--look here!" Raffles drew a crumpled paper from his pocket. + +Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have been tempted to linger +on the spot for the sake of hearing all he could about a man whose +acquaintance with Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in the banker's +life so unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarch that they +must have the nature of a secret to pique curiosity. But Caleb was +peculiar: certain human tendencies which are commonly strong were +almost absent from his mind; and one of these was curiosity about +personal affairs. Especially if there was anything discreditable to be +found out concerning another man, Caleb preferred not to know it; and +if he had to tell anybody under him that his evil doings were +discovered, he was more embarrassed than the culprit. He now spurred +his horse, and saying, "I wish you good evening, Mr. Bulstrode; I must +be getting home," set off at a trot. + +"You didn't put your full address to this letter," Raffles continued. +"That was not like the first-rate man of business you used to be. 'The +Shrubs,'--they may be anywhere: you live near at hand, eh?--have cut +the London concern altogether--perhaps turned country squire--have a +rural mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago! The +old lady must have been dead a pretty long while--gone to glory without +the pain of knowing how poor her daughter was, eh? But, by Jove! +you're very pale and pasty, Nick. Come, if you're going home, I'll +walk by your side." + +Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an almost deathly hue. +Five minutes before, the expanse of his life had been submerged in its +evening sunshine which shone backward to its remembered morning: sin +seemed to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence, humiliation +an exercise of the closet, the bearing of his deeds a matter of private +vision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptions of the +divine purposes. And now, as if by some hideous magic, this loud red +figure had risen before him in unmanageable solidity--an incorporate +past which had not entered into his imagination of chastisements. But +Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and he was not a man to act or speak +rashly. + +"I was going home," he said, "but I can defer my ride a little. And +you can, if you please, rest here." + +"Thank you," said Raffles, making a grimace. "I don't care now about +seeing my stepson. I'd rather go home with you." + +"Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here no longer. I +am master here now." + +Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of surprise, before +he said, "Well then, I've no objection. I've had enough walking from +the coach-road. I never was much of a walker, or rider either. What I +like is a smart vehicle and a spirited cob. I was always a little +heavy in the saddle. What a pleasant surprise it must be to you to see +me, old fellow!" he continued, as they turned towards the house. "You +don't say so; but you never took your luck heartily--you were always +thinking of improving the occasion--you'd such a gift for improving +your luck." + +Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and swung his leg in a +swaggering manner which was rather too much for his companion's +judicious patience. + +"If I remember rightly," Mr. Bulstrode observed, with chill anger, "our +acquaintance many years ago had not the sort of intimacy which you are +now assuming, Mr. Raffles. Any services you desire of me will be the +more readily rendered if you will avoid a tone of familiarity which did +not lie in our former intercourse, and can hardly be warranted by more +than twenty years of separation." + +"You don't like being called Nick? Why, I always called you Nick in my +heart, and though lost to sight, to memory dear. By Jove! my feelings +have ripened for you like fine old cognac. I hope you've got some in +the house now. Josh filled my flask well the last time." + +Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the desire for cognac +was not stronger in Raffles than the desire to torment, and that a hint +of annoyance always served him as a fresh cue. But it was at least +clear that further objection was useless, and Mr. Bulstrode, in giving +orders to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the guest, had a +resolute air of quietude. + +There was the comfort of thinking that this housekeeper had been in the +service of Rigg also, and might accept the idea that Mr. Bulstrode +entertained Raffles merely as a friend of her former master. + +When there was food and drink spread before his visitor in the +wainscoted parlor, and no witness in the room, Mr. Bulstrode said-- + +"Your habits and mine are so different, Mr. Raffles, that we can hardly +enjoy each other's society. The wisest plan for both of us will +therefore be to part as soon as possible. Since you say that you +wished to meet me, you probably considered that you had some business +to transact with me. But under the circumstances I will invite you to +remain here for the night, and I will myself ride over here early +to-morrow morning--before breakfast, in fact, when I can receive any +Communication you have to make to me." + +"With all my heart," said Raffles; "this is a comfortable place--a +little dull for a continuance; but I can put up with it for a night, +with this good liquor and the prospect of seeing you again in the +morning. You're a much better host than my stepson was; but Josh owed +me a bit of a grudge for marrying his mother; and between you and me +there was never anything but kindness." + +Mr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of joviality and +sneering in Raffles' manner was a good deal the effect of drink, had +determined to wait till he was quite sober before he spent more words +upon him. But he rode home with a terribly lucid vision of the +difficulty there would be in arranging any result that could be +permanently counted on with this man. It was inevitable that he should +wish to get rid of John Raffles, though his reappearance could not be +regarded as lying outside the divine plan. The spirit of evil might +have sent him to threaten Mr. Bulstrode's subversion as an instrument +of good; but the threat must have been permitted, and was a +chastisement of a new kind. It was an hour of anguish for him very +different from the hours in which his struggle had been securely +private, and which had ended with a sense that his secret misdeeds were +pardoned and his services accepted. Those misdeeds even when +committed--had they not been half sanctified by the singleness of his +desire to devote himself and all he possessed to the furtherance of the +divine scheme? And was he after all to become a mere stone of +stumbling and a rock of offence? For who would understand the work +within him? Who would not, when there was the pretext of casting +disgrace upon him, confound his whole life and the truths he had +espoused, in one heap of obloquy? + +In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Bulstrode's mind +clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhuman +ends. But even while we are talking and meditating about the earth's +orbit and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is +the stable earth and the changing day. And now within all the +automatic succession of theoretic phrases--distinct and inmost as the +shiver and the ache of oncoming fever when we are discussing abstract +pain, was the forecast of disgrace in the presence of his neighbors and +of his own wife. For the pain, as well as the public estimate of +disgrace, depends on the amount of previous profession. To men who +only aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoner's dock is +disgrace. But Mr. Bulstrode had aimed at being an eminent Christian. + +It was not more than half-past seven in the morning when he again +reached Stone Court. The fine old place never looked more like a +delightful home than at that moment; the great white lilies were in +flower, the nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew, +were running away over the low stone wall; the very noises all around +had a heart of peace within them. But everything was spoiled for the +owner as he walked on the gravel in front and awaited the descent of +Mr. Raffles, with whom he was condemned to breakfast. + +It was not long before they were seated together in the wainscoted +parlor over their tea and toast, which was as much as Raffles cared to +take at that early hour. The difference between his morning and +evening self was not so great as his companion had imagined that it +might be; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the stronger +because his spirits were rather less highly pitched. Certainly his +manners seemed more disagreeable by the morning light. + +"As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles," said the banker, who +could hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toast without +eating it, "I shall be obliged if you will mention at once the ground +on which you wished to meet with me. I presume that you have a home +elsewhere and will be glad to return to it." + +"Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn't he want to see an old friend, +Nick?--I must call you Nick--we always did call you young Nick when we +knew you meant to marry the old widow. Some said you had a handsome +family likeness to old Nick, but that was your mother's fault, calling +you Nicholas. Aren't you glad to see me again? I expected an invite +to stay with you at some pretty place. My own establishment is broken +up now my wife's dead. I've no particular attachment to any spot; I +would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere." + +"May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strong +wish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, was +tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life." + +"Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wish +to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn't suit me to +stay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick." Here Mr. Raffles +winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode. + +"Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?" + +"Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can. I don't +care about working any more. If I did anything it would be a little +travelling in the tobacco line--or something of that sort, which takes +a man into agreeable company. But not without an independence to fall +back upon. That's what I want: I'm not so strong as I was, Nick, +though I've got more color than you. I want an independence." + +"That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at a +distance," said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagerness +in his undertone. + +"That must be as it suits my convenience," said Raffles coolly. "I see +no reason why I shouldn't make a few acquaintances hereabout. I'm not +ashamed of myself as company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau at +the turnpike when I got down--change of linen--genuine--honor bright--more +than fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, straps +and everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here." Mr. +Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself, +particularly at his straps. His chief intention was to annoy +Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce +a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad in +a mourning style which implied solid connections. + +"If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles," said Bulstrode, +after a moment's pause, "you will expect to meet my wishes." + +"Ah, to be sure," said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality. "Didn't I +always do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out of me, and I got but +little. I've often thought since, I might have done better by telling +the old woman that I'd found her daughter and her grandchild: it would +have suited my feelings better; I've got a soft place in my heart. But +you've buried the old lady by this time, I suppose--it's all one to her +now. And you've got your fortune out of that profitable business which +had such a blessing on it. You've taken to being a nob, buying land, +being a country bashaw. Still in the Dissenting line, eh? Still +godly? Or taken to the Church as more genteel?" + +This time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his tongue +was worse than a nightmare, because it held the certitude that it was +not a nightmare, but a waking misery. Mr. Bulstrode felt a shuddering +nausea, and did not speak, but was considering diligently whether he +should not leave Raffles to do as he would, and simply defy him as a +slanderer. The man would soon show himself disreputable enough to make +people disbelieve him. "But not when he tells any ugly-looking truth +about _you_," said discerning consciousness. And again: it seemed no +wrong to keep Raffles at a distance, but Mr. Bulstrode shrank from the +direct falsehood of denying true statements. It was one thing to look +back on forgiven sins, nay, to explain questionable conformity to lax +customs, and another to enter deliberately on the necessity of +falsehood. + +But since Bulstrode did not speak, Raffles ran on, by way of using time +to the utmost. + +"I've not had such fine luck as you, by Jove! Things went confoundedly +with me in New York; those Yankees are cool hands, and a man of +gentlemanly feelings has no chance with them. I married when I came +back--a nice woman in the tobacco trade--very fond of me--but the +trade was restricted, as we say. She had been settled there a good +many years by a friend; but there was a son too much in the case. Josh +and I never hit it off. However, I made the most of the position, and +I've always taken my glass in good company. It's been all on the +square with me; I'm as open as the day. You won't take it ill of me +that I didn't look you up before. I've got a complaint that makes me a +little dilatory. I thought you were trading and praying away in London +still, and didn't find you there. But you see I was sent to you, +Nick--perhaps for a blessing to both of us." + +Mr. Raffles ended with a jocose snuffle: no man felt his intellect more +superior to religious cant. And if the cunning which calculates on the +meanest feelings in men could be called intellect, he had his share, +for under the blurting rallying tone with which he spoke to Bulstrode, +there was an evident selection of statements, as if they had been so +many moves at chess. Meanwhile Bulstrode had determined on his move, +and he said, with gathered resolution-- + +"You will do well to reflect, Mr. Raffles, that it is possible for a +man to overreach himself in the effort to secure undue advantage. +Although I am not in any way bound to you, I am willing to supply you +with a regular annuity--in quarterly payments--so long as you fulfil a +promise to remain at a distance from this neighborhood. It is in your +power to choose. If you insist on remaining here, even for a short +time, you will get nothing from me. I shall decline to know you." + +"Ha, ha!" said Raffles, with an affected explosion, "that reminds me of +a droll dog of a thief who declined to know the constable." + +"Your allusions are lost on me sir," said Bulstrode, with white heat; +"the law has no hold on me either through your agency or any other." + +"You can't understand a joke, my good fellow. I only meant that I +should never decline to know you. But let us be serious. Your +quarterly payment won't quite suit me. I like my freedom." + +Here Raffles rose and stalked once or twice up and down the room, +swinging his leg, and assuming an air of masterly meditation. At last +he stopped opposite Bulstrode, and said, "I'll tell you what! Give us +a couple of hundreds--come, that's modest--and I'll go away--honor +bright!--pick up my portmanteau and go away. But I shall not give up +my Liberty for a dirty annuity. I shall come and go where I like. +Perhaps it may suit me to stay away, and correspond with a friend; +perhaps not. Have you the money with you?" + +"No, I have one hundred," said Bulstrode, feeling the immediate +riddance too great a relief to be rejected on the ground of future +uncertainties. "I will forward you the other if you will mention an +address." + +"No, I'll wait here till you bring it," said Raffles. "I'll take a +stroll and have a snack, and you'll be back by that time." + +Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, shattered by the agitations he had gone +through since the last evening, made him feel abjectly in the power of +this loud invulnerable man. At that moment he snatched at a temporary +repose to be won on any terms. He was rising to do what Raffles +suggested, when the latter said, lifting up his finger as if with a +sudden recollection-- + +"I did have another look after Sarah again, though I didn't tell you; +I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. I didn't find +her, but I found out her husband's name, and I made a note of it. But +hang it, I lost my pocketbook. However, if I heard it, I should know +it again. I've got my faculties as if I was in my prime, but names +wear out, by Jove! Sometimes I'm no better than a confounded tax-paper +before the names are filled in. However, if I hear of her and her +family, you shall know, Nick. You'd like to do something for her, now +she's your step-daughter." + +"Doubtless," said Mr. Bulstrode, with the usual steady look of his +light-gray eyes; "though that might reduce my power of assisting you." + +As he walked out of the room, Raffles winked slowly at his back, and +then turned towards the window to watch the banker riding away--virtually +at his command. His lips first curled with a smile and then opened +with a short triumphant laugh. + +"But what the deuce was the name?" he presently said, half aloud, +scratching his head, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. He had not +really cared or thought about this point of forgetfulness until it +occurred to him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. + +"It began with L; it was almost all l's I fancy," he went on, with a +sense that he was getting hold of the slippery name. But the hold was +too slight, and he soon got tired of this mental chase; for few men +were more impatient of private occupation or more in need of making +themselves continually heard than Mr. Raffles. He preferred using his +time in pleasant conversation with the bailiff and the housekeeper, +from whom he gathered as much as he wanted to know about Mr. +Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch. + +After all, however, there was a dull space of time which needed +relieving with bread and cheese and ale, and when he was seated alone +with these resources in the wainscoted parlor, he suddenly slapped his +knee, and exclaimed, "Ladislaw!" That action of memory which he had +tried to set going, and had abandoned in despair, had suddenly +completed itself without conscious effort--a common experience, +agreeable as a completed sneeze, even if the name remembered is of no +value. Raffles immediately took out his pocket-book, and wrote down +the name, not because he expected to use it, but merely for the sake of +not being at a loss if he ever did happen to want it. He was not going +to tell Bulstrode: there was no actual good in telling, and to a mind +like that of Mr. Raffles there is always probable good in a secret. + +He was satisfied with his present success, and by three o'clock that +day he had taken up his portmanteau at the turnpike and mounted the +coach, relieving Mr. Bulstrode's eyes of an ugly black spot on the +landscape at Stone Court, but not relieving him of the dread that the +black spot might reappear and become inseparable even from the vision +of his hearth. + + + + + +BOOK VI. + + + + + +THE WIDOW AND THE WIFE. + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + "Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore; + Per che si fa gentil ciò ch'ella mira: + Ov'ella passa, ogni uom ver lei si gira, + E cui saluta fa tremar lo core. + + Sicchè, bassando il viso, tutto smore, + E d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira: + Fuggon dinanzi a lei Superbia ed Ira: + Aiutatemi, donne, a farle onore. + + Ogni dolcezza, ogni pensiero umile + Nasce nel core a chi parlar la sente; + Ond'è beato chi prima la vide. + Quel ch'ella par quand' un poco sorride, + Non si può dicer, nè tener a mente, + Si è nuovo miracolo gentile." + --DANTE: la Vita Nuova. + + +By that delightful morning when the hay-ricks at Stone Court were +scenting the air quite impartially, as if Mr. Raffles had been a guest +worthy of finest incense, Dorothea had again taken up her abode at +Lowick Manor. After three months Freshitt had become rather +oppressive: to sit like a model for Saint Catherine looking rapturously +at Celia's baby would not do for many hours in the day, and to remain +in that momentous babe's presence with persistent disregard was a +course that could not have been tolerated in a childless sister. +Dorothea would have been capable of carrying baby joyfully for a mile +if there had been need, and of loving it the more tenderly for that +labor; but to an aunt who does not recognize her infant nephew as +Bouddha, and has nothing to do for him but to admire, his behavior is +apt to appear monotonous, and the interest of watching him exhaustible. +This possibility was quite hidden from Celia, who felt that Dorothea's +childless widowhood fell in quite prettily with the birth of little +Arthur (baby was named after Mr. Brooke). + +"Dodo is just the creature not to mind about having anything of her +own--children or anything!" said Celia to her husband. "And if she +had had a baby, it never could have been such a dear as Arthur. Could +it, James? + +"Not if it had been like Casaubon," said Sir James, conscious of some +indirectness in his answer, and of holding a strictly private opinion +as to the perfections of his first-born. + +"No! just imagine! Really it was a mercy," said Celia; "and I think it +is very nice for Dodo to be a widow. She can be just as fond of our +baby as if it were her own, and she can have as many notions of her own +as she likes." + +"It is a pity she was not a queen," said the devout Sir James. + +"But what should we have been then? We must have been something else," +said Celia, objecting to so laborious a flight of imagination. "I like +her better as she is." + +Hence, when she found that Dorothea was making arrangements for her +final departure to Lowick, Celia raised her eyebrows with +disappointment, and in her quiet unemphatic way shot a needle-arrow of +sarcasm. + +"What will you do at Lowick, Dodo? You say yourself there is nothing +to be done there: everybody is so clean and well off, it makes you +quite melancholy. And here you have been so happy going all about +Tipton with Mr. Garth into the worst backyards. And now uncle is +abroad, you and Mr. Garth can have it all your own way; and I am sure +James does everything you tell him." + +"I shall often come here, and I shall see how baby grows all the +better," said Dorothea. + +"But you will never see him washed," said Celia; "and that is quite the +best part of the day." She was almost pouting: it did seem to her very +hard in Dodo to go away from the baby when she might stay. + +"Dear Kitty, I will come and stay all night on purpose," said Dorothea; +"but I want to be alone now, and in my own home. I wish to know the +Farebrothers better, and to talk to Mr. Farebrother about what there is +to be done in Middlemarch." + +Dorothea's native strength of will was no longer all converted into +resolute submission. She had a great yearning to be at Lowick, and was +simply determined to go, not feeling bound to tell all her reasons. +But every one around her disapproved. Sir James was much pained, and +offered that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a few months +with the sacred ark, otherwise called a cradle: at that period a man +could hardly know what to propose if Cheltenham were rejected. + +The Dowager Lady Chettam, just returned from a visit to her daughter in +town, wished, at least, that Mrs. Vigo should be written to, and +invited to accept the office of companion to Mrs. Casaubon: it was not +credible that Dorothea as a young widow would think of living alone in +the house at Lowick. Mrs. Vigo had been reader and secretary to royal +personages, and in point of knowledge and sentiments even Dorothea +could have nothing to object to her. + +Mrs. Cadwallader said, privately, "You will certainly go mad in that +house alone, my dear. You will see visions. We have all got to exert +ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same names as +other people call them by. To be sure, for younger sons and women who +have no money, it is a sort of provision to go mad: they are taken care +of then. But you must not run into that. I dare say you are a little +bored here with our good dowager; but think what a bore you might +become yourself to your fellow-creatures if you were always playing +tragedy queen and taking things sublimely. Sitting alone in that +library at Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must +get a few people round you who wouldn't believe you if you told them. +That is a good lowering medicine." + +"I never called everything by the same name that all the people about +me did," said Dorothea, stoutly. + +"But I suppose you have found out your mistake, my dear," said Mrs. +Cadwallader, "and that is a proof of sanity." + +Dorothea was aware of the sting, but it did not hurt her. "No," she +said, "I still think that the greater part of the world is mistaken +about many things. Surely one may be sane and yet think so, since the +greater part of the world has often had to come round from its opinion." + +Mrs. Cadwallader said no more on that point to Dorothea, but to her +husband she remarked, "It will be well for her to marry again as soon +as it is proper, if one could get her among the right people. Of +course the Chettams would not wish it. But I see clearly a husband is +the best thing to keep her in order. If we were not so poor I would +invite Lord Triton. He will be marquis some day, and there is no +denying that she would make a good marchioness: she looks handsomer +than ever in her mourning." + +"My dear Elinor, do let the poor woman alone. Such contrivances are of +no use," said the easy Rector. + +"No use? How are matches made, except by bringing men and women +together? And it is a shame that her uncle should have run away and +shut up the Grange just now. There ought to be plenty of eligible +matches invited to Freshitt and the Grange. Lord Triton is precisely +the man: full of plans for making the people happy in a soft-headed +sort of way. That would just suit Mrs. Casaubon." + +"Let Mrs. Casaubon choose for herself, Elinor." + +"That is the nonsense you wise men talk! How can she choose if she has +no variety to choose from? A woman's choice usually means taking the +only man she can get. Mark my words, Humphrey. If her friends don't +exert themselves, there will be a worse business than the Casaubon +business yet." + +"For heaven's sake don't touch on that topic, Elinor! It is a very sore +point with Sir James. He would be deeply offended if you entered on it +to him unnecessarily." + +"I have never entered on it," said Mrs Cadwallader, opening her hands. +"Celia told me all about the will at the beginning, without any asking +of mine." + +"Yes, yes; but they want the thing hushed up, and I understand that the +young fellow is going out of the neighborhood." + +Mrs. Cadwallader said nothing, but gave her husband three significant +nods, with a very sarcastic expression in her dark eyes. + +Dorothea quietly persisted in spite of remonstrance and persuasion. So +by the end of June the shutters were all opened at Lowick Manor, and +the morning gazed calmly into the library, shining on the rows of +note-books as it shines on the weary waste planted with huge stones, +the mute memorial of a forgotten faith; and the evening laden with +roses entered silently into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose +oftenest to sit. At first she walked into every room, questioning the +eighteen months of her married life, and carrying on her thoughts as if +they were a speech to be heard by her husband. Then, she lingered in +the library and could not be at rest till she had carefully ranged all +the note-books as she imagined that he would wish to see them, in +orderly sequence. The pity which had been the restraining compelling +motive in her life with him still clung about his image, even while she +remonstrated with him in indignant thought and told him that he was +unjust. One little act of hers may perhaps be smiled at as +superstitious. The Synoptical Tabulation for the use of Mrs. Casaubon, +she carefully enclosed and sealed, writing within the envelope, "I +could not use it. Do you not see now that I could not submit my soul +to yours, by working hopelessly at what I have no belief in--Dorothea?" +Then she deposited the paper in her own desk. + +That silent colloquy was perhaps only the more earnest because +underneath and through it all there was always the deep longing which +had really determined her to come to Lowick. The longing was to see +Will Ladislaw. She did not know any good that could come of their +meeting: she was helpless; her hands had been tied from making up to +him for any unfairness in his lot. But her soul thirsted to see him. +How could it be otherwise? If a princess in the days of enchantment +had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in herds +come to her once and again with a human gaze which rested upon her with +choice and beseeching, what would she think of in her journeying, what +would she look for when the herds passed her? Surely for the gaze +which had found her, and which she would know again. Life would be no +better than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our spirits +were not touched by what has been, to issues of longing and constancy. +It was true that Dorothea wanted to know the Farebrothers better, and +especially to talk to the new rector, but also true that remembering +what Lydgate had told her about Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, +she counted on Will's coming to Lowick to see the Farebrother family. +The very first Sunday, _before_ she entered the church, she saw him as +she had seen him the last time she was there, alone in the clergyman's +pew; but _when_ she entered his figure was gone. + +In the week-days when she went to see the ladies at the Rectory, she +listened in vain for some word that they might let fall about Will; but +it seemed to her that Mrs. Farebrother talked of every one else in the +neighborhood and out of it. + +"Probably some of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him +to Lowick sometimes. Do you not think so?" said Dorothea, rather +despising herself for having a secret motive in asking the question. + +"If they are wise they will, Mrs. Casaubon," said the old lady. "I see +that you set a right value on my son's preaching. His grandfather on +my side was an excellent clergyman, but his father was in the law:--most +exemplary and honest nevertheless, which is a reason for our never +being rich. They say Fortune is a woman and capricious. But sometimes +she is a good woman and gives to those who merit, which has been the +case with you, Mrs. Casaubon, who have given a living to my son." + +Mrs. Farebrother recurred to her knitting with a dignified satisfaction +in her neat little effort at oratory, but this was not what Dorothea +wanted to hear. Poor thing! she did not even know whether Will +Ladislaw was still at Middlemarch, and there was no one whom she dared +to ask, unless it were Lydgate. But just now she could not see Lydgate +without sending for him or going to seek him. Perhaps Will Ladislaw, +having heard of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon, had +felt it better that he and she should not meet again, and perhaps she +was wrong to wish for a meeting that others might find many good +reasons against. Still "I do wish it" came at the end of those wise +reflections as naturally as a sob after holding the breath. And the +meeting did happen, but in a formal way quite unexpected by her. + +One morning, about eleven, Dorothea was seated in her boudoir with a +map of the land attached to the manor and other papers before her, +which were to help her in making an exact statement for herself of her +income and affairs. She had not yet applied herself to her work, but +was seated with her hands folded on her lap, looking out along the +avenue of limes to the distant fields. Every leaf was at rest in the +sunshine, the familiar scene was changeless, and seemed to represent +the prospect of her life, full of motiveless ease--motiveless, if her +own energy could not seek out reasons for ardent action. The widow's +cap of those times made an oval frame for the face, and had a crown +standing up; the dress was an experiment in the utmost laying on of +crape; but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her face look all the +younger, with its recovered bloom, and the sweet, inquiring candor of +her eyes. + +Her reverie was broken by Tantripp, who came to say that Mr. Ladislaw +was below, and begged permission to see Madam if it were not too early. + +"I will see him," said Dorothea, rising immediately. "Let him be shown +into the drawing-room." + +The drawing-room was the most neutral room in the house to her--the +one least associated with the trials of her married life: the damask +matched the wood-work, which was all white and gold; there were two +tall mirrors and tables with nothing on them--in brief, it was a room +where you had no reason for sitting in one place rather than in +another. It was below the boudoir, and had also a bow-window looking +out on the avenue. But when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw into it the +window was open; and a winged visitor, buzzing in and out now and then +without minding the furniture, made the room look less formal and +uninhabited. + +"Glad to see you here again, sir," said Pratt, lingering to adjust a +blind. + +"I am only come to say good-by, Pratt," said Will, who wished even the +butler to know that he was too proud to hang about Mrs. Casaubon now +she was a rich widow. + +"Very sorry to hear it, sir," said Pratt, retiring. Of course, as a +servant who was to be told nothing, he knew the fact of which Ladislaw +was still ignorant, and had drawn his inferences; indeed, had not +differed from his betrothed Tantripp when she said, "Your master was as +jealous as a fiend--and no reason. Madam would look higher than Mr. +Ladislaw, else I don't know her. Mrs. Cadwallader's maid says there's +a lord coming who is to marry her when the mourning's over." + +There were not many moments for Will to walk about with his hat in his +hand before Dorothea entered. The meeting was very different from that +first meeting in Rome when Will had been embarrassed and Dorothea calm. +This time he felt miserable but determined, while she was in a state of +agitation which could not be hidden. Just outside the door she had +felt that this longed-for meeting was after all too difficult, and when +she saw Will advancing towards her, the deep blush which was rare in +her came with painful suddenness. Neither of them knew how it was, but +neither of them spoke. She gave her hand for a moment, and then they +went to sit down near the window, she on one settee and he on another +opposite. Will was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like +Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should cause such a +change in her manner of receiving him; and he knew of no other +condition which could have affected their previous relation to each +other--except that, as his imagination at once told him, her friends +might have been poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him. + +"I hope I have not presumed too much in calling," said Will; "I could +not bear to leave the neighborhood and begin a new life without seeing +you to say good-by." + +"Presumed? Surely not. I should have thought it unkind if you had not +wished to see me," said Dorothea, her habit of speaking with perfect +genuineness asserting itself through all her uncertainty and agitation. +"Are you going away immediately?" + +"Very soon, I think. I intend to go to town and eat my dinners as a +barrister, since, they say, that is the preparation for all public +business. There will be a great deal of political work to be done +by-and-by, and I mean to try and do some of it. Other men have managed +to win an honorable position for themselves without family or money." + +"And that will make it all the more honorable," said Dorothea, +ardently. "Besides, you have so many talents. I have heard from my +uncle how well you speak in public, so that every one is sorry when you +leave off, and how clearly you can explain things. And you care that +justice should be done to every one. I am so glad. When we were in +Rome, I thought you only cared for poetry and art, and the things that +adorn life for us who are well off. But now I know you think about the +rest of the world." + +While she was speaking Dorothea had lost her personal embarrassment, +and had become like her former self. She looked at Will with a direct +glance, full of delighted confidence. + +"You approve of my going away for years, then, and never coming here +again till I have made myself of some mark in the world?" said Will, +trying hard to reconcile the utmost pride with the utmost effort to get +an expression of strong feeling from Dorothea. + +She was not aware how long it was before she answered. She had turned +her head and was looking out of the window on the rose-bushes, which +seemed to have in them the summers of all the years when Will would be +away. This was not judicious behavior. But Dorothea never thought of +studying her manners: she thought only of bowing to a sad necessity +which divided her from Will. Those first words of his about his +intentions had seemed to make everything clear to her: he knew, she +supposed, all about Mr. Casaubon's final conduct in relation to him, +and it had come to him with the same sort of shock as to herself. He +had never felt more than friendship for her--had never had anything in +his mind to justify what she felt to be her husband's outrage on the +feelings of both: and that friendship he still felt. Something which +may be called an inward silent sob had gone on in Dorothea before she +said with a pure voice, just trembling in the last words as if only +from its liquid flexibility-- + +"Yes, it must be right for you to do as you say. I shall be very happy +when I hear that you have made your value felt. But you must have +patience. It will perhaps be a long while." + +Will never quite knew how it was that he saved himself from falling +down at her feet, when the "long while" came forth with its gentle +tremor. He used to say that the horrible hue and surface of her crape +dress was most likely the sufficient controlling force. He sat still, +however, and only said-- + +"I shall never hear from you. And you will forget all about me." + +"No," said Dorothea, "I shall never forget you. I have never forgotten +any one whom I once knew. My life has never been crowded, and seems +not likely to be so. And I have a great deal of space for memory at +Lowick, haven't I?" She smiled. + +"Good God!" Will burst out passionately, rising, with his hat still in +his hand, and walking away to a marble table, where he suddenly turned +and leaned his back against it. The blood had mounted to his face and +neck, and he looked almost angry. It had seemed to him as if they were +like two creatures slowly turning to marble in each other's presence, +while their hearts were conscious and their eyes were yearning. But +there was no help for it. It should never be true of him that in this +meeting to which he had come with bitter resolution he had ended by a +confession which might be interpreted into asking for her fortune. +Moreover, it was actually true that he was fearful of the effect which +such confessions might have on Dorothea herself. + +She looked at him from that distance in some trouble, imagining that +there might have been an offence in her words. But all the while there +was a current of thought in her about his probable want of money, and +the impossibility of her helping him. If her uncle had been at home, +something might have been done through him! It was this preoccupation +with the hardship of Will's wanting money, while she had what ought to +have been his share, which led her to say, seeing that he remained +silent and looked away from her-- + +"I wonder whether you would like to have that miniature which hangs +up-stairs--I mean that beautiful miniature of your grandmother. I +think it is not right for me to keep it, if you would wish to have it. +It is wonderfully like you." + +"You are very good," said Will, irritably. "No; I don't mind about it. +It is not very consoling to have one's own likeness. It would be more +consoling if others wanted to have it." + +"I thought you would like to cherish her memory--I thought--" Dorothea +broke off an instant, her imagination suddenly warning her away from +Aunt Julia's history--"you would surely like to have the miniature as a +family memorial." + +"Why should I have that, when I have nothing else! A man with only a +portmanteau for his stowage must keep his memorials in his head." + +Will spoke at random: he was merely venting his petulance; it was a +little too exasperating to have his grandmother's portrait offered him +at that moment. But to Dorothea's feeling his words had a peculiar +sting. She rose and said with a touch of indignation as well as +hauteur-- + +"You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Ladislaw, to have nothing." + +Will was startled. Whatever the words might be, the tone seemed like a +dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he walked a little way +towards her. Their eyes met, but with a strange questioning gravity. +Something was keeping their minds aloof, and each was left to +conjecture what was in the other. Will had really never thought of +himself as having a claim of inheritance on the property which was held +by Dorothea, and would have required a narrative to make him understand +her present feeling. + +"I never felt it a misfortune to have nothing till now," he said. "But +poverty may be as bad as leprosy, if it divides us from what we most +care for." + +The words cut Dorothea to the heart, and made her relent. She answered +in a tone of sad fellowship. + +"Sorrow comes in so many ways. Two years ago I had no notion of +that--I mean of the unexpected way in which trouble comes, and ties our +hands, and makes us silent when we long to speak. I used to despise +women a little for not shaping their lives more, and doing better +things. I was very fond of doing as I liked, but I have almost given +it up," she ended, smiling playfully. + +"I have not given up doing as I like, but I can very seldom do it," +said Will. He was standing two yards from her with his mind full of +contradictory desires and resolves--desiring some unmistakable proof +that she loved him, and yet dreading the position into which such a +proof might bring him. "The thing one most longs for may be surrounded +with conditions that would be intolerable." + +At this moment Pratt entered and said, "Sir James Chettam is in the +library, madam." + +"Ask Sir James to come in here," said Dorothea, immediately. It was as +if the same electric shock had passed through her and Will. Each of +them felt proudly resistant, and neither looked at the other, while +they awaited Sir James's entrance. + +After shaking hands with Dorothea, he bowed as slightly as possible to +Ladislaw, who repaid the slightness exactly, and then going towards +Dorothea, said-- + +"I must say good-by, Mrs. Casaubon; and probably for a long while." + +Dorothea put out her hand and said her good-by cordially. The sense +that Sir James was depreciating Will, and behaving rudely to him, +roused her resolution and dignity: there was no touch of confusion in +her manner. And when Will had left the room, she looked with such calm +self-possession at Sir James, saying, "How is Celia?" that he was +obliged to behave as if nothing had annoyed him. And what would be the +use of behaving otherwise? Indeed, Sir James shrank with so much +dislike from the association even in thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw +as her possible lover, that he would himself have wished to avoid an +outward show of displeasure which would have recognized the +disagreeable possibility. If any one had asked him why he shrank in +that way, I am not sure that he would at first have said anything +fuller or more precise than "_That_ Ladislaw!"--though on reflection +he might have urged that Mr. Casaubon's codicil, barring Dorothea's +marriage with Will, except under a penalty, was enough to cast +unfitness over any relation at all between them. His aversion was all +the stronger because he felt himself unable to interfere. + +But Sir James was a power in a way unguessed by himself. Entering at +that moment, he was an incorporation of the strongest reasons through +which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from +Dorothea. + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + Hath she her faults? I would you had them too. + They are the fruity must of soundest wine; + Or say, they are regenerating fire + Such as hath turned the dense black element + Into a crystal pathway for the sun. + + +If youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the sense that +our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so apt as youth to think +its emotions, partings, and resolves are the last of their kind. Each +crisis seems final, simply because it is new. We are told that the +oldest inhabitants in Peru do not cease to be agitated by the +earthquakes, but they probably see beyond each shock, and reflect that +there are plenty more to come. + +To Dorothea, still in that time of youth when the eyes with their long +full lashes look out after their rain of tears unsoiled and unwearied +as a freshly opened passion-flower, that morning's parting with Will +Ladislaw seemed to be the close of their personal relations. He was +going away into the distance of unknown years, and if ever he came back +he would be another man. The actual state of his mind--his proud +resolve to give the lie beforehand to any suspicion that he would play +the needy adventurer seeking a rich woman--lay quite out of her +imagination, and she had interpreted all his behavior easily enough by +her supposition that Mr. Casaubon's codicil seemed to him, as it did to +her, a gross and cruel interdict on any active friendship between them. +Their young delight in speaking to each other, and saying what no one +else would care to hear, was forever ended, and become a treasure of +the past. For this very reason she dwelt on it without inward check. +That unique happiness too was dead, and in its shadowed silent chamber +she might vent the passionate grief which she herself wondered at. For +the first time she took down the miniature from the wall and kept it +before her, liking to blend the woman who had been too hardly judged +with the grandson whom her own heart and judgment defended. Can any +one who has rejoiced in woman's tenderness think it a reproach to her +that she took the little oval picture in her palm and made a bed for it +there, and leaned her cheek upon it, as if that would soothe the +creatures who had suffered unjust condemnation? She did not know then +that it was Love who had come to her briefly, as in a dream before +awaking, with the hues of morning on his wings--that it was Love to +whom she was sobbing her farewell as his image was banished by the +blameless rigor of irresistible day. She only felt that there was +something irrevocably amiss and lost in her lot, and her thoughts about +the future were the more readily shapen into resolve. Ardent souls, +ready to construct their coming lives, are apt to commit themselves to +the fulfilment of their own visions. + +One day that she went to Freshitt to fulfil her promise of staying all +night and seeing baby washed, Mrs. Cadwallader came to dine, the Rector +being gone on a fishing excursion. It was a warm evening, and even in +the delightful drawing-room, where the fine old turf sloped from the +open window towards a lilied pool and well-planted mounds, the heat was +enough to make Celia in her white muslin and light curls reflect with +pity on what Dodo must feel in her black dress and close cap. But this +was not until some episodes with baby were over, and had left her mind +at leisure. She had seated herself and taken up a fan for some time +before she said, in her quiet guttural-- + +"Dear Dodo, do throw off that cap. I am sure your dress must make you +feel ill." + +"I am so used to the cap--it has become a sort of shell," said +Dorothea, smiling. "I feel rather bare and exposed when it is off." + +"I must see you without it; it makes us all warm," said Celia, throwing +down her fan, and going to Dorothea. It was a pretty picture to see +this little lady in white muslin unfastening the widow's cap from her +more majestic sister, and tossing it on to a chair. Just as the coils +and braids of dark-brown hair had been set free, Sir James entered the +room. He looked at the released head, and said, "Ah!" in a tone of +satisfaction. + +"It was I who did it, James," said Celia. "Dodo need not make such a +slavery of her mourning; she need not wear that cap any more among her +friends." + +"My dear Celia," said Lady Chettam, "a widow must wear her mourning at +least a year." + +"Not if she marries again before the end of it," said Mrs. Cadwallader, +who had some pleasure in startling her good friend the Dowager. Sir +James was annoyed, and leaned forward to play with Celia's Maltese dog. + +"That is very rare, I hope," said Lady Chettam, in a tone intended to +guard against such events. "No friend of ours ever committed herself +in that way except Mrs. Beevor, and it was very painful to Lord +Grinsell when she did so. Her first husband was objectionable, which +made it the greater wonder. And severely she was punished for it. +They said Captain Beevor dragged her about by the hair, and held up +loaded pistols at her." + +"Oh, if she took the wrong man!" said Mrs. Cadwallader, who was in a +decidedly wicked mood. "Marriage is always bad then, first or second. +Priority is a poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other. +I would rather have a good second husband than an indifferent first." + +"My dear, your clever tongue runs away with you," said Lady Chettam. +"I am sure you would be the last woman to marry again prematurely, if +our dear Rector were taken away." + +"Oh, I make no vows; it might be a necessary economy. It is lawful to +marry again, I suppose; else we might as well be Hindoos instead of +Christians. Of course if a woman accepts the wrong man, she must take +the consequences, and one who does it twice over deserves her fate. +But if she can marry blood, beauty, and bravery--the sooner the +better." + +"I think the subject of our conversation is very ill-chosen," said Sir +James, with a look of disgust. "Suppose we change it." + +"Not on my account, Sir James," said Dorothea, determined not to lose +the opportunity of freeing herself from certain oblique references to +excellent matches. "If you are speaking on my behalf, I can assure you +that no question can be more indifferent and impersonal to me than +second marriage. It is no more to me than if you talked of women going +fox-hunting: whether it is admirable in them or not, I shall not follow +them. Pray let Mrs. Cadwallader amuse herself on that subject as much +as on any other." + +"My dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Lady Chettam, in her stateliest way, "you +do not, I hope, think there was any allusion to you in my mentioning +Mrs. Beevor. It was only an instance that occurred to me. She was +step-daughter to Lord Grinsell: he married Mrs. Teveroy for his second +wife. There could be no possible allusion to you." + +"Oh no," said Celia. "Nobody chose the subject; it all came out of +Dodo's cap. Mrs. Cadwallader only said what was quite true. A woman +could not be married in a widow's cap, James." + +"Hush, my dear!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "I will not offend again. I +will not even refer to Dido or Zenobia. Only what are we to talk +about? I, for my part, object to the discussion of Human Nature, +because that is the nature of rectors' wives." + +Later in the evening, after Mrs. Cadwallader was gone, Celia said +privately to Dorothea, "Really, Dodo, taking your cap off made you like +yourself again in more ways than one. You spoke up just as you used to +do, when anything was said to displease you. But I could hardly make +out whether it was James that you thought wrong, or Mrs. Cadwallader." + +"Neither," said Dorothea. "James spoke out of delicacy to me, but he +was mistaken in supposing that I minded what Mrs. Cadwallader said. I +should only mind if there were a law obliging me to take any piece of +blood and beauty that she or anybody else recommended." + +"But you know, Dodo, if you ever did marry, it would be all the better +to have blood and beauty," said Celia, reflecting that Mr. Casaubon had +not been richly endowed with those gifts, and that it would be well to +caution Dorothea in time. + +"Don't be anxious, Kitty; I have quite other thoughts about my life. I +shall never marry again," said Dorothea, touching her sister's chin, +and looking at her with indulgent affection. Celia was nursing her +baby, and Dorothea had come to say good-night to her. + +"Really--quite?" said Celia. "Not anybody at all--if he were very +wonderful indeed?" + +Dorothea shook her head slowly. "Not anybody at all. I have +delightful plans. I should like to take a great deal of land, and +drain it, and make a little colony, where everybody should work, and +all the work should be done well. I should know every one of the +people and be their friend. I am going to have great consultations +with Mr. Garth: he can tell me almost everything I want to know." + +"Then you _will_ be happy, if you have a plan, Dodo?" said Celia. +"Perhaps little Arthur will like plans when he grows up, and then he +can help you." + +Sir James was informed that same night that Dorothea was really quite +set against marrying anybody at all, and was going to take to "all +sorts of plans," just like what she used to have. Sir James made no +remark. To his secret feeling there was something repulsive in a +woman's second marriage, and no match would prevent him from feeling it +a sort of desecration for Dorothea. He was aware that the world would +regard such a sentiment as preposterous, especially in relation to a +woman of one-and-twenty; the practice of "the world" being to treat of +a young widow's second marriage as certain and probably near, and to +smile with meaning if the widow acts accordingly. But if Dorothea did +choose to espouse her solitude, he felt that the resolution would well +become her. + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + + "How happy is he born and taught + That serveth not another's will; + Whose armor is his honest thought, + And simple truth his only skill! + . . . . . . . + This man is freed from servile bands + Of hope to rise or fear to fall; + Lord of himself though not of lands; + And having nothing yet hath all." + --SIR HENRY WOTTON. + + +Dorothea's confidence in Caleb Garth's knowledge, which had begun on +her hearing that he approved of her cottages, had grown fast during her +stay at Freshitt, Sir James having induced her to take rides over the +two estates in company with himself and Caleb, who quite returned her +admiration, and told his wife that Mrs. Casaubon had a head for +business most uncommon in a woman. It must be remembered that by +"business" Caleb never meant money transactions, but the skilful +application of labor. + +"Most uncommon!" repeated Caleb. "She said a thing I often used to +think myself when I was a lad:--'Mr. Garth, I should like to feel, if I +lived to be old, that I had improved a great piece of land and built a +great many good cottages, because the work is of a healthy kind while +it is being done, and after it is done, men are the better for it.' +Those were the very words: she sees into things in that way." + +"But womanly, I hope," said Mrs. Garth, half suspecting that Mrs. +Casaubon might not hold the true principle of subordination. + +"Oh, you can't think!" said Caleb, shaking his head. "You would like +to hear her speak, Susan. She speaks in such plain words, and a voice +like music. Bless me! it reminds me of bits in the 'Messiah'--'and +straightway there appeared a multitude of the heavenly host, praising +God and saying;' it has a tone with it that satisfies your ear." + +Caleb was very fond of music, and when he could afford it went to hear +an oratorio that came within his reach, returning from it with a +profound reverence for this mighty structure of tones, which made him +sit meditatively, looking on the floor and throwing much unutterable +language into his outstretched hands. + +With this good understanding between them, it was natural that Dorothea +asked Mr. Garth to undertake any business connected with the three +farms and the numerous tenements attached to Lowick Manor; indeed, his +expectation of getting work for two was being fast fulfilled. As he +said, "Business breeds." And one form of business which was beginning +to breed just then was the construction of railways. A projected line +was to run through Lowick parish where the cattle had hitherto grazed +in a peace unbroken by astonishment; and thus it happened that the +infant struggles of the railway system entered into the affairs of +Caleb Garth, and determined the course of this history with regard to +two persons who were dear to him. The submarine railway may have its +difficulties; but the bed of the sea is not divided among various +landed proprietors with claims for damages not only measurable but +sentimental. In the hundred to which Middlemarch belonged railways +were as exciting a topic as the Reform Bill or the imminent horrors of +Cholera, and those who held the most decided views on the subject were +women and landholders. Women both old and young regarded travelling by +steam as presumptuous and dangerous, and argued against it by saying +that nothing should induce them to get into a railway carriage; while +proprietors, differing from each other in their arguments as much as +Mr. Solomon Featherstone differed from Lord Medlicote, were yet +unanimous in the opinion that in selling land, whether to the Enemy of +mankind or to a company obliged to purchase, these pernicious agencies +must be made to pay a very high price to landowners for permission to +injure mankind. + +But the slower wits, such as Mr. Solomon and Mrs. Waule, who both +occupied land of their own, took a long time to arrive at this +conclusion, their minds halting at the vivid conception of what it +would be to cut the Big Pasture in two, and turn it into three-cornered +bits, which would be "nohow;" while accommodation-bridges and high +payments were remote and incredible. + +"The cows will all cast their calves, brother," said Mrs. Waule, in a +tone of deep melancholy, "if the railway comes across the Near Close; +and I shouldn't wonder at the mare too, if she was in foal. It's a +poor tale if a widow's property is to be spaded away, and the law say +nothing to it. What's to hinder 'em from cutting right and left if +they begin? It's well known, _I_ can't fight." + +"The best way would be to say nothing, and set somebody on to send 'em +away with a flea in their ear, when they came spying and measuring," +said Solomon. "Folks did that about Brassing, by what I can +understand. It's all a pretence, if the truth was known, about their +being forced to take one way. Let 'em go cutting in another parish. +And I don't believe in any pay to make amends for bringing a lot of +ruffians to trample your crops. Where's a company's pocket?" + +"Brother Peter, God forgive him, got money out of a company," said Mrs. +Waule. "But that was for the manganese. That wasn't for railways to +blow you to pieces right and left." + +"Well, there's this to be said, Jane," Mr. Solomon concluded, lowering +his voice in a cautious manner--"the more spokes we put in their wheel, +the more they'll pay us to let 'em go on, if they must come whether or +not." + +This reasoning of Mr. Solomon's was perhaps less thorough than he +imagined, his cunning bearing about the same relation to the course of +railways as the cunning of a diplomatist bears to the general chill or +catarrh of the solar system. But he set about acting on his views in a +thoroughly diplomatic manner, by stimulating suspicion. His side of +Lowick was the most remote from the village, and the houses of the +laboring people were either lone cottages or were collected in a hamlet +called Frick, where a water-mill and some stone-pits made a little +centre of slow, heavy-shouldered industry. + +In the absence of any precise idea as to what railways were, public +opinion in Frick was against them; for the human mind in that grassy +corner had not the proverbial tendency to admire the unknown, holding +rather that it was likely to be against the poor man, and that +suspicion was the only wise attitude with regard to it. Even the rumor +of Reform had not yet excited any millennial expectations in Frick, +there being no definite promise in it, as of gratuitous grains to +fatten Hiram Ford's pig, or of a publican at the "Weights and Scales" +who would brew beer for nothing, or of an offer on the part of the +three neighboring farmers to raise wages during winter. And without +distinct good of this kind in its promises, Reform seemed on a footing +with the bragging of pedlers, which was a hint for distrust to every +knowing person. The men of Frick were not ill-fed, and were less given +to fanaticism than to a strong muscular suspicion; less inclined to +believe that they were peculiarly cared for by heaven, than to regard +heaven itself as rather disposed to take them in--a disposition +observable in the weather. + +Thus the mind of Frick was exactly of the sort for Mr. Solomon +Featherstone to work upon, he having more plenteous ideas of the same +order, with a suspicion of heaven and earth which was better fed and +more entirely at leisure. Solomon was overseer of the roads at that +time, and on his slow-paced cob often took his rounds by Frick to look +at the workmen getting the stones there, pausing with a mysterious +deliberation, which might have misled you into supposing that he had +some other reason for staying than the mere want of impulse to move. +After looking for a long while at any work that was going on, he would +raise his eyes a little and look at the horizon; finally he would shake +his bridle, touch his horse with the whip, and get it to move slowly +onward. The hour-hand of a clock was quick by comparison with Mr. +Solomon, who had an agreeable sense that he could afford to be slow. +He was in the habit of pausing for a cautious, vaguely designing chat +with every hedger or ditcher on his way, and was especially willing to +listen even to news which he had heard before, feeling himself at an +advantage over all narrators in partially disbelieving them. One day, +however, he got into a dialogue with Hiram Ford, a wagoner, in which he +himself contributed information. He wished to know whether Hiram had +seen fellows with staves and instruments spying about: they called +themselves railroad people, but there was no telling what they were or +what they meant to do. The least they pretended was that they were +going to cut Lowick Parish into sixes and sevens. + +"Why, there'll be no stirrin' from one pla-ace to another," said Hiram, +thinking of his wagon and horses. + +"Not a bit," said Mr. Solomon. "And cutting up fine land such as this +parish! Let 'em go into Tipton, say I. But there's no knowing what +there is at the bottom of it. Traffic is what they put for'ard; but +it's to do harm to the land and the poor man in the long-run." + +"Why, they're Lunnon chaps, I reckon," said Hiram, who had a dim notion +of London as a centre of hostility to the country. + +"Ay, to be sure. And in some parts against Brassing, by what I've +heard say, the folks fell on 'em when they were spying, and broke their +peep-holes as they carry, and drove 'em away, so as they knew better +than come again." + +"It war good foon, I'd be bound," said Hiram, whose fun was much +restricted by circumstances. + +"Well, I wouldn't meddle with 'em myself," said Solomon. "But some say +this country's seen its best days, and the sign is, as it's being +overrun with these fellows trampling right and left, and wanting to cut +it up into railways; and all for the big traffic to swallow up the +little, so as there shan't be a team left on the land, nor a whip to +crack." + +"I'll crack _my_ whip about their ear'n, afore they bring it to that, +though," said Hiram, while Mr. Solomon, shaking his bridle, moved +onward. + +Nettle-seed needs no digging. The ruin of this countryside by +railroads was discussed, not only at the "Weights and Scales," but in +the hay-field, where the muster of working hands gave opportunities for +talk such as were rarely had through the rural year. + +One morning, not long after that interview between Mr. Farebrother and +Mary Garth, in which she confessed to him her feeling for Fred Vincy, +it happened that her father had some business which took him to +Yoddrell's farm in the direction of Frick: it was to measure and value +an outlying piece of land belonging to Lowick Manor, which Caleb +expected to dispose of advantageously for Dorothea (it must be +confessed that his bias was towards getting the best possible terms +from railroad companies). He put up his gig at Yoddrell's, and in +walking with his assistant and measuring-chain to the scene of his +work, he encountered the party of the company's agents, who were +adjusting their spirit-level. After a little chat he left them, +observing that by-and-by they would reach him again where he was going +to measure. It was one of those gray mornings after light rains, which +become delicious about twelve o'clock, when the clouds part a little, +and the scent of the earth is sweet along the lanes and by the +hedgerows. + +The scent would have been sweeter to Fred Vincy, who was coming along +the lanes on horseback, if his mind had not been worried by +unsuccessful efforts to imagine what he was to do, with his father on +one side expecting him straightway to enter the Church, with Mary on +the other threatening to forsake him if he did enter it, and with the +working-day world showing no eager need whatever of a young gentleman +without capital and generally unskilled. It was the harder to Fred's +disposition because his father, satisfied that he was no longer +rebellious, was in good humor with him, and had sent him on this +pleasant ride to see after some greyhounds. Even when he had fixed on +what he should do, there would be the task of telling his father. But +it must be admitted that the fixing, which had to come first, was the +more difficult task:--what secular avocation on earth was there for a +young man (whose friends could not get him an "appointment") which was +at once gentlemanly, lucrative, and to be followed without special +knowledge? Riding along the lanes by Frick in this mood, and +slackening his pace while he reflected whether he should venture to go +round by Lowick Parsonage to call on Mary, he could see over the hedges +from one field to another. Suddenly a noise roused his attention, and +on the far side of a field on his left hand he could see six or seven +men in smock-frocks with hay-forks in their hands making an offensive +approach towards the four railway agents who were facing them, while +Caleb Garth and his assistant were hastening across the field to join +the threatened group. Fred, delayed a few moments by having to find +the gate, could not gallop up to the spot before the party in +smock-frocks, whose work of turning the hay had not been too pressing +after swallowing their mid-day beer, were driving the men in coats +before them with their hay-forks; while Caleb Garth's assistant, a lad +of seventeen, who had snatched up the spirit-level at Caleb's order, +had been knocked down and seemed to be lying helpless. The coated men +had the advantage as runners, and Fred covered their retreat by getting +in front of the smock-frocks and charging them suddenly enough to throw +their chase into confusion. "What do you confounded fools mean?" +shouted Fred, pursuing the divided group in a zigzag, and cutting right +and left with his whip. "I'll swear to every one of you before the +magistrate. You've knocked the lad down and killed him, for what I +know. You'll every one of you be hanged at the next assizes, if you +don't mind," said Fred, who afterwards laughed heartily as he +remembered his own phrases. + +The laborers had been driven through the gate-way into their hay-field, +and Fred had checked his horse, when Hiram Ford, observing himself at a +safe challenging distance, turned back and shouted a defiance which he +did not know to be Homeric. + +"Yo're a coward, yo are. Yo git off your horse, young measter, and +I'll have a round wi' ye, I wull. Yo daredn't come on wi'out your hoss +an' whip. I'd soon knock the breath out on ye, I would." + +"Wait a minute, and I'll come back presently, and have a round with you +all in turn, if you like," said Fred, who felt confidence in his power +of boxing with his dearly beloved brethren. But just now he wanted to +hasten back to Caleb and the prostrate youth. + +The lad's ankle was strained, and he was in much pain from it, but he +was no further hurt, and Fred placed him on the horse that he might +ride to Yoddrell's and be taken care of there. + +"Let them put the horse in the stable, and tell the surveyors they can +come back for their traps," said Fred. "The ground is clear now." + +"No, no," said Caleb, "here's a breakage. They'll have to give up for +to-day, and it will be as well. Here, take the things before you on +the horse, Tom. They'll see you coming, and they'll turn back." + +"I'm glad I happened to be here at the right moment, Mr. Garth," said +Fred, as Tom rode away. "No knowing what might have happened if the +cavalry had not come up in time." + +"Ay, ay, it was lucky," said Caleb, speaking rather absently, and +looking towards the spot where he had been at work at the moment of +interruption. "But--deuce take it--this is what comes of men being +fools--I'm hindered of my day's work. I can't get along without +somebody to help me with the measuring-chain. However!" He was +beginning to move towards the spot with a look of vexation, as if he +had forgotten Fred's presence, but suddenly he turned round and said +quickly, "What have you got to do to-day, young fellow?" + +"Nothing, Mr. Garth. I'll help you with pleasure--can I?" said Fred, +with a sense that he should be courting Mary when he was helping her +father. + +"Well, you mustn't mind stooping and getting hot." + +"I don't mind anything. Only I want to go first and have a round with +that hulky fellow who turned to challenge me. It would be a good +lesson for him. I shall not be five minutes." + +"Nonsense!" said Caleb, with his most peremptory intonation. "I shall +go and speak to the men myself. It's all ignorance. Somebody has been +telling them lies. The poor fools don't know any better." + +"I shall go with you, then," said Fred. + +"No, no; stay where you are. I don't want your young blood. I can +take care of myself." + +Caleb was a powerful man and knew little of any fear except the fear of +hurting others and the fear of having to speechify. But he felt it his +duty at this moment to try and give a little harangue. There was a +striking mixture in him--which came from his having always been a +hard-working man himself--of rigorous notions about workmen and +practical indulgence towards them. To do a good day's work and to do +it well, he held to be part of their welfare, as it was the chief part +of his own happiness; but he had a strong sense of fellowship with +them. When he advanced towards the laborers they had not gone to work +again, but were standing in that form of rural grouping which consists +in each turning a shoulder towards the other, at a distance of two or +three yards. They looked rather sulkily at Caleb, who walked quickly +with one hand in his pocket and the other thrust between the buttons of +his waistcoat, and had his every-day mild air when he paused among them. + +"Why, my lads, how's this?" he began, taking as usual to brief phrases, +which seemed pregnant to himself, because he had many thoughts lying +under them, like the abundant roots of a plant that just manages to +peep above the water. "How came you to make such a mistake as this? +Somebody has been telling you lies. You thought those men up there +wanted to do mischief." + +"Aw!" was the answer, dropped at intervals by each according to his +degree of unreadiness. + +"Nonsense! No such thing! They're looking out to see which way the +railroad is to take. Now, my lads, you can't hinder the railroad: it +will be made whether you like it or not. And if you go fighting +against it, you'll get yourselves into trouble. The law gives those +men leave to come here on the land. The owner has nothing to say +against it, and if you meddle with them you'll have to do with the +constable and Justice Blakesley, and with the handcuffs and Middlemarch +jail. And you might be in for it now, if anybody informed against you." + +Caleb paused here, and perhaps the greatest orator could not have +chosen either his pause or his images better for the occasion. + +"But come, you didn't mean any harm. Somebody told you the railroad +was a bad thing. That was a lie. It may do a bit of harm here and +there, to this and to that; and so does the sun in heaven. But the +railway's a good thing." + +"Aw! good for the big folks to make money out on," said old Timothy +Cooper, who had stayed behind turning his hay while the others had been +gone on their spree;--"I'n seen lots o' things turn up sin' I war a +young un--the war an' the peace, and the canells, an' the oald King +George, an' the Regen', an' the new King George, an' the new un as has +got a new ne-ame--an' it's been all aloike to the poor mon. What's the +canells been t' him? They'n brought him neyther me-at nor be-acon, nor +wage to lay by, if he didn't save it wi' clemmin' his own inside. +Times ha' got wusser for him sin' I war a young un. An' so it'll be +wi' the railroads. They'll on'y leave the poor mon furder behind. But +them are fools as meddle, and so I told the chaps here. This is the +big folks's world, this is. But yo're for the big folks, Muster Garth, +yo are." + +Timothy was a wiry old laborer, of a type lingering in those times--who +had his savings in a stocking-foot, lived in a lone cottage, and was +not to be wrought on by any oratory, having as little of the feudal +spirit, and believing as little, as if he had not been totally +unacquainted with the Age of Reason and the Rights of Man. Caleb was +in a difficulty known to any person attempting in dark times and +unassisted by miracle to reason with rustics who are in possession of +an undeniable truth which they know through a hard process of feeling, +and can let it fall like a giant's club on your neatly carved argument +for a social benefit which they do not feel. Caleb had no cant at +command, even if he could have chosen to use it; and he had been +accustomed to meet all such difficulties in no other way than by doing +his "business" faithfully. He answered-- + +"If you don't think well of me, Tim, never mind; that's neither here +nor there now. Things may be bad for the poor man--bad they are; but I +want the lads here not to do what will make things worse for +themselves. The cattle may have a heavy load, but it won't help 'em to +throw it over into the roadside pit, when it's partly their own fodder." + +"We war on'y for a bit o' foon," said Hiram, who was beginning to see +consequences. "That war all we war arter." + +"Well, promise me not to meddle again, and I'll see that nobody informs +against you." + +"I'n ne'er meddled, an' I'n no call to promise," said Timothy. + +"No, but the rest. Come, I'm as hard at work as any of you to-day, and +I can't spare much time. Say you'll be quiet without the constable." + +"Aw, we wooant meddle--they may do as they loike for oos"--were the +forms in which Caleb got his pledges; and then he hastened back to +Fred, who had followed him, and watched him in the gateway. + +They went to work, and Fred helped vigorously. His spirits had risen, +and he heartily enjoyed a good slip in the moist earth under the +hedgerow, which soiled his perfect summer trousers. Was it his +successful onset which had elated him, or the satisfaction of helping +Mary's father? Something more. The accidents of the morning had +helped his frustrated imagination to shape an employment for himself +which had several attractions. I am not sure that certain fibres in +Mr. Garth's mind had not resumed their old vibration towards the very +end which now revealed itself to Fred. For the effective accident is +but the touch of fire where there is oil and tow; and it always +appeared to Fred that the railway brought the needed touch. But they +went on in silence except when their business demanded speech. At +last, when they had finished and were walking away, Mr. Garth said-- + +"A young fellow needn't be a B. A. to do this sort of work, eh, Fred?" + +"I wish I had taken to it before I had thought of being a B. A.," said +Fred. He paused a moment, and then added, more hesitatingly, "Do you +think I am too old to learn your business, Mr. Garth?" + +"My business is of many sorts, my boy," said Mr. Garth, smiling. "A +good deal of what I know can only come from experience: you can't learn +it off as you learn things out of a book. But you are young enough to +lay a foundation yet." Caleb pronounced the last sentence +emphatically, but paused in some uncertainty. He had been under the +impression lately that Fred had made up his mind to enter the Church. + +"You do think I could do some good at it, if I were to try?" said Fred, +more eagerly. + +"That depends," said Caleb, turning his head on one side and lowering +his voice, with the air of a man who felt himself to be saying +something deeply religious. "You must be sure of two things: you must +love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting +your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your +work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something +else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it +well, and not be always saying, There's this and there's that--if I had +this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man +is--I wouldn't give twopence for him"--here Caleb's mouth looked +bitter, and he snapped his fingers--"whether he was the prime minister +or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do." + +"I can never feel that I should do that in being a clergyman," said +Fred, meaning to take a step in argument. + +"Then let it alone, my boy," said Caleb, abruptly, "else you'll never +be easy. Or, if you _are_ easy, you'll be a poor stick." + +"That is very nearly what Mary thinks about it," said Fred, coloring. +"I think you must know what I feel for Mary, Mr. Garth: I hope it does +not displease you that I have always loved her better than any one +else, and that I shall never love any one as I love her." + +The expression of Caleb's face was visibly softening while Fred spoke. +But he swung his head with a solemn slowness, and said-- + +"That makes things more serious, Fred, if you want to take Mary's +happiness into your keeping." + +"I know that, Mr. Garth," said Fred, eagerly, "and I would do anything +for _her_. She says she will never have me if I go into the Church; +and I shall be the most miserable devil in the world if I lose all hope +of Mary. Really, if I could get some other profession, +business--anything that I am at all fit for, I would work hard, I would +deserve your good opinion. I should like to have to do with outdoor +things. I know a good deal about land and cattle already. I used to +believe, you know--though you will think me rather foolish for it--that +I should have land of my own. I am sure knowledge of that sort would +come easily to me, especially if I could be under you in any way." + +"Softly, my boy," said Caleb, having the image of "Susan" before his +eyes. "What have you said to your father about all this?" + +"Nothing, yet; but I must tell him. I am only waiting to know what I +can do instead of entering the Church. I am very sorry to disappoint +him, but a man ought to be allowed to judge for himself when he is +four-and-twenty. How could I know when I was fifteen, what it would be +right for me to do now? My education was a mistake." + +"But hearken to this, Fred," said Caleb. "Are you sure Mary is fond of +you, or would ever have you?" + +"I asked Mr. Farebrother to talk to her, because she had forbidden +me--I didn't know what else to do," said Fred, apologetically. "And he +says that I have every reason to hope, if I can put myself in an +honorable position--I mean, out of the Church. I dare say you think it +unwarrantable in me, Mr. Garth, to be troubling you and obtruding my +own wishes about Mary, before I have done anything at all for myself. +Of course I have not the least claim--indeed, I have already a debt to +you which will never be discharged, even when I have been, able to pay +it in the shape of money." + +"Yes, my boy, you have a claim," said Caleb, with much feeling in his +voice. "The young ones have always a claim on the old to help them +forward. I was young myself once and had to do without much help; but +help would have been welcome to me, if it had been only for the +fellow-feeling's sake. But I must consider. Come to me to-morrow at +the office, at nine o'clock. At the office, mind." + +Mr. Garth would take no important step without consulting Susan, but it +must be confessed that before he reached home he had taken his +resolution. With regard to a large number of matters about which other +men are decided or obstinate, he was the most easily manageable man in +the world. He never knew what meat he would choose, and if Susan had +said that they ought to live in a four-roomed cottage, in order to +save, he would have said, "Let us go," without inquiring into details. +But where Caleb's feeling and judgment strongly pronounced, he was a +ruler; and in spite of his mildness and timidity in reproving, every +one about him knew that on the exceptional occasions when he chose, he +was absolute. He never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on some +one else's behalf. On ninety-nine points Mrs. Garth decided, but on +the hundredth she was often aware that she would have to perform the +singularly difficult task of carrying out her own principle, and to +make herself subordinate. + +"It is come round as I thought, Susan," said Caleb, when they were +seated alone in the evening. He had already narrated the adventure +which had brought about Fred's sharing in his work, but had kept back +the further result. "The children _are_ fond of each other--I mean, +Fred and Mary." + +Mrs. Garth laid her work on her knee, and fixed her penetrating eyes +anxiously on her husband. + +"After we'd done our work, Fred poured it all out to me. He can't bear +to be a clergyman, and Mary says she won't have him if he is one; and +the lad would like to be under me and give his mind to business. And +I've determined to take him and make a man of him." + +"Caleb!" said Mrs. Garth, in a deep contralto, expressive of resigned +astonishment. + +"It's a fine thing to do," said Mr. Garth, settling himself firmly +against the back of his chair, and grasping the elbows. "I shall have +trouble with him, but I think I shall carry it through. The lad loves +Mary, and a true love for a good woman is a great thing, Susan. It +shapes many a rough fellow." + +"Has Mary spoken to you on the subject?" said Mrs Garth, secretly a +little hurt that she had to be informed on it herself. + +"Not a word. I asked her about Fred once; I gave her a bit of a +warning. But she assured me she would never marry an idle +self-indulgent man--nothing since. But it seems Fred set on Mr. +Farebrother to talk to her, because she had forbidden him to speak +himself, and Mr. Farebrother has found out that she is fond of Fred, +but says he must not be a clergyman. Fred's heart is fixed on Mary, +that I can see: it gives me a good opinion of the lad--and we always +liked him, Susan." + +"It is a pity for Mary, I think," said Mrs. Garth. + +"Why--a pity?" + +"Because, Caleb, she might have had a man who is worth twenty Fred +Vincy's." + +"Ah?" said Caleb, with surprise. + +"I firmly believe that Mr. Farebrother is attached to her, and meant to +make her an offer; but of course, now that Fred has used him as an +envoy, there is an end to that better prospect." There was a severe +precision in Mrs. Garth's utterance. She was vexed and disappointed, +but she was bent on abstaining from useless words. + +Caleb was silent a few moments under a conflict of feelings. He looked +at the floor and moved his head and hands in accompaniment to some +inward argumentation. At last he said-- + +"That would have made me very proud and happy, Susan, and I should have +been glad for your sake. I've always felt that your belongings have +never been on a level with you. But you took me, though I was a plain +man." + +"I took the best and cleverest man I had ever known," said Mrs. Garth, +convinced that _she_ would never have loved any one who came short of +that mark. + +"Well, perhaps others thought you might have done better. But it would +have been worse for me. And that is what touches me close about Fred. +The lad is good at bottom, and clever enough to do, if he's put in the +right way; and he loves and honors my daughter beyond anything, and she +has given him a sort of promise according to what he turns out. I say, +that young man's soul is in my hand; and I'll do the best I can for +him, so help me God! It's my duty, Susan." + +Mrs. Garth was not given to tears, but there was a large one rolling +down her face before her husband had finished. It came from the +pressure of various feelings, in which there was much affection and +some vexation. She wiped it away quickly, saying-- + +"Few men besides you would think it a duty to add to their anxieties in +that way, Caleb." + +"That signifies nothing--what other men would think. I've got a clear +feeling inside me, and that I shall follow; and I hope your heart will +go with me, Susan, in making everything as light as can be to Mary, +poor child." + +Caleb, leaning back in his chair, looked with anxious appeal towards +his wife. She rose and kissed him, saying, "God bless you, Caleb! Our +children have a good father." + +But she went out and had a hearty cry to make up for the suppression of +her words. She felt sure that her husband's conduct would be +misunderstood, and about Fred she was rational and unhopeful. Which +would turn out to have the more foresight in it--her rationality or +Caleb's ardent generosity? + +When Fred went to the office the next morning, there was a test to be +gone through which he was not prepared for. + +"Now Fred," said Caleb, "you will have some desk-work. I have always +done a good deal of writing myself, but I can't do without help, and as +I want you to understand the accounts and get the values into your +head, I mean to do without another clerk. So you must buckle to. How +are you at writing and arithmetic?" + +Fred felt an awkward movement of the heart; he had not thought of +desk-work; but he was in a resolute mood, and not going to shrink. +"I'm not afraid of arithmetic, Mr. Garth: it always came easily to me. +I think you know my writing." + +"Let us see," said Caleb, taking up a pen, examining it carefully and +handing it, well dipped, to Fred with a sheet of ruled paper. "Copy me +a line or two of that valuation, with the figures at the end." + +At that time the opinion existed that it was beneath a gentleman to +write legibly, or with a hand in the least suitable to a clerk. Fred +wrote the lines demanded in a hand as gentlemanly as that of any +viscount or bishop of the day: the vowels were all alike and the +consonants only distinguishable as turning up or down, the strokes had +a blotted solidity and the letters disdained to keep the line--in +short, it was a manuscript of that venerable kind easy to interpret +when you know beforehand what the writer means. + +As Caleb looked on, his visage showed a growing depression, but when +Fred handed him the paper he gave something like a snarl, and rapped +the paper passionately with the back of his hand. Bad work like this +dispelled all Caleb's mildness. + +"The deuce!" he exclaimed, snarlingly. "To think that this is a +country where a man's education may cost hundreds and hundreds, and it +turns you out this!" Then in a more pathetic tone, pushing up his +spectacles and looking at the unfortunate scribe, "The Lord have mercy +on us, Fred, I can't put up with this!" + +"What can I do, Mr. Garth?" said Fred, whose spirits had sunk very low, +not only at the estimate of his handwriting, but at the vision of +himself as liable to be ranked with office clerks. + +"Do? Why, you must learn to form your letters and keep the line. +What's the use of writing at all if nobody can understand it?" asked +Caleb, energetically, quite preoccupied with the bad quality of the +work. "Is there so little business in the world that you must be +sending puzzles over the country? But that's the way people are +brought up. I should lose no end of time with the letters some people +send me, if Susan did not make them out for me. It's disgusting." Here +Caleb tossed the paper from him. + +Any stranger peeping into the office at that moment might have wondered +what was the drama between the indignant man of business, and the +fine-looking young fellow whose blond complexion was getting rather +patchy as he bit his lip with mortification. Fred was struggling with +many thoughts. Mr. Garth had been so kind and encouraging at the +beginning of their interview, that gratitude and hopefulness had been +at a high pitch, and the downfall was proportionate. He had not +thought of desk-work--in fact, like the majority of young gentlemen, he +wanted an occupation which should be free from disagreeables. I cannot +tell what might have been the consequences if he had not distinctly +promised himself that he would go to Lowick to see Mary and tell her +that he was engaged to work under her father. He did not like to +disappoint himself there. + +"I am very sorry," were all the words that he could muster. But Mr. +Garth was already relenting. + +"We must make the best of it, Fred," he began, with a return to his +usual quiet tone. "Every man can learn to write. I taught myself. Go +at it with a will, and sit up at night if the day-time isn't enough. +We'll be patient, my boy. Callum shall go on with the books for a bit, +while you are learning. But now I must be off," said Caleb, rising. +"You must let your father know our agreement. You'll save me Callum's +salary, you know, when you can write; and I can afford to give you +eighty pounds for the first year, and more after." + +When Fred made the necessary disclosure to his parents, the relative +effect on the two was a surprise which entered very deeply into his +memory. He went straight from Mr. Garth's office to the warehouse, +rightly feeling that the most respectful way in which he could behave +to his father was to make the painful communication as gravely and +formally as possible. Moreover, the decision would be more certainly +understood to be final, if the interview took place in his father's +gravest hours, which were always those spent in his private room at the +warehouse. + +Fred entered on the subject directly, and declared briefly what he had +done and was resolved to do, expressing at the end his regret that he +should be the cause of disappointment to his father, and taking the +blame on his own deficiencies. The regret was genuine, and inspired +Fred with strong, simple words. + +Mr. Vincy listened in profound surprise without uttering even an +exclamation, a silence which in his impatient temperament was a sign of +unusual emotion. He had not been in good spirits about trade that +morning, and the slight bitterness in his lips grew intense as he +listened. When Fred had ended, there was a pause of nearly a minute, +during which Mr. Vincy replaced a book in his desk and turned the key +emphatically. Then he looked at his son steadily, and said-- + +"So you've made up your mind at last, sir?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Very well; stick to it. I've no more to say. You've thrown away your +education, and gone down a step in life, when I had given you the means +of rising, that's all." + +"I am very sorry that we differ, father. I think I can be quite as +much of a gentleman at the work I have undertaken, as if I had been a +curate. But I am grateful to you for wishing to do the best for me." + +"Very well; I have no more to say. I wash my hands of you. I only +hope, when you have a son of your own he will make a better return for +the pains you spend on him." + +This was very cutting to Fred. His father was using that unfair +advantage possessed by us all when we are in a pathetic situation and +see our own past as if it were simply part of the pathos. In reality, +Mr. Vincy's wishes about his son had had a great deal of pride, +inconsiderateness, and egoistic folly in them. But still the +disappointed father held a strong lever; and Fred felt as if he were +being banished with a malediction. + +"I hope you will not object to my remaining at home, sir?" he said, +after rising to go; "I shall have a sufficient salary to pay for my +board, as of course I should wish to do." + +"Board be hanged!" said Mr. Vincy, recovering himself in his disgust at +the notion that Fred's keep would be missed at his table. "Of course +your mother will want you to stay. But I shall keep no horse for you, +you understand; and you will pay your own tailor. You will do with a +suit or two less, I fancy, when you have to pay for 'em." + +Fred lingered; there was still something to be said. At last it came. + +"I hope you will shake hands with me, father, and forgive me the +vexation I have caused you." + +Mr. Vincy from his chair threw a quick glance upward at his son, who +had advanced near to him, and then gave his hand, saying hurriedly, +"Yes, yes, let us say no more." + +Fred went through much more narrative and explanation with his mother, +but she was inconsolable, having before her eyes what perhaps her +husband had never thought of, the certainty that Fred would marry Mary +Garth, that her life would henceforth be spoiled by a perpetual +infusion of Garths and their ways, and that her darling boy, with his +beautiful face and stylish air "beyond anybody else's son in +Middlemarch," would be sure to get like that family in plainness of +appearance and carelessness about his clothes. To her it seemed that +there was a Garth conspiracy to get possession of the desirable Fred, +but she dared not enlarge on this opinion, because a slight hint of it +had made him "fly out" at her as he had never done before. Her temper +was too sweet for her to show any anger, but she felt that her +happiness had received a bruise, and for several days merely to look at +Fred made her cry a little as if he were the subject of some baleful +prophecy. Perhaps she was the slower to recover her usual cheerfulness +because Fred had warned her that she must not reopen the sore question +with his father, who had accepted his decision and forgiven him. If +her husband had been vehement against Fred, she would have been urged +into defence of her darling. It was the end of the fourth day when Mr. +Vincy said to her-- + +"Come, Lucy, my dear, don't be so down-hearted. You always have spoiled +the boy, and you must go on spoiling him." + +"Nothing ever did cut me so before, Vincy," said the wife, her fair +throat and chin beginning to tremble again, "only his illness." + +"Pooh, pooh, never mind! We must expect to have trouble with our +children. Don't make it worse by letting me see you out of spirits." + +"Well, I won't," said Mrs. Vincy, roused by this appeal and adjusting +herself with a little shake as of a bird which lays down its ruffled +plumage. + +"It won't do to begin making a fuss about one," said Mr. Vincy, wishing +to combine a little grumbling with domestic cheerfulness. "There's +Rosamond as well as Fred." + +"Yes, poor thing. I'm sure I felt for her being disappointed of her +baby; but she got over it nicely." + +"Baby, pooh! I can see Lydgate is making a mess of his practice, and +getting into debt too, by what I hear. I shall have Rosamond coming to +me with a pretty tale one of these days. But they'll get no money from +me, I know. Let _his_ family help him. I never did like that +marriage. But it's no use talking. Ring the bell for lemons, and +don't look dull any more, Lucy. I'll drive you and Louisa to Riverston +to-morrow." + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + + They numbered scarce eight summers when a name + Rose on their souls and stirred such motions there + As thrill the buds and shape their hidden frame + At penetration of the quickening air: + His name who told of loyal Evan Dhu, + Of quaint Bradwardine, and Vich Ian Vor, + Making the little world their childhood knew + Large with a land of mountain lake and scaur, + And larger yet with wonder love belief + Toward Walter Scott who living far away + Sent them this wealth of joy and noble grief. + The book and they must part, but day by day, + In lines that thwart like portly spiders ran + They wrote the tale, from Tully Veolan. + + +The evening that Fred Vincy walked to Lowick parsonage (he had begun to +see that this was a world in which even a spirited young man must +sometimes walk for want of a horse to carry him) he set out at five +o'clock and called on Mrs. Garth by the way, wishing to assure himself +that she accepted their new relations willingly. + +He found the family group, dogs and cats included, under the great +apple-tree in the orchard. It was a festival with Mrs. Garth, for her +eldest son, Christy, her peculiar joy and pride, had come home for a +short holiday--Christy, who held it the most desirable thing in the +world to be a tutor, to study all literatures and be a regenerate +Porson, and who was an incorporate criticism on poor Fred, a sort of +object-lesson given to him by the educational mother. Christy himself, +a square-browed, broad-shouldered masculine edition of his mother not +much higher than Fred's shoulder--which made it the harder that he +should be held superior--was always as simple as possible, and thought +no more of Fred's disinclination to scholarship than of a giraffe's, +wishing that he himself were more of the same height. He was lying on +the ground now by his mother's chair, with his straw hat laid flat over +his eyes, while Jim on the other side was reading aloud from that +beloved writer who has made a chief part in the happiness of many young +lives. The volume was "Ivanhoe," and Jim was in the great archery +scene at the tournament, but suffered much interruption from Ben, who +had fetched his own old bow and arrows, and was making himself +dreadfully disagreeable, Letty thought, by begging all present to +observe his random shots, which no one wished to do except Brownie, the +active-minded but probably shallow mongrel, while the grizzled +Newfoundland lying in the sun looked on with the dull-eyed neutrality +of extreme old age. Letty herself, showing as to her mouth and +pinafore some slight signs that she had been assisting at the gathering +of the cherries which stood in a coral-heap on the tea-table, was now +seated on the grass, listening open-eyed to the reading. + +But the centre of interest was changed for all by the arrival of Fred +Vincy. When, seating himself on a garden-stool, he said that he was on +his way to Lowick Parsonage, Ben, who had thrown down his bow, and +snatched up a reluctant half-grown kitten instead, strode across Fred's +outstretched leg, and said "Take me!" + +"Oh, and me too," said Letty. + +"You can't keep up with Fred and me," said Ben. + +"Yes, I can. Mother, please say that I am to go," urged Letty, whose +life was much checkered by resistance to her depreciation as a girl. + +"I shall stay with Christy," observed Jim; as much as to say that he +had the advantage of those simpletons; whereupon Letty put her hand up +to her head and looked with jealous indecision from the one to the +other. + +"Let us all go and see Mary," said Christy, opening his arms. + +"No, my dear child, we must not go in a swarm to the parsonage. And +that old Glasgow suit of yours would never do. Besides, your father +will come home. We must let Fred go alone. He can tell Mary that you +are here, and she will come back to-morrow." + +Christy glanced at his own threadbare knees, and then at Fred's +beautiful white trousers. Certainly Fred's tailoring suggested the +advantages of an English university, and he had a graceful way even of +looking warm and of pushing his hair back with his handkerchief. + +"Children, run away," said Mrs. Garth; "it is too warm to hang about +your friends. Take your brother and show him the rabbits." + +The eldest understood, and led off the children immediately. Fred felt +that Mrs. Garth wished to give him an opportunity of saying anything he +had to say, but he could only begin by observing-- + +"How glad you must be to have Christy here!" + +"Yes; he has come sooner than I expected. He got down from the coach +at nine o'clock, just after his father went out. I am longing for +Caleb to come and hear what wonderful progress Christy is making. He +has paid his expenses for the last year by giving lessons, carrying on +hard study at the same time. He hopes soon to get a private tutorship +and go abroad." + +"He is a great fellow," said Fred, to whom these cheerful truths had a +medicinal taste, "and no trouble to anybody." After a slight pause, he +added, "But I fear you will think that I am going to be a great deal of +trouble to Mr. Garth." + +"Caleb likes taking trouble: he is one of those men who always do more +than any one would have thought of asking them to do," answered Mrs. +Garth. She was knitting, and could either look at Fred or not, as she +chose--always an advantage when one is bent on loading speech with +salutary meaning; and though Mrs. Garth intended to be duly reserved, +she did wish to say something that Fred might be the better for. + +"I know you think me very undeserving, Mrs. Garth, and with good +reason," said Fred, his spirit rising a little at the perception of +something like a disposition to lecture him. "I happen to have behaved +just the worst to the people I can't help wishing for the most from. +But while two men like Mr. Garth and Mr. Farebrother have not given me +up, I don't see why I should give myself up." Fred thought it might be +well to suggest these masculine examples to Mrs. Garth. + +"Assuredly," said she, with gathering emphasis. "A young man for whom +two such elders had devoted themselves would indeed be culpable if he +threw himself away and made their sacrifices vain." + +Fred wondered a little at this strong language, but only said, "I hope +it will not be so with me, Mrs. Garth, since I have some encouragement +to believe that I may win Mary. Mr. Garth has told you about that? +You were not surprised, I dare say?" Fred ended, innocently referring +only to his own love as probably evident enough. + +"Not surprised that Mary has given you encouragement?" returned Mrs. +Garth, who thought it would be well for Fred to be more alive to the +fact that Mary's friends could not possibly have wished this +beforehand, whatever the Vincys might suppose. "Yes, I confess I was +surprised." + +"She never did give me any--not the least in the world, when I talked +to her myself," said Fred, eager to vindicate Mary. "But when I asked +Mr. Farebrother to speak for me, she allowed him to tell me there was a +hope." + +The power of admonition which had begun to stir in Mrs. Garth had not +yet discharged itself. It was a little too provoking even for _her_ +self-control that this blooming youngster should flourish on the +disappointments of sadder and wiser people--making a meal of a +nightingale and never knowing it--and that all the while his family +should suppose that hers was in eager need of this sprig; and her +vexation had fermented the more actively because of its total +repression towards her husband. Exemplary wives will sometimes find +scapegoats in this way. She now said with energetic decision, "You +made a great mistake, Fred, in asking Mr. Farebrother to speak for you." + +"Did I?" said Fred, reddening instantaneously. He was alarmed, but at +a loss to know what Mrs. Garth meant, and added, in an apologetic tone, +"Mr. Farebrother has always been such a friend of ours; and Mary, I +knew, would listen to him gravely; and he took it on himself quite +readily." + +"Yes, young people are usually blind to everything but their own +wishes, and seldom imagine how much those wishes cost others," said +Mrs. Garth. She did not mean to go beyond this salutary general +doctrine, and threw her indignation into a needless unwinding of her +worsted, knitting her brow at it with a grand air. + +"I cannot conceive how it could be any pain to Mr. Farebrother," said +Fred, who nevertheless felt that surprising conceptions were beginning +to form themselves. + +"Precisely; you cannot conceive," said Mrs. Garth, cutting her words as +neatly as possible. + +For a moment Fred looked at the horizon with a dismayed anxiety, and +then turning with a quick movement said almost sharply-- + +"Do you mean to say, Mrs. Garth, that Mr. Farebrother is in love with +Mary?" + +"And if it were so, Fred, I think you are the last person who ought to +be surprised," returned Mrs. Garth, laying her knitting down beside her +and folding her arms. It was an unwonted sign of emotion in her that +she should put her work out of her hands. In fact her feelings were +divided between the satisfaction of giving Fred his discipline and the +sense of having gone a little too far. Fred took his hat and stick and +rose quickly. + +"Then you think I am standing in his way, and in Mary's too?" he said, +in a tone which seemed to demand an answer. + +Mrs. Garth could not speak immediately. She had brought herself into +the unpleasant position of being called on to say what she really felt, +yet what she knew there were strong reasons for concealing. And to her +the consciousness of having exceeded in words was peculiarly +mortifying. Besides, Fred had given out unexpected electricity, and he +now added, "Mr. Garth seemed pleased that Mary should be attached to +me. He could not have known anything of this." + +Mrs. Garth felt a severe twinge at this mention of her husband, the +fear that Caleb might think her in the wrong not being easily +endurable. She answered, wanting to check unintended consequences-- + +"I spoke from inference only. I am not aware that Mary knows anything +of the matter." + +But she hesitated to beg that he would keep entire silence on a subject +which she had herself unnecessarily mentioned, not being used to stoop +in that way; and while she was hesitating there was already a rush of +unintended consequences under the apple-tree where the tea-things +stood. Ben, bouncing across the grass with Brownie at his heels, and +seeing the kitten dragging the knitting by a lengthening line of wool, +shouted and clapped his hands; Brownie barked, the kitten, desperate, +jumped on the tea-table and upset the milk, then jumped down again and +swept half the cherries with it; and Ben, snatching up the half-knitted +sock-top, fitted it over the kitten's head as a new source of madness, +while Letty arriving cried out to her mother against this cruelty--it +was a history as full of sensation as "This is the house that Jack +built." Mrs. Garth was obliged to interfere, the other young ones came +up and the tete-a-tete with Fred was ended. He got away as soon as he +could, and Mrs. Garth could only imply some retractation of her +severity by saying "God bless you" when she shook hands with him. + +She was unpleasantly conscious that she had been on the verge of +speaking as "one of the foolish women speaketh"--telling first and +entreating silence after. But she had not entreated silence, and to +prevent Caleb's blame she determined to blame herself and confess all +to him that very night. It was curious what an awful tribunal the mild +Caleb's was to her, whenever he set it up. But she meant to point out +to him that the revelation might do Fred Vincy a great deal of good. + +No doubt it was having a strong effect on him as he walked to Lowick. +Fred's light hopeful nature had perhaps never had so much of a bruise +as from this suggestion that if he had been out of the way Mary might +have made a thoroughly good match. Also he was piqued that he had been +what he called such a stupid lout as to ask that intervention from Mr. +Farebrother. But it was not in a lover's nature--it was not in +Fred's, that the new anxiety raised about Mary's feeling should not +surmount every other. Notwithstanding his trust in Mr. Farebrother's +generosity, notwithstanding what Mary had said to him, Fred could not +help feeling that he had a rival: it was a new consciousness, and he +objected to it extremely, not being in the least ready to give up Mary +for her good, being ready rather to fight for her with any man +whatsoever. But the fighting with Mr. Farebrother must be of a +metaphorical kind, which was much more difficult to Fred than the +muscular. Certainly this experience was a discipline for Fred hardly +less sharp than his disappointment about his uncle's will. The iron +had not entered into his soul, but he had begun to imagine what the +sharp edge would be. It did not once occur to Fred that Mrs. Garth +might be mistaken about Mr. Farebrother, but he suspected that she +might be wrong about Mary. Mary had been staying at the parsonage +lately, and her mother might know very little of what had been passing +in her mind. + +He did not feel easier when he found her looking cheerful with the +three ladies in the drawing-room. They were in animated discussion on +some subject which was dropped when he entered, and Mary was copying +the labels from a heap of shallow cabinet drawers, in a minute +handwriting which she was skilled in. Mr. Farebrother was somewhere in +the village, and the three ladies knew nothing of Fred's peculiar +relation to Mary: it was impossible for either of them to propose that +they should walk round the garden, and Fred predicted to himself that +he should have to go away without saying a word to her in private. He +told her first of Christy's arrival and then of his own engagement with +her father; and he was comforted by seeing that this latter news +touched her keenly. She said hurriedly, "I am so glad," and then bent +over her writing to hinder any one from noticing her face. But here +was a subject which Mrs. Farebrother could not let pass. + +"You don't mean, my dear Miss Garth, that you are glad to hear of a +young man giving up the Church for which he was educated: you only mean +that things being so, you are glad that he should be under an excellent +man like your father." + +"No, really, Mrs. Farebrother, I am glad of both, I fear," said Mary, +cleverly getting rid of one rebellious tear. "I have a dreadfully +secular mind. I never liked any clergyman except the Vicar of +Wakefield and Mr. Farebrother." + +"Now why, my dear?" said Mrs. Farebrother, pausing on her large wooden +knitting-needles and looking at Mary. "You have always a good reason +for your opinions, but this astonishes me. Of course I put out of the +question those who preach new doctrine. But why should you dislike +clergymen?" + +"Oh dear," said Mary, her face breaking into merriment as she seemed to +consider a moment, "I don't like their neckcloths." + +"Why, you don't like Camden's, then," said Miss Winifred, in some +anxiety. + +"Yes, I do," said Mary. "I don't like the other clergymen's +neckcloths, because it is they who wear them." + +"How very puzzling!" said Miss Noble, feeling that her own intellect +was probably deficient. + +"My dear, you are joking. You would have better reasons than these for +slighting so respectable a class of men," said Mrs. Farebrother, +majestically. + +"Miss Garth has such severe notions of what people should be that it is +difficult to satisfy her," said Fred. + +"Well, I am glad at least that she makes an exception in favor of my +son," said the old lady. + +Mary was wondering at Fred's piqued tone, when Mr. Farebrother came in +and had to hear the news about the engagement under Mr. Garth. At the +end he said with quiet satisfaction, "_That_ is right;" and then bent +to look at Mary's labels and praise her handwriting. Fred felt +horribly jealous--was glad, of course, that Mr. Farebrother was so +estimable, but wished that he had been ugly and fat as men at forty +sometimes are. It was clear what the end would be, since Mary openly +placed Farebrother above everybody, and these women were all evidently +encouraging the affair. He was feeling sure that he should have no +chance of speaking to Mary, when Mr. Farebrother said-- + +"Fred, help me to carry these drawers back into my study--you have +never seen my fine new study. Pray come too, Miss Garth. I want you +to see a stupendous spider I found this morning." + +Mary at once saw the Vicar's intention. He had never since the +memorable evening deviated from his old pastoral kindness towards her, +and her momentary wonder and doubt had quite gone to sleep. Mary was +accustomed to think rather rigorously of what was probable, and if a +belief flattered her vanity she felt warned to dismiss it as +ridiculous, having early had much exercise in such dismissals. It was +as she had foreseen: when Fred had been asked to admire the fittings of +the study, and she had been asked to admire the spider, Mr. Farebrother +said-- + +"Wait here a minute or two. I am going to look out an engraving which +Fred is tall enough to hang for me. I shall be back in a few minutes." +And then he went out. Nevertheless, the first word Fred said to Mary +was-- + +"It is of no use, whatever I do, Mary. You are sure to marry +Farebrother at last." There was some rage in his tone. + +"What do you mean, Fred?" Mary exclaimed indignantly, blushing deeply, +and surprised out of all her readiness in reply. + +"It is impossible that you should not see it all clearly enough--you +who see everything." + +"I only see that you are behaving very ill, Fred, in speaking so of Mr. +Farebrother after he has pleaded your cause in every way. How can you +have taken up such an idea?" + +Fred was rather deep, in spite of his irritation. If Mary had really +been unsuspicious, there was no good in telling her what Mrs. Garth had +said. + +"It follows as a matter of course," he replied. "When you are +continually seeing a man who beats me in everything, and whom you set +up above everybody, I can have no fair chance." + +"You are very ungrateful, Fred," said Mary. "I wish I had never told +Mr. Farebrother that I cared for you in the least." + +"No, I am not ungrateful; I should be the happiest fellow in the world +if it were not for this. I told your father everything, and he was +very kind; he treated me as if I were his son. I could go at the work +with a will, writing and everything, if it were not for this." + +"For this? for what?" said Mary, imagining now that something specific +must have been said or done. + +"This dreadful certainty that I shall be bowled out by Farebrother." +Mary was appeased by her inclination to laugh. + +"Fred," she said, peeping round to catch his eyes, which were sulkily +turned away from her, "you are too delightfully ridiculous. If you +were not such a charming simpleton, what a temptation this would be to +play the wicked coquette, and let you suppose that somebody besides you +has made love to me." + +"Do you really like me best, Mary?" said Fred, turning eyes full of +affection on her, and trying to take her hand. + +"I don't like you at all at this moment," said Mary, retreating, and +putting her hands behind her. "I only said that no mortal ever made +love to me besides you. And that is no argument that a very wise man +ever will," she ended, merrily. + +"I wish you would tell me that you could not possibly ever think of +him," said Fred. + +"Never dare to mention this any more to me, Fred," said Mary, getting +serious again. "I don't know whether it is more stupid or ungenerous +in you not to see that Mr. Farebrother has left us together on purpose +that we might speak freely. I am disappointed that you should be so +blind to his delicate feeling." + +There was no time to say any more before Mr. Farebrother came back with +the engraving; and Fred had to return to the drawing-room still with a +jealous dread in his heart, but yet with comforting arguments from +Mary's words and manner. The result of the conversation was on the +whole more painful to Mary: inevitably her attention had taken a new +attitude, and she saw the possibility of new interpretations. She was +in a position in which she seemed to herself to be slighting Mr. +Farebrother, and this, in relation to a man who is much honored, is +always dangerous to the firmness of a grateful woman. To have a reason +for going home the next day was a relief, for Mary earnestly desired to +be always clear that she loved Fred best. When a tender affection has +been storing itself in us through many of our years, the idea that we +could accept any exchange for it seems to be a cheapening of our lives. +And we can set a watch over our affections and our constancy as we can +over other treasures. + +"Fred has lost all his other expectations; he must keep this," Mary +said to herself, with a smile curling her lips. It was impossible to +help fleeting visions of another kind--new dignities and an +acknowledged value of which she had often felt the absence. But these +things with Fred outside them, Fred forsaken and looking sad for the +want of her, could never tempt her deliberate thought. + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + + "For there can live no hatred in thine eye, + Therefore in that I cannot know thy change: + In many's looks the false heart's history + Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange: + But Heaven in thy creation did decree + That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell: + Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be + Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell." + --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets. + + +At the time when Mr. Vincy uttered that presentiment about Rosamond, +she herself had never had the idea that she should be driven to make +the sort of appeal which he foresaw. She had not yet had any anxiety +about ways and means, although her domestic life had been expensive as +well as eventful. Her baby had been born prematurely, and all the +embroidered robes and caps had to be laid by in darkness. This +misfortune was attributed entirely to her having persisted in going out +on horseback one day when her husband had desired her not to do so; but +it must not be supposed that she had shown temper on the occasion, or +rudely told him that she would do as she liked. + +What led her particularly to desire horse-exercise was a visit from +Captain Lydgate, the baronet's third son, who, I am sorry to say, was +detested by our Tertius of that name as a vapid fop "parting his hair +from brow to nape in a despicable fashion" (not followed by Tertius +himself), and showing an ignorant security that he knew the proper +thing to say on every topic. Lydgate inwardly cursed his own folly +that he had drawn down this visit by consenting to go to his uncle's on +the wedding-tour, and he made himself rather disagreeable to Rosamond +by saying so in private. For to Rosamond this visit was a source of +unprecedented but gracefully concealed exultation. She was so +intensely conscious of having a cousin who was a baronet's son staying +in the house, that she imagined the knowledge of what was implied by +his presence to be diffused through all other minds; and when she +introduced Captain Lydgate to her guests, she had a placid sense that +his rank penetrated them as if it had been an odor. The satisfaction +was enough for the time to melt away some disappointment in the +conditions of marriage with a medical man even of good birth: it seemed +now that her marriage was visibly as well as ideally floating her above +the Middlemarch level, and the future looked bright with letters and +visits to and from Quallingham, and vague advancement in consequence +for Tertius. Especially as, probably at the Captain's suggestion, his +married sister, Mrs. Mengan, had come with her maid, and stayed two +nights on her way from town. Hence it was clearly worth while for +Rosamond to take pains with her music and the careful selection of her +lace. + +As to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his aquiline nose bent on +one side, and his rather heavy utterance, might have been +disadvantageous in any young gentleman who had not a military bearing +and mustache to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond +heads as "style." He had, moreover, that sort of high-breeding which +consists in being free from the petty solicitudes of middle-class +gentility, and he was a great critic of feminine charms. Rosamond +delighted in his admiration now even more than she had done at +Quallingham, and he found it easy to spend several hours of the day in +flirting with her. The visit altogether was one of the pleasantest +larks he had ever had, not the less so perhaps because he suspected +that his queer cousin Tertius wished him away: though Lydgate, who +would rather (hyperbolically speaking) have died than have failed in +polite hospitality, suppressed his dislike, and only pretended +generally not to hear what the gallant officer said, consigning the +task of answering him to Rosamond. For he was not at all a jealous +husband, and preferred leaving a feather-headed young gentleman alone +with his wife to bearing him company. + +"I wish you would talk more to the Captain at dinner, Tertius," said +Rosamond, one evening when the important guest was gone to Loamford to +see some brother officers stationed there. "You really look so absent +sometimes--you seem to be seeing through his head into something behind +it, instead of looking at him." + +"My dear Rosy, you don't expect me to talk much to such a conceited ass +as that, I hope," said Lydgate, brusquely. "If he got his head broken, +I might look at it with interest, not before." + +"I cannot conceive why you should speak of your cousin so +contemptuously," said Rosamond, her fingers moving at her work while +she spoke with a mild gravity which had a touch of disdain in it. + +"Ask Ladislaw if he doesn't think your Captain the greatest bore he +ever met with. Ladislaw has almost forsaken the house since he came." + +Rosamond thought she knew perfectly well why Mr. Ladislaw disliked the +Captain: he was jealous, and she liked his being jealous. + +"It is impossible to say what will suit eccentric persons," she +answered, "but in my opinion Captain Lydgate is a thorough gentleman, +and I think you ought not, out of respect to Sir Godwin, to treat him +with neglect." + +"No, dear; but we have had dinners for him. And he comes in and goes +out as he likes. He doesn't want me." + +"Still, when he is in the room, you might show him more attention. He +may not be a phoenix of cleverness in your sense; his profession is +different; but it would be all the better for you to talk a little on +his subjects. _I_ think his conversation is quite agreeable. And he +is anything but an unprincipled man." + +"The fact is, you would wish me to be a little more like him, Rosy," +said Lydgate, in a sort of resigned murmur, with a smile which was not +exactly tender, and certainly not merry. Rosamond was silent and did +not smile again; but the lovely curves of her face looked good-tempered +enough without smiling. + +Those words of Lydgate's were like a sad milestone marking how far he +had travelled from his old dreamland, in which Rosamond Vincy appeared +to be that perfect piece of womanhood who would reverence her husband's +mind after the fashion of an accomplished mermaid, using her comb and +looking-glass and singing her song for the relaxation of his adored +wisdom alone. He had begun to distinguish between that imagined +adoration and the attraction towards a man's talent because it gives +him prestige, and is like an order in his button-hole or an Honorable +before his name. + +It might have been supposed that Rosamond had travelled too, since she +had found the pointless conversation of Mr. Ned Plymdale perfectly +wearisome; but to most mortals there is a stupidity which is +unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether acceptable--else, +indeed, what would become of social bonds? Captain Lydgate's stupidity +was delicately scented, carried itself with "style," talked with a good +accent, and was closely related to Sir Godwin. Rosamond found it quite +agreeable and caught many of its phrases. + +Therefore since Rosamond, as we know, was fond of horseback, there were +plenty of reasons why she should be tempted to resume her riding when +Captain Lydgate, who had ordered his man with two horses to follow him +and put up at the "Green Dragon," begged her to go out on the gray +which he warranted to be gentle and trained to carry a lady--indeed, he +had bought it for his sister, and was taking it to Quallingham. +Rosamond went out the first time without telling her husband, and came +back before his return; but the ride had been so thorough a success, +and she declared herself so much the better in consequence, that he was +informed of it with full reliance on his consent that she should go +riding again. + +On the contrary Lydgate was more than hurt--he was utterly confounded +that she had risked herself on a strange horse without referring the +matter to his wish. After the first almost thundering exclamations of +astonishment, which sufficiently warned Rosamond of what was coming, he +was silent for some moments. + +"However, you have come back safely," he said, at last, in a decisive +tone. "You will not go again, Rosy; that is understood. If it were +the quietest, most familiar horse in the world, there would always be +the chance of accident. And you know very well that I wished you to +give up riding the roan on that account." + +"But there is the chance of accident indoors, Tertius." + +"My darling, don't talk nonsense," said Lydgate, in an imploring tone; +"surely I am the person to judge for you. I think it is enough that I +say you are not to go again." + +Rosamond was arranging her hair before dinner, and the reflection of +her head in the glass showed no change in its loveliness except a +little turning aside of the long neck. Lydgate had been moving about +with his hands in his pockets, and now paused near her, as if he +awaited some assurance. + +"I wish you would fasten up my plaits, dear," said Rosamond, letting +her arms fall with a little sigh, so as to make a husband ashamed of +standing there like a brute. Lydgate had often fastened the plaits +before, being among the deftest of men with his large finely formed +fingers. He swept up the soft festoons of plaits and fastened in the +tall comb (to such uses do men come!); and what could he do then but +kiss the exquisite nape which was shown in all its delicate curves? +But when we do what we have done before, it is often with a difference. +Lydgate was still angry, and had not forgotten his point. + +"I shall tell the Captain that he ought to have known better than offer +you his horse," he said, as he moved away. + +"I beg you will not do anything of the kind, Tertius," said Rosamond, +looking at him with something more marked than usual in her speech. +"It will be treating me as if I were a child. Promise that you will +leave the subject to me." + +There did seem to be some truth in her objection. Lydgate said, "Very +well," with a surly obedience, and thus the discussion ended with his +promising Rosamond, and not with her promising him. + +In fact, she had been determined not to promise. Rosamond had that +victorious obstinacy which never wastes its energy in impetuous +resistance. What she liked to do was to her the right thing, and all +her cleverness was directed to getting the means of doing it. She +meant to go out riding again on the gray, and she did go on the next +opportunity of her husband's absence, not intending that he should know +until it was late enough not to signify to her. The temptation was +certainly great: she was very fond of the exercise, and the +gratification of riding on a fine horse, with Captain Lydgate, Sir +Godwin's son, on another fine horse by her side, and of being met in +this position by any one but her husband, was something as good as her +dreams before marriage: moreover she was riveting the connection with +the family at Quallingham, which must be a wise thing to do. + +But the gentle gray, unprepared for the crash of a tree that was being +felled on the edge of Halsell wood, took fright, and caused a worse +fright to Rosamond, leading finally to the loss of her baby. Lydgate +could not show his anger towards her, but he was rather bearish to the +Captain, whose visit naturally soon came to an end. + +In all future conversations on the subject, Rosamond was mildly certain +that the ride had made no difference, and that if she had stayed at +home the same symptoms would have come on and would have ended in the +same way, because she had felt something like them before. + +Lydgate could only say, "Poor, poor darling!"--but he secretly wondered +over the terrible tenacity of this mild creature. There was gathering +within him an amazed sense of his powerlessness over Rosamond. His +superior knowledge and mental force, instead of being, as he had +imagined, a shrine to consult on all occasions, was simply set aside on +every practical question. He had regarded Rosamond's cleverness as +precisely of the receptive kind which became a woman. He was now +beginning to find out what that cleverness was--what was the shape into +which it had run as into a close network aloof and independent. No one +quicker than Rosamond to see causes and effects which lay within the +track of her own tastes and interests: she had seen clearly Lydgate's +preeminence in Middlemarch society, and could go on imaginatively +tracing still more agreeable social effects when his talent should have +advanced him; but for her, his professional and scientific ambition had +no other relation to these desirable effects than if they had been the +fortunate discovery of an ill-smelling oil. And that oil apart, with +which she had nothing to do, of course she believed in her own opinion +more than she did in his. Lydgate was astounded to find in numberless +trifling matters, as well as in this last serious case of the riding, +that affection did not make her compliant. He had no doubt that the +affection was there, and had no presentiment that he had done anything +to repel it. For his own part he said to himself that he loved her as +tenderly as ever, and could make up his mind to her negations; +but--well! Lydgate was much worried, and conscious of new elements in +his life as noxious to him as an inlet of mud to a creature that has +been used to breathe and bathe and dart after its illuminated prey in +the clearest of waters. + +Rosamond was soon looking lovelier than ever at her worktable, enjoying +drives in her father's phaeton and thinking it likely that she might be +invited to Quallingham. She knew that she was a much more exquisite +ornament to the drawing-room there than any daughter of the family, and +in reflecting that the gentlemen were aware of that, did not perhaps +sufficiently consider whether the ladies would be eager to see +themselves surpassed. + +Lydgate, relieved from anxiety about her, relapsed into what she +inwardly called his moodiness--a name which to her covered his +thoughtful preoccupation with other subjects than herself, as well as +that uneasy look of the brow and distaste for all ordinary things as if +they were mixed with bitter herbs, which really made a sort of +weather-glass to his vexation and foreboding. These latter states of +mind had one cause amongst others, which he had generously but +mistakenly avoided mentioning to Rosamond, lest it should affect her +health and spirits. Between him and her indeed there was that total +missing of each other's mental track, which is too evidently possible +even between persons who are continually thinking of each other. To +Lydgate it seemed that he had been spending month after month in +sacrificing more than half of his best intent and best power to his +tenderness for Rosamond; bearing her little claims and interruptions +without impatience, and, above all, bearing without betrayal of +bitterness to look through less and less of interfering illusion at the +blank unreflecting surface her mind presented to his ardor for the more +impersonal ends of his profession and his scientific study, an ardor +which he had fancied that the ideal wife must somehow worship as +sublime, though not in the least knowing why. But his endurance was +mingled with a self-discontent which, if we know how to be candid, we +shall confess to make more than half our bitterness under grievances, +wife or husband included. It always remains true that if we had been +greater, circumstance would have been less strong against us. Lydgate +was aware that his concessions to Rosamond were often little more than +the lapse of slackening resolution, the creeping paralysis apt to seize +an enthusiasm which is out of adjustment to a constant portion of our +lives. And on Lydgate's enthusiasm there was constantly pressing not a +simple weight of sorrow, but the biting presence of a petty degrading +care, such as casts the blight of irony over all higher effort. + +This was the care which he had hitherto abstained from mentioning to +Rosamond; and he believed, with some wonder, that it had never entered +her mind, though certainly no difficulty could be less mysterious. It +was an inference with a conspicuous handle to it, and had been easily +drawn by indifferent observers, that Lydgate was in debt; and he could +not succeed in keeping out of his mind for long together that he was +every day getting deeper into that swamp, which tempts men towards it +with such a pretty covering of flowers and verdure. It is wonderful +how soon a man gets up to his chin there--in a condition in which, +in spite of himself, he is forced to think chiefly of release, though he +had a scheme of the universe in his soul. + +Eighteen months ago Lydgate was poor, but had never known the eager +want of small sums, and felt rather a burning contempt for any one who +descended a step in order to gain them. He was now experiencing +something worse than a simple deficit: he was assailed by the vulgar +hateful trials of a man who has bought and used a great many things +which might have been done without, and which he is unable to pay for, +though the demand for payment has become pressing. + +How this came about may be easily seen without much arithmetic or +knowledge of prices. When a man in setting up a house and preparing +for marriage finds that his furniture and other initial expenses come +to between four and five hundred pounds more than he has capital to pay +for; when at the end of a year it appears that his household expenses, +horses and et caeteras, amount to nearly a thousand, while the proceeds +of the practice reckoned from the old books to be worth eight hundred +per annum have sunk like a summer pond and make hardly five hundred, +chiefly in unpaid entries, the plain inference is that, whether he +minds it or not, he is in debt. Those were less expensive times than +our own, and provincial life was comparatively modest; but the ease +with which a medical man who had lately bought a practice, who thought +that he was obliged to keep two horses, whose table was supplied +without stint, and who paid an insurance on his life and a high rent +for house and garden, might find his expenses doubling his receipts, +can be conceived by any one who does not think these details beneath +his consideration. Rosamond, accustomed from her childhood to an extravagant +household, thought that good housekeeping consisted simply in ordering +the best of everything--nothing else "answered;" and Lydgate supposed +that "if things were done at all, they must be done properly"--he did +not see how they were to live otherwise. If each head of household +expenditure had been mentioned to him beforehand, he would have +probably observed that "it could hardly come to much," and if any one +had suggested a saving on a particular article--for example, the +substitution of cheap fish for dear--it would have appeared to him +simply a penny-wise, mean notion. Rosamond, even without such an +occasion as Captain Lydgate's visit, was fond of giving invitations, +and Lydgate, though he often thought the guests tiresome, did not +interfere. This sociability seemed a necessary part of professional +prudence, and the entertainment must be suitable. It is true Lydgate +was constantly visiting the homes of the poor and adjusting his +prescriptions of diet to their small means; but, dear me! has it not by +this time ceased to be remarkable--is it not rather that we expect in +men, that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by +side and never compare them with each other? Expenditure--like +ugliness and errors--becomes a totally new thing when we attach our own +personality to it, and measure it by that wide difference which is +manifest (in our own sensations) between ourselves and others. Lydgate +believed himself to be careless about his dress, and he despised a man +who calculated the effects of his costume; it seemed to him only a +matter of course that he had abundance of fresh garments--such things +were naturally ordered in sheaves. It must be remembered that he had +never hitherto felt the check of importunate debt, and he walked by +habit, not by self-criticism. But the check had come. + +Its novelty made it the more irritating. He was amazed, disgusted that +conditions so foreign to all his purposes, so hatefully disconnected +with the objects he cared to occupy himself with, should have lain in +ambush and clutched him when he was unaware. And there was not only +the actual debt; there was the certainty that in his present position +he must go on deepening it. Two furnishing tradesmen at Brassing, +whose bills had been incurred before his marriage, and whom +uncalculated current expenses had ever since prevented him from paying, +had repeatedly sent him unpleasant letters which had forced themselves +on his attention. This could hardly have been more galling to any +disposition than to Lydgate's, with his intense pride--his dislike of +asking a favor or being under an obligation to any one. He had scorned +even to form conjectures about Mr. Vincy's intentions on money matters, +and nothing but extremity could have induced him to apply to his +father-in-law, even if he had not been made aware in various indirect +ways since his marriage that Mr. Vincy's own affairs were not +flourishing, and that the expectation of help from him would be +resented. Some men easily trust in the readiness of friends; it had +never in the former part of his life occurred to Lydgate that he should +need to do so: he had never thought what borrowing would be to him; but +now that the idea had entered his mind, he felt that he would rather +incur any other hardship. In the mean time he had no money or +prospects of money; and his practice was not getting more lucrative. + +No wonder that Lydgate had been unable to suppress all signs of inward +trouble during the last few months, and now that Rosamond was regaining +brilliant health, he meditated taking her entirely into confidence on +his difficulties. New conversance with tradesmen's bills had forced +his reasoning into a new channel of comparison: he had begun to +consider from a new point of view what was necessary and unnecessary in +goods ordered, and to see that there must be some change of habits. +How could such a change be made without Rosamond's concurrence? The +immediate occasion of opening the disagreeable fact to her was forced +upon him. + +Having no money, and having privately sought advice as to what security +could possibly be given by a man in his position, Lydgate had offered +the one good security in his power to the less peremptory creditor, who +was a silversmith and jeweller, and who consented to take on himself +the upholsterer's credit also, accepting interest for a given term. +The security necessary was a bill of sale on the furniture of his +house, which might make a creditor easy for a reasonable time about a +debt amounting to less than four hundred pounds; and the silversmith, +Mr. Dover, was willing to reduce it by taking back a portion of the +plate and any other article which was as good as new. "Any other +article" was a phrase delicately implying jewellery, and more +particularly some purple amethysts costing thirty pounds, which Lydgate +had bought as a bridal present. + +Opinions may be divided as to his wisdom in making this present: some +may think that it was a graceful attention to be expected from a man +like Lydgate, and that the fault of any troublesome consequences lay in +the pinched narrowness of provincial life at that time, which offered +no conveniences for professional people whose fortune was not +proportioned to their tastes; also, in Lydgate's ridiculous +fastidiousness about asking his friends for money. + +However, it had seemed a question of no moment to him on that fine +morning when he went to give a final order for plate: in the presence +of other jewels enormously expensive, and as an addition to orders of +which the amount had not been exactly calculated, thirty pounds for +ornaments so exquisitely suited to Rosamond's neck and arms could +hardly appear excessive when there was no ready cash for it to exceed. +But at this crisis Lydgate's imagination could not help dwelling on the +possibility of letting the amethysts take their place again among Mr. +Dover's stock, though he shrank from the idea of proposing this to +Rosamond. Having been roused to discern consequences which he had +never been in the habit of tracing, he was preparing to act on this +discernment with some of the rigor (by no means all) that he would have +applied in pursuing experiment. He was nerving himself to this rigor +as he rode from Brassing, and meditated on the representations he must +make to Rosamond. + +It was evening when he got home. He was intensely miserable, this +strong man of nine-and-twenty and of many gifts. He was not saying +angrily within himself that he had made a profound mistake; but the +mistake was at work in him like a recognized chronic disease, mingling +its uneasy importunities with every prospect, and enfeebling every +thought. As he went along the passage to the drawing-room, he heard +the piano and singing. Of course, Ladislaw was there. It was some +weeks since Will had parted from Dorothea, yet he was still at the old +post in Middlemarch. Lydgate had no objection in general to Ladislaw's +coming, but just now he was annoyed that he could not find his hearth +free. When he opened the door the two singers went on towards the +key-note, raising their eyes and looking at him indeed, but not +regarding his entrance as an interruption. To a man galled with his +harness as poor Lydgate was, it is not soothing to see two people +warbling at him, as he comes in with the sense that the painful day has +still pains in store. His face, already paler than usual, took on a +scowl as he walked across the room and flung himself into a chair. + +The singers feeling themselves excused by the fact that they had only +three bars to sing, now turned round. + +"How are you, Lydgate?" said Will, coming forward to shake hands. + +Lydgate took his hand, but did not think it necessary to speak. + +"Have you dined, Tertius? I expected you much earlier," said Rosamond, +who had already seen that her husband was in a "horrible humor." She +seated herself in her usual place as she spoke. + +"I have dined. I should like some tea, please," said Lydgate, curtly, +still scowling and looking markedly at his legs stretched out before +him. + +Will was too quick to need more. "I shall be off," he said, reaching +his hat. + +"Tea is coming," said Rosamond; "pray don't go." + +"Yes, Lydgate is bored," said Will, who had more comprehension of +Lydgate than Rosamond had, and was not offended by his manner, easily +imagining outdoor causes of annoyance. + +"There is the more need for you to stay," said Rosamond, playfully, and +in her lightest accent; "he will not speak to me all the evening." + +"Yes, Rosamond, I shall," said Lydgate, in his strong baritone. "I +have some serious business to speak to you about." + +No introduction of the business could have been less like that which +Lydgate had intended; but her indifferent manner had been too provoking. + +"There! you see," said Will. "I'm going to the meeting about the +Mechanics' Institute. Good-by;" and he went quickly out of the room. + +Rosamond did not look at her husband, but presently rose and took her +place before the tea-tray. She was thinking that she had never seen him +so disagreeable. Lydgate turned his dark eyes on her and watched her +as she delicately handled the tea-service with her taper fingers, and +looked at the objects immediately before her with no curve in her face +disturbed, and yet with an ineffable protest in her air against all +people with unpleasant manners. For the moment he lost the sense of +his wound in a sudden speculation about this new form of feminine +impassibility revealing itself in the sylph-like frame which he had +once interpreted as the sign of a ready intelligent sensitiveness. His +mind glancing back to Laure while he looked at Rosamond, he said +inwardly, "Would _she_ kill me because I wearied her?" and then, "It is +the way with all women." But this power of generalizing which gives men +so much the superiority in mistake over the dumb animals, was +immediately thwarted by Lydgate's memory of wondering impressions from +the behavior of another woman--from Dorothea's looks and tones of +emotion about her husband when Lydgate began to attend him--from her +passionate cry to be taught what would best comfort that man for whose +sake it seemed as if she must quell every impulse in her except the +yearnings of faithfulness and compassion. These revived impressions +succeeded each other quickly and dreamily in Lydgate's mind while the +tea was being brewed. He had shut his eyes in the last instant of +reverie while he heard Dorothea saying, "Advise me--think what I can +do--he has been all his life laboring and looking forward. He minds +about nothing else--and I mind about nothing else." + +That voice of deep-souled womanhood had remained within him as the +enkindling conceptions of dead and sceptred genius had remained within +him (is there not a genius for feeling nobly which also reigns over +human spirits and their conclusions?); the tones were a music from +which he was falling away--he had really fallen into a momentary doze, +when Rosamond said in her silvery neutral way, "Here is your tea, +Tertius," setting it on the small table by his side, and then moved +back to her place without looking at him. Lydgate was too hasty in +attributing insensibility to her; after her own fashion, she was +sensitive enough, and took lasting impressions. Her impression now was +one of offence and repulsion. But then, Rosamond had no scowls and had +never raised her voice: she was quite sure that no one could justly +find fault with her. + +Perhaps Lydgate and she had never felt so far off each other before; +but there were strong reasons for not deferring his revelation, even if +he had not already begun it by that abrupt announcement; indeed some of +the angry desire to rouse her into more sensibility on his account +which had prompted him to speak prematurely, still mingled with his +pain in the prospect of her pain. But he waited till the tray was +gone, the candles were lit, and the evening quiet might be counted on: +the interval had left time for repelled tenderness to return into the +old course. He spoke kindly. + +"Dear Rosy, lay down your work and come to sit by me," he said, gently, +pushing away the table, and stretching out his arm to draw a chair near +his own. + +Rosamond obeyed. As she came towards him in her drapery of transparent +faintly tinted muslin, her slim yet round figure never looked more +graceful; as she sat down by him and laid one hand on the elbow of his +chair, at last looking at him and meeting his eyes, her delicate neck +and cheek and purely cut lips never had more of that untarnished beauty +which touches as in spring-time and infancy and all sweet freshness. +It touched Lydgate now, and mingled the early moments of his love for +her with all the other memories which were stirred in this crisis of +deep trouble. He laid his ample hand softly on hers, saying-- + +"Dear!" with the lingering utterance which affection gives to the word. +Rosamond too was still under the power of that same past, and her +husband was still in part the Lydgate whose approval had stirred +delight. She put his hair lightly away from his forehead, then laid +her other hand on his, and was conscious of forgiving him. + +"I am obliged to tell you what will hurt you, Rosy. But there are +things which husband and wife must think of together. I dare say it +has occurred to you already that I am short of money." + +Lydgate paused; but Rosamond turned her neck and looked at a vase on +the mantel-piece. + +"I was not able to pay for all the things we had to get before we were +married, and there have been expenses since which I have been obliged +to meet. The consequence is, there is a large debt at Brassing--three +hundred and eighty pounds--which has been pressing on me a good while, +and in fact we are getting deeper every day, for people don't pay me +the faster because others want the money. I took pains to keep it from +you while you were not well; but now we must think together about it, +and you must help me." + +"What can--I--do, Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning her eyes on him +again. That little speech of four words, like so many others in all +languages, is capable by varied vocal inflections of expressing all +states of mind from helpless dimness to exhaustive argumentative +perception, from the completest self-devoting fellowship to the most +neutral aloofness. Rosamond's thin utterance threw into the words +"What can--I--do!" as much neutrality as they could hold. They fell +like a mortal chill on Lydgate's roused tenderness. He did not storm +in indignation--he felt too sad a sinking of the heart. And when he +spoke again it was more in the tone of a man who forces himself to +fulfil a task. + +"It is necessary for you to know, because I have to give security for a +time, and a man must come to make an inventory of the furniture." + +Rosamond colored deeply. "Have you not asked papa for money?" she +said, as soon as she could speak. + +"No." + +"Then I must ask him!" she said, releasing her hands from Lydgate's, +and rising to stand at two yards' distance from him. + +"No, Rosy," said Lydgate, decisively. "It is too late to do that. The +inventory will be begun to-morrow. Remember it is a mere security: it +will make no difference: it is a temporary affair. I insist upon it +that your father shall not know, unless I choose to tell him," added +Lydgate, with a more peremptory emphasis. + +This certainly was unkind, but Rosamond had thrown him back on evil +expectation as to what she would do in the way of quiet steady +disobedience. The unkindness seemed unpardonable to her: she was not +given to weeping and disliked it, but now her chin and lips began to +tremble and the tears welled up. Perhaps it was not possible for +Lydgate, under the double stress of outward material difficulty and of +his own proud resistance to humiliating consequences, to imagine fully +what this sudden trial was to a young creature who had known nothing +but indulgence, and whose dreams had all been of new indulgence, more +exactly to her taste. But he did wish to spare her as much as he +could, and her tears cut him to the heart. He could not speak again +immediately; but Rosamond did not go on sobbing: she tried to conquer +her agitation and wiped away her tears, continuing to look before her +at the mantel-piece. + +"Try not to grieve, darling," said Lydgate, turning his eyes up towards +her. That she had chosen to move away from him in this moment of her +trouble made everything harder to say, but he must absolutely go on. +"We must brace ourselves to do what is necessary. It is I who have +been in fault: I ought to have seen that I could not afford to live in +this way. But many things have told against me in my practice, and it +really just now has ebbed to a low point. I may recover it, but in the +mean time we must pull up--we must change our way of living. We shall +weather it. When I have given this security I shall have time to look +about me; and you are so clever that if you turn your mind to managing +you will school me into carefulness. I have been a thoughtless rascal +about squaring prices--but come, dear, sit down and forgive me." + +Lydgate was bowing his neck under the yoke like a creature who had +talons, but who had Reason too, which often reduces us to meekness. +When he had spoken the last words in an imploring tone, Rosamond +returned to the chair by his side. His self-blame gave her some hope +that he would attend to her opinion, and she said-- + +"Why can you not put off having the inventory made? You can send the +men away to-morrow when they come." + +"I shall not send them away," said Lydgate, the peremptoriness rising +again. Was it of any use to explain? + +"If we left Middlemarch? there would of course be a sale, and that +would do as well." + +"But we are not going to leave Middlemarch." + +"I am sure, Tertius, it would be much better to do so. Why can we not +go to London? Or near Durham, where your family is known?" + +"We can go nowhere without money, Rosamond." + +"Your friends would not wish you to be without money. And surely these +odious tradesmen might be made to understand that, and to wait, if you +would make proper representations to them." + +"This is idle Rosamond," said Lydgate, angrily. "You must learn to +take my judgment on questions you don't understand. I have made +necessary arrangements, and they must be carried out. As to friends, I +have no expectations whatever from them, and shall not ask them for +anything." + +Rosamond sat perfectly still. The thought in her mind was that if she +had known how Lydgate would behave, she would never have married him. + +"We have no time to waste now on unnecessary words, dear," said +Lydgate, trying to be gentle again. "There are some details that I +want to consider with you. Dover says he will take a good deal of the +plate back again, and any of the jewellery we like. He really behaves +very well." + +"Are we to go without spoons and forks then?" said Rosamond, whose very +lips seemed to get thinner with the thinness of her utterance. She was +determined to make no further resistance or suggestions. + +"Oh no, dear!" said Lydgate. "But look here," he continued, drawing a +paper from his pocket and opening it; "here is Dover's account. See, I +have marked a number of articles, which if we returned them would +reduce the amount by thirty pounds and more. I have not marked any +of the jewellery." Lydgate had really felt this point of the jewellery +very bitter to himself; but he had overcome the feeling by severe +argument. He could not propose to Rosamond that she should return any +particular present of his, but he had told himself that he was bound to +put Dover's offer before her, and her inward prompting might make the +affair easy. + +"It is useless for me to look, Tertius," said Rosamond, calmly; "you +will return what you please." She would not turn her eyes on the +paper, and Lydgate, flushing up to the roots of his hair, drew it back +and let it fall on his knee. Meanwhile Rosamond quietly went out of +the room, leaving Lydgate helpless and wondering. Was she not coming +back? It seemed that she had no more identified herself with him than +if they had been creatures of different species and opposing interests. +He tossed his head and thrust his hands deep into his pockets with a +sort of vengeance. There was still science--there were still good +objects to work for. He must give a tug still--all the stronger +because other satisfactions were going. + +But the door opened and Rosamond re-entered. She carried the leather +box containing the amethysts, and a tiny ornamental basket which +contained other boxes, and laying them on the chair where she had been +sitting, she said, with perfect propriety in her air-- + +"This is all the jewellery you ever gave me. You can return what you +like of it, and of the plate also. You will not, of course, expect me +to stay at home to-morrow. I shall go to papa's." + +To many women the look Lydgate cast at her would have been more +terrible than one of anger: it had in it a despairing acceptance of the +distance she was placing between them. + +"And when shall you come back again?" he said, with a bitter edge on +his accent. + +"Oh, in the evening. Of course I shall not mention the subject to +mamma." Rosamond was convinced that no woman could behave more +irreproachably than she was behaving; and she went to sit down at her +work-table. Lydgate sat meditating a minute or two, and the result was +that he said, with some of the old emotion in his tone-- + +"Now we have been united, Rosy, you should not leave me to myself in +the first trouble that has come." + +"Certainly not," said Rosamond; "I shall do everything it becomes me to +do." + +"It is not right that the thing should be left to servants, or that I +should have to speak to them about it. And I shall be obliged to go +out--I don't know how early. I understand your shrinking from the +humiliation of these money affairs. But, my dear Rosamond, as a +question of pride, which I feel just as much as you can, it is surely +better to manage the thing ourselves, and let the servants see as +little of it as possible; and since you are my wife, there is no +hindering your share in my disgraces--if there were disgraces." + +Rosamond did not answer immediately, but at last she said, "Very well, +I will stay at home." + +"I shall not touch these jewels, Rosy. Take them away again. But I +will write out a list of plate that we may return, and that can be +packed up and sent at once." + +"The servants will know _that_," said Rosamond, with the slightest +touch of sarcasm. + +"Well, we must meet some disagreeables as necessities. Where is the +ink, I wonder?" said Lydgate, rising, and throwing the account on the +larger table where he meant to write. + +Rosamond went to reach the inkstand, and after setting it on the table +was going to turn away, when Lydgate, who was standing close by, put +his arm round her and drew her towards him, saying-- + +"Come, darling, let us make the best of things. It will only be for a +time, I hope, that we shall have to be stingy and particular. Kiss me." + +His native warm-heartedness took a great deal of quenching, and it is a +part of manliness for a husband to feel keenly the fact that an +inexperienced girl has got into trouble by marrying him. She received +his kiss and returned it faintly, and in this way an appearance of +accord was recovered for the time. But Lydgate could not help looking +forward with dread to the inevitable future discussions about +expenditure and the necessity for a complete change in their way of +living. + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + + They said of old the Soul had human shape, + But smaller, subtler than the fleshly self, + So wandered forth for airing when it pleased. + And see! beside her cherub-face there floats + A pale-lipped form aerial whispering + Its promptings in that little shell her ear." + + +News is often dispersed as thoughtlessly and effectively as that pollen +which the bees carry off (having no idea how powdery they are) when +they are buzzing in search of their particular nectar. This fine +comparison has reference to Fred Vincy, who on that evening at Lowick +Parsonage heard a lively discussion among the ladies on the news which +their old servant had got from Tantripp concerning Mr. Casaubon's +strange mention of Mr. Ladislaw in a codicil to his will made not long +before his death. Miss Winifred was astounded to find that her brother +had known the fact before, and observed that Camden was the most +wonderful man for knowing things and not telling them; whereupon Mary +Garth said that the codicil had perhaps got mixed up with the habits of +spiders, which Miss Winifred never would listen to. Mrs. Farebrother +considered that the news had something to do with their having only +once seen Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick, and Miss Noble made many small +compassionate mewings. + +Fred knew little and cared less about Ladislaw and the Casaubons, and +his mind never recurred to that discussion till one day calling on +Rosamond at his mother's request to deliver a message as he passed, he +happened to see Ladislaw going away. Fred and Rosamond had little to +say to each other now that marriage had removed her from collision with +the unpleasantness of brothers, and especially now that he had taken +what she held the stupid and even reprehensible step of giving up the +Church to take to such a business as Mr. Garth's. Hence Fred talked by +preference of what he considered indifferent news, and "a propos of +that young Ladislaw" mentioned what he had heard at Lowick Parsonage. + +Now Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, knew a great deal more than he told, +and when he had once been set thinking about the relation between Will +and Dorothea his conjectures had gone beyond the fact. He imagined +that there was a passionate attachment on both sides, and this struck +him as much too serious to gossip about. He remembered Will's +irritability when he had mentioned Mrs. Casaubon, and was the more +circumspect. On the whole his surmises, in addition to what he knew of +the fact, increased his friendliness and tolerance towards Ladislaw, +and made him understand the vacillation which kept him at Middlemarch +after he had said that he should go away. It was significant of the +separateness between Lydgate's mind and Rosamond's that he had no +impulse to speak to her on the subject; indeed, he did not quite trust +her reticence towards Will. And he was right there; though he had no +vision of the way in which her mind would act in urging her to speak. + +When she repeated Fred's news to Lydgate, he said, "Take care you don't +drop the faintest hint to Ladislaw, Rosy. He is likely to fly out as +if you insulted him. Of course it is a painful affair." + +Rosamond turned her neck and patted her hair, looking the image of +placid indifference. But the next time Will came when Lydgate was +away, she spoke archly about his not going to London as he had +threatened. + +"I know all about it. I have a confidential little bird," said she, +showing very pretty airs of her head over the bit of work held high +between her active fingers. "There is a powerful magnet in this +neighborhood." + +"To be sure there is. Nobody knows that better than you," said Will, +with light gallantry, but inwardly prepared to be angry. + +"It is really the most charming romance: Mr. Casaubon jealous, and +foreseeing that there was no one else whom Mrs. Casaubon would so much +like to marry, and no one who would so much like to marry her as a +certain gentleman; and then laying a plan to spoil all by making her +forfeit her property if she did marry that gentleman--and then--and +then--and then--oh, I have no doubt the end will be thoroughly +romantic." + +"Great God! what do you mean?" said Will, flushing over face and ears, +his features seeming to change as if he had had a violent shake. +"Don't joke; tell me what you mean." + +"You don't really know?" said Rosamond, no longer playful, and desiring +nothing better than to tell in order that she might evoke effects. + +"No!" he returned, impatiently. + +"Don't know that Mr. Casaubon has left it in his will that if Mrs. +Casaubon marries you she is to forfeit all her property?" + +"How do you know that it is true?" said Will, eagerly. + +"My brother Fred heard it from the Farebrothers." Will started up from +his chair and reached his hat. + +"I dare say she likes you better than the property," said Rosamond, +looking at him from a distance. + +"Pray don't say any more about it," said Will, in a hoarse undertone +extremely unlike his usual light voice. "It is a foul insult to her +and to me." Then he sat down absently, looking before him, but seeing +nothing. + +"Now you are angry with _me_," said Rosamond. "It is too bad to bear +_me_ malice. You ought to be obliged to me for telling you." + +"So I am," said Will, abruptly, speaking with that kind of double soul +which belongs to dreamers who answer questions. + +"I expect to hear of the marriage," said Rosamond, playfully. + +"Never! You will never hear of the marriage!" + +With those words uttered impetuously, Will rose, put out his hand to +Rosamond, still with the air of a somnambulist, and went away. + +When he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and walked to the other end +of the room, leaning when she got there against a chiffonniere, and +looking out of the window wearily. She was oppressed by ennui, and by +that dissatisfaction which in women's minds is continually turning into +a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, springing from no +deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable +of impelling action as well as speech. "There really is nothing to +care for much," said poor Rosamond inwardly, thinking of the family at +Quallingham, who did not write to her; and that perhaps Tertius when he +came home would tease her about expenses. She had already secretly +disobeyed him by asking her father to help them, and he had ended +decisively by saying, "I am more likely to want help myself." + + + +CHAPTER LX. + + Good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. + --Justice Shallow. + + +A few days afterwards--it was already the end of August--there was an +occasion which caused some excitement in Middlemarch: the public, if it +chose, was to have the advantage of buying, under the distinguished +auspices of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, the furniture, books, and pictures +which anybody might see by the handbills to be the best in every kind, +belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. This was not one of the sales +indicating the depression of trade; on the contrary, it was due to Mr. +Larcher's great success in the carrying business, which warranted his +purchase of a mansion near Riverston already furnished in high style by +an illustrious Spa physician--furnished indeed with such large +framefuls of expensive flesh-painting in the dining-room, that Mrs. +Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects to be +Scriptural. Hence the fine opportunity to purchasers which was well +pointed out in the handbills of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, whose +acquaintance with the history of art enabled him to state that the hall +furniture, to be sold without reserve, comprised a piece of carving by +a contemporary of Gibbons. + +At Middlemarch in those times a large sale was regarded as a kind of +festival. There was a table spread with the best cold eatables, as at +a superior funeral; and facilities were offered for that +generous-drinking of cheerful glasses which might lead to generous and +cheerful bidding for undesirable articles. Mr. Larcher's sale was the +more attractive in the fine weather because the house stood just at the +end of the town, with a garden and stables attached, in that pleasant +issue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which was also the road +to the New Hospital and to Mr. Bulstrode's retired residence, known as +the Shrubs. In short, the auction was as good as a fair, and drew all +classes with leisure at command: to some, who risked making bids in +order simply to raise prices, it was almost equal to betting at the +races. The second day, when the best furniture was to be sold, +"everybody" was there; even Mr. Thesiger, the rector of St. Peter's, +had looked in for a short time, wishing to buy the carved table, and +had rubbed elbows with Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Horrock. There was a +wreath of Middlemarch ladies accommodated with seats round the large +table in the dining-room, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted with +desk and hammer; but the rows chiefly of masculine faces behind were +often varied by incomings and outgoings both from the door and the +large bow-window opening on to the lawn. + +"Everybody" that day did not include Mr. Bulstrode, whose health could +not well endure crowds and draughts. But Mrs. Bulstrode had +particularly wished to have a certain picture--a "Supper at Emmaus," +attributed in the catalogue to Guido; and at the last moment before the +day of the sale Mr. Bulstrode had called at the office of the +"Pioneer," of which he was now one of the proprietors, to beg of Mr. +Ladislaw as a great favor that he would obligingly use his remarkable +knowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. Bulstrode, and judge of the +value of this particular painting--"if," added the scrupulously polite +banker, "attendance at the sale would not interfere with the +arrangements for your departure, which I know is imminent." + +This proviso might have sounded rather satirically in Will's ear if he +had been in a mood to care about such satire. It referred to an +understanding entered into many weeks before with the proprietors of +the paper, that he should be at liberty any day he pleased to hand over +the management to the subeditor whom he had been training; since he +wished finally to quit Middlemarch. But indefinite visions of ambition +are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly +agreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve +when we secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In such +states of mind the most incredulous person has a private leaning +towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be +fulfilled, still--very wonderful things have happened! Will did not +confess this weakness to himself, but he lingered. What was the use of +going to London at that time of the year? The Rugby men who would +remember him were not there; and so far as political writing was +concerned, he would rather for a few weeks go on with the "Pioneer." +At the present moment, however, when Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him, +he had both a strengthened resolve to go and an equally strong resolve +not to go till he had once more seen Dorothea. Hence he replied that +he had reasons for deferring his departure a little, and would be happy +to go to the sale. + +Will was in a defiant mood, his consciousness being deeply stung with +the thought that the people who looked at him probably knew a fact +tantamount to an accusation against him as a fellow with low designs +which were to be frustrated by a disposal of property. Like most +people who assert their freedom with regard to conventional +distinction, he was prepared to be sudden and quick at quarrel with any +one who might hint that he had personal reasons for that assertion--that +there was anything in his blood, his bearing, or his character to +which he gave the mask of an opinion. When he was under an irritating +impression of this kind he would go about for days with a defiant look, +the color changing in his transparent skin as if he were on the qui +vive, watching for something which he had to dart upon. + +This expression was peculiarly noticeable in him at the sale, and those +who had only seen him in his moods of gentle oddity or of bright +enjoyment would have been struck with a contrast. He was not sorry to +have this occasion for appearing in public before the Middlemarch +tribes of Toller, Hackbutt, and the rest, who looked down on him as an +adventurer, and were in a state of brutal ignorance about Dante--who +sneered at his Polish blood, and were themselves of a breed very much +in need of crossing. He stood in a conspicuous place not far from the +auctioneer, with a fore-finger in each side-pocket and his head thrown +backward, not caring to speak to anybody, though he had been cordially +welcomed as a connoiss_ure_ by Mr. Trumbull, who was enjoying the +utmost activity of his great faculties. + +And surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit their +powers of speech, the happiest is a prosperous provincial auctioneer +keenly alive to his own jokes and sensible of his encyclopedic +knowledge. Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be +constantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-jacks to +"Berghems;" but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a kindly liquid in his veins; +he was an admirer by nature, and would have liked to have the universe +under his hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for his +recommendation. + +Meanwhile Mrs. Larcher's drawing-room furniture was enough for him. +When Will Ladislaw had come in, a second fender, said to have been +forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer's +enthusiasm, which he distributed on the equitable principle of praising +those things most which were most in need of praise. The fender was of +polished steel, with much lancet-shaped open-work and a sharp edge. + +"Now, ladies," said he, "I shall appeal to you. Here is a fender which +at any other sale would hardly be offered with out reserve, being, as I +may say, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a kind of +thing"--here Mr. Trumbull dropped his voice and became slightly nasal, +trimming his outlines with his left finger--"that might not fall in +with ordinary tastes. Allow me to tell you that by-and-by this style +of workmanship will be the only one in vogue--half-a-crown, you said? +thank you--going at half-a-crown, this characteristic fender; and I +have particular information that the antique style is very much sought +after in high quarters. Three shillings--three-and-sixpence--hold it +well up, Joseph! Look, ladies, at the chastity of the design--I have +no doubt myself that it was turned out in the last century! Four +shillings, Mr. Mawmsey?--four shillings." + +"It's not a thing I would put in _my_ drawing-room," said Mrs. Mawmsey, +audibly, for the warning of the rash husband. "I wonder _at_ Mrs. +Larcher. Every blessed child's head that fell against it would be cut +in two. The edge is like a knife." + +"Quite true," rejoined Mr. Trumbull, quickly, "and most uncommonly +useful to have a fender at hand that will cut, if you have a leather +shoe-tie or a bit of string that wants cutting and no knife at hand: +many a man has been left hanging because there was no knife to cut him +down. Gentlemen, here's a fender that if you had the misfortune to +hang yourselves would cut you down in no time--with astonishing +celerity--four-and-sixpence--five--five-and-sixpence--an appropriate +thing for a spare bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest a +little out of his mind--six shillings--thank you, Mr. Clintup--going +at six shillings--going--gone!" The auctioneer's glance, which had +been searching round him with a preternatural susceptibility to all +signs of bidding, here dropped on the paper before him, and his voice +too dropped into a tone of indifferent despatch as he said, "Mr. +Clintup. Be handy, Joseph." + +"It was worth six shillings to have a fender you could always tell that +joke on," said Mr. Clintup, laughing low and apologetically to his next +neighbor. He was a diffident though distinguished nurseryman, and +feared that the audience might regard his bid as a foolish one. + +Meanwhile Joseph had brought a trayful of small articles. "Now, +ladies," said Mr. Trumbull, taking up one of the articles, "this tray +contains a very recherchy lot--a collection of trifles for the +drawing-room table--and trifles make the sum _of_ human things--nothing +more important than trifles--(yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes, by-and-by)--but +pass the tray round, Joseph--these bijoux must be examined, ladies. +This I have in my hand is an ingenious contrivance--a sort of +practical rebus, I may call it: here, you see, it looks like an elegant +heart-shaped box, portable--for the pocket; there, again, it becomes +like a splendid double flower--an ornament for the table; and now"--Mr. +Trumbull allowed the flower to fall alarmingly into strings of +heart-shaped leaves--"a book of riddles! No less than five hundred +printed in a beautiful red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience, +I should not wish you to bid high for this lot--I have a longing for +it myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more +than a good riddle?--it hinders profane language, and attaches a man to +the society of refined females. This ingenious article itself, without +the elegant domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a high +price to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an individual +welcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?--four shillings for this +remarkable collection of riddles with the et caeteras. Here is a +sample: 'How must you spell honey to make it catch lady-birds? +Answer--money.' You hear?--lady-birds--honey money. This is an +amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting--it has what we call +satire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-sixpence--five shillings." + +The bidding ran on with warming rivalry. Mr. Bowyer was a bidder, and +this was too exasperating. Bowyer couldn't afford it, and only wanted +to hinder every other man from making a figure. The current carried +even Mr. Horrock with it, but this committal of himself to an opinion +fell from him with so little sacrifice of his neutral expression, that +the bid might not have been detected as his but for the friendly oaths +of Mr. Bambridge, who wanted to know what Horrock would do with blasted +stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of perdition +which the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the majority of +earthly existences. The lot was finally knocked down at a guinea to +Mr. Spilkins, a young Slender of the neighborhood, who was reckless +with his pocket-money and felt his want of memory for riddles. + +"Come, Trumbull, this is too bad--you've been putting some old maid's +rubbish into the sale," murmured Mr. Toller, getting close to the +auctioneer. "I want to see how the prints go, and I must be off soon." + +"_Im_mediately, Mr. Toller. It was only an act of benevolence which +your noble heart would approve. Joseph! quick with the prints--Lot +235. Now, gentlemen, you who are connoiss_ures_, you are going to have +a treat. Here is an engraving of the Duke of Wellington surrounded by +his staff on the Field of Waterloo; and notwithstanding recent events +which have, as it were, enveloped our great Hero in a cloud, I will be +bold to say--for a man in my line must not be blown about by political +winds--that a finer subject--of the modern order, belonging to our own +time and epoch--the understanding of man could hardly conceive: angels +might, perhaps, but not men, sirs, not men." + +"Who painted it?" said Mr. Powderell, much impressed. + +"It is a proof before the letter, Mr. Powderell--the painter is not +known," answered Trumbull, with a certain gaspingness in his last +words, after which he pursed up his lips and stared round him. + +"I'll bid a pound!" said Mr. Powderell, in a tone of resolved emotion, +as of a man ready to put himself in the breach. Whether from awe or +pity, nobody raised the price on him. + +Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Toller had been eager for, and +after he had secured them he went away. Other prints, and afterwards +some paintings, were sold to leading Middlemarchers who had come with a +special desire for them, and there was a more active movement of the +audience in and out; some, who had bought what they wanted, going away, +others coming in either quite newly or from a temporary visit to the +refreshments which were spread under the marquee on the lawn. It was +this marquee that Mr. Bambridge was bent on buying, and he appeared to +like looking inside it frequently, as a foretaste of its possession. +On the last occasion of his return from it he was observed to bring +with him a new companion, a stranger to Mr. Trumbull and every one +else, whose appearance, however, led to the supposition that he might +be a relative of the horse-dealer's--also "given to indulgence." His +large whiskers, imposing swagger, and swing of the leg, made him a +striking figure; but his suit of black, rather shabby at the edges, +caused the prejudicial inference that he was not able to afford himself +as much indulgence as he liked. + +"Who is it you've picked up, Bam?" said Mr. Horrock, aside. + +"Ask him yourself," returned Mr. Bambridge. "He said he'd just turned +in from the road." + +Mr. Horrock eyed the stranger, who was leaning back against his stick +with one hand, using his toothpick with the other, and looking about +him with a certain restlessness apparently under the silence imposed on +him by circumstances. + +At length the "Supper at Emmaus" was brought forward, to Will's immense +relief, for he was getting so tired of the proceedings that he had +drawn back a little and leaned his shoulder against the wall just +behind the auctioneer. He now came forward again, and his eye caught +the conspicuous stranger, who, rather to his surprise, was staring at +him markedly. But Will was immediately appealed to by Mr. Trumbull. + +"Yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a connoiss_ure_, I +think. It is some pleasure," the auctioneer went on with a rising +fervor, "to have a picture like this to show to a company of ladies and +gentlemen--a picture worth any sum to an individual whose means were on +a level with his judgment. It is a painting of the Italian school--by +the celebrated Guydo, the greatest painter in the world, the chief of +the Old Masters, as they are called--I take it, because they were up +to a thing or two beyond most of us--in possession of secrets now lost +to the bulk of mankind. Let me tell you, gentlemen, I have seen a +great many pictures by the Old Masters, and they are not all up to this +mark--some of them are darker than you might like and not family +subjects. But here is a Guydo--the frame alone is worth pounds--which +any lady might be proud to hang up--a suitable thing for what we call a +refectory in a charitable institution, if any gentleman of the +Corporation wished to show his munifi_cence_. Turn it a little, sir? +yes. Joseph, turn it a little towards Mr. Ladislaw--Mr. Ladislaw, +having been abroad, understands the merit of these things, you observe." + +All eyes were for a moment turned towards Will, who said, coolly, "Five +pounds." The auctioneer burst out in deep remonstrance. + +"Ah! Mr. Ladislaw! the frame alone is worth that. Ladies and +gentlemen, for the credit of the town! Suppose it should be discovered +hereafter that a gem of art has been amongst us in this town, and +nobody in Middlemarch awake to it. Five guineas--five seven-six--five +ten. Still, ladies, still! It is a gem, and 'Full many a gem,' as the +poet says, has been allowed to go at a nominal price because the public +knew no better, because it was offered in circles where there was--I +was going to say a low feeling, but no!--Six pounds--six guineas--a +Guydo of the first order going at six guineas--it is an insult to +religion, ladies; it touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, that a +subject like this should go at such a low figure--six pounds +ten--seven--" + +The bidding was brisk, and Will continued to share in it, remembering +that Mrs. Bulstrode had a strong wish for the picture, and thinking +that he might stretch the price to twelve pounds. But it was knocked +down to him at ten guineas, whereupon he pushed his way towards the +bow-window and went out. He chose to go under the marquee to get a +glass of water, being hot and thirsty: it was empty of other visitors, +and he asked the woman in attendance to fetch him some fresh water; but +before she was well gone he was annoyed to see entering the florid +stranger who had stared at him. It struck Will at this moment that the +man might be one of those political parasitic insects of the bloated +kind who had once or twice claimed acquaintance with him as having +heard him speak on the Reform question, and who might think of getting +a shilling by news. In this light his person, already rather heating +to behold on a summer's day, appeared the more disagreeable; and Will, +half-seated on the elbow of a garden-chair, turned his eyes carefully +away from the comer. But this signified little to our acquaintance Mr. +Raffles, who never hesitated to thrust himself on unwilling +observation, if it suited his purpose to do so. He moved a step or two +till he was in front of Will, and said with full-mouthed haste, "Excuse +me, Mr. Ladislaw--was your mother's name Sarah Dunkirk?" + +Will, starting to his feet, moved backward a step, frowning, and saying +with some fierceness, "Yes, sir, it was. And what is that to you?" + +It was in Will's nature that the first spark it threw out was a direct +answer of the question and a challenge of the consequences. To have +said, "What is that to you?" in the first instance, would have seemed +like shuffling--as if he minded who knew anything about his origin! + +Raffles on his side had not the same eagerness for a collision which +was implied in Ladislaw's threatening air. The slim young fellow with +his girl's complexion looked like a tiger-cat ready to spring on him. +Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his company +was kept in abeyance. + +"No offence, my good sir, no offence! I only remember your mother--knew +her when she was a girl. But it is your father that you feature, +sir. I had the pleasure of seeing your father too. Parents alive, Mr. +Ladislaw?" + +"No!" thundered Will, in the same attitude as before. + +"Should be glad to do you a service, Mr. Ladislaw--by Jove, I should! +Hope to meet again." + +Hereupon Raffles, who had lifted his hat with the last words, turned +himself round with a swing of his leg and walked away. Will looked +after him a moment, and could see that he did not re-enter the +auction-room, but appeared to be walking towards the road. For an +instant he thought that he had been foolish not to let the man go on +talking;--but no! on the whole he preferred doing without knowledge +from that source. + +Later in the evening, however, Raffles overtook him in the street, and +appearing either to have forgotten the roughness of his former +reception or to intend avenging it by a forgiving familiarity, greeted +him jovially and walked by his side, remarking at first on the +pleasantness of the town and neighborhood. Will suspected that the man +had been drinking and was considering how to shake him off when Raffles +said-- + +"I've been abroad myself, Mr. Ladislaw--I've seen the world--used to +parley-vous a little. It was at Boulogne I saw your father--a most +uncommon likeness you are of him, by Jove! mouth--nose--eyes--hair +turned off your brow just like his--a little in the foreign style. +John Bull doesn't do much of that. But your father was very ill when I +saw him. Lord, lord! hands you might see through. You were a small +youngster then. Did he get well?" + +"No," said Will, curtly. + +"Ah! Well! I've often wondered what became of your mother. She ran +away from her friends when she was a young lass--a proud-spirited +lass, and pretty, by Jove! I knew the reason why she ran away," said +Raffles, winking slowly as he looked sideways at Will. + +"You know nothing dishonorable of her, sir," said Will, turning on him +rather savagely. But Mr. Raffles just now was not sensitive to shades +of manner. + +"Not a bit!" said he, tossing his head decisively "She was a little too +honorable to like her friends--that was it!" Here Raffles again winked +slowly. "Lord bless you, I knew all about 'em--a little in what you +may call the respectable thieving line--the high style of +receiving-house--none of your holes and corners--first-rate. Slap-up +shop, high profits and no mistake. But Lord! Sarah would have known +nothing about it--a dashing young lady she was--fine +boarding-school--fit for a lord's wife--only Archie Duncan threw it at +her out of spite, because she would have nothing to do with him. And +so she ran away from the whole concern. I travelled for 'em, sir, in a +gentlemanly way--at a high salary. They didn't mind her running away +at first--godly folks, sir, very godly--and she was for the stage. The +son was alive then, and the daughter was at a discount. Hallo! here we +are at the Blue Bull. What do you say, Mr. Ladislaw?--shall we turn in +and have a glass?" + +"No, I must say good evening," said Will, dashing up a passage which +led into Lowick Gate, and almost running to get out of Raffles's reach. + +He walked a long while on the Lowick road away from the town, glad of +the starlit darkness when it came. He felt as if he had had dirt cast +on him amidst shouts of scorn. There was this to confirm the fellow's +statement--that his mother never would tell him the reason why she had +run away from her family. + +Well! what was he, Will Ladislaw, the worse, supposing the truth about +that family to be the ugliest? His mother had braved hardship in order +to separate herself from it. But if Dorothea's friends had known this +story--if the Chettams had known it--they would have had a fine color +to give their suspicions a welcome ground for thinking him unfit to +come near her. However, let them suspect what they pleased, they would +find themselves in the wrong. They would find out that the blood in +his veins was as free from the taint of meanness as theirs. + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + + "Inconsistencies," answered Imlac, "cannot both be right, + but imputed to man they may both be true."--Rasselas. + + +The same night, when Mr. Bulstrode returned from a journey to Brassing +on business, his good wife met him in the entrance-hall and drew him +into his private sitting-room. + +"Nicholas," she said, fixing her honest eyes upon him anxiously, "there +has been such a disagreeable man here asking for you--it has made me +quite uncomfortable." + +"What kind of man, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, dreadfully certain of +the answer. + +"A red-faced man with large whiskers, and most impudent in his manner. +He declared he was an old friend of yours, and said you would be sorry +not to see him. He wanted to wait for you here, but I told him he +could see you at the Bank to-morrow morning. Most impudent he +was!--stared at me, and said his friend Nick had luck in wives. I +don't believe he would have gone away, if Blucher had not happened to +break his chain and come running round on the gravel--for I was in the +garden; so I said, 'You'd better go away--the dog is very fierce, and I +can't hold him.' Do you really know anything of such a man?" + +"I believe I know who he is, my dear," said Mr. Bulstrode, in his usual +subdued voice, "an unfortunate dissolute wretch, whom I helped too much +in days gone by. However, I presume you will not be troubled by him +again. He will probably come to the Bank--to beg, doubtless." + +No more was said on the subject until the next day, when Mr. Bulstrode +had returned from the town and was dressing for dinner. His wife, not +sure that he was come home, looked into his dressing-room and saw him +with his coat and cravat off, leaning one arm on a chest of drawers and +staring absently at the ground. He started nervously and looked up as +she entered. + +"You look very ill, Nicholas. Is there anything the matter?" + +"I have a good deal of pain in my head," said Mr. Bulstrode, who was so +frequently ailing that his wife was always ready to believe in this +cause of depression. + +"Sit down and let me sponge it with vinegar." + +Physically Mr. Bulstrode did not want the vinegar, but morally the +affectionate attention soothed him. Though always polite, it was his +habit to receive such services with marital coolness, as his wife's +duty. But to-day, while she was bending over him, he said, "You are +very good, Harriet," in a tone which had something new in it to her +ear; she did not know exactly what the novelty was, but her woman's +solicitude shaped itself into a darting thought that he might be going +to have an illness. + +"Has anything worried you?" she said. "Did that man come to you at the +Bank?" + +"Yes; it was as I had supposed. He is a man who at one time might have +done better. But he has sunk into a drunken debauched creature." + +"Is he quite gone away?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, anxiously but for certain +reasons she refrained from adding, "It was very disagreeable to hear +him calling himself a friend of yours." At that moment she would not +have liked to say anything which implied her habitual consciousness +that her husband's earlier connections were not quite on a level with +her own. Not that she knew much about them. That her husband had at +first been employed in a bank, that he had afterwards entered into what +he called city business and gained a fortune before he was +three-and-thirty, that he had married a widow who was much older than +himself--a Dissenter, and in other ways probably of that +disadvantageous quality usually perceptible in a first wife if inquired +into with the dispassionate judgment of a second--was almost as much as +she had cared to learn beyond the glimpses which Mr. Bulstrode's +narrative occasionally gave of his early bent towards religion, his +inclination to be a preacher, and his association with missionary and +philanthropic efforts. She believed in him as an excellent man whose +piety carried a peculiar eminence in belonging to a layman, whose +influence had turned her own mind toward seriousness, and whose share +of perishable good had been the means of raising her own position. But +she also liked to think that it was well in every sense for Mr. +Bulstrode to have won the hand of Harriet Vincy; whose family was +undeniable in a Middlemarch light--a better light surely than any +thrown in London thoroughfares or dissenting chapel-yards. The +unreformed provincial mind distrusted London; and while true religion +was everywhere saving, honest Mrs. Bulstrode was convinced that to be +saved in the Church was more respectable. She so much wished to ignore +towards others that her husband had ever been a London Dissenter, that +she liked to keep it out of sight even in talking to him. He was quite +aware of this; indeed in some respects he was rather afraid of this +ingenuous wife, whose imitative piety and native worldliness were +equally sincere, who had nothing to be ashamed of, and whom he had +married out of a thorough inclination still subsisting. But his fears +were such as belong to a man who cares to maintain his recognized +supremacy: the loss of high consideration from his wife, as from every +one else who did not clearly hate him out of enmity to the truth, would +be as the beginning of death to him. When she said-- + +"Is he quite gone away?" + +"Oh, I trust so," he answered, with an effort to throw as much sober +unconcern into his tone as possible! + +But in truth Mr. Bulstrode was very far from a state of quiet trust. +In the interview at the Bank, Raffles had made it evident that his +eagerness to torment was almost as strong in him as any other greed. +He had frankly said that he had turned out of the way to come to +Middlemarch, just to look about him and see whether the neighborhood +would suit him to live in. He had certainly had a few debts to pay +more than he expected, but the two hundred pounds were not gone yet: a +cool five-and-twenty would suffice him to go away with for the present. +What he had wanted chiefly was to see his friend Nick and family, and +know all about the prosperity of a man to whom he was so much attached. +By-and-by he might come back for a longer stay. This time Raffles +declined to be "seen off the premises," as he expressed it--declined to +quit Middlemarch under Bulstrode's eyes. He meant to go by coach the +next day--if he chose. + +Bulstrode felt himself helpless. Neither threats nor coaxing could +avail: he could not count on any persistent fear nor on any promise. +On the contrary, he felt a cold certainty at his heart that +Raffles--unless providence sent death to hinder him--would come back +to Middlemarch before long. And that certainty was a terror. + +It was not that he was in danger of legal punishment or of beggary: he +was in danger only of seeing disclosed to the judgment of his neighbors +and the mournful perception of his wife certain facts of his past life +which would render him an object of scorn and an opprobrium of the +religion with which he had diligently associated himself. The terror +of being judged sharpens the memory: it sends an inevitable glare over +that long-unvisited past which has been habitually recalled only in +general phrases. Even without memory, the life is bound into one by a +zone of dependence in growth and decay; but intense memory forces a man +to own his blameworthy past. With memory set smarting like a reopened +wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn +preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose +from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing +shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame. + +Into this second life Bulstrode's past had now risen, only the +pleasures of it seeming to have lost their quality. Night and day, +without interruption save of brief sleep which only wove retrospect and +fear into a fantastic present, he felt the scenes of his earlier life +coming between him and everything else, as obstinately as when we look +through the window from a lighted room, the objects we turn our backs +on are still before us, instead of the grass and the trees. The +successive events inward and outward were there in one view: though +each might be dwelt on in turn, the rest still kept their hold in the +consciousness. + +Once more he saw himself the young banker's clerk, with an agreeable +person, as clever in figures as he was fluent in speech and fond of +theological definition: an eminent though young member of a Calvinistic +dissenting church at Highbury, having had striking experience in +conviction of sin and sense of pardon. Again he heard himself called +for as Brother Bulstrode in prayer meetings, speaking on religious +platforms, preaching in private houses. Again he felt himself thinking +of the ministry as possibly his vocation, and inclined towards +missionary labor. That was the happiest time of his life: that was the +spot he would have chosen now to awake in and find the rest a dream. +The people among whom Brother Bulstrode was distinguished were very +few, but they were very near to him, and stirred his satisfaction the +more; his power stretched through a narrow space, but he felt its +effect the more intensely. He believed without effort in the peculiar +work of grace within him, and in the signs that God intended him for +special instrumentality. + +Then came the moment of transition; it was with the sense of promotion +he had when he, an orphan educated at a commercial charity-school, was +invited to a fine villa belonging to Mr. Dunkirk, the richest man in +the congregation. Soon he became an intimate there, honored for his +piety by the wife, marked out for his ability by the husband, whose +wealth was due to a flourishing city and west-end trade. That was the +setting-in of a new current for his ambition, directing his prospects +of "instrumentality" towards the uniting of distinguished religious +gifts with successful business. + +By-and-by came a decided external leading: a confidential subordinate +partner died, and nobody seemed to the principal so well fitted to fill +the severely felt vacancy as his young friend Bulstrode, if he would +become confidential accountant. The offer was accepted. The business +was a pawnbroker's, of the most magnificent sort both in extent and +profits; and on a short acquaintance with it Bulstrode became aware +that one source of magnificent profit was the easy reception of any +goods offered, without strict inquiry as to where they came from. But +there was a branch house at the west end, and no pettiness or dinginess +to give suggestions of shame. + +He remembered his first moments of shrinking. They were private, and +were filled with arguments; some of these taking the form of prayer. +The business was established and had old roots; is it not one thing to +set up a new gin-palace and another to accept an investment in an old +one? The profits made out of lost souls--where can the line be drawn +at which they begin in human transactions? Was it not even God's way +of saving His chosen? "Thou knowest,"--the young Bulstrode had said +then, as the older Bulstrode was saying now--"Thou knowest how loose +my soul sits from these things--how I view them all as implements for +tilling Thy garden rescued here and there from the wilderness." + +Metaphors and precedents were not wanting; peculiar spiritual +experiences were not wanting which at last made the retention of his +position seem a service demanded of him: the vista of a fortune had +already opened itself, and Bulstrode's shrinking remained private. Mr. +Dunkirk had never expected that there would be any shrinking at all: he +had never conceived that trade had anything to do with the scheme of +salvation. And it was true that Bulstrode found himself carrying on +two distinct lives; his religious activity could not be incompatible +with his business as soon as he had argued himself into not feeling it +incompatible. + +Mentally surrounded with that past again, Bulstrode had the same +pleas--indeed, the years had been perpetually spinning them into +intricate thickness, like masses of spider-web, padding the moral +sensibility; nay, as age made egoism more eager but less enjoying, his +soul had become more saturated with the belief that he did everything +for God's sake, being indifferent to it for his own. And yet--if he +could be back in that far-off spot with his youthful poverty--why, then +he would choose to be a missionary. + +But the train of causes in which he had locked himself went on. There +was trouble in the fine villa at Highbury. Years before, the only +daughter had run away, defied her parents, and gone on the stage; and +now the only boy died, and after a short time Mr. Dunkirk died also. +The wife, a simple pious woman, left with all the wealth in and out of +the magnificent trade, of which she never knew the precise nature, had +come to believe in Bulstrode, and innocently adore him as women often +adore their priest or "man-made" minister. It was natural that after a +time marriage should have been thought of between them. But Mrs. +Dunkirk had qualms and yearnings about her daughter, who had long been +regarded as lost both to God and her parents. It was known that the +daughter had married, but she was utterly gone out of sight. The +mother, having lost her boy, imagined a grandson, and wished in a +double sense to reclaim her daughter. If she were found, there would +be a channel for property--perhaps a wide one--in the provision for +several grandchildren. Efforts to find her must be made before Mrs. +Dunkirk would marry again. Bulstrode concurred; but after +advertisement as well as other modes of inquiry had been tried, the +mother believed that her daughter was not to be found, and consented to +marry without reservation of property. + +The daughter had been found; but only one man besides Bulstrode knew +it, and he was paid for keeping silence and carrying himself away. + +That was the bare fact which Bulstrode was now forced to see in the +rigid outline with which acts present themselves onlookers. But for +himself at that distant time, and even now in burning memory, the fact +was broken into little sequences, each justified as it came by +reasonings which seemed to prove it righteous. Bulstrode's course up +to that time had, he thought, been sanctioned by remarkable +providences, appearing to point the way for him to be the agent in +making the best use of a large property and withdrawing it from +perversion. Death and other striking dispositions, such as feminine +trustfulness, had come; and Bulstrode would have adopted Cromwell's +words--"Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity you!" The +events were comparatively small, but the essential condition was +there--namely, that they were in favor of his own ends. It was easy +for him to settle what was due from him to others by inquiring what +were God's intentions with regard to himself. Could it be for God's +service that this fortune should in any considerable proportion go to a +young woman and her husband who were given up to the lightest pursuits, +and might scatter it abroad in triviality--people who seemed to lie +outside the path of remarkable providences? Bulstrode had never said +to himself beforehand, "The daughter shall not be found"--nevertheless +when the moment came he kept her existence hidden; and when other +moments followed, he soothed the mother with consolation in the +probability that the unhappy young woman might be no more. + +There were hours in which Bulstrode felt that his action was +unrighteous; but how could he go back? He had mental exercises, called +himself nought, laid hold on redemption, and went on in his course of +instrumentality. And after five years Death again came to widen his +path, by taking away his wife. He did gradually withdraw his capital, +but he did not make the sacrifices requisite to put an end to the +business, which was carried on for thirteen years afterwards before it +finally collapsed. Meanwhile Nicholas Bulstrode had used his hundred +thousand discreetly, and was become provincially, solidly important--a +banker, a Churchman, a public benefactor; also a sleeping partner in +trading concerns, in which his ability was directed to economy in the +raw material, as in the case of the dyes which rotted Mr. Vincy's silk. +And now, when this respectability had lasted undisturbed for nearly +thirty years--when all that preceded it had long lain benumbed in the +consciousness--that past had risen and immersed his thought as if with +the terrible irruption of a new sense overburthening the feeble being. + +Meanwhile, in his conversation with Raffles, he had learned something +momentous, something which entered actively into the struggle of his +longings and terrors. There, he thought, lay an opening towards +spiritual, perhaps towards material rescue. + +The spiritual kind of rescue was a genuine need with him. There may be +coarse hypocrites, who consciously affect beliefs and emotions for the +sake of gulling the world, but Bulstrode was not one of them. He was +simply a man whose desires had been stronger than his theoretic +beliefs, and who had gradually explained the gratification of his +desires into satisfactory agreement with those beliefs. If this be +hypocrisy, it is a process which shows itself occasionally in us all, +to whatever confession we belong, and whether we believe in the future +perfection of our race or in the nearest date fixed for the end of the +world; whether we regard the earth as a putrefying nidus for a saved +remnant, including ourselves, or have a passionate belief in the +solidarity of mankind. + +The service he could do to the cause of religion had been through life +the ground he alleged to himself for his choice of action: it had been +the motive which he had poured out in his prayers. Who would use money +and position better than he meant to use them? Who could surpass him +in self-abhorrence and exaltation of God's cause? And to Mr. Bulstrode +God's cause was something distinct from his own rectitude of conduct: +it enforced a discrimination of God's enemies, who were to be used +merely as instruments, and whom it would be as well if possible to keep +out of money and consequent influence. Also, profitable investments in +trades where the power of the prince of this world showed its most +active devices, became sanctified by a right application of the profits +in the hands of God's servant. + +This implicit reasoning is essentially no more peculiar to evangelical +belief than the use of wide phrases for narrow motives is peculiar to +Englishmen. There is no general doctrine which is not capable of +eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct +fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men. + +But a man who believes in something else than his own greed, has +necessarily a conscience or standard to which he more or less adapts +himself. Bulstrode's standard had been his serviceableness to God's +cause: "I am sinful and nought--a vessel to be consecrated by use--but +use me!"--had been the mould into which he had constrained his immense +need of being something important and predominating. And now had come +a moment in which that mould seemed in danger of being broken and +utterly cast away. + +What if the acts he had reconciled himself to because they made him a +stronger instrument of the divine glory, were to become the pretext of +the scoffer, and a darkening of that glory? If this were to be the +ruling of Providence, he was cast out from the temple as one who had +brought unclean offerings. + +He had long poured out utterances of repentance. But today a +repentance had come which was of a bitterer flavor, and a threatening +Providence urged him to a kind of propitiation which was not simply a +doctrinal transaction. The divine tribunal had changed its aspect for +him; self-prostration was no longer enough, and he must bring +restitution in his hand. It was really before his God that Bulstrode +was about to attempt such restitution as seemed possible: a great dread +had seized his susceptible frame, and the scorching approach of shame +wrought in him a new spiritual need. Night and day, while the +resurgent threatening past was making a conscience within him, he was +thinking by what means he could recover peace and trust--by what +sacrifice he could stay the rod. His belief in these moments of dread +was, that if he spontaneously did something right, God would save him +from the consequences of wrong-doing. For religion can only change when +the emotions which fill it are changed; and the religion of personal +fear remains nearly at the level of the savage. + +He had seen Raffles actually going away on the Brassing coach, and this +was a temporary relief; it removed the pressure of an immediate dread, +but did not put an end to the spiritual conflict and the need to win +protection. At last he came to a difficult resolve, and wrote a letter +to Will Ladislaw, begging him to be at the Shrubs that evening for a +private interview at nine o'clock. Will had felt no particular surprise +at the request, and connected it with some new notions about the +"Pioneer;" but when he was shown into Mr. Bulstrode's private room, he +was struck with the painfully worn look on the banker's face, and was +going to say, "Are you ill?" when, checking himself in that abruptness, +he only inquired after Mrs. Bulstrode, and her satisfaction with the +picture bought for her. + +"Thank you, she is quite satisfied; she has gone out with her daughters +this evening. I begged you to come, Mr. Ladislaw, because I have a +communication of a very private--indeed, I will say, of a sacredly +confidential nature, which I desire to make to you. Nothing, I dare +say, has been farther from your thoughts than that there had been +important ties in the past which could connect your history with mine." + +Will felt something like an electric shock. He was already in a state +of keen sensitiveness and hardly allayed agitation on the subject of +ties in the past, and his presentiments were not agreeable. It seemed +like the fluctuations of a dream--as if the action begun by that loud +bloated stranger were being carried on by this pale-eyed sickly looking +piece of respectability, whose subdued tone and glib formality of +speech were at this moment almost as repulsive to him as their +remembered contrast. He answered, with a marked change of color-- + +"No, indeed, nothing." + +"You see before you, Mr. Ladislaw, a man who is deeply stricken. But +for the urgency of conscience and the knowledge that I am before the +bar of One who seeth not as man seeth, I should be under no compulsion +to make the disclosure which has been my object in asking you to come +here to-night. So far as human laws go, you have no claim on me +whatever." + +Will was even more uncomfortable than wondering. Mr. Bulstrode had +paused, leaning his head on his hand, and looking at the floor. But he +now fixed his examining glance on Will and said-- + +"I am told that your mother's name was Sarah Dunkirk, and that she ran +away from her friends to go on the stage. Also, that your father was +at one time much emaciated by illness. May I ask if you can confirm +these statements?" + +"Yes, they are all true," said Will, struck with the order in which an +inquiry had come, that might have been expected to be preliminary to +the banker's previous hints. But Mr. Bulstrode had to-night followed +the order of his emotions; he entertained no doubt that the opportunity +for restitution had come, and he had an overpowering impulse towards +the penitential expression by which he was deprecating chastisement. + +"Do you know any particulars of your mother's family?" he continued. + +"No; she never liked to speak of them. She was a very generous, +honorable woman," said Will, almost angrily. + +"I do not wish to allege anything against her. Did she never mention +her mother to you at all?" + +"I have heard her say that she thought her mother did not know the +reason of her running away. She said 'poor mother' in a pitying tone." + +"That mother became my wife," said Bulstrode, and then paused a moment +before he added, "you have a claim on me, Mr. Ladislaw: as I said +before, not a legal claim, but one which my conscience recognizes. I +was enriched by that marriage--a result which would probably not have +taken place--certainly not to the same extent--if your grandmother +could have discovered her daughter. That daughter, I gather, is no +longer living!" + +"No," said Will, feeling suspicion and repugnance rising so strongly +within him, that without quite knowing what he did, he took his hat +from the floor and stood up. The impulse within him was to reject the +disclosed connection. + +"Pray be seated, Mr. Ladislaw," said Bulstrode, anxiously. "Doubtless +you are startled by the suddenness of this discovery. But I entreat +your patience with one who is already bowed down by inward trial." + +Will reseated himself, feeling some pity which was half contempt for +this voluntary self-abasement of an elderly man. + +"It is my wish, Mr. Ladislaw, to make amends for the deprivation which +befell your mother. I know that you are without fortune, and I wish to +supply you adequately from a store which would have probably already +been yours had your grandmother been certain of your mother's existence +and been able to find her." + +Mr. Bulstrode paused. He felt that he was performing a striking piece +of scrupulosity in the judgment of his auditor, and a penitential act +in the eyes of God. He had no clew to the state of Will Ladislaw's +mind, smarting as it was from the clear hints of Raffles, and with its +natural quickness in construction stimulated by the expectation of +discoveries which he would have been glad to conjure back into +darkness. Will made no answer for several moments, till Mr. Bulstrode, +who at the end of his speech had cast his eyes on the floor, now raised +them with an examining glance, which Will met fully, saying-- + +"I suppose you did know of my mother's existence, and knew where she +might have been found." + +Bulstrode shrank--there was a visible quivering in his face and hands. +He was totally unprepared to have his advances met in this way, or to +find himself urged into more revelation than he had beforehand set down +as needful. But at that moment he dared not tell a lie, and he felt +suddenly uncertain of his ground which he had trodden with some +confidence before. + +"I will not deny that you conjecture rightly," he answered, with a +faltering in his tone. "And I wish to make atonement to you as the one +still remaining who has suffered a loss through me. You enter, I +trust, into my purpose, Mr. Ladislaw, which has a reference to higher +than merely human claims, and as I have already said, is entirely +independent of any legal compulsion. I am ready to narrow my own +resources and the prospects of my family by binding myself to allow you +five hundred pounds yearly during my life, and to leave you a +proportional capital at my death--nay, to do still more, if more should +be definitely necessary to any laudable project on your part." Mr. +Bulstrode had gone on to particulars in the expectation that these +would work strongly on Ladislaw, and merge other feelings in grateful +acceptance. + +But Will was looking as stubborn as possible, with his lip pouting and +his fingers in his side-pockets. He was not in the least touched, and +said firmly,-- + +"Before I make any reply to your proposition, Mr. Bulstrode, I must beg +you to answer a question or two. Were you connected with the business +by which that fortune you speak of was originally made?" + +Mr. Bulstrode's thought was, "Raffles has told him." How could he +refuse to answer when he had volunteered what drew forth the question? +He answered, "Yes." + +"And was that business--or was it not--a thoroughly dishonorable +one--nay, one that, if its nature had been made public, might have +ranked those concerned in it with thieves and convicts?" + +Will's tone had a cutting bitterness: he was moved to put his question +as nakedly as he could. + +Bulstrode reddened with irrepressible anger. He had been prepared for +a scene of self-abasement, but his intense pride and his habit of +supremacy overpowered penitence, and even dread, when this young man, +whom he had meant to benefit, turned on him with the air of a judge. + +"The business was established before I became connected with it, sir; +nor is it for you to institute an inquiry of that kind," he answered, +not raising his voice, but speaking with quick defiantness. + +"Yes, it is," said Will, starting up again with his hat in his hand. +"It is eminently mine to ask such questions, when I have to decide +whether I will have transactions with you and accept your money. My +unblemished honor is important to me. It is important to me to have no +stain on my birth and connections. And now I find there is a stain +which I can't help. My mother felt it, and tried to keep as clear of +it as she could, and so will I. You shall keep your ill-gotten money. +If I had any fortune of my own, I would willingly pay it to any one who +could disprove what you have told me. What I have to thank you for is +that you kept the money till now, when I can refuse it. It ought to +lie with a man's self that he is a gentleman. Good-night, sir." + +Bulstrode was going to speak, but Will, with determined quickness, was +out of the room in an instant, and in another the hall-door had closed +behind him. He was too strongly possessed with passionate rebellion +against this inherited blot which had been thrust on his knowledge to +reflect at present whether he had not been too hard on Bulstrode--too +arrogantly merciless towards a man of sixty, who was making efforts at +retrieval when time had rendered them vain. + +No third person listening could have thoroughly understood the +impetuosity of Will's repulse or the bitterness of his words. No one +but himself then knew how everything connected with the sentiment of +his own dignity had an immediate bearing for him on his relation to +Dorothea and to Mr. Casaubon's treatment of him. And in the rush of +impulses by which he flung back that offer of Bulstrode's there was +mingled the sense that it would have been impossible for him ever to +tell Dorothea that he had accepted it. + +As for Bulstrode--when Will was gone he suffered a violent reaction, +and wept like a woman. It was the first time he had encountered an +open expression of scorn from any man higher than Raffles; and with +that scorn hurrying like venom through his system, there was no +sensibility left to consolations. But the relief of weeping had to be +checked. His wife and daughters soon came home from hearing the +address of an Oriental missionary, and were full of regret that papa +had not heard, in the first instance, the interesting things which they +tried to repeat to him. + +Perhaps, through all other hidden thoughts, the one that breathed most +comfort was, that Will Ladislaw at least was not likely to publish what +had taken place that evening. + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + + "He was a squyer of lowe degre, + That loved the king's daughter of Hungrie. + --Old Romance. + + +Will Ladislaw's mind was now wholly bent on seeing Dorothea again, and +forthwith quitting Middlemarch. The morning after his agitating scene +with Bulstrode he wrote a brief letter to her, saying that various +causes had detained him in the neighborhood longer than he had +expected, and asking her permission to call again at Lowick at some +hour which she would mention on the earliest possible day, he being +anxious to depart, but unwilling to do so until she had granted him an +interview. He left the letter at the office, ordering the messenger to +carry it to Lowick Manor, and wait for an answer. + +Ladislaw felt the awkwardness of asking for more last words. His +former farewell had been made in the hearing of Sir James Chettam, and +had been announced as final even to the butler. It is certainly trying +to a man's dignity to reappear when he is not expected to do so: a +first farewell has pathos in it, but to come back for a second lends an +opening to comedy, and it was possible even that there might be bitter +sneers afloat about Will's motives for lingering. Still it was on the +whole more satisfactory to his feeling to take the directest means of +seeing Dorothea, than to use any device which might give an air of +chance to a meeting of which he wished her to understand that it was +what he earnestly sought. When he had parted from her before, he had +been in ignorance of facts which gave a new aspect to the relation +between them, and made a more absolute severance than he had then +believed in. He knew nothing of Dorothea's private fortune, and being +little used to reflect on such matters, took it for granted that +according to Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him, Will Ladislaw, +would mean that she consented to be penniless. That was not what he +could wish for even in his secret heart, or even if she had been ready +to meet such hard contrast for his sake. And then, too, there was the +fresh smart of that disclosure about his mother's family, which if +known would be an added reason why Dorothea's friends should look down +upon him as utterly below her. The secret hope that after some years +he might come back with the sense that he had at least a personal value +equal to her wealth, seemed now the dreamy continuation of a dream. +This change would surely justify him in asking Dorothea to receive him +once more. + +But Dorothea on that morning was not at home to receive Will's note. +In consequence of a letter from her uncle announcing his intention to +be at home in a week, she had driven first to Freshitt to carry the +news, meaning to go on to the Grange to deliver some orders with which +her uncle had intrusted her--thinking, as he said, "a little mental +occupation of this sort good for a widow." + +If Will Ladislaw could have overheard some of the talk at Freshitt that +morning, he would have felt all his suppositions confirmed as to the +readiness of certain people to sneer at his lingering in the +neighborhood. Sir James, indeed, though much relieved concerning +Dorothea, had been on the watch to learn Ladislaw's movements, and had +an instructed informant in Mr. Standish, who was necessarily in his +confidence on this matter. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch +nearly two months after he had declared that he was going immediately, +was a fact to embitter Sir James's suspicions, or at least to justify +his aversion to a "young fellow" whom he represented to himself as +slight, volatile, and likely enough to show such recklessness as +naturally went along with a position unriveted by family ties or a +strict profession. But he had just heard something from Standish +which, while it justified these surmises about Will, offered a means of +nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea. + +Unwonted circumstances may make us all rather unlike ourselves: there +are conditions under which the most majestic person is obliged to +sneeze, and our emotions are liable to be acted on in the same +incongruous manner. Good Sir James was this morning so far unlike +himself that he was irritably anxious to say something to Dorothea on a +subject which he usually avoided as if it had been a matter of shame to +them both. He could not use Celia as a medium, because he did not +choose that she should know the kind of gossip he had in his mind; and +before Dorothea happened to arrive he had been trying to imagine how, +with his shyness and unready tongue, he could ever manage to introduce +his communication. Her unexpected presence brought him to utter +hopelessness in his own power of saying anything unpleasant; but +desperation suggested a resource; he sent the groom on an unsaddled +horse across the park with a pencilled note to Mrs. Cadwallader, who +already knew the gossip, and would think it no compromise of herself to +repeat it as often as required. + +Dorothea was detained on the good pretext that Mr. Garth, whom she +wanted to see, was expected at the hall within the hour, and she was +still talking to Caleb on the gravel when Sir James, on the watch for +the rector's wife, saw her coming and met her with the needful hints. + +"Enough! I understand,"--said Mrs. Cadwallader. "You shall be +innocent. I am such a blackamoor that I cannot smirch myself." + +"I don't mean that it's of any consequence," said Sir James, disliking +that Mrs. Cadwallader should understand too much. "Only it is +desirable that Dorothea should know there are reasons why she should +not receive him again; and I really can't say so to her. It will come +lightly from you." + +It came very lightly indeed. When Dorothea quitted Caleb and turned to +meet them, it appeared that Mrs. Cadwallader had stepped across the +park by the merest chance in the world, just to chat with Celia in a +matronly way about the baby. And so Mr. Brooke was coming back? +Delightful!--coming back, it was to be hoped, quite cured of +Parliamentary fever and pioneering. Apropos of the "Pioneer"--somebody +had prophesied that it would soon be like a dying dolphin, and turn all +colors for want of knowing how to help itself, because Mr. Brooke's +protege, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was gone or going. Had Sir +James heard that? + +The three were walking along the gravel slowly, and Sir James, turning +aside to whip a shrub, said he had heard something of that sort. + +"All false!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "He is not gone, or going, +apparently; the 'Pioneer' keeps its color, and Mr. Orlando Ladislaw is +making a sad dark-blue scandal by warbling continually with your Mr. +Lydgate's wife, who they tell me is as pretty as pretty can be. It +seems nobody ever goes into the house without finding this young +gentleman lying on the rug or warbling at the piano. But the people in +manufacturing towns are always disreputable." + +"You began by saying that one report was false, Mrs. Cadwallader, and I +believe this is false too," said Dorothea, with indignant energy; "at +least, I feel sure it is a misrepresentation. I will not hear any evil +spoken of Mr. Ladislaw; he has already suffered too much injustice." + +Dorothea when thoroughly moved cared little what any one thought of her +feelings; and even if she had been able to reflect, she would have held +it petty to keep silence at injurious words about Will from fear of +being herself misunderstood. Her face was flushed and her lip trembled. + +Sir James, glancing at her, repented of his stratagem; but Mrs. +Cadwallader, equal to all occasions, spread the palms of her hands +outward and said--"Heaven grant it, my dear!--I mean that all bad tales +about anybody may be false. But it is a pity that young Lydgate should +have married one of these Middlemarch girls. Considering he's a son of +somebody, he might have got a woman with good blood in her veins, and +not too young, who would have put up with his profession. There's +Clara Harfager, for instance, whose friends don't know what to do with +her; and she has a portion. Then we might have had her among us. +However!--it's no use being wise for other people. Where is Celia? +Pray let us go in." + +"I am going on immediately to Tipton," said Dorothea, rather haughtily. +"Good-by." + +Sir James could say nothing as he accompanied her to the carriage. He +was altogether discontented with the result of a contrivance which had +cost him some secret humiliation beforehand. + +Dorothea drove along between the berried hedgerows and the shorn +corn-fields, not seeing or hearing anything around. The tears came and +rolled down her cheeks, but she did not know it. The world, it seemed, +was turning ugly and hateful, and there was no place for her +trustfulness. "It is not true--it is not true!" was the voice within +her that she listened to; but all the while a remembrance to which +there had always clung a vague uneasiness would thrust itself on her +attention--the remembrance of that day when she had found Will Ladislaw +with Mrs. Lydgate, and had heard his voice accompanied by the piano. + +"He said he would never do anything that I disapproved--I wish I could +have told him that I disapproved of that," said poor Dorothea, +inwardly, feeling a strange alternation between anger with Will and the +passionate defence of him. "They all try to blacken him before me; but +I will care for no pain, if he is not to blame. I always believed he +was good."--These were her last thoughts before she felt that the +carriage was passing under the archway of the lodge-gate at the Grange, +when she hurriedly pressed her handkerchief to her face and began to +think of her errands. The coachman begged leave to take out the horses +for half an hour as there was something wrong with a shoe; and +Dorothea, having the sense that she was going to rest, took off her +gloves and bonnet, while she was leaning against a statue in the +entrance-hall, and talking to the housekeeper. At last she said-- + +"I must stay here a little, Mrs. Kell. I will go into the library and +write you some memoranda from my uncle's letter, if you will open the +shutters for me." + +"The shutters are open, madam," said Mrs. Kell, following Dorothea, who +had walked along as she spoke. "Mr. Ladislaw is there, looking for +something." + +(Will had come to fetch a portfolio of his own sketches which he had +missed in the act of packing his movables, and did not choose to leave +behind.) + +Dorothea's heart seemed to turn over as if it had had a blow, but she +was not perceptibly checked: in truth, the sense that Will was there +was for the moment all-satisfying to her, like the sight of something +precious that one has lost. When she reached the door she said to Mrs. +Kell-- + +"Go in first, and tell him that I am here." + +Will had found his portfolio, and had laid it on the table at the far +end of the room, to turn over the sketches and please himself by +looking at the memorable piece of art which had a relation to nature +too mysterious for Dorothea. He was smiling at it still, and shaking +the sketches into order with the thought that he might find a letter +from her awaiting him at Middlemarch, when Mrs. Kell close to his elbow +said-- + +"Mrs. Casaubon is coming in, sir." + +Will turned round quickly, and the next moment Dorothea was entering. +As Mrs. Kell closed the door behind her they met: each was looking at +the other, and consciousness was overflowed by something that +suppressed utterance. It was not confusion that kept them silent, for +they both felt that parting was near, and there is no shamefacedness in +a sad parting. + +She moved automatically towards her uncle's chair against the +writing-table, and Will, after drawing it out a little for her, went a +few paces off and stood opposite to her. + +"Pray sit down," said Dorothea, crossing her hands on her lap; "I am +very glad you were here." Will thought that her face looked just as it +did when she first shook hands with him in Rome; for her widow's cap, +fixed in her bonnet, had gone off with it, and he could see that she +had lately been shedding tears. But the mixture of anger in her +agitation had vanished at the sight of him; she had been used, when +they were face to face, always to feel confidence and the happy freedom +which comes with mutual understanding, and how could other people's +words hinder that effect on a sudden? Let the music which can take +possession of our frame and fill the air with joy for us, sound once +more--what does it signify that we heard it found fault with in its +absence? + +"I have sent a letter to Lowick Manor to-day, asking leave to see you," +said Will, seating himself opposite to her. "I am going away +immediately, and I could not go without speaking to you again." + +"I thought we had parted when you came to Lowick many weeks ago--you +thought you were going then," said Dorothea, her voice trembling a +little. + +"Yes; but I was in ignorance then of things which I know now--things +which have altered my feelings about the future. When I saw you +before, I was dreaming that I might come back some day. I don't think +I ever shall--now." Will paused here. + +"You wished me to know the reasons?" said Dorothea, timidly. + +"Yes," said Will, impetuously, shaking his head backward, and looking +away from her with irritation in his face. "Of course I must wish it. +I have been grossly insulted in your eyes and in the eyes of others. +There has been a mean implication against my character. I wish you to +know that under no circumstances would I have lowered myself by--under +no circumstances would I have given men the chance of saying that I +sought money under the pretext of seeking--something else. There was +no need of other safeguard against me--the safeguard of wealth was +enough." + +Will rose from his chair with the last word and went--he hardly knew +where; but it was to the projecting window nearest him, which had been +open as now about the same season a year ago, when he and Dorothea had +stood within it and talked together. Her whole heart was going out at +this moment in sympathy with Will's indignation: she only wanted to +convince him that she had never done him injustice, and he seemed to +have turned away from her as if she too had been part of the unfriendly +world. + +"It would be very unkind of you to suppose that I ever attributed any +meanness to you," she began. Then in her ardent way, wanting to plead +with him, she moved from her chair and went in front of him to her old +place in the window, saying, "Do you suppose that I ever disbelieved in +you?" + +When Will saw her there, he gave a start and moved backward out of the +window, without meeting her glance. Dorothea was hurt by this movement +following up the previous anger of his tone. She was ready to say that +it was as hard on her as on him, and that she was helpless; but those +strange particulars of their relation which neither of them could +explicitly mention kept her always in dread of saying too much. At +this moment she had no belief that Will would in any case have wanted +to marry her, and she feared using words which might imply such a +belief. She only said earnestly, recurring to his last word-- + +"I am sure no safeguard was ever needed against you." + +Will did not answer. In the stormy fluctuation of his feelings these +words of hers seemed to him cruelly neutral, and he looked pale and +miserable after his angry outburst. He went to the table and fastened +up his portfolio, while Dorothea looked at him from the distance. They +were wasting these last moments together in wretched silence. What +could he say, since what had got obstinately uppermost in his mind was +the passionate love for her which he forbade himself to utter? What +could she say, since she might offer him no help--since she was forced +to keep the money that ought to have been his?--since to-day he seemed +not to respond as he used to do to her thorough trust and liking? + +But Will at last turned away from his portfolio and approached the +window again. + +"I must go," he said, with that peculiar look of the eyes which +sometimes accompanies bitter feeling, as if they had been tired and +burned with gazing too close at a light. + +"What shall you do in life?" said Dorothea, timidly. "Have your +intentions remained just the same as when we said good-by before?" + +"Yes," said Will, in a tone that seemed to waive the subject as +uninteresting. "I shall work away at the first thing that offers. I +suppose one gets a habit of doing without happiness or hope." + +"Oh, what sad words!" said Dorothea, with a dangerous tendency to sob. +Then trying to smile, she added, "We used to agree that we were alike +in speaking too strongly." + +"I have not spoken too strongly now," said Will, leaning back against +the angle of the wall. "There are certain things which a man can only +go through once in his life; and he must know some time or other that +the best is over with him. This experience has happened to me while I +am very young--that is all. What I care more for than I can ever care +for anything else is absolutely forbidden to me--I don't mean merely +by being out of my reach, but forbidden me, even if it were within my +reach, by my own pride and honor--by everything I respect myself for. +Of course I shall go on living as a man might do who had seen heaven in +a trance." + +Will paused, imagining that it would be impossible for Dorothea to +misunderstand this; indeed he felt that he was contradicting himself +and offending against his self-approval in speaking to her so plainly; +but still--it could not be fairly called wooing a woman to tell her +that he would never woo her. It must be admitted to be a ghostly kind +of wooing. + +But Dorothea's mind was rapidly going over the past with quite another +vision than his. The thought that she herself might be what Will most +cared for did throb through her an instant, but then came doubt: the +memory of the little they had lived through together turned pale and +shrank before the memory which suggested how much fuller might have +been the intercourse between Will and some one else with whom he had +had constant companionship. Everything he had said might refer to that +other relation, and whatever had passed between him and herself was +thoroughly explained by what she had always regarded as their simple +friendship and the cruel obstruction thrust upon it by her husband's +injurious act. Dorothea stood silent, with her eyes cast down +dreamily, while images crowded upon her which left the sickening +certainty that Will was referring to Mrs. Lydgate. But why sickening? +He wanted her to know that here too his conduct should be above +suspicion. + +Will was not surprised at her silence. His mind also was tumultuously +busy while he watched her, and he was feeling rather wildly that +something must happen to hinder their parting--some miracle, clearly +nothing in their own deliberate speech. Yet, after all, had she any +love for him?--he could not pretend to himself that he would rather +believe her to be without that pain. He could not deny that a secret +longing for the assurance that she loved him was at the root of all his +words. + +Neither of them knew how long they stood in that way. Dorothea was +raising her eyes, and was about to speak, when the door opened and her +footman came to say-- + +"The horses are ready, madam, whenever you like to start." + +"Presently," said Dorothea. Then turning to Will, she said, "I have +some memoranda to write for the housekeeper." + +"I must go," said Will, when the door had closed again--advancing +towards her. "The day after to-morrow I shall leave Middlemarch." + +"You have acted in every way rightly," said Dorothea, in a low tone, +feeling a pressure at her heart which made it difficult to speak. + +She put out her hand, and Will took it for an instant without speaking, +for her words had seemed to him cruelly cold and unlike herself. Their +eyes met, but there was discontent in his, and in hers there was only +sadness. He turned away and took his portfolio under his arm. + +"I have never done you injustice. Please remember me," said Dorothea, +repressing a rising sob. + +"Why should you say that?" said Will, with irritation. "As if I were +not in danger of forgetting everything else." + +He had really a movement of anger against her at that moment, and it +impelled him to go away without pause. It was all one flash to +Dorothea--his last words--his distant bow to her as he reached the +door--the sense that he was no longer there. She sank into the chair, +and for a few moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were +hurrying upon her. Joy came first, in spite of the threatening train +behind it--joy in the impression that it was really herself whom Will +loved and was renouncing, that there was really no other love less +permissible, more blameworthy, which honor was hurrying him away from. +They were parted all the same, but--Dorothea drew a deep breath and +felt her strength return--she could think of him unrestrainedly. At +that moment the parting was easy to bear: the first sense of loving and +being loved excluded sorrow. It was as if some hard icy pressure had +melted, and her consciousness had room to expand: her past was come +back to her with larger interpretation. The joy was not the +less--perhaps it was the more complete just then--because of the +irrevocable parting; for there was no reproach, no contemptuous wonder +to imagine in any eye or from any lips. He had acted so as to defy +reproach, and make wonder respectful. + +Any one watching her might have seen that there was a fortifying +thought within her. Just as when inventive power is working with glad +ease some small claim on the attention is fully met as if it were only +a cranny opened to the sunlight, it was easy now for Dorothea to write +her memoranda. She spoke her last words to the housekeeper in cheerful +tones, and when she seated herself in the carriage her eyes were bright +and her cheeks blooming under the dismal bonnet. She threw back the +heavy "weepers," and looked before her, wondering which road Will had +taken. It was in her nature to be proud that he was blameless, and +through all her feelings there ran this vein--"I was right to defend +him." + +The coachman was used to drive his grays at a good pace, Mr. Casaubon +being unenjoying and impatient in everything away from his desk, and +wanting to get to the end of all journeys; and Dorothea was now bowled +along quickly. Driving was pleasant, for rain in the night had laid +the dust, and the blue sky looked far off, away from the region of the +great clouds that sailed in masses. The earth looked like a happy +place under the vast heavens, and Dorothea was wishing that she might +overtake Will and see him once more. + +After a turn of the road, there he was with the portfolio under his +arm; but the next moment she was passing him while he raised his hat, +and she felt a pang at being seated there in a sort of exaltation, +leaving him behind. She could not look back at him. It was as if a +crowd of indifferent objects had thrust them asunder, and forced them +along different paths, taking them farther and farther away from each +other, and making it useless to look back. She could no more make any +sign that would seem to say, "Need we part?" than she could stop the +carriage to wait for him. Nay, what a world of reasons crowded upon +her against any movement of her thought towards a future that might +reverse the decision of this day! + +"I only wish I had known before--I wish he knew--then we could be quite +happy in thinking of each other, though we are forever parted. And if +I could but have given him the money, and made things easier for +him!"--were the longings that came back the most persistently. And +yet, so heavily did the world weigh on her in spite of her independent +energy, that with this idea of Will as in need of such help and at a +disadvantage with the world, there came always the vision of that +unfittingness of any closer relation between them which lay in the +opinion of every one connected with her. She felt to the full all the +imperativeness of the motives which urged Will's conduct. How could he +dream of her defying the barrier that her husband had placed between +them?--how could she ever say to herself that she would defy it? + +Will's certainty as the carriage grew smaller in the distance, had much +more bitterness in it. Very slight matters were enough to gall him in +his sensitive mood, and the sight of Dorothea driving past him while he +felt himself plodding along as a poor devil seeking a position in a +world which in his present temper offered him little that he coveted, +made his conduct seem a mere matter of necessity, and took away the +sustainment of resolve. After all, he had no assurance that she loved +him: could any man pretend that he was simply glad in such a case to +have the suffering all on his own side? + +That evening Will spent with the Lydgates; the next evening he was gone. + + + + + +BOOK VII. + + + + + +TWO TEMPTATIONS. + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + + These little things are great to little man.--GOLDSMITH. + + +"Have you seen much of your scientific phoenix, Lydgate, lately?" said +Mr. Toller at one of his Christmas dinner-parties, speaking to Mr. +Farebrother on his right hand. + +"Not much, I am sorry to say," answered the Vicar, accustomed to parry +Mr. Toller's banter about his belief in the new medical light. "I am +out of the way and he is too busy." + +"Is he? I am glad to hear it," said Dr. Minchin, with mingled suavity +and surprise. + +"He gives a great deal of time to the New Hospital," said Mr. +Farebrother, who had his reasons for continuing the subject: "I hear of +that from my neighbor, Mrs. Casaubon, who goes there often. She says +Lydgate is indefatigable, and is making a fine thing of Bulstrode's +institution. He is preparing a new ward in case of the cholera coming +to us." + +"And preparing theories of treatment to try on the patients, I +suppose," said Mr. Toller. + +"Come, Toller, be candid," said Mr. Farebrother. "You are too clever +not to see the good of a bold fresh mind in medicine, as well as in +everything else; and as to cholera, I fancy, none of you are very sure +what you ought to do. If a man goes a little too far along a new road, +it is usually himself that he harms more than any one else." + +"I am sure you and Wrench ought to be obliged to him," said Dr. +Minchin, looking towards Toller, "for he has sent you the cream of +Peacock's patients." + +"Lydgate has been living at a great rate for a young beginner," said +Mr. Harry Toller, the brewer. "I suppose his relations in the North +back him up." + +"I hope so," said Mr. Chichely, "else he ought not to have married that +nice girl we were all so fond of. Hang it, one has a grudge against a +man who carries off the prettiest girl in the town." + +"Ay, by God! and the best too," said Mr. Standish. + +"My friend Vincy didn't half like the marriage, I know that," said Mr. +Chichely. "_He_ wouldn't do much. How the relations on the other side +may have come down I can't say." There was an emphatic kind of +reticence in Mr. Chichely's manner of speaking. + +"Oh, I shouldn't think Lydgate ever looked to practice for a living," +said Mr. Toller, with a slight touch of sarcasm, and there the subject +was dropped. + +This was not the first time that Mr. Farebrother had heard hints of +Lydgate's expenses being obviously too great to be met by his practice, +but he thought it not unlikely that there were resources or +expectations which excused the large outlay at the time of Lydgate's +marriage, and which might hinder any bad consequences from the +disappointment in his practice. One evening, when he took the pains to +go to Middlemarch on purpose to have a chat with Lydgate as of old, he +noticed in him an air of excited effort quite unlike his usual easy way +of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had +anything to say. Lydgate talked persistently when they were in his +work-room, putting arguments for and against the probability of certain +biological views; but he had none of those definite things to say or to +show which give the waymarks of a patient uninterrupted pursuit, such +as he used himself to insist on, saying that "there must be a systole +and diastole in all inquiry," and that "a man's mind must be +continually expanding and shrinking between the whole human horizon and +the horizon of an object-glass." That evening he seemed to be talking +widely for the sake of resisting any personal bearing; and before long +they went into the drawing room, where Lydgate, having asked Rosamond +to give them music, sank back in his chair in silence, but with a +strange light in his eyes. "He may have been taking an opiate," was a +thought that crossed Mr. Farebrother's mind--"tic-douloureux +perhaps--or medical worries." + +It did not occur to him that Lydgate's marriage was not delightful: he +believed, as the rest did, that Rosamond was an amiable, docile +creature, though he had always thought her rather uninteresting--a +little too much the pattern-card of the finishing-school; and his +mother could not forgive Rosamond because she never seemed to see that +Henrietta Noble was in the room. "However, Lydgate fell in love with +her," said the Vicar to himself, "and she must be to his taste." + +Mr. Farebrother was aware that Lydgate was a proud man, but having very +little corresponding fibre in himself, and perhaps too little care +about personal dignity, except the dignity of not being mean or +foolish, he could hardly allow enough for the way in which Lydgate +shrank, as from a burn, from the utterance of any word about his +private affairs. And soon after that conversation at Mr. Toller's, the +Vicar learned something which made him watch the more eagerly for an +opportunity of indirectly letting Lydgate know that if he wanted to +open himself about any difficulty there was a friendly ear ready. + +The opportunity came at Mr. Vincy's, where, on New Year's Day, there +was a party, to which Mr. Farebrother was irresistibly invited, on the +plea that he must not forsake his old friends on the first new year of +his being a greater man, and Rector as well as Vicar. And this party +was thoroughly friendly: all the ladies of the Farebrother family were +present; the Vincy children all dined at the table, and Fred had +persuaded his mother that if she did not invite Mary Garth, the +Farebrothers would regard it as a slight to themselves, Mary being +their particular friend. Mary came, and Fred was in high spirits, +though his enjoyment was of a checkered kind--triumph that his mother +should see Mary's importance with the chief personages in the party +being much streaked with jealousy when Mr. Farebrother sat down by her. +Fred used to be much more easy about his own accomplishments in the +days when he had not begun to dread being "bowled out by Farebrother," +and this terror was still before him. Mrs. Vincy, in her fullest +matronly bloom, looked at Mary's little figure, rough wavy hair, and +visage quite without lilies and roses, and wondered; trying +unsuccessfully to fancy herself caring about Mary's appearance in +wedding clothes, or feeling complacency in grandchildren who would +"feature" the Garths. However, the party was a merry one, and Mary was +particularly bright; being glad, for Fred's sake, that his friends were +getting kinder to her, and being also quite willing that they should +see how much she was valued by others whom they must admit to be judges. + +Mr. Farebrother noticed that Lydgate seemed bored, and that Mr. Vincy +spoke as little as possible to his son-in-law. Rosamond was perfectly +graceful and calm, and only a subtle observation such as the Vicar had +not been roused to bestow on her would have perceived the total absence +of that interest in her husband's presence which a loving wife is sure +to betray, even if etiquette keeps her aloof from him. When Lydgate +was taking part in the conversation, she never looked towards him any +more than if she had been a sculptured Psyche modelled to look another +way: and when, after being called out for an hour or two, he re-entered +the room, she seemed unconscious of the fact, which eighteen months +before would have had the effect of a numeral before ciphers. In +reality, however, she was intensely aware of Lydgate's voice and +movements; and her pretty good-tempered air of unconsciousness was a +studied negation by which she satisfied her inward opposition to him +without compromise of propriety. When the ladies were in the +drawing-room after Lydgate had been called away from the dessert, Mrs. +Farebrother, when Rosamond happened to be near her, said--"You have to +give up a great deal of your husband's society, Mrs. Lydgate." + +"Yes, the life of a medical man is very arduous: especially when he is +so devoted to his profession as Mr. Lydgate is," said Rosamond, who was +standing, and moved easily away at the end of this correct little +speech. + +"It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no company," said Mrs. +Vincy, who was seated at the old lady's side. "I am sure I thought so +when Rosamond was ill, and I was staying with her. You know, Mrs. +Farebrother, ours is a cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition +myself, and Mr. Vincy always likes something to be going on. That is +what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from a husband out at +odd hours, and never knowing when he will come home, and of a close, +proud disposition, _I_ think"--indiscreet Mrs. Vincy did lower her tone +slightly with this parenthesis. "But Rosamond always had an angel of a +temper; her brothers used very often not to please her, but she was +never the girl to show temper; from a baby she was always as good as +good, and with a complexion beyond anything. But my children are all +good-tempered, thank God." + +This was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs. Vincy as she threw +back her broad cap-strings, and smiled towards her three little girls, +aged from seven to eleven. But in that smiling glance she was obliged +to include Mary Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to +make her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the delicious tale +of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by heart, because Letty was +never tired of communicating it to her ignorant elders from a favorite +red volume. Louisa, Mrs. Vincy's darling, now ran to her with +wide-eyed serious excitement, crying, "Oh mamma, mamma, the little man +stamped so hard on the floor he couldn't get his leg out again!" + +"Bless you, my cherub!" said mamma; "you shall tell me all about it +to-morrow. Go and listen!" and then, as her eyes followed Louisa back +towards the attractive corner, she thought that if Fred wished her to +invite Mary again she would make no objection, the children being so +pleased with her. + +But presently the corner became still more animated, for Mr. +Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind Louisa, took her on his +lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he must hear +Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it over again. He insisted too, +and Mary, without fuss, began again in her neat fashion, with precisely +the same words as before. Fred, who had also seated himself near, +would have felt unmixed triumph in Mary's effectiveness if Mr. +Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident admiration, while +he dramatized an intense interest in the tale to please the children. + +"You will never care any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo," said Fred +at the end. + +"Yes, I shall. Tell about him now," said Louisa. + +"Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr. Farebrother." + +"Yes," added Mary; "ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you about the ants +whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and he +thought they didn't mind because he couldn't hear them cry, or see them +use their pocket-handkerchiefs." + +"Please," said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar. + +"No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a story out of my +bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach you a sermon?" said he, +putting on his short-sighted glasses, and pursing up his lips. + +"Yes," said Louisa, falteringly. + +"Let me see, then. Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, especially +if they are sweet and have plums in them." + +Louisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down from the Vicar's +knee to go to Fred. + +"Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Year's Day," said Mr. +Farebrother, rising and walking away. He had discovered of late that +Fred had become jealous of him, and also that he himself was not losing +his preference for Mary above all other women. + +"A delightful young person is Miss Garth," said Mrs. Farebrother, who +had been watching her son's movements. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old lady turned to her +expectantly. "It is a pity she is not better-looking." + +"I cannot say that," said Mrs. Farebrother, decisively. "I like her +countenance. We must not always ask for beauty, when a good God has +seen fit to make an excellent young woman without it. I put good +manners first, and Miss Garth will know how to conduct herself in any +station." + +The old lady was a little sharp in her tone, having a prospective +reference to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law; for there was this +inconvenience in Mary's position with regard to Fred, that it was not +suitable to be made public, and hence the three ladies at Lowick +Parsonage were still hoping that Camden would choose Miss Garth. + +New visitors entered, and the drawing-room was given up to music and +games, while whist-tables were prepared in the quiet room on the other +side of the hall. Mr. Farebrother played a rubber to satisfy his +mother, who regarded her occasional whist as a protest against scandal +and novelty of opinion, in which light even a revoke had its dignity. +But at the end he got Mr. Chichely to take his place, and left the +room. As he crossed the hall, Lydgate had just come in and was taking +off his great-coat. + +"You are the man I was going to look for," said the Vicar; and instead +of entering the drawing-room, they walked along the hall and stood +against the fireplace, where the frosty air helped to make a glowing +bank. "You see, I can leave the whist-table easily enough," he went +on, smiling at Lydgate, "now I don't play for money. I owe that to +you, Mrs. Casaubon says." + +"How?" said Lydgate, coldly. + +"Ah, you didn't mean me to know it; I call that ungenerous reticence. +You should let a man have the pleasure of feeling that you have done +him a good turn. I don't enter into some people's dislike of being +under an obligation: upon my word, I prefer being under an obligation +to everybody for behaving well to me." + +"I can't tell what you mean," said Lydgate, "unless it is that I once +spoke of you to Mrs. Casaubon. But I did not think that she would +break her promise not to mention that I had done so," said Lydgate, +leaning his back against the corner of the mantel-piece, and showing no +radiance in his face. + +"It was Brooke who let it out, only the other day. He paid me the +compliment of saying that he was very glad I had the living though you +had come across his tactics, and had praised me up as a lien and a +Tillotson, and that sort of thing, till Mrs. Casaubon would hear of no +one else." + +"Oh, Brooke is such a leaky-minded fool," said Lydgate, contemptuously. + +"Well, I was glad of the leakiness then. I don't see why you shouldn't +like me to know that you wished to do me a service, my dear fellow. +And you certainly have done me one. It's rather a strong check to +one's self-complacency to find how much of one's right doing depends on +not being in want of money. A man will not be tempted to say the +Lord's Prayer backward to please the devil, if he doesn't want the +devil's services. I have no need to hang on the smiles of chance now." + +"I don't see that there's any money-getting without chance," said +Lydgate; "if a man gets it in a profession, it's pretty sure to come by +chance." + +Mr. Farebrother thought he could account for this speech, in striking +contrast with Lydgate's former way of talking, as the perversity which +will often spring from the moodiness of a man ill at ease in his +affairs. He answered in a tone of good-humored admission-- + +"Ah, there's enormous patience wanted with the way of the world. But +it is the easier for a man to wait patiently when he has friends who +love him, and ask for nothing better than to help him through, so far +as it lies in their power." + +"Oh yes," said Lydgate, in a careless tone, changing his attitude and +looking at his watch. "People make much more of their difficulties +than they need to do." + +He knew as distinctly as possible that this was an offer of help to +himself from Mr. Farebrother, and he could not bear it. So strangely +determined are we mortals, that, after having been long gratified with +the sense that he had privately done the Vicar a service, the +suggestion that the Vicar discerned his need of a service in return +made him shrink into unconquerable reticence. Besides, behind all +making of such offers what else must come?--that he should "mention his +case," imply that he wanted specific things. At that moment, suicide +seemed easier. + +Mr. Farebrother was too keen a man not to know the meaning of that +reply, and there was a certain massiveness in Lydgate's manner and +tone, corresponding with his physique, which if he repelled your +advances in the first instance seemed to put persuasive devices out of +question. + +"What time are you?" said the Vicar, devouring his wounded feeling. + +"After eleven," said Lydgate. And they went into the drawing-room. + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + + 1st Gent. Where lies the power, there let the blame lie too. + 2d Gent. Nay, power is relative; you cannot fright + The coming pest with border fortresses, + Or catch your carp with subtle argument. + All force is twain in one: cause is not cause + Unless effect be there; and action's self + Must needs contain a passive. So command + Exists but with obedience." + + +Even if Lydgate had been inclined to be quite open about his affairs, +he knew that it would have hardly been in Mr. Farebrother's power to +give him the help he immediately wanted. With the year's bills coming +in from his tradesmen, with Dover's threatening hold on his furniture, +and with nothing to depend on but slow dribbling payments from patients +who must not be offended--for the handsome fees he had had from +Freshitt Hall and Lowick Manor had been easily absorbed--nothing less +than a thousand pounds would have freed him from actual embarrassment, +and left a residue which, according to the favorite phrase of +hopefulness in such circumstances, would have given him "time to look +about him." + +Naturally, the merry Christmas bringing the happy New Year, when +fellow-citizens expect to be paid for the trouble and goods they have +smilingly bestowed on their neighbors, had so tightened the pressure of +sordid cares on Lydgate's mind that it was hardly possible for him to +think unbrokenly of any other subject, even the most habitual and +soliciting. He was not an ill-tempered man; his intellectual activity, +the ardent kindness of his heart, as well as his strong frame, would +always, under tolerably easy conditions, have kept him above the petty +uncontrolled susceptibilities which make bad temper. But he was now a +prey to that worst irritation which arises not simply from annoyances, +but from the second consciousness underlying those annoyances, of +wasted energy and a degrading preoccupation, which was the reverse of +all his former purposes. "_This_ is what I am thinking of; and _that_ +is what I might have been thinking of," was the bitter incessant murmur +within him, making every difficulty a double goad to impatience. + +Some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in literature by general +discontent with the universe as a trap of dulness into which their +great souls have fallen by mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self +and an insignificant world may have its consolations. Lydgate's +discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that there was a +grand existence in thought and effective action lying around him, while +his self was being narrowed into the miserable isolation of egoistic +fears, and vulgar anxieties for events that might allay such fears. +His troubles will perhaps appear miserably sordid, and beneath the +attention of lofty persons who can know nothing of debt except on a +magnificent scale. Doubtless they were sordid; and for the majority, +who are not lofty, there is no escape from sordidness but by being free +from money-craving, with all its base hopes and temptations, its +watching for death, its hinted requests, its horse-dealer's desire to +make bad work pass for good, its seeking for function which ought to be +another's, its compulsion often to long for Luck in the shape of a wide +calamity. + +It was because Lydgate writhed under the idea of getting his neck +beneath this vile yoke that he had fallen into a bitter moody state +which was continually widening Rosamond's alienation from him. After +the first disclosure about the bill of sale, he had made many efforts +to draw her into sympathy with him about possible measures for +narrowing their expenses, and with the threatening approach of +Christmas his propositions grew more and more definite. "We two can do +with only one servant, and live on very little," he said, "and I shall +manage with one horse." For Lydgate, as we have seen, had begun to +reason, with a more distinct vision, about the expenses of living, and +any share of pride he had given to appearances of that sort was meagre +compared with the pride which made him revolt from exposure as a +debtor, or from asking men to help him with their money. + +"Of course you can dismiss the other two servants, if you like," said +Rosamond; "but I should have thought it would be very injurious to your +position for us to live in a poor way. You must expect your practice +to be lowered." + +"My dear Rosamond, it is not a question of choice. We have begun too +expensively. Peacock, you know, lived in a much smaller house than +this. It is my fault: I ought to have known better, and I deserve a +thrashing--if there were anybody who had a right to give it me--for +bringing you into the necessity of living in a poorer way than you have +been used to. But we married because we loved each other, I suppose. +And that may help us to pull along till things get better. Come, dear, +put down that work and come to me." + +He was really in chill gloom about her at that moment, but he dreaded a +future without affection, and was determined to resist the oncoming of +division between them. Rosamond obeyed him, and he took her on his +knee, but in her secret soul she was utterly aloof from him. The poor +thing saw only that the world was not ordered to her liking, and +Lydgate was part of that world. But he held her waist with one hand +and laid the other gently on both of hers; for this rather abrupt man +had much tenderness in his manners towards women, seeming to have +always present in his imagination the weakness of their frames and the +delicate poise of their health both in body and mind. And he began +again to speak persuasively. + +"I find, now I look into things a little, Rosy, that it is wonderful +what an amount of money slips away in our housekeeping. I suppose the +servants are careless, and we have had a great many people coming. But +there must be many in our rank who manage with much less: they must do +with commoner things, I suppose, and look after the scraps. It seems, +money goes but a little way in these matters, for Wrench has everything +as plain as possible, and he has a very large practice." + +"Oh, if you think of living as the Wrenches do!" said Rosamond, with a +little turn of her neck. "But I have heard you express your disgust at +that way of living." + +"Yes, they have bad taste in everything--they make economy look ugly. +We needn't do that. I only meant that they avoid expenses, although +Wrench has a capital practice." + +"Why should not you have a good practice, Tertius? Mr. Peacock had. +You should be more careful not to offend people, and you should send +out medicines as the others do. I am sure you began well, and you got +several good houses. It cannot answer to be eccentric; you should +think what will be generally liked," said Rosamond, in a decided little +tone of admonition. + +Lydgate's anger rose: he was prepared to be indulgent towards feminine +weakness, but not towards feminine dictation. The shallowness of a +waternixie's soul may have a charm until she becomes didactic. But he +controlled himself, and only said, with a touch of despotic firmness-- + +"What I am to do in my practice, Rosy, it is for me to judge. That is +not the question between us. It is enough for you to know that our +income is likely to be a very narrow one--hardly four hundred, perhaps +less, for a long time to come, and we must try to re-arrange our lives +in accordance with that fact." + +Rosamond was silent for a moment or two, looking before her, and then +said, "My uncle Bulstrode ought to allow you a salary for the time you +give to the Hospital: it is not right that you should work for nothing." + +"It was understood from the beginning that my services would be +gratuitous. That, again, need not enter into our discussion. I have +pointed out what is the only probability," said Lydgate, impatiently. +Then checking himself, he went on more quietly-- + +"I think I see one resource which would free us from a good deal of the +present difficulty. I hear that young Ned Plymdale is going to be +married to Miss Sophy Toller. They are rich, and it is not often that +a good house is vacant in Middlemarch. I feel sure that they would be +glad to take this house from us with most of our furniture, and they +would be willing to pay handsomely for the lease. I can employ +Trumbull to speak to Plymdale about it." + +Rosamond left her husband's knee and walked slowly to the other end of +the room; when she turned round and walked towards him it was evident +that the tears had come, and that she was biting her under-lip and +clasping her hands to keep herself from crying. Lydgate was +wretched--shaken with anger and yet feeling that it would be unmanly to +vent the anger just now. + +"I am very sorry, Rosamond; I know this is painful." + +"I thought, at least, when I had borne to send the plate back and have +that man taking an inventory of the furniture--I should have thought +_that_ would suffice." + +"I explained it to you at the time, dear. That was only a security and +behind that security there is a debt. And that debt must be paid +within the next few months, else we shall have our furniture sold. If +young Plymdale will take our house and most of our furniture, we shall +be able to pay that debt, and some others too, and we shall be quit of +a place too expensive for us. We might take a smaller house: Trumbull, +I know, has a very decent one to let at thirty pounds a-year, and this +is ninety." Lydgate uttered this speech in the curt hammering way with +which we usually try to nail down a vague mind to imperative facts. +Tears rolled silently down Rosamond's cheeks; she just pressed her +handkerchief against them, and stood looking at the large vase on the +mantel-piece. It was a moment of more intense bitterness than she had +ever felt before. At last she said, without hurry and with careful +emphasis-- + +"I never could have believed that you would like to act in that way." + +"Like it?" burst out Lydgate, rising from his chair, thrusting his +hands in his pockets and stalking away from the hearth; "it's not a +question of liking. Of course, I don't like it; it's the only thing I +can do." He wheeled round there, and turned towards her. + +"I should have thought there were many other means than that," said +Rosamond. "Let us have a sale and leave Middlemarch altogether." + +"To do what? What is the use of my leaving my work in Middlemarch to +go where I have none? We should be just as penniless elsewhere as we +are here," said Lydgate still more angrily. + +"If we are to be in that position it will be entirely your own doing, +Tertius," said Rosamond, turning round to speak with the fullest +conviction. "You will not behave as you ought to do to your own +family. You offended Captain Lydgate. Sir Godwin was very kind to me +when we were at Quallingham, and I am sure if you showed proper regard +to him and told him your affairs, he would do anything for you. But +rather than that, you like giving up our house and furniture to Mr. Ned +Plymdale." + +There was something like fierceness in Lydgate's eyes, as he answered +with new violence, "Well, then, if you will have it so, I do like it. +I admit that I like it better than making a fool of myself by going to +beg where it's of no use. Understand then, that it is what I _like to +do._" + +There was a tone in the last sentence which was equivalent to the +clutch of his strong hand on Rosamond's delicate arm. But for all +that, his will was not a whit stronger than hers. She immediately +walked out of the room in silence, but with an intense determination to +hinder what Lydgate liked to do. + +He went out of the house, but as his blood cooled he felt that the +chief result of the discussion was a deposit of dread within him at the +idea of opening with his wife in future subjects which might again urge +him to violent speech. It was as if a fracture in delicate crystal had +begun, and he was afraid of any movement that might make it fatal. His +marriage would be a mere piece of bitter irony if they could not go on +loving each other. He had long ago made up his mind to what he thought +was her negative character--her want of sensibility, which showed +itself in disregard both of his specific wishes and of his general +aims. The first great disappointment had been borne: the tender +devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife must be renounced, +and life must be taken up on a lower stage of expectation, as it is by +men who have lost their limbs. But the real wife had not only her +claims, she had still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense +desire that the hold should remain strong. In marriage, the certainty, +"She will never love me much," is easier to bear than the fear, "I +shall love her no more." Hence, after that outburst, his inward effort +was entirely to excuse her, and to blame the hard circumstances which +were partly his fault. He tried that evening, by petting her, to heal +the wound he had made in the morning, and it was not in Rosamond's +nature to be repellent or sulky; indeed, she welcomed the signs that +her husband loved her and was under control. But this was something +quite distinct from loving _him_. Lydgate would not have chosen soon to +recur to the plan of parting with the house; he was resolved to carry +it out, and say as little more about it as possible. But Rosamond +herself touched on it at breakfast by saying, mildly-- + +"Have you spoken to Trumbull yet?" + +"No," said Lydgate, "but I shall call on him as I go by this morning. +No time must be lost." He took Rosamond's question as a sign that she +withdrew her inward opposition, and kissed her head caressingly when he +got up to go away. + +As soon as it was late enough to make a call, Rosamond went to Mrs. +Plymdale, Mr. Ned's mother, and entered with pretty congratulations +into the subject of the coming marriage. Mrs. Plymdale's maternal view +was, that Rosamond might possibly now have retrospective glimpses of +her own folly; and feeling the advantages to be at present all on the +side of her son, was too kind a woman not to behave graciously. + +"Yes, Ned is most happy, I must say. And Sophy Toller is all I could +desire in a daughter-in-law. Of course her father is able to do +something handsome for her--that is only what would be expected with a +brewery like his. And the connection is everything we should desire. +But that is not what I look at. She is such a very nice girl--no airs, +no pretensions, though on a level with the first. I don't mean with +the titled aristocracy. I see very little good in people aiming out of +their own sphere. I mean that Sophy is equal to the best in the town, +and she is contented with that." + +"I have always thought her very agreeable," said Rosamond. + +"I look upon it as a reward for Ned, who never held his head too high, +that he should have got into the very best connection," continued Mrs. +Plymdale, her native sharpness softened by a fervid sense that she was +taking a correct view. "And such particular people as the Tollers are, +they might have objected because some of our friends are not theirs. +It is well known that your aunt Bulstrode and I have been intimate from +our youth, and Mr. Plymdale has been always on Mr. Bulstrode's side. +And I myself prefer serious opinions. But the Tollers have welcomed +Ned all the same." + +"I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young man," said +Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in return for Mrs. Plymdale's +wholesome corrections. + +"Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or that sort of +carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or that showy kind of +talking, and singing, and intellectual talent. But I am thankful he +has not. It is a poor preparation both for here and Hereafter." + +"Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with happiness," said +Rosamond. "I think there is every prospect of their being a happy +couple. What house will they take?" + +"Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can get. They have +been looking at the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's; +it belongs to him, and he is putting it nicely in repair. I suppose +they are not likely to hear of a better. Indeed, I think Ned will +decide the matter to-day." + +"I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peter's Place." + +"Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation. But the windows +are narrow, and it is all ups and downs. You don't happen to know of +any other that would be at liberty?" said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her +round black eyes on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in +them. + +"Oh no; I hear so little of those things." + +Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to +pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which +would help her to avert the parting with her own house under +circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her +reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there +was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with +happiness. Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable: +it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in +her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very +false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his +position. + +She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call +there. It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of +doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the +occasion. That she should be obliged to do what she intensely +disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active +invention. Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to +disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according to +her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment was +right--"indeed, if it had not been, she would not have wished to act on +it." + +Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and received Rosamond +with his finest manners, not only because he had much sensibility to +her charms, but because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by +his certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this +uncommonly pretty woman--this young lady with the highest personal +attractions--was likely to feel the pinch of trouble--to find herself +involved in circumstances beyond her control. He begged her to do him +the honor to take a seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting +himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent. +Rosamond's first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr. +Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their house. + +"Yes, ma'am, yes, he did; he did so," said the good auctioneer, trying +to throw something soothing into his iteration. "I was about to fulfil +his order, if possible, this afternoon. He wished me not to +procrastinate." + +"I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull; and I beg of +you not to mention what has been said on the subject. Will you oblige +me?" + +"Certainly I will, Mrs. Lydgate, certainly. Confidence is sacred with +me on business or any other topic. I am then to consider the +commission withdrawn?" said Mr. Trumbull, adjusting the long ends of +his blue cravat with both hands, and looking at Rosamond deferentially. + +"Yes, if you please. I find that Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house--the +one in St. Peter's Place next to Mr. Hackbutt's. Mr. Lydgate would be +annoyed that his orders should be fulfilled uselessly. And besides +that, there are other circumstances which render the proposal +unnecessary." + +"Very good, Mrs. Lydgate, very good. I am at your commands, whenever +you require any service of me," said Mr. Trumbull, who felt pleasure in +conjecturing that some new resources had been opened. "Rely on me, I +beg. The affair shall go no further." + +That evening Lydgate was a little comforted by observing that Rosamond +was more lively than she had usually been of late, and even seemed +interested in doing what would please him without being asked. He +thought, "If she will be happy and I can rub through, what does it all +signify? It is only a narrow swamp that we have to pass in a long +journey. If I can get my mind clear again, I shall do." + +He was so much cheered that he began to search for an account of +experiments which he had long ago meant to look up, and had neglected +out of that creeping self-despair which comes in the train of petty +anxieties. He felt again some of the old delightful absorption in a +far-reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the quiet music which was +as helpful to his meditation as the plash of an oar on the evening +lake. It was rather late; he had pushed away all the books, and was +looking at the fire with his hands clasped behind his head in +forgetfulness of everything except the construction of a new +controlling experiment, when Rosamond, who had left the piano and was +leaning back in her chair watching him, said-- + +"Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already." + +Lydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a moment, like a +man who has been disturbed in his sleep. Then flushing with an +unpleasant consciousness, he asked-- + +"How do you know?" + +"I called at Mrs. Plymdale's this morning, and she told me that he had +taken the house in St. Peter's Place, next to Mr. Hackbutt's." + +Lydgate was silent. He drew his hands from behind his head and pressed +them against the hair which was hanging, as it was apt to do, in a mass +on his forehead, while he rested his elbows on his knees. He was +feeling bitter disappointment, as if he had opened a door out of a +suffocating place and had found it walled up; but he also felt sure +that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of his disappointment. He +preferred not looking at her and not speaking, until he had got over +the first spasm of vexation. After all, he said in his bitterness, +what can a woman care about so much as house and furniture? a husband +without them is an absurdity. When he looked up and pushed his hair +aside, his dark eyes had a miserable blank non-expectance of sympathy +in them, but he only said, coolly-- + +"Perhaps some one else may turn up. I told Trumbull to be on the +look-out if he failed with Plymdale." + +Rosamond made no remark. She trusted to the chance that nothing more +would pass between her husband and the auctioneer until some issue +should have justified her interference; at any rate, she had hindered +the event which she immediately dreaded. After a pause, she said-- + +"How much money is it that those disagreeable people want?" + +"What disagreeable people?" + +"Those who took the list--and the others. I mean, how much money would +satisfy them so that you need not be troubled any more?" + +Lydgate surveyed her for a moment, as if he were looking for symptoms, +and then said, "Oh, if I could have got six hundred from Plymdale for +furniture and as premium, I might have managed. I could have paid off +Dover, and given enough on account to the others to make them wait +patiently, if we contracted our expenses." + +"But I mean how much should you want if we stayed in this house?" + +"More than I am likely to get anywhere," said Lydgate, with rather a +grating sarcasm in his tone. It angered him to perceive that +Rosamond's mind was wandering over impracticable wishes instead of +facing possible efforts. + +"Why should you not mention the sum?" said Rosamond, with a mild +indication that she did not like his manners. + +"Well," said Lydgate in a guessing tone, "it would take at least a +thousand to set me at ease. But," he added, incisively, "I have to +consider what I shall do without it, not with it." + +Rosamond said no more. + +But the next day she carried out her plan of writing to Sir Godwin +Lydgate. Since the Captain's visit, she had received a letter from +him, and also one from Mrs. Mengan, his married sister, condoling with +her on the loss of her baby, and expressing vaguely the hope that they +should see her again at Quallingham. Lydgate had told her that this +politeness meant nothing; but she was secretly convinced that any +backwardness in Lydgate's family towards him was due to his cold and +contemptuous behavior, and she had answered the letters in her most +charming manner, feeling some confidence that a specific invitation +would follow. But there had been total silence. The Captain evidently +was not a great penman, and Rosamond reflected that the sisters might +have been abroad. However, the season was come for thinking of friends +at home, and at any rate Sir Godwin, who had chucked her under the +chin, and pronounced her to be like the celebrated beauty, Mrs. Croly, +who had made a conquest of him in 1790, would be touched by any appeal +from her, and would find it pleasant for her sake to behave as he ought +to do towards his nephew. Rosamond was naively convinced of what an +old gentleman ought to do to prevent her from suffering annoyance. And +she wrote what she considered the most judicious letter possible--one +which would strike Sir Godwin as a proof of her excellent sense--pointing +out how desirable it was that Tertius should quit such a place +as Middlemarch for one more fitted to his talents, how the unpleasant +character of the inhabitants had hindered his professional success, and +how in consequence he was in money difficulties, from which it would +require a thousand pounds thoroughly to extricate him. She did not say +that Tertius was unaware of her intention to write; for she had the +idea that his supposed sanction of her letter would be in accordance +with what she did say of his great regard for his uncle Godwin as the +relative who had always been his best friend. Such was the force of +Poor Rosamond's tactics now she applied them to affairs. + +This had happened before the party on New Year's Day, and no answer had +yet come from Sir Godwin. But on the morning of that day Lydgate had +to learn that Rosamond had revoked his order to Borthrop Trumbull. +Feeling it necessary that she should be gradually accustomed to the +idea of their quitting the house in Lowick Gate, he overcame his +reluctance to speak to her again on the subject, and when they were +breakfasting said-- + +"I shall try to see Trumbull this morning, and tell him to advertise +the house in the 'Pioneer' and the 'Trumpet.' If the thing were +advertised, some one might be inclined to take it who would not +otherwise have thought of a change. In these country places many +people go on in their old houses when their families are too large for +them, for want of knowing where they can find another. And Trumbull +seems to have got no bite at all." + +Rosamond knew that the inevitable moment was come. "I ordered Trumbull +not to inquire further," she said, with a careful calmness which was +evidently defensive. + +Lydgate stared at her in mute amazement. Only half an hour before he +had been fastening up her plaits for her, and talking the "little +language" of affection, which Rosamond, though not returning it, +accepted as if she had been a serene and lovely image, now and then +miraculously dimpling towards her votary. With such fibres still astir +in him, the shock he received could not at once be distinctly anger; it +was confused pain. He laid down the knife and fork with which he was +carving, and throwing himself back in his chair, said at last, with a +cool irony in his tone-- + +"May I ask when and why you did so?" + +"When I knew that the Plymdales had taken a house, I called to tell him +not to mention ours to them; and at the same time I told him not to let +the affair go on any further. I knew that it would be very injurious +to you if it were known that you wished to part with your house and +furniture, and I had a very strong objection to it. I think that was +reason enough." + +"It was of no consequence then that I had told you imperative reasons +of another kind; of no consequence that I had come to a different +conclusion, and given an order accordingly?" said Lydgate, bitingly, +the thunder and lightning gathering about his brow and eyes. + +The effect of any one's anger on Rosamond had always been to make her +shrink in cold dislike, and to become all the more calmly correct, in +the conviction that she was not the person to misbehave whatever others +might do. She replied-- + +"I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject which concerns me +at least as much as you." + +"Clearly--you had a right to speak, but only to me. You had no right +to contradict my orders secretly, and treat me as if I were a fool," +said Lydgate, in the same tone as before. Then with some added scorn, +"Is it possible to make you understand what the consequences will be? +Is it of any use for me to tell you again why we must try to part with +the house?" + +"It is not necessary for you to tell me again," said Rosamond, in a +voice that fell and trickled like cold water-drops. "I remembered what +you said. You spoke just as violently as you do now. But that does +not alter my opinion that you ought to try every other means rather +than take a step which is so painful to me. And as to advertising the +house, I think it would be perfectly degrading to you." + +"And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard mine?" + +"You can do so, of course. But I think you ought to have told me +before we were married that you would place me in the worst position, +rather than give up your own will." + +Lydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side, and twitched +the corners of his mouth in despair. Rosamond, seeing that he was not +looking at her, rose and set his cup of coffee before him; but he took +no notice of it, and went on with an inward drama and argument, +occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the table, and +rubbing his hand against his hair. There was a conflux of emotions and +thoughts in him that would not let him either give thorough way to his +anger or persevere with simple rigidity of resolve. Rosamond took +advantage of his silence. + +"When we were married everyone felt that your position was very high. +I could not have imagined then that you would want to sell our +furniture, and take a house in Bride Street, where the rooms are like +cages. If we are to live in that way let us at least leave +Middlemarch." + +"These would be very strong considerations," said Lydgate, half +ironically--still there was a withered paleness about his lips as he +looked at his coffee, and did not drink--"these would be very strong +considerations if I did not happen to be in debt." + +"Many persons must have been in debt in the same way, but if they are +respectable, people trust them. I am sure I have heard papa say that +the Torbits were in debt, and they went on very well. It cannot be +good to act rashly," said Rosamond, with serene wisdom. + +Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning he could +apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wanted to +smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce an +impression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she +must obey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on +their mutual life--he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusive +obstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final; +and again, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying +that she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying +him. As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact. The very +resolution to which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and +honorable pride was beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He +swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go. + +"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at +present--until it has been seen that there are no other means," said +Rosamond. Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer +not to betray that she had written to Sir Godwin. "Promise me that you +will not go to him for a few weeks, or without telling me." + +Lydgate gave a short laugh. "I think it is I who should exact a +promise that you will do nothing without telling me," he said, turning +his eyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door. + +"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's," said Rosamond, +wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession to her. +But he only said "Oh yes," impatiently, and went away. She held it to +be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions he +had had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant a +temper. And when she put the moderate request that he would defer +going to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what +he meant to do. She was convinced of her having acted in every way for +the best; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as +an addition to the register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond for +months had begun to associate her husband with feelings of +disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had +lost its charm of encouraging delightful dreams. It had freed her from +the disagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her +everything that she had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she +had been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of +which had disappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day +details which must be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not +floated through with a rapid selection of favorable aspects. The +habits of Lydgate's profession, his home preoccupation with scientific +subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid vampire's taste, his +peculiar views of things which had never entered into the dialogue of +courtship--all these continually alienating influences, even without +the fact of his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town, +and without that first shock of revelation about Dover's debt, would +have made his presence dull to her. There was another presence which +ever since the early days of her marriage, until four months ago, had +been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond would not +confess to herself how much the consequent blank had to do with her +utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she was right) that an +invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate to settle +elsewhere than in Middlemarch--in London, or somewhere likely to be +free from unpleasantness--would satisfy her quite well, and make her +indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she felt some +resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon. + +That was the state of things with Lydgate and Rosamond on the New +Year's Day when they dined at her father's, she looking mildly neutral +towards him in remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast, +and he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict in which +that morning scene was only one of many epochs. His flushed effort +while talking to Mr. Farebrother--his effort after the cynical pretence +that all ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that +chance has an empire which reduces choice to a fool's illusion--was but +the symptom of a wavering resolve, a benumbed response to the old +stimuli of enthusiasm. + +What was he to do? He saw even more keenly than Rosamond did the +dreariness of taking her into the small house in Bride Street, where +she would have scanty furniture around her and discontent within: a +life of privation and life with Rosamond were two images which had +become more and more irreconcilable ever since the threat of privation +had disclosed itself. But even if his resolves had forced the two +images into combination, the useful preliminaries to that hard change +were not visibly within reach. And though he had not given the promise +which his wife had asked for, he did not go again to Trumbull. He even +began to think of taking a rapid journey to the North and seeing Sir +Godwin. He had once believed that nothing would urge him into making +an application for money to his uncle, but he had not then known the +full pressure of alternatives yet more disagreeable. He could not +depend on the effect of a letter; it was only in an interview, however +disagreeable this might be to himself, that he could give a thorough +explanation and could test the effectiveness of kinship. No sooner had +Lydgate begun to represent this step to himself as the easiest than +there was a reaction of anger that he--he who had long ago determined +to live aloof from such abject calculations, such self-interested +anxiety about the inclinations and the pockets of men with whom he had +been proud to have no aims in common--should have fallen not simply to +their level, but to the level of soliciting them. + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + + "One of us two must bowen douteless, + And, sith a man is more reasonable + Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable. + --CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales. + + +The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphs even +over the present quickening in the general pace of things: what wonder +then that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letter +which was of consequence to others rather than to himself? Nearly +three weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting an answer +to her winning appeal, was every day disappointed. Lydgate, in total +ignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, and +feeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors was +imminent. He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose of +going to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear to her +a concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last +moment; but he was really expecting to set off soon. A slice of the +railway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in four +days. + +But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressed to +him, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin. She was full of +hope. Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; but +Lydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid, +and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing at +all, seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant. She +was too much excited by these thoughts to do anything but light +stitching in a warm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this +momentous letter lying on the table before her. About twelve she heard +her husband's step in the passage, and tripping to open the door, she +said in her lightest tones, "Tertius, come in here--here is a letter +for you." + +"Ah?" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her round +within his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay. "My +uncle Godwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and +watched him as he opened the letter. She had expected him to be +surprised. + +While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw his +face, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrils +and lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and said +violently-- + +"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always be +acting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions." + +He checked his speech and turned his back on her--then wheeled round +and walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard +the objects deep down in his pockets. He was afraid of saying +something irremediably cruel. + +Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The letter ran in this +way:-- + +"DEAR TERTIUS,--Don't set your wife to write to me when you have +anything to ask. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which I +should not have credited you with. I never choose to write to a woman +on matters of business. As to my supplying you with a thousand pounds, +or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort. My own family +drains me to the last penny. With two younger sons and three +daughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare. You seem to have got +through your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess where +you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better. But I have +nothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you there. I +did the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your own way +in taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army or the +Church. Your money would have held out for that, and there would have +been a surer ladder before you. Your uncle Charles has had a grudge +against you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have always +wished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own legs +entirely now. + + Your affectionate uncle, + GODWIN LYDGATE." + +When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still, with +her hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keen +disappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her +husband's wrath. Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again, +and said, with biting severity-- + +"Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you may do by secret +meddling? Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence to +judge and act for me--to interfere with your ignorance in affairs which +it belongs to me to decide on?" + +The words were hard; but this was not the first time that Lydgate had +been frustrated by her. She did not look at him, and made no reply. + +"I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham. It would have cost me +pain enough to do it, yet it might have been of some use. But it has +been of no use for me to think of anything. You have always been +counteracting me secretly. You delude me with a false assent, and then +I am at the mercy of your devices. If you mean to resist every wish I +express, say so and defy me. I shall at least know what I am doing +then." + +It is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love's +bond has turned to this power of galling. In spite of Rosamond's +self-control a tear fell silently and rolled over her lips. She still +said nothing; but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she +was in such entire disgust with her husband that she wished she had +never seen him. Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her and utter want of +feeling ranged him with Dover and all other creditors--disagreeable +people who only thought of themselves, and did not mind how annoying +they were to her. Even her father was unkind, and might have done more +for them. In fact there was but one person in Rosamond's world whom +she did not regard as blameworthy, and that was the graceful creature +with blond plaits and with little hands crossed before her, who had +never expressed herself unbecomingly, and had always acted for the +best--the best naturally being what she best liked. + +Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that half-maddening +sense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when their +passion is met by an innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized air +seems to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the justest +indignation with a doubt of its justice. He needed to recover the full +sense that he was in the right by moderating his words. + +"Can you not see, Rosamond," he began again, trying to be simply grave +and not bitter, "that nothing can be so fatal as a want of openness and +confidence between us? It has happened again and again that I have +expressed a decided wish, and you have seemed to assent, yet after that +you have secretly disobeyed my wish. In that way I can never know what +I have to trust to. There would be some hope for us if you would admit +this. Am I such an unreasonable, furious brute? Why should you not be +open with me?" Still silence. + +"Will you only say that you have been mistaken, and that I may depend +on your not acting secretly in future?" said Lydgate, urgently, but +with something of request in his tone which Rosamond was quick to +perceive. She spoke with coolness. + +"I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in answer to such words +as you have used towards me. I have not been accustomed to language of +that kind. You have spoken of my 'secret meddling,' and my +'interfering ignorance,' and my 'false assent.' I have never expressed +myself in that way to you, and I think that you ought to apologize. +You spoke of its being impossible to live with me. Certainly you have +not made my life pleasant to me of late. I think it was to be expected +that I should try to avert some of the hardships which our marriage has +brought on me." Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and she +pressed it away as quietly as the first. + +Lydgate flung himself into a chair, feeling checkmated. What place was +there in her mind for a remonstrance to lodge in? He laid down his +hat, flung an arm over the back of his chair, and looked down for some +moments without speaking. Rosamond had the double purchase over him of +insensibility to the point of justice in his reproach, and of +sensibility to the undeniable hardships now present in her married +life. Although her duplicity in the affair of the house had exceeded +what he knew, and had really hindered the Plymdales from knowing of it, +she had no consciousness that her action could rightly be called false. +We are not obliged to identify our own acts according to a strict +classification, any more than the materials of our grocery and clothes. +Rosamond felt that she was aggrieved, and that this was what Lydgate +had to recognize. + +As for him, the need of accommodating himself to her nature, which was +inflexible in proportion to its negations, held him as with pincers. +He had begun to have an alarmed foresight of her irrevocable loss of +love for him, and the consequent dreariness of their life. The ready +fulness of his emotions made this dread alternate quickly with the +first violent movements of his anger. It would assuredly have been a +vain boast in him to say that he was her master. + +"You have not made my life pleasant to me of late"--"the hardships +which our marriage has brought on me"--these words were stinging his +imagination as a pain makes an exaggerated dream. If he were not only +to sink from his highest resolve, but to sink into the hideous +fettering of domestic hate? + +"Rosamond," he said, turning his eyes on her with a melancholy look, +"you should allow for a man's words when he is disappointed and +provoked. You and I cannot have opposite interests. I cannot part my +happiness from yours. If I am angry with you, it is that you seem not +to see how any concealment divides us. How could I wish to make +anything hard to you either by my words or conduct? When I hurt you, I +hurt part of my own life. I should never be angry with you if you +would be quite open with me." + +"I have only wished to prevent you from hurrying us into wretchedness +without any necessity," said Rosamond, the tears coming again from a +softened feeling now that her husband had softened. "It is so very +hard to be disgraced here among all the people we know, and to live in +such a miserable way. I wish I had died with the baby." + +She spoke and wept with that gentleness which makes such words and +tears omnipotent over a loving-hearted man. Lydgate drew his chair +near to hers and pressed her delicate head against his cheek with his +powerful tender hand. He only caressed her; he did not say anything; +for what was there to say? He could not promise to shield her from the +dreaded wretchedness, for he could see no sure means of doing so. When +he left her to go out again, he told himself that it was ten times +harder for her than for him: he had a life away from home, and constant +appeals to his activity on behalf of others. He wished to excuse +everything in her if he could--but it was inevitable that in that +excusing mood he should think of her as if she were an animal of +another and feebler species. Nevertheless she had mastered him. + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + + "'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, + Another thing to fall." + --Measure for Measure. + + +Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the service his +practice did him in counteracting his personal cares. He had no longer +free energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking, +but by the bedside of patients, the direct external calls on his +judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw him +out of himself. It was not simply that beneficent harness of routine +which enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to live +calmly--it was a perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application of +thought, and on the consideration of another's need and trial. Many of +us looking back through life would say that the kindest man we have +ever known has been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine +tact, directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in our +need with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. Some +of that twice-blessed mercy was always with Lydgate in his work at the +Hospital or in private houses, serving better than any opiate to quiet +and sustain him under his anxieties and his sense of mental degeneracy. + +Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to the opiate was true, however. Under +the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and the first +perception that his marriage, if it were not to be a yoked loneliness, +must be a state of effort to go on loving without too much care about +being loved, he had once or twice tried a dose of opium. But he had no +hereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from the +hauntings of misery. He was strong, could drink a great deal of wine, +but did not care about it; and when the men round him were drinking +spirits, he took sugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even for +the earliest stages of excitement from drink. It was the same with +gambling. He had looked on at a great deal of gambling in Paris, +watching it as if it had been a disease. He was no more tempted by +such winning than he was by drink. He had said to himself that the +only winning he cared for must be attained by a conscious process of +high, difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result. The +power he longed for could not be represented by agitated fingers +clutching a heap of coin, or by the half-barbarous, half-idiotic +triumph in the eyes of a man who sweeps within his arms the ventures of +twenty chapfallen companions. + +But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now began to turn upon +gambling--not with appetite for its excitement, but with a sort of +wistful inward gaze after that easy way of getting money, which implied +no asking and brought no responsibility. If he had been in London or +Paris at that time, it is probable that such thoughts, seconded by +opportunity, would have taken him into a gambling-house, no longer to +watch the gamblers, but to watch with them in kindred eagerness. +Repugnance would have been surmounted by the immense need to win, if +chance would be kind enough to let him. An incident which happened not +very long after that airy notion of getting aid from his uncle had been +excluded, was a strong sign of the effect that might have followed any +extant opportunity of gambling. + +The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the constant resort of a +certain set, most of whom, like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge, were +regarded as men of pleasure. It was here that poor Fred Vincy had made +part of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting, and been +obliged to borrow of that gay companion. It was generally known in +Middlemarch that a good deal of money was lost and won in this way; and +the consequent repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipation +naturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there. +Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of freemasonry, +wished that there were something a little more tremendous to keep to +themselves concerning it; but they were not a closed community, and +many decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into the +billiard-room to see what was going on. Lydgate, who had the muscular +aptitude for billiards, and was fond of the game, had once or twice in +the early days after his arrival in Middlemarch taken his turn with the +cue at the Green Dragon; but afterwards he had no leisure for the game, +and no inclination for the socialities there. One evening, however, he +had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge at that resort. The horsedealer had +engaged to get him a customer for his remaining good horse, for which +Lydgate had determined to substitute a cheap hack, hoping by this +reduction of style to get perhaps twenty pounds; and he cared now for +every small sum, as a help towards feeding the patience of his +tradesmen. To run up to the billiard-room, as he was passing, would +save time. + +Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, but would be sure to arrive by-and-by, +said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a game for the +sake of passing the time. That evening he had the peculiar light in +the eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in him by +Mr. Farebrother. The exceptional fact of his presence was much noticed +in the room, where there was a good deal of Middlemarch company; and +several lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting with +animation. Lydgate was playing well, and felt confident; the bets were +dropping round him, and with a swift glancing thought of the probable +gain which might double the sum he was saving from his horse, he began +to bet on his own play, and won again and again. Mr. Bambridge had +come in, but Lydgate did not notice him. He was not only excited with +his play, but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day to +Brassing, where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and +where, by one powerful snatch at the devil's bait, he might carry it +off without the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings. + +He was still winning when two new visitors entered. One of them was a +young Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and the other was +Fred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at this old haunt of +his. Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a cool +fresh hand to the cue. But Fred Vincy, startled at seeing Lydgate, and +astonished to see him betting with an excited air, stood aside, and +kept out of the circle round the table. + +Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late. He had +been working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupations under +Mr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered the +defects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little the +less severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr. Garth's +under the eyes of Mary. But the last fortnight Mary had been staying +at Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there, during Mr. Farebrother's +residence in Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochial +plans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, had turned +into the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, partly to taste the +old flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and things in general, +considered from a point of view which was not strenuously correct. He +had not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse of his own +to ride, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in his +gig, or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him. It was a +little too bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the +traces with more severity than if he had been a clergyman. "I will +tell you what, Mistress Mary--it will be rather harder work to learn +surveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons," +he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through for her +sake; "and as to Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me. They +had sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand." And now, +Mary being out of the way for a little while, Fred, like any other +strong dog who cannot slip his collar, had pulled up the staple of his +chain and made a small escape, not of course meaning to go fast or far. +There could be no reason why he should not play at billiards, but he +was determined not to bet. As to money just now, Fred had in his mind +the heroic project of saving almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr. +Garth offered him, and returning it, which he could easily do by giving +up all futile money-spending, since he had a superfluous stock of +clothes, and no expense in his board. In that way he could, in one +year, go a good way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which he had +deprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily at a time when she needed that sum more +than she did now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that on this +evening, which was the fifth of his recent visits to the billiard-room, +Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his mind, the ten pounds which he +meant to reserve for himself from his half-year's salary (having before +him the pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likely +to be come home again)--he had those ten pounds in his mind as a fund +from which he might risk something, if there were a chance of a good +bet. Why? Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn't he +catch a few? He would never go far along that road again; but a man +likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally, what he could +do in the way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains from +making himself ill, or beggaring himself, or talking with the utmost +looseness which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is +not because he is a spooney. Fred did not enter into formal reasons, +which are a very artificial, inexact way of representing the tingling +returns of old habit, and the caprices of young blood: but there was +lurking in him a prophetic sense that evening, that when he began to +play he should also begin to bet--that he should enjoy some +punch-drinking, and in general prepare himself for feeling "rather +seedy" in the morning. It is in such indefinable movements that action +often begins. + +But the last thing likely to have entered Fred's expectation was that +he should see his brother-in-law Lydgate--of whom he had never quite +dropped the old opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously conscious +of his superiority--looking excited and betting, just as he himself +might have done. Fred felt a shock greater than he could quite account +for by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was in debt, and that his +father had refused to help him; and his own inclination to enter into +the play was suddenly checked. It was a strange reversal of attitudes: +Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready to +give attention to anything that held out a promise of amusement, +looking involuntarily grave and almost embarrassed as if by the sight +of something unfitting; while Lydgate, who had habitually an air of +self-possessed strength, and a certain meditativeness that seemed to +lie behind his most observant attention, was acting, watching, speaking +with that excited narrow consciousness which reminds one of an animal +with fierce eyes and retractile claws. + +Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won sixteen pounds; but +young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. He made +first-rate strokes himself, and began to bet against Lydgate's strokes, +the strain of whose nerves was thus changed from simple confidence in +his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them. The +defiance was more exciting than the confidence, but it was less sure. +He continued to bet on his own play, but began often to fail. Still he +went on, for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous +crevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger there. +Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and found himself in the +new situation of puzzling his brains to think of some device by which, +without being offensive, he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, and +perhaps suggest to him a reason for quitting the room. He saw that +others were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself, and it +occurred to him that merely to touch his elbow and call him aside for a +moment might rouse him from his absorption. He could think of nothing +cleverer than the daring improbability of saying that he wanted to see +Rosy, and wished to know if she were at home this evening; and he was +going desperately to carry out this weak device, when a waiter came up +to him with a message, saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, and +begged to speak with him. + +Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending word that he +would be down immediately, he went with a new impulse up to Lydgate, +said, "Can I speak to you a moment?" and drew him aside. + +"Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he wants to speak +to me. He is below. I thought you might like to know he was there, if +you had anything to say to him." + +Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking, because he could +not say, "You are losing confoundedly, and are making everybody stare +at you; you had better come away." But inspiration could hardly have +served him better. Lydgate had not before seen that Fred was present, +and his sudden appearance with an announcement of Mr. Farebrother had +the effect of a sharp concussion. + +"No, no," said Lydgate; "I have nothing particular to say to him. +But--the game is up--I must be going--I came in just to see Bambridge." + +"Bambridge is over there, but he is making a row--I don't think he's +ready for business. Come down with me to Farebrother. I expect he is +going to blow me up, and you will shield me," said Fred, with some +adroitness. + +Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he felt it, by +refusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went down. They merely shook +hands, however, and spoke of the frost; and when all three had turned +into the street, the Vicar seemed quite willing to say good-by to +Lydgate. His present purpose was clearly to talk with Fred alone, and +he said, kindly, "I disturbed you, young gentleman, because I have some +pressing business with you. Walk with me to St. Botolph's, will you?" + +It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr. Farebrother +proposed that they should make a circuit to the old church by the +London road. The next thing he said was-- + +"I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?" + +"So did I," said Fred. "But he said that he went to see Bambridge." + +"He was not playing, then?" + +Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now to say, "Yes, +he was. But I suppose it was an accidental thing. I have never seen +him there before." + +"You have been going often yourself, then, lately?" + +"Oh, about five or six times." + +"I think you had some good reason for giving up the habit of going +there?" + +"Yes. You know all about it," said Fred, not liking to be catechised +in this way. "I made a clean breast to you." + +"I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the matter now. It +is understood between us, is it not?--that we are on a footing of open +friendship: I have listened to you, and you will be willing to listen +to me. I may take my turn in talking a little about myself?" + +"I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred, +in a state of uncomfortable surmise. + +"I will not affect to deny that you are under some obligation to me. +But I am going to confess to you, Fred, that I have been tempted to +reverse all that by keeping silence with you just now. When somebody +said to me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the billiard-table every +night again--he won't bear the curb long;' I was tempted to do the +opposite of what I am doing--to hold my tongue and wait while you went +down the ladder again, betting first and then--" + +"I have not made any bets," said Fred, hastily. + +"Glad to hear it. But I say, my prompting was to look on and see you +take the wrong turning, wear out Garth's patience, and lose the best +opportunity of your life--the opportunity which you made some rather +difficult effort to secure. You can guess the feeling which raised +that temptation in me--I am sure you know it. I am sure you know that +the satisfaction of your affections stands in the way of mine." + +There was a pause. Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for a recognition of +the fact; and the emotion perceptible in the tones of his fine voice +gave solemnity to his words. But no feeling could quell Fred's alarm. + +"I could not be expected to give her up," he said, after a moment's +hesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of generosity. + +"Clearly not, when her affection met yours. But relations of this +sort, even when they are of long standing, are always liable to change. +I can easily conceive that you might act in a way to loosen the tie she +feels towards you--it must be remembered that she is only conditionally +bound to you--and that in that case, another man, who may flatter +himself that he has a hold on her regard, might succeed in winning that +firm place in her love as well as respect which you had let slip. I +can easily conceive such a result," repeated Mr. Farebrother, +emphatically. "There is a companionship of ready sympathy, which might +get the advantage even over the longest associations." It seemed to +Fred that if Mr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons instead of his +very capable tongue, his mode of attack could hardly be more cruel. He +had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statement +there was a knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling. + +"Of course I know it might easily be all up with me," he said, in a +troubled voice. "If she is beginning to compare--" He broke off, not +liking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of a little +bitterness, "But I thought you were friendly to me." + +"So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a strong disposition +to be otherwise. I have said to myself, 'If there is a likelihood of +that youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere? Aren't +you worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen years over and above +his, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right to +satisfaction than he has? If there's a chance of his going to the +dogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take the +benefit.'" + +There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortable +chill. What was coming next? He dreaded to hear that something had +been said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to a threat rather +than a warning. When the Vicar began again there was a change in his +tone like the encouraging transition to a major key. + +"But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to my old +intention. I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_ in it better, +Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me. And now, do you +understand me? I want you to make the happiness of her life and your +own, and if there is any chance that a word of warning from me may turn +aside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it." + +There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last words. He +paused--they were standing on a patch of green where the road diverged +towards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if to imply that the +conversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly. Some one highly +susceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said, that it +produces a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and makes +one feel ready to begin a new life. A good degree of that effect was +just then present in Fred Vincy. + +"I will try to be worthy," he said, breaking off before he could say +"of you as well as of her." And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gathered +the impulse to say something more. + +"You must not imagine that I believe there is at present any decline in +her preference of you, Fred. Set your heart at rest, that if you keep +right, other things will keep right." + +"I shall never forget what you have done," Fred answered. "I can't say +anything that seems worth saying--only I will try that your goodness +shall not be thrown away." + +"That's enough. Good-by, and God bless you." + +In that way they parted. But both of them walked about a long while +before they went out of the starlight. Much of Fred's rumination might +be summed up in the words, "It certainly would have been a fine thing +for her to marry Farebrother--but if she loves me best and I am a good +husband?" + +Perhaps Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrug and +one little speech. "To think of the part one little woman can play in +the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitation +of heroism, and to win her may be a discipline!" + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + + Now is there civil war within the soul: + Resolve is thrust from off the sacred throne + By clamorous Needs, and Pride the grand-vizier + Makes humble compact, plays the supple part + Of envoy and deft-tongued apologist + For hungry rebels. + + +Happily Lydgate had ended by losing in the billiard-room, and brought +away no encouragement to make a raid on luck. On the contrary, he felt +unmixed disgust with himself the next day when he had to pay four or +five pounds over and above his gains, and he carried about with him a +most unpleasant vision of the figure he had made, not only rubbing +elbows with the men at the Green Dragon but behaving just as they did. +A philosopher fallen to betting is hardly distinguishable from a +Philistine under the same circumstances: the difference will chiefly be +found in his subsequent reflections, and Lydgate chewed a very +disagreeable cud in that way. His reason told him how the affair might +have been magnified into ruin by a slight change of scenery--if it had +been a gambling-house that he had turned into, where chance could be +clutched with both hands instead of being picked up with thumb and +fore-finger. Nevertheless, though reason strangled the desire to +gamble, there remained the feeling that, with an assurance of luck to +the needful amount, he would have liked to gamble, rather than take the +alternative which was beginning to urge itself as inevitable. + +That alternative was to apply to Mr. Bulstrode. Lydgate had so many +times boasted both to himself and others that he was totally +independent of Bulstrode, to whose plans he had lent himself solely +because they enabled him to carry out his own ideas of professional +work and public benefit--he had so constantly in their personal +intercourse had his pride sustained by the sense that he was making a +good social use of this predominating banker, whose opinions he thought +contemptible and whose motives often seemed to him an absurd mixture of +contradictory impressions--that he had been creating for himself +strong ideal obstacles to the proffering of any considerable request to +him on his own account. + +Still, early in March his affairs were at that pass in which men begin +to say that their oaths were delivered in ignorance, and to perceive +that the act which they had called impossible to them is becoming +manifestly possible. With Dover's ugly security soon to be put in +force, with the proceeds of his practice immediately absorbed in paying +back debts, and with the chance, if the worst were known, of daily +supplies being refused on credit, above all with the vision of +Rosamond's hopeless discontent continually haunting him, Lydgate had +begun to see that he should inevitably bend himself to ask help from +somebody or other. At first he had considered whether he should write +to Mr. Vincy; but on questioning Rosamond he found that, as he had +suspected, she had already applied twice to her father, the last time +being since the disappointment from Sir Godwin; and papa had said that +Lydgate must look out for himself. "Papa said he had come, with one +bad year after another, to trade more and more on borrowed capital, and +had had to give up many indulgences; he could not spare a single +hundred from the charges of his family. He said, let Lydgate ask +Bulstrode: they have always been hand and glove." + +Indeed, Lydgate himself had come to the conclusion that if he must end +by asking for a free loan, his relations with Bulstrode, more at least +than with any other man, might take the shape of a claim which was not +purely personal. Bulstrode had indirectly helped to cause the failure +of his practice, and had also been highly gratified by getting a +medical partner in his plans:--but who among us ever reduced himself +to the sort of dependence in which Lydgate now stood, without trying to +believe that he had claims which diminished the humiliation of asking? +It was true that of late there had seemed to be a new languor of +interest in Bulstrode about the Hospital; but his health had got worse, +and showed signs of a deep-seated nervous affection. In other respects +he did not appear to be changed: he had always been highly polite, but +Lydgate had observed in him from the first a marked coldness about his +marriage and other private circumstances, a coldness which he had +hitherto preferred to any warmth of familiarity between them. He +deferred the intention from day to day, his habit of acting on his +conclusions being made infirm by his repugnance to every possible +conclusion and its consequent act. He saw Mr. Bulstrode often, but he +did not try to use any occasion for his private purpose. At one moment +he thought, "I will write a letter: I prefer that to any circuitous +talk;" at another he thought, "No; if I were talking to him, I could +make a retreat before any signs of disinclination." + +Still the days passed and no letter was written, no special interview +sought. In his shrinking from the humiliation of a dependent attitude +towards Bulstrode, he began to familiarize his imagination with another +step even more unlike his remembered self. He began spontaneously to +consider whether it would be possible to carry out that puerile notion +of Rosamond's which had often made him angry, namely, that they should +quit Middlemarch without seeing anything beyond that preface. The +question came--"Would any man buy the practice of me even now, for as +little as it is worth? Then the sale might happen as a necessary +preparation for going away." + +But against his taking this step, which he still felt to be a +contemptible relinquishment of present work, a guilty turning aside +from what was a real and might be a widening channel for worthy +activity, to start again without any justified destination, there was +this obstacle, that the purchaser, if procurable at all, might not be +quickly forthcoming. And afterwards? Rosamond in a poor lodging, +though in the largest city or most distant town, would not find the +life that could save her from gloom, and save him from the reproach of +having plunged her into it. For when a man is at the foot of the hill +in his fortunes, he may stay a long while there in spite of +professional accomplishment. In the British climate there is no +incompatibility between scientific insight and furnished lodgings: the +incompatibility is chiefly between scientific ambition and a wife who +objects to that kind of residence. + +But in the midst of his hesitation, opportunity came to decide him. A +note from Mr. Bulstrode requested Lydgate to call on him at the Bank. +A hypochondriacal tendency had shown itself in the banker's +constitution of late; and a lack of sleep, which was really only a +slight exaggeration of an habitual dyspeptic symptom, had been dwelt on +by him as a sign of threatening insanity. He wanted to consult Lydgate +without delay on that particular morning, although he had nothing to +tell beyond what he had told before. He listened eagerly to what +Lydgate had to say in dissipation of his fears, though this too was +only repetition; and this moment in which Bulstrode was receiving a +medical opinion with a sense of comfort, seemed to make the +communication of a personal need to him easier than it had been in +Lydgate's contemplation beforehand. He had been insisting that it +would be well for Mr. Bulstrode to relax his attention to business. + +"One sees how any mental strain, however slight, may affect a delicate +frame," said Lydgate at that stage of the consultation when the remarks +tend to pass from the personal to the general, "by the deep stamp which +anxiety will make for a time even on the young and vigorous. I am +naturally very strong; yet I have been thoroughly shaken lately by an +accumulation of trouble." + +"I presume that a constitution in the susceptible state in which mine +at present is, would be especially liable to fall a victim to cholera, +if it visited our district. And since its appearance near London, we +may well besiege the Mercy-seat for our protection," said Mr. +Bulstrode, not intending to evade Lydgate's allusion, but really +preoccupied with alarms about himself. + +"You have at all events taken your share in using good practical +precautions for the town, and that is the best mode of asking for +protection," said Lydgate, with a strong distaste for the broken +metaphor and bad logic of the banker's religion, somewhat increased by +the apparent deafness of his sympathy. But his mind had taken up its +long-prepared movement towards getting help, and was not yet arrested. +He added, "The town has done well in the way of cleansing, and finding +appliances; and I think that if the cholera should come, even our +enemies will admit that the arrangements in the Hospital are a public +good." + +"Truly," said Mr. Bulstrode, with some coldness. "With regard to what +you say, Mr. Lydgate, about the relaxation of my mental labor, I have +for some time been entertaining a purpose to that effect--a purpose of +a very decided character. I contemplate at least a temporary +withdrawal from the management of much business, whether benevolent or +commercial. Also I think of changing my residence for a time: probably +I shall close or let 'The Shrubs,' and take some place near the +coast--under advice of course as to salubrity. That would be a measure +which you would recommend?" + +"Oh yes," said Lydgate, falling backward in his chair, with +ill-repressed impatience under the banker's pale earnest eyes and +intense preoccupation with himself. + +"I have for some time felt that I should open this subject with you in +relation to our Hospital," continued Bulstrode. "Under the +circumstances I have indicated, of course I must cease to have any +personal share in the management, and it is contrary to my views of +responsibility to continue a large application of means to an +institution which I cannot watch over and to some extent regulate. I +shall therefore, in case of my ultimate decision to leave Middlemarch, +consider that I withdraw other support to the New Hospital than that +which will subsist in the fact that I chiefly supplied the expenses of +building it, and have contributed further large sums to its successful +working." + +Lydgate's thought, when Bulstrode paused according to his wont, was, +"He has perhaps been losing a good deal of money." This was the most +plausible explanation of a speech which had caused rather a startling +change in his expectations. He said in reply-- + +"The loss to the Hospital can hardly be made up, I fear." + +"Hardly," returned Bulstrode, in the same deliberate, silvery tone; +"except by some changes of plan. The only person who may be certainly +counted on as willing to increase her contributions is Mrs. Casaubon. +I have had an interview with her on the subject, and I have pointed out +to her, as I am about to do to you, that it will be desirable to win a +more general support to the New Hospital by a change of system." +Another pause, but Lydgate did not speak. + +"The change I mean is an amalgamation with the Infirmary, so that the +New Hospital shall be regarded as a special addition to the elder +institution, having the same directing board. It will be necessary, +also, that the medical management of the two shall be combined. In +this way any difficulty as to the adequate maintenance of our new +establishment will be removed; the benevolent interests of the town +will cease to be divided." + +Mr. Bulstrode had lowered his eyes from Lydgate's face to the buttons +of his coat as he again paused. + +"No doubt that is a good device as to ways and means," said Lydgate, +with an edge of irony in his tone. "But I can't be expected to rejoice +in it at once, since one of the first results will be that the other +medical men will upset or interrupt my methods, if it were only because +they are mine." + +"I myself, as you know, Mr. Lydgate, highly valued the opportunity of +new and independent procedure which you have diligently employed: the +original plan, I confess, was one which I had much at heart, under +submission to the Divine Will. But since providential indications +demand a renunciation from me, I renounce." + +Bulstrode showed a rather exasperating ability in this conversation. +The broken metaphor and bad logic of motive which had stirred his +hearer's contempt were quite consistent with a mode of putting the +facts which made it difficult for Lydgate to vent his own indignation +and disappointment. After some rapid reflection, he only asked-- + +"What did Mrs. Casaubon say?" + +"That was the further statement which I wished to make to you," said +Bulstrode, who had thoroughly prepared his ministerial explanation. +"She is, you are aware, a woman of most munificent disposition, and +happily in possession--not I presume of great wealth, but of funds +which she can well spare. She has informed me that though she has +destined the chief part of those funds to another purpose, she is +willing to consider whether she cannot fully take my place in relation +to the Hospital. But she wishes for ample time to mature her thoughts +on the subject, and I have told her that there is no need for +haste--that, in fact, my own plans are not yet absolute." + +Lydgate was ready to say, "If Mrs. Casaubon would take your place, +there would be gain, instead of loss." But there was still a weight on +his mind which arrested this cheerful candor. He replied, "I suppose, +then, that I may enter into the subject with Mrs. Casaubon." + +"Precisely; that is what she expressly desires. Her decision, she +says, will much depend on what you can tell her. But not at present: +she is, I believe, just setting out on a journey. I have her letter +here," said Mr. Bulstrode, drawing it out, and reading from it. "'I am +immediately otherwise engaged,' she says. 'I am going into Yorkshire +with Sir James and Lady Chettam; and the conclusions I come to about +some land which I am to see there may affect my power of contributing +to the Hospital.' Thus, Mr. Lydgate, there is no haste necessary in +this matter; but I wished to apprise you beforehand of what may +possibly occur." + +Mr. Bulstrode returned the letter to his side-pocket, and changed his +attitude as if his business were closed. Lydgate, whose renewed hope +about the Hospital only made him more conscious of the facts which +poisoned his hope, felt that his effort after help, if made at all, +must be made now and vigorously. + +"I am much obliged to you for giving me full notice," he said, with a +firm intention in his tone, yet with an interruptedness in his delivery +which showed that he spoke unwillingly. "The highest object to me is +my profession, and I had identified the Hospital with the best use I +can at present make of my profession. But the best use is not always +the same with monetary success. Everything which has made the Hospital +unpopular has helped with other causes--I think they are all connected +with my professional zeal--to make me unpopular as a practitioner. I +get chiefly patients who can't pay me. I should like them best, if I +had nobody to pay on my own side." Lydgate waited a little, but +Bulstrode only bowed, looking at him fixedly, and he went on with the +same interrupted enunciation--as if he were biting an objectional leek. + +"I have slipped into money difficulties which I can see no way out of, +unless some one who trusts me and my future will advance me a sum +without other security. I had very little fortune left when I came +here. I have no prospects of money from my own family. My expenses, +in consequence of my marriage, have been very much greater than I had +expected. The result at this moment is that it would take a thousand +pounds to clear me. I mean, to free me from the risk of having all my +goods sold in security of my largest debt--as well as to pay my other +debts--and leave anything to keep us a little beforehand with our small +income. I find that it is out of the question that my wife's father +should make such an advance. That is why I mention my position to--to +the only other man who may be held to have some personal connection +with my prosperity or ruin." + +Lydgate hated to hear himself. But he had spoken now, and had spoken +with unmistakable directness. Mr. Bulstrode replied without haste, but +also without hesitation. + +"I am grieved, though, I confess, not surprised by this information, +Mr. Lydgate. For my own part, I regretted your alliance with my +brother-in-law's family, which has always been of prodigal habits, and +which has already been much indebted to me for sustainment in its +present position. My advice to you, Mr. Lydgate, would be, that +instead of involving yourself in further obligations, and continuing a +doubtful struggle, you should simply become a bankrupt." + +"That would not improve my prospect," said Lydgate, rising and speaking +bitterly, "even if it were a more agreeable thing in itself." + +"It is always a trial," said Mr. Bulstrode; "but trial, my dear sir, is +our portion here, and is a needed corrective. I recommend you to weigh +the advice I have given." + +"Thank you," said Lydgate, not quite knowing what he said. "I have +occupied you too long. Good-day." + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + + "What suit of grace hath Virtue to put on + If Vice shall wear as good, and do as well? + If Wrong, if Craft, if Indiscretion + Act as fair parts with ends as laudable? + Which all this mighty volume of events + The world, the universal map of deeds, + Strongly controls, and proves from all descents, + That the directest course still best succeeds. + For should not grave and learn'd Experience + That looks with the eyes of all the world beside, + And with all ages holds intelligence, + Go safer than Deceit without a guide! + --DANIEL: Musophilus. + + +That change of plan and shifting of interest which Bulstrode stated or +betrayed in his conversation with Lydgate, had been determined in him +by some severe experience which he had gone through since the epoch of +Mr. Larcher's sale, when Raffles had recognized Will Ladislaw, and when +the banker had in vain attempted an act of restitution which might move +Divine Providence to arrest painful consequences. + +His certainty that Raffles, unless he were dead, would return to +Middlemarch before long, had been justified. On Christmas Eve he had +reappeared at The Shrubs. Bulstrode was at home to receive him, and +hinder his communication with the rest of the family, but he could not +altogether hinder the circumstances of the visit from compromising +himself and alarming his wife. Raffles proved more unmanageable than +he had shown himself to be in his former appearances, his chronic state +of mental restlessness, the growing effect of habitual intemperance, +quickly shaking off every impression from what was said to him. He +insisted on staying in the house, and Bulstrode, weighing two sets of +evils, felt that this was at least not a worse alternative than his +going into the town. He kept him in his own room for the evening and +saw him to bed, Raffles all the while amusing himself with the +annoyance he was causing this decent and highly prosperous +fellow-sinner, an amusement which he facetiously expressed as sympathy +with his friend's pleasure in entertaining a man who had been +serviceable to him, and who had not had all his earnings. There was a +cunning calculation under this noisy joking--a cool resolve to extract +something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this +new application of torture. But his cunning had a little overcast its +mark. + +Bulstrode was indeed more tortured than the coarse fibre of Raffles +could enable him to imagine. He had told his wife that he was simply +taking care of this wretched creature, the victim of vice, who might +otherwise injure himself; he implied, without the direct form of +falsehood, that there was a family tie which bound him to this care, +and that there were signs of mental alienation in Raffles which urged +caution. He would himself drive the unfortunate being away the next +morning. In these hints he felt that he was supplying Mrs. Bulstrode +with precautionary information for his daughters and servants, and +accounting for his allowing no one but himself to enter the room even +with food and drink. But he sat in an agony of fear lest Raffles +should be overheard in his loud and plain references to past facts--lest +Mrs. Bulstrode should be even tempted to listen at the door. How +could he hinder her, how betray his terror by opening the door to +detect her? She was a woman of honest direct habits, and little likely +to take so low a course in order to arrive at painful knowledge; but +fear was stronger than the calculation of probabilities. + +In this way Raffles had pushed the torture too far, and produced an +effect which had not been in his plan. By showing himself hopelessly +unmanageable he had made Bulstrode feel that a strong defiance was the +only resource left. After taking Raffles to bed that night the banker +ordered his closed carriage to be ready at half-past seven the next +morning. At six o'clock he had already been long dressed, and had +spent some of his wretchedness in prayer, pleading his motives for +averting the worst evil if in anything he had used falsity and spoken +what was not true before God. For Bulstrode shrank from a direct lie +with an intensity disproportionate to the number of his more indirect +misdeeds. But many of these misdeeds were like the subtle muscular +movements which are not taken account of in the consciousness, though +they bring about the end that we fix our mind on and desire. And it is +only what we are vividly conscious of that we can vividly imagine to be +seen by Omniscience. + +Bulstrode carried his candle to the bedside of Raffles, who was +apparently in a painful dream. He stood silent, hoping that the +presence of the light would serve to waken the sleeper gradually and +gently, for he feared some noise as the consequence of a too sudden +awakening. He had watched for a couple of minutes or more the +shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to end in waking, when +Raffles, with a long half-stifled moan, started up and stared round him +in terror, trembling and gasping. But he made no further noise, and +Bulstrode, setting down the candle, awaited his recovery. + +It was a quarter of an hour later before Bulstrode, with a cold +peremptoriness of manner which he had not before shown, said, "I came +to call you thus early, Mr. Raffles, because I have ordered the +carriage to be ready at half-past seven, and intend myself to conduct +you as far as Ilsely, where you can either take the railway or await a +coach." Raffles was about to speak, but Bulstrode anticipated him +imperiously with the words, "Be silent, sir, and hear what I have to +say. I shall supply you with money now, and I will furnish you with a +reasonable sum from time to time, on your application to me by letter; +but if you choose to present yourself here again, if you return to +Middlemarch, if you use your tongue in a manner injurious to me, you +will have to live on such fruits as your malice can bring you, without +help from me. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name: I know +the worst you can do against me, and I shall brave it if you dare to +thrust yourself upon me again. Get up, sir, and do as I order you, +without noise, or I will send for a policeman to take you off my +premises, and you may carry your stories into every pothouse in the +town, but you shall have no sixpence from me to pay your expenses +there." + +Bulstrode had rarely in his life spoken with such nervous energy: he +had been deliberating on this speech and its probable effects through a +large part of the night; and though he did not trust to its ultimately +saving him from any return of Raffles, he had concluded that it was the +best throw he could make. It succeeded in enforcing submission from +the jaded man this morning: his empoisoned system at this moment +quailed before Bulstrode's cold, resolute bearing, and he was taken off +quietly in the carriage before the family breakfast time. The servants +imagined him to be a poor relation, and were not surprised that a +strict man like their master, who held his head high in the world, +should be ashamed of such a cousin and want to get rid of him. The +banker's drive of ten miles with his hated companion was a dreary +beginning of the Christmas day; but at the end of the drive, Raffles +had recovered his spirits, and parted in a contentment for which there +was the good reason that the banker had given him a hundred pounds. +Various motives urged Bulstrode to this open-handedness, but he did not +himself inquire closely into all of them. As he had stood watching +Raffles in his uneasy sleep, it had certainly entered his mind that the +man had been much shattered since the first gift of two hundred pounds. + +He had taken care to repeat the incisive statement of his resolve not +to be played on any more; and had tried to penetrate Raffles with the +fact that he had shown the risks of bribing him to be quite equal to +the risks of defying him. But when, freed from his repulsive presence, +Bulstrode returned to his quiet home, he brought with him no confidence +that he had secured more than a respite. It was as if he had had a +loathsome dream, and could not shake off its images with their hateful +kindred of sensations--as if on all the pleasant surroundings of his +life a dangerous reptile had left his slimy traces. + +Who can know how much of his most inward life is made up of the +thoughts he believes other men to have about him, until that fabric of +opinion is threatened with ruin? + +Bulstrode was only the more conscious that there was a deposit of +uneasy presentiment in his wife's mind, because she carefully avoided +any allusion to it. He had been used every day to taste the flavor of +supremacy and the tribute of complete deference: and the certainty that +he was watched or measured with a hidden suspicion of his having some +discreditable secret, made his voice totter when he was speaking to +edification. Foreseeing, to men of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is +often worse than seeing; and his imagination continually heightened the +anguish of an imminent disgrace. Yes, imminent; for if his defiance of +Raffles did not keep the man away--and though he prayed for this result +he hardly hoped for it--the disgrace was certain. In vain he said to +himself that, if permitted, it would be a divine visitation, a +chastisement, a preparation; he recoiled from the imagined burning; and +he judged that it must be more for the Divine glory that he should +escape dishonor. That recoil had at last urged him to make +preparations for quitting Middlemarch. If evil truth must be reported +of him, he would then be at a less scorching distance from the contempt +of his old neighbors; and in a new scene, where his life would not have +gathered the same wide sensibility, the tormentor, if he pursued him, +would be less formidable. To leave the place finally would, he knew, +be extremely painful to his wife, and on other grounds he would have +preferred to stay where he had struck root. Hence he made his +preparations at first in a conditional way, wishing to leave on all +sides an opening for his return after brief absence, if any favorable +intervention of Providence should dissipate his fears. He was +preparing to transfer his management of the Bank, and to give up any +active control of other commercial affairs in the neighborhood, on the +ground of his failing health, but without excluding his future +resumption of such work. The measure would cause him some added +expense and some diminution of income beyond what he had already +undergone from the general depression of trade; and the Hospital +presented itself as a principal object of outlay on which he could +fairly economize. + +This was the experience which had determined his conversation with +Lydgate. But at this time his arrangements had most of them gone no +farther than a stage at which he could recall them if they proved to be +unnecessary. He continually deferred the final steps; in the midst of +his fears, like many a man who is in danger of shipwreck or of being +dashed from his carriage by runaway horses, he had a clinging +impression that something would happen to hinder the worst, and that to +spoil his life by a late transplantation might be over-hasty--especially +since it was difficult to account satisfactorily to his wife for the +project of their indefinite exile from the only place where she would +like to live. + +Among the affairs Bulstrode had to care for, was the management of the +farm at Stone Court in case of his absence; and on this as well as on +all other matters connected with any houses and land he possessed in or +about Middlemarch, he had consulted Caleb Garth. Like every one else +who had business of that sort, he wanted to get the agent who was more +anxious for his employer's interests than his own. With regard to +Stone Court, since Bulstrode wished to retain his hold on the stock, +and to have an arrangement by which he himself could, if he chose, +resume his favorite recreation of superintendence, Caleb had advised +him not to trust to a mere bailiff, but to let the land, stock, and +implements yearly, and take a proportionate share of the proceeds. + +"May I trust to you to find me a tenant on these terms, Mr. Garth?" +said Bulstrode. "And will you mention to me the yearly sum which would +repay you for managing these affairs which we have discussed together?" + +"I'll think about it," said Caleb, in his blunt way. "I'll see how I +can make it out." + +If it had not been that he had to consider Fred Vincy's future, Mr. +Garth would not probably have been glad of any addition to his work, of +which his wife was always fearing an excess for him as he grew older. +But on quitting Bulstrode after that conversation, a very alluring idea +occurred to him about this said letting of Stone Court. What if +Bulstrode would agree to his placing Fred Vincy there on the +understanding that he, Caleb Garth, should be responsible for the +management? It would be an excellent schooling for Fred; he might make +a modest income there, and still have time left to get knowledge by +helping in other business. He mentioned his notion to Mrs. Garth with +such evident delight that she could not bear to chill his pleasure by +expressing her constant fear of his undertaking too much. + +"The lad would be as happy as two," he said, throwing himself back in +his chair, and looking radiant, "if I could tell him it was all +settled. Think; Susan! His mind had been running on that place for +years before old Featherstone died. And it would be as pretty a turn +of things as could be that he should hold the place in a good +industrious way after all--by his taking to business. For it's likely +enough Bulstrode might let him go on, and gradually buy the stock. He +hasn't made up his mind, I can see, whether or not he shall settle +somewhere else as a lasting thing. I never was better pleased with a +notion in my life. And then the children might be married by-and-by, +Susan." + +"You will not give any hint of the plan to Fred, until you are sure +that Bulstrode would agree to the plan?" said Mrs. Garth, in a tone of +gentle caution. "And as to marriage, Caleb, we old people need not +help to hasten it." + +"Oh, I don't know," said Caleb, swinging his head aside. "Marriage is +a taming thing. Fred would want less of my bit and bridle. However, I +shall say nothing till I know the ground I'm treading on. I shall +speak to Bulstrode again." + +He took his earliest opportunity of doing so. Bulstrode had anything +but a warm interest in his nephew Fred Vincy, but he had a strong wish +to secure Mr. Garth's services on many scattered points of business at +which he was sure to be a considerable loser, if they were under less +conscientious management. On that ground he made no objection to Mr. +Garth's proposal; and there was also another reason why he was not +sorry to give a consent which was to benefit one of the Vincy family. +It was that Mrs. Bulstrode, having heard of Lydgate's debts, had been +anxious to know whether her husband could not do something for poor +Rosamond, and had been much troubled on learning from him that +Lydgate's affairs were not easily remediable, and that the wisest plan +was to let them "take their course." Mrs. Bulstrode had then said for +the first time, "I think you are always a little hard towards my +family, Nicholas. And I am sure I have no reason to deny any of my +relatives. Too worldly they may be, but no one ever had to say that +they were not respectable." + +"My dear Harriet," said Mr. Bulstrode, wincing under his wife's eyes, +which were filling with tears, "I have supplied your brother with a +great deal of capital. I cannot be expected to take care of his +married children." + +That seemed to be true, and Mrs. Bulstrode's remonstrance subsided into +pity for poor Rosamond, whose extravagant education she had always +foreseen the fruits of. + +But remembering that dialogue, Mr. Bulstrode felt that when he had to +talk to his wife fully about his plan of quitting Middlemarch, he +should be glad to tell her that he had made an arrangement which might +be for the good of her nephew Fred. At present he had merely mentioned +to her that he thought of shutting up The Shrubs for a few months, and +taking a house on the Southern Coast. + +Hence Mr. Garth got the assurance he desired, namely, that in case of +Bulstrode's departure from Middlemarch for an indefinite time, Fred +Vincy should be allowed to have the tenancy of Stone Court on the terms +proposed. + +Caleb was so elated with his hope of this "neat turn" being given to +things, that if his self-control had not been braced by a little +affectionate wifely scolding, he would have betrayed everything to +Mary, wanting "to give the child comfort." However, he restrained +himself, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he +was making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly into the +state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary estimate. He was +certainly more eager in these visits than the probable speed of events +required him to be; but he was stimulated by a fatherly delight in +occupying his mind with this bit of probable happiness which he held in +store like a hidden birthday gift for Fred and Mary. + +"But suppose the whole scheme should turn out to be a castle in the +air?" said Mrs. Garth. + +"Well, well," replied Caleb; "the castle will tumble about nobody's +head." + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + + "If thou hast heard a word, let it die with thee." + --Ecclesiasticus. + + +Mr. Bulstrode was still seated in his manager's room at the Bank, about +three o'clock of the same day on which he had received Lydgate there, +when the clerk entered to say that his horse was waiting, and also that +Mr. Garth was outside and begged to speak with him. + +"By all means," said Bulstrode; and Caleb entered. "Pray sit down, Mr. +Garth," continued the banker, in his suavest tone. + +"I am glad that you arrived just in time to find me here. I know you +count your minutes." + +"Oh," said Caleb, gently, with a slow swing of his head on one side, as +he seated himself and laid his hat on the floor. + +He looked at the ground, leaning forward and letting his long fingers +droop between his legs, while each finger moved in succession, as if it +were sharing some thought which filled his large quiet brow. + +Mr. Bulstrode, like every one else who knew Caleb, was used to his +slowness in beginning to speak on any topic which he felt to be +important, and rather expected that he was about to recur to the buying +of some houses in Blindman's Court, for the sake of pulling them down, +as a sacrifice of property which would be well repaid by the influx of +air and light on that spot. It was by propositions of this kind that +Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his employers; but he had usually +found Bulstrode ready to meet him in projects of improvement, and they +had got on well together. When he spoke again, however, it was to say, +in rather a subdued voice-- + +"I have just come away from Stone Court, Mr. Bulstrode." + +"You found nothing wrong there, I hope," said the banker; "I was there +myself yesterday. Abel has done well with the lambs this year." + +"Why, yes," said Caleb, looking up gravely, "there is something wrong--a +stranger, who is very ill, I think. He wants a doctor, and I came to +tell you of that. His name is Raffles." + +He saw the shock of his words passing through Bulstrode's frame. On +this subject the banker had thought that his fears were too constantly +on the watch to be taken by surprise; but he had been mistaken. + +"Poor wretch!" he said in a compassionate tone, though his lips +trembled a little. "Do you know how he came there?" + +"I took him myself," said Caleb, quietly--"took him up in my gig. He +had got down from the coach, and was walking a little beyond the +turning from the toll-house, and I overtook him. He remembered seeing +me with you once before, at Stone Court, and he asked me to take him +on. I saw he was ill: it seemed to me the right thing to do, to carry +him under shelter. And now I think you should lose no time in getting +advice for him." Caleb took up his hat from the floor as he ended, and +rose slowly from his seat. + +"Certainly," said Bulstrode, whose mind was very active at this moment. +"Perhaps you will yourself oblige me, Mr. Garth, by calling at Mr. +Lydgate's as you pass--or stay! he may at this hour probably be at the +Hospital. I will first send my man on the horse there with a note this +instant, and then I will myself ride to Stone Court." + +Bulstrode quickly wrote a note, and went out himself to give the +commission to his man. When he returned, Caleb was standing as before +with one hand on the back of the chair, holding his hat with the other. +In Bulstrode's mind the dominant thought was, "Perhaps Raffles only +spoke to Garth of his illness. Garth may wonder, as he must have done +before, at this disreputable fellow's claiming intimacy with me; but he +will know nothing. And he is friendly to me--I can be of use to him." + +He longed for some confirmation of this hopeful conjecture, but to have +asked any question as to what Raffles had said or done would have been +to betray fear. + +"I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Garth," he said, in his usual +tone of politeness. "My servant will be back in a few minutes, and I +shall then go myself to see what can be done for this unfortunate man. +Perhaps you had some other business with me? If so, pray be seated." + +"Thank you," said Caleb, making a slight gesture with his right hand to +waive the invitation. "I wish to say, Mr. Bulstrode, that I must +request you to put your business into some other hands than mine. I am +obliged to you for your handsome way of meeting me--about the letting +of Stone Court, and all other business. But I must give it up." A +sharp certainty entered like a stab into Bulstrode's soul. + +"This is sudden, Mr. Garth," was all he could say at first. + +"It is," said Caleb; "but it is quite fixed. I must give it up." + +He spoke with a firmness which was very gentle, and yet he could see +that Bulstrode seemed to cower under that gentleness, his face looking +dried and his eyes swerving away from the glance which rested on him. +Caleb felt a deep pity for him, but he could have used no pretexts to +account for his resolve, even if they would have been of any use. + +"You have been led to this, I apprehend, by some slanders concerning me +uttered by that unhappy creature," said Bulstrode, anxious now to know +the utmost. + +"That is true. I can't deny that I act upon what I heard from him." + +"You are a conscientious man, Mr. Garth--a man, I trust, who feels +himself accountable to God. You would not wish to injure me by being +too ready to believe a slander," said Bulstrode, casting about for +pleas that might be adapted to his hearer's mind. "That is a poor +reason for giving up a connection which I think I may say will be +mutually beneficial." + +"I would injure no man if I could help it," said Caleb; "even if I +thought God winked at it. I hope I should have a feeling for my +fellow-creature. But, sir--I am obliged to believe that this Raffles +has told me the truth. And I can't be happy in working with you, or +profiting by you. It hurts my mind. I must beg you to seek another +agent." + +"Very well, Mr. Garth. But I must at least claim to know the worst +that he has told you. I must know what is the foul speech that I am +liable to be the victim of," said Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger +beginning to mingle with his humiliation before this quiet man who +renounced his benefits. + +"That's needless," said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing his head +slightly, and not swerving from the tone which had in it the merciful +intention to spare this pitiable man. "What he has said to me will +never pass from my lips, unless something now unknown forces it from +me. If you led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their +rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say you +repent--you would like to go back, and can't: that must be a bitter +thing"--Caleb paused a moment and shook his head--"it is not for me to +make your life harder to you." + +"But you do--you do make it harder to me," said Bulstrode constrained +into a genuine, pleading cry. "You make it harder to me by turning +your back on me." + +"That I'm forced to do," said Caleb, still more gently, lifting up his +hand. "I am sorry. I don't judge you and say, he is wicked, and I am +righteous. God forbid. I don't know everything. A man may do wrong, +and his will may rise clear out of it, though he can't get his life +clear. That's a bad punishment. If it is so with you,--well, I'm +very sorry for you. But I have that feeling inside me, that I can't go +on working with you. That's all, Mr. Bulstrode. Everything else is +buried, so far as my will goes. And I wish you good-day." + +"One moment, Mr. Garth!" said Bulstrode, hurriedly. "I may trust then +to your solemn assurance that you will not repeat either to man or +woman what--even if it have any degree of truth in it--is yet a +malicious representation?" Caleb's wrath was stirred, and he said, +indignantly-- + +"Why should I have said it if I didn't mean it? I am in no fear of +you. Such tales as that will never tempt my tongue." + +"Excuse me--I am agitated--I am the victim of this abandoned man." + +"Stop a bit! you have got to consider whether you didn't help to make +him worse, when you profited by his vices." + +"You are wronging me by too readily believing him," said Bulstrode, +oppressed, as by a nightmare, with the inability to deny flatly what +Raffles might have said; and yet feeling it an escape that Caleb had +not so stated it to him as to ask for that flat denial. + +"No," said Caleb, lifting his hand deprecatingly; "I am ready to +believe better, when better is proved. I rob you of no good chance. +As to speaking, I hold it a crime to expose a man's sin unless I'm +clear it must be done to save the innocent. That is my way of +thinking, Mr. Bulstrode, and what I say, I've no need to swear. I wish +you good-day." + +Some hours later, when he was at home, Caleb said to his wife, +incidentally, that he had had some little differences with Bulstrode, +and that in consequence, he had given up all notion of taking Stone +Court, and indeed had resigned doing further business for him. + +"He was disposed to interfere too much, was he?" said Mrs. Garth, +imagining that her husband had been touched on his sensitive point, and +not been allowed to do what he thought right as to materials and modes +of work. + +"Oh," said Caleb, bowing his head and waving his hand gravely. And +Mrs. Garth knew that this was a sign of his not intending to speak +further on the subject. + +As for Bulstrode, he had almost immediately mounted his horse and set +off for Stone Court, being anxious to arrive there before Lydgate. + +His mind was crowded with images and conjectures, which were a language +to his hopes and fears, just as we hear tones from the vibrations which +shake our whole system. The deep humiliation with which he had winced +under Caleb Garth's knowledge of his past and rejection of his +patronage, alternated with and almost gave way to the sense of safety +in the fact that Garth, and no other, had been the man to whom Raffles +had spoken. It seemed to him a sort of earnest that Providence +intended his rescue from worse consequences; the way being thus left +open for the hope of secrecy. That Raffles should be afflicted with +illness, that he should have been led to Stone Court rather than +elsewhere--Bulstrode's heart fluttered at the vision of probabilities +which these events conjured up. If it should turn out that he was +freed from all danger of disgrace--if he could breathe in perfect +liberty--his life should be more consecrated than it had ever been +before. He mentally lifted up this vow as if it would urge the result +he longed for--he tried to believe in the potency of that prayerful +resolution--its potency to determine death. He knew that he ought to +say, "Thy will be done;" and he said it often. But the intense desire +remained that the will of God might be the death of that hated man. + +Yet when he arrived at Stone Court he could not see the change in +Raffles without a shock. But for his pallor and feebleness, Bulstrode +would have called the change in him entirely mental. Instead of his +loud tormenting mood, he showed an intense, vague terror, and seemed to +deprecate Bulstrode's anger, because the money was all gone--he had +been robbed--it had half of it been taken from him. He had only come +here because he was ill and somebody was hunting him--somebody was +after him, he had told nobody anything, he had kept his mouth shut. +Bulstrode, not knowing the significance of these symptoms, interpreted +this new nervous susceptibility into a means of alarming Raffles into +true confessions, and taxed him with falsehood in saying that he had +not told anything, since he had just told the man who took him up in +his gig and brought him to Stone Court. Raffles denied this with +solemn adjurations; the fact being that the links of consciousness were +interrupted in him, and that his minute terror-stricken narrative to +Caleb Garth had been delivered under a set of visionary impulses which +had dropped back into darkness. + +Bulstrode's heart sank again at this sign that he could get no grasp +over the wretched man's mind, and that no word of Raffles could be +trusted as to the fact which he most wanted to know, namely, whether or +not he had really kept silence to every one in the neighborhood except +Caleb Garth. The housekeeper had told him without the least constraint +of manner that since Mr. Garth left, Raffles had asked her for beer, +and after that had not spoken, seeming very ill. On that side it might +be concluded that there had been no betrayal. Mrs. Abel thought, like +the servants at The Shrubs, that the strange man belonged to the +unpleasant "kin" who are among the troubles of the rich; she had at +first referred the kinship to Mr. Rigg, and where there was property +left, the buzzing presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural +enough. How he could be "kin" to Bulstrode as well was not so clear, +but Mrs. Abel agreed with her husband that there was "no knowing," a +proposition which had a great deal of mental food for her, so that she +shook her head over it without further speculation. + +In less than an hour Lydgate arrived. Bulstrode met him outside the +wainscoted parlor, where Raffles was, and said-- + +"I have called you in, Mr. Lydgate, to an unfortunate man who was once +in my employment, many years ago. Afterwards he went to America, and +returned I fear to an idle dissolute life. Being destitute, he has a +claim on me. He was slightly connected with Rigg, the former owner of +this place, and in consequence found his way here. I believe he is +seriously ill: apparently his mind is affected. I feel bound to do the +utmost for him." + +Lydgate, who had the remembrance of his last conversation with +Bulstrode strongly upon him, was not disposed to say an unnecessary +word to him, and bowed slightly in answer to this account; but just +before entering the room he turned automatically and said, "What is his +name?"--to know names being as much a part of the medical man's +accomplishment as of the practical politician's. + +"Raffles, John Raffles," said Bulstrode, who hoped that whatever became +of Raffles, Lydgate would never know any more of him. + +When he had thoroughly examined and considered the patient, Lydgate +ordered that he should go to bed, and be kept there in as complete +quiet as possible, and then went with Bulstrode into another room. + +"It is a serious case, I apprehend," said the banker, before Lydgate +began to speak. + +"No--and yes," said Lydgate, half dubiously. "It is difficult to +decide as to the possible effect of long-standing complications; but +the man had a robust constitution to begin with. I should not expect +this attack to be fatal, though of course the system is in a ticklish +state. He should be well watched and attended to." + +"I will remain here myself," said Bulstrode. "Mrs. Abel and her +husband are inexperienced. I can easily remain here for the night, if +you will oblige me by taking a note for Mrs. Bulstrode." + +"I should think that is hardly necessary," said Lydgate. "He seems +tame and terrified enough. He might become more unmanageable. But +there is a man here--is there not?" + +"I have more than once stayed here a few nights for the sake of +seclusion," said Bulstrode, indifferently; "I am quite disposed to do +so now. Mrs. Abel and her husband can relieve or aid me, if necessary." + +"Very well. Then I need give my directions only to you," said Lydgate, +not feeling surprised at a little peculiarity in Bulstrode. + +"You think, then, that the case is hopeful?" said Bulstrode, when +Lydgate had ended giving his orders. + +"Unless there turn out to be further complications, such as I have not +at present detected--yes," said Lydgate. "He may pass on to a worse +stage; but I should not wonder if he got better in a few days, by +adhering to the treatment I have prescribed. There must be firmness. +Remember, if he calls for liquors of any sort, not to give them to him. +In my opinion, men in his condition are oftener killed by treatment +than by the disease. Still, new symptoms may arise. I shall come +again to-morrow morning." + +After waiting for the note to be carried to Mrs. Bulstrode, Lydgate +rode away, forming no conjectures, in the first instance, about the +history of Raffles, but rehearsing the whole argument, which had lately +been much stirred by the publication of Dr. Ware's abundant experience +in America, as to the right way of treating cases of alcoholic +poisoning such as this. Lydgate, when abroad, had already been +interested in this question: he was strongly convinced against the +prevalent practice of allowing alcohol and persistently administering +large doses of opium; and he had repeatedly acted on this conviction +with a favorable result. + +"The man is in a diseased state," he thought, "but there's a good deal +of wear in him still. I suppose he is an object of charity to +Bulstrode. It is curious what patches of hardness and tenderness lie +side by side in men's dispositions. Bulstrode seems the most +unsympathetic fellow I ever saw about some people, and yet he has taken +no end of trouble, and spent a great deal of money, on benevolent +objects. I suppose he has some test by which he finds out whom Heaven +cares for--he has made up his mind that it doesn't care for me." + +This streak of bitterness came from a plenteous source, and kept +widening in the current of his thought as he neared Lowick Gate. He +had not been there since his first interview with Bulstrode in the +morning, having been found at the Hospital by the banker's messenger; +and for the first time he was returning to his home without the vision +of any expedient in the background which left him a hope of raising +money enough to deliver him from the coming destitution of everything +which made his married life tolerable--everything which saved him and +Rosamond from that bare isolation in which they would be forced to +recognize how little of a comfort they could be to each other. It was +more bearable to do without tenderness for himself than to see that his +own tenderness could make no amends for the lack of other things to +her. The sufferings of his own pride from humiliations past and to +come were keen enough, yet they were hardly distinguishable to himself +from that more acute pain which dominated them--the pain of foreseeing +that Rosamond would come to regard him chiefly as the cause of +disappointment and unhappiness to her. He had never liked the +makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before entered into his +prospects for himself; but he was beginning now to imagine how two +creatures who loved each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common, +might laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations how far +they could afford butter and eggs. But the glimpse of that poetry +seemed as far off from him as the carelessness of the golden age; in +poor Rosamond's mind there was not room enough for luxuries to look +small in. He got down from his horse in a very sad mood, and went into +the house, not expecting to be cheered except by his dinner, and +reflecting that before the evening closed it would be wise to tell +Rosamond of his application to Bulstrode and its failure. It would be +well not to lose time in preparing her for the worst. + +But his dinner waited long for him before he was able to eat it. For +on entering he found that Dover's agent had already put a man in the +house, and when he asked where Mrs. Lydgate was, he was told that she +was in her bedroom. He went up and found her stretched on the bed pale +and silent, without an answer even in her face to any word or look of +his. He sat down by the bed and leaning over her said with almost a +cry of prayer-- + +"Forgive me for this misery, my poor Rosamond! Let us only love one +another." + +She looked at him silently, still with the blank despair on her face; +but then the tears began to fill her blue eyes, and her lip trembled. +The strong man had had too much to bear that day. He let his head fall +beside hers and sobbed. + +He did not hinder her from going to her father early in the morning--it +seemed now that he ought not to hinder her from doing as she +pleased. In half an hour she came back, and said that papa and mamma +wished her to go and stay with them while things were in this miserable +state. Papa said he could do nothing about the debt--if he paid this, +there would be half-a-dozen more. She had better come back home again +till Lydgate had got a comfortable home for her. "Do you object, +Tertius?" + +"Do as you like," said Lydgate. "But things are not coming to a crisis +immediately. There is no hurry." + +"I should not go till to-morrow," said Rosamond; "I shall want to pack +my clothes." + +"Oh, I would wait a little longer than to-morrow--there is no knowing +what may happen," said Lydgate, with bitter irony. "I may get my neck +broken, and that may make things easier to you." + +It was Lydgate's misfortune and Rosamond's too, that his tenderness +towards her, which was both an emotional prompting and a +well-considered resolve, was inevitably interrupted by these outbursts +of indignation either ironical or remonstrant. She thought them +totally unwarranted, and the repulsion which this exceptional severity +excited in her was in danger of making the more persistent tenderness +unacceptable. + +"I see you do not wish me to go," she said, with chill mildness; "why +can you not say so, without that kind of violence? I shall stay until +you request me to do otherwise." + +Lydgate said no more, but went out on his rounds. He felt bruised and +shattered, and there was a dark line under his eyes which Rosamond had +not seen before. She could not bear to look at him. Tertius had a way +of taking things which made them a great deal worse for her. + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + + Our deeds still travel with us from afar, + And what we have been makes us what we are." + + +Bulstrode's first object after Lydgate had left Stone Court was to +examine Raffles's pockets, which he imagined were sure to carry signs +in the shape of hotel-bills of the places he had stopped in, if he had +not told the truth in saying that he had come straight from Liverpool +because he was ill and had no money. There were various bills crammed +into his pocketbook, but none of a later date than Christmas at any +other place, except one, which bore date that morning. This was +crumpled up with a hand-bill about a horse-fair in one of his +tail-pockets, and represented the cost of three days' stay at an inn at +Bilkley, where the fair was held--a town at least forty miles from +Middlemarch. The bill was heavy, and since Raffles had no luggage with +him, it seemed probable that he had left his portmanteau behind in +payment, in order to save money for his travelling fare; for his purse +was empty, and he had only a couple of sixpences and some loose pence +in his pockets. + +Bulstrode gathered a sense of safety from these indications that +Raffles had really kept at a distance from Middlemarch since his +memorable visit at Christmas. At a distance and among people who were +strangers to Bulstrode, what satisfaction could there be to Raffles's +tormenting, self-magnifying vein in telling old scandalous stories +about a Middlemarch banker? And what harm if he did talk? The chief +point now was to keep watch over him as long as there was any danger of +that intelligible raving, that unaccountable impulse to tell, which +seemed to have acted towards Caleb Garth; and Bulstrode felt much +anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him at the sight of +Lydgate. He sat up alone with him through the night, only ordering the +housekeeper to lie down in her clothes, so as to be ready when he +called her, alleging his own indisposition to sleep, and his anxiety to +carry out the doctor's orders. He did carry them out faithfully, +although Raffles was incessantly asking for brandy, and declaring that +he was sinking away--that the earth was sinking away from under him. +He was restless and sleepless, but still quailing and manageable. On +the offer of the food ordered by Lydgate, which he refused, and the +denial of other things which he demanded, he seemed to concentrate all +his terror on Bulstrode, imploringly deprecating his anger, his revenge +on him by starvation, and declaring with strong oaths that he had never +told any mortal a word against him. Even this Bulstrode felt that he +would not have liked Lydgate to hear; but a more alarming sign of +fitful alternation in his delirium was, that in-the morning twilight +Raffles suddenly seemed to imagine a doctor present, addressing him and +declaring that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to death out of revenge +for telling, when he never had told. + +Bulstrode's native imperiousness and strength of determination served +him well. This delicate-looking man, himself nervously perturbed, +found the needed stimulus in his strenuous circumstances, and through +that difficult night and morning, while he had the air of an animated +corpse returned to movement without warmth, holding the mastery by its +chill impassibility his mind was intensely at work thinking of what he +had to guard against and what would win him security. Whatever prayers +he might lift up, whatever statements he might inwardly make of this +man's wretched spiritual condition, and the duty he himself was under +to submit to the punishment divinely appointed for him rather than to +wish for evil to another--through all this effort to condense words +into a solid mental state, there pierced and spread with irresistible +vividness the images of the events he desired. And in the train of +those images came their apology. He could not but see the death of +Raffles, and see in it his own deliverance. What was the removal of +this wretched creature? He was impenitent--but were not public +criminals impenitent?--yet the law decided on their fate. Should +Providence in this case award death, there was no sin in contemplating +death as the desirable issue--if he kept his hands from hastening +it--if he scrupulously did what was prescribed. Even here there might +be a mistake: human prescriptions were fallible things: Lydgate had +said that treatment had hastened death,--why not his own method of +treatment? But of course intention was everything in the question of +right and wrong. + +And Bulstrode set himself to keep his intention separate from his +desire. He inwardly declared that he intended to obey orders. Why +should he have got into any argument about the validity of these +orders? It was only the common trick of desire--which avails itself of +any irrelevant scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all +uncertainty about effects, in every obscurity that looks like the +absence of law. Still, he did obey the orders. + +His anxieties continually glanced towards Lydgate, and his remembrance +of what had taken place between them the morning before was accompanied +with sensibilities which had not been roused at all during the actual +scene. He had then cared but little about Lydgate's painful +impressions with regard to the suggested change in the Hospital, or +about the disposition towards himself which what he held to be his +justifiable refusal of a rather exorbitant request might call forth. +He recurred to the scene now with a perception that he had probably +made Lydgate his enemy, and with an awakened desire to propitiate him, +or rather to create in him a strong sense of personal obligation. He +regretted that he had not at once made even an unreasonable +money-sacrifice. For in case of unpleasant suspicions, or even +knowledge gathered from the raving of Raffles, Bulstrode would have +felt that he had a defence in Lydgate's mind by having conferred a +momentous benefit on him. But the regret had perhaps come too late. + +Strange, piteous conflict in the soul of this unhappy man, who had +longed for years to be better than he was--who had taken his selfish +passions into discipline and clad them in severe robes, so that he had +walked with them as a devout choir, till now that a terror had risen +among them, and they could chant no longer, but threw out their common +cries for safety. + +It was nearly the middle of the day before Lydgate arrived: he had +meant to come earlier, but had been detained, he said; and his +shattered looks were noticed by Balstrode. But he immediately threw +himself into the consideration of the patient, and inquired strictly +into all that had occurred. Raffles was worse, would take hardly any +food, was persistently wakeful and restlessly raving; but still not +violent. Contrary to Bulstrode's alarmed expectation, he took little +notice of Lydgate's presence, and continued to talk or murmur +incoherently. + +"What do you think of him?" said Bulstrode, in private. + +"The symptoms are worse." + +"You are less hopeful?" + +"No; I still think he may come round. Are you going to stay here +yourself?" said Lydgate, looking at Bulstrode with an abrupt question, +which made him uneasy, though in reality it was not due to any +suspicious conjecture. + +"Yes, I think so," said Bulstrode, governing himself and speaking with +deliberation. "Mrs. Bulstrode is advised of the reasons which detain +me. Mrs. Abel and her husband are not experienced enough to be left +quite alone, and this kind of responsibility is scarcely included in +their service of me. You have some fresh instructions, I presume." + +The chief new instruction that Lydgate had to give was on the +administration of extremely moderate doses of opium, in case of the +sleeplessness continuing after several hours. He had taken the +precaution of bringing opium in his pocket, and he gave minute +directions to Bulstrode as to the doses, and the point at which they +should cease. He insisted on the risk of not ceasing; and repeated his +order that no alcohol should be given. + +"From what I see of the case," he ended, "narcotism is the only thing I +should be much afraid of. He may wear through even without much food. +There's a good deal of strength in him." + +"You look ill yourself, Mr. Lydgate--a most unusual, I may say +unprecedented thing in my knowledge of you," said Bulstrode, showing a +solicitude as unlike his indifference the day before, as his present +recklessness about his own fatigue was unlike his habitual +self-cherishing anxiety. "I fear you are harassed." + +"Yes, I am," said Lydgate, brusquely, holding his hat, and ready to go. + +"Something new, I fear," said Bulstrode, inquiringly. "Pray be seated." + +"No, thank you," said Lydgate, with some hauteur. "I mentioned to you +yesterday what was the state of my affairs. There is nothing to add, +except that the execution has since then been actually put into my +house. One can tell a good deal of trouble in a short sentence. I +will say good morning." + +"Stay, Mr. Lydgate, stay," said Bulstrode; "I have been reconsidering +this subject. I was yesterday taken by surprise, and saw it +superficially. Mrs. Bulstrode is anxious for her niece, and I myself +should grieve at a calamitous change in your position. Claims on me +are numerous, but on reconsideration, I esteem it right that I should +incur a small sacrifice rather than leave you unaided. You said, I +think, that a thousand pounds would suffice entirely to free you from +your burthens, and enable you to recover a firm stand?" + +"Yes," said Lydgate, a great leap of joy within him surmounting every +other feeling; "that would pay all my debts, and leave me a little on +hand. I could set about economizing in our way of living. And +by-and-by my practice might look up." + +"If you will wait a moment, Mr. Lydgate, I will draw a check to that +amount. I am aware that help, to be effectual in these cases, should +be thorough." + +While Bulstrode wrote, Lydgate turned to the window thinking of his +home--thinking of his life with its good start saved from frustration, +its good purposes still unbroken. + +"You can give me a note of hand for this, Mr. Lydgate," said the +banker, advancing towards him with the check. "And by-and-by, I hope, +you may be in circumstances gradually to repay me. Meanwhile, I have +pleasure in thinking that you will be released from further difficulty." + +"I am deeply obliged to you," said Lydgate. "You have restored to me +the prospect of working with some happiness and some chance of good." + +It appeared to him a very natural movement in Bulstrode that he should +have reconsidered his refusal: it corresponded with the more munificent +side of his character. But as he put his hack into a canter, that he +might get the sooner home, and tell the good news to Rosamond, and get +cash at the bank to pay over to Dover's agent, there crossed his mind, +with an unpleasant impression, as from a dark-winged flight of evil +augury across his vision, the thought of that contrast in himself which +a few months had brought--that he should be overjoyed at being under a +strong personal obligation--that he should be overjoyed at getting +money for himself from Bulstrode. + +The banker felt that he had done something to nullify one cause of +uneasiness, and yet he was scarcely the easier. He did not measure the +quantity of diseased motive which had made him wish for Lydgate's +good-will, but the quantity was none the less actively there, like an +irritating agent in his blood. A man vows, and yet will not cast away +the means of breaking his vow. Is it that he distinctly means to break +it? Not at all; but the desires which tend to break it are at work in +him dimly, and make their way into his imagination, and relax his +muscles in the very moments when he is telling himself over again the +reasons for his vow. Raffles, recovering quickly, returning to the +free use of his odious powers--how could Bulstrode wish for that? +Raffles dead was the image that brought release, and indirectly he +prayed for that way of release, beseeching that, if it were possible, +the rest of his days here below might be freed from the threat of an +ignominy which would break him utterly as an instrument of God's +service. Lydgate's opinion was not on the side of promise that this +prayer would be fulfilled; and as the day advanced, Bulstrode felt +himself getting irritated at the persistent life in this man, whom he +would fain have seen sinking into the silence of death: imperious will +stirred murderous impulses towards this brute life, over which will, by +itself, had no power. He said inwardly that he was getting too much +worn; he would not sit up with the patient to-night, but leave him to +Mrs. Abel, who, if necessary, could call her husband. + +At six o'clock, Raffles, having had only fitful perturbed snatches of +sleep, from which he waked with fresh restlessness and perpetual cries +that he was sinking away, Bulstrode began to administer the opium +according to Lydgate's directions. At the end of half an hour or more +he called Mrs. Abel and told her that he found himself unfit for +further watching. He must now consign the patient to her care; and he +proceeded to repeat to her Lydgate's directions as to the quantity of +each dose. Mrs. Abel had not before known anything of Lydgate's +prescriptions; she had simply prepared and brought whatever Bulstrode +ordered, and had done what he pointed out to her. She began now to ask +what else she should do besides administering the opium. + +"Nothing at present, except the offer of the soup or the soda-water: +you can come to me for further directions. Unless there is any +important change, I shall not come into the room again to-night. You +will ask your husband for help if necessary. I must go to bed early." + +"You've much need, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Abel, "and to take +something more strengthening than what you've done." + +Bulstrode went away now without anxiety as to what Raffles might say in +his raving, which had taken on a muttering incoherence not likely to +create any dangerous belief. At any rate he must risk this. He went +down into the wainscoted parlor first, and began to consider whether he +would not have his horse saddled and go home by the moonlight, and give +up caring for earthly consequences. Then, he wished that he had begged +Lydgate to come again that evening. Perhaps he might deliver a +different opinion, and think that Raffles was getting into a less +hopeful state. Should he send for Lydgate? If Raffles were really +getting worse, and slowly dying, Bulstrode felt that he could go to bed +and sleep in gratitude to Providence. But was he worse? Lydgate might +come and simply say that he was going on as he expected, and predict +that he would by-and-by fall into a good sleep, and get well. What was +the use of sending for him? Bulstrode shrank from that result. No +ideas or opinions could hinder him from seeing the one probability to +be, that Raffles recovered would be just the same man as before, with +his strength as a tormentor renewed, obliging him to drag away his wife +to spend her years apart from her friends and native place, carrying an +alienating suspicion against him in her heart. + +He had sat an hour and a half in this conflict by the firelight only, +when a sudden thought made him rise and light the bed-candle, which he +had brought down with him. The thought was, that he had not told Mrs. +Abel when the doses of opium must cease. + +He took hold of the candlestick, but stood motionless for a long while. +She might already have given him more than Lydgate had prescribed. But +it was excusable in him, that he should forget part of an order, in his +present wearied condition. He walked up-stairs, candle in hand, not +knowing whether he should straightway enter his own room and go to bed, +or turn to the patient's room and rectify his omission. He paused in +the passage, with his face turned towards Raffles's room, and he could +hear him moaning and murmuring. He was not asleep, then. Who could +know that Lydgate's prescription would not be better disobeyed than +followed, since there was still no sleep? + +He turned into his own room. Before he had quite undressed, Mrs. Abel +rapped at the door; he opened it an inch, so that he could hear her +speak low. + +"If you please, sir, should I have no brandy nor nothing to give the +poor creetur? He feels sinking away, and nothing else will he +swaller--and but little strength in it, if he did--only the opium. And +he says more and more he's sinking down through the earth." + +To her surprise, Mr. Bulstrode did not answer. A struggle was going on +within him. + +"I think he must die for want o' support, if he goes on in that way. +When I nursed my poor master, Mr. Robisson, I had to give him port-wine +and brandy constant, and a big glass at a time," added Mrs. Abel, with +a touch of remonstrance in her tone. + +But again Mr. Bulstrode did not answer immediately, and she continued, +"It's not a time to spare when people are at death's door, nor would +you wish it, sir, I'm sure. Else I should give him our own bottle o' +rum as we keep by us. But a sitter-up so as you've been, and doing +everything as laid in your power--" + +Here a key was thrust through the inch of doorway, and Mr. Bulstrode +said huskily, "That is the key of the wine-cooler. You will find plenty +of brandy there." + +Early in the morning--about six--Mr. Bulstrode rose and spent some time +in prayer. Does any one suppose that private prayer is necessarily +candid--necessarily goes to the roots of action? Private prayer is +inaudible speech, and speech is representative: who can represent +himself just as he is, even in his own reflections? Bulstrode had not +yet unravelled in his thought the confused promptings of the last +four-and-twenty hours. + +He listened in the passage, and could hear hard stertorous breathing. +Then he walked out in the garden, and looked at the early rime on the +grass and fresh spring leaves. When he re-entered the house, he felt +startled at the sight of Mrs. Abel. + +"How is your patient--asleep, I think?" he said, with an attempt at +cheerfulness in his tone. + +"He's gone very deep, sir," said Mrs. Abel. "He went off gradual +between three and four o'clock. Would you please to go and look at +him? I thought it no harm to leave him. My man's gone afield, and the +little girl's seeing to the kettles." + +Bulstrode went up. At a glance he knew that Raffles was not in the +sleep which brings revival, but in the sleep which streams deeper and +deeper into the gulf of death. + +He looked round the room and saw a bottle with some brandy in it, and +the almost empty opium phial. He put the phial out of sight, and +carried the brandy-bottle down-stairs with him, locking it again in the +wine-cooler. + +While breakfasting he considered whether he should ride to Middlemarch +at once, or wait for Lydgate's arrival. He decided to wait, and told +Mrs. Abel that she might go about her work--he could watch in the +bed-chamber. + +As he sat there and beheld the enemy of his peace going irrevocably +into silence, he felt more at rest than he had done for many months. +His conscience was soothed by the enfolding wing of secrecy, which +seemed just then like an angel sent down for his relief. He drew out +his pocket-book to review various memoranda there as to the +arrangements he had projected and partly carried out in the prospect of +quitting Middlemarch, and considered how far he would let them stand or +recall them, now that his absence would be brief. Some economies which +he felt desirable might still find a suitable occasion in his temporary +withdrawal from management, and he hoped still that Mrs. Casaubon would +take a large share in the expenses of the Hospital. In that way the +moments passed, until a change in the stertorous breathing was marked +enough to draw his attention wholly to the bed, and forced him to think +of the departing life, which had once been subservient to his +own--which he had once been glad to find base enough for him to act on +as he would. It was his gladness then which impelled him now to be +glad that the life was at an end. + +And who could say that the death of Raffles had been hastened? Who +knew what would have saved him? + +Lydgate arrived at half-past ten, in time to witness the final pause of +the breath. When he entered the room Bulstrode observed a sudden +expression in his face, which was not so much surprise as a recognition +that he had not judged correctly. He stood by the bed in silence for +some time, with his eyes turned on the dying man, but with that subdued +activity of expression which showed that he was carrying on an inward +debate. + +"When did this change begin?" said he, looking at Bulstrode. + +"I did not watch by him last night," said Bulstrode. "I was over-worn, +and left him under Mrs. Abel's care. She said that he sank into sleep +between three and four o'clock. When I came in before eight he was +nearly in this condition." + +Lydgate did not ask another question, but watched in silence until he +said, "It's all over." + +This morning Lydgate was in a state of recovered hope and freedom. He +had set out on his work with all his old animation, and felt himself +strong enough to bear all the deficiencies of his married life. And he +was conscious that Bulstrode had been a benefactor to him. But he was +uneasy about this case. He had not expected it to terminate as it had +done. Yet he hardly knew how to put a question on the subject to +Bulstrode without appearing to insult him; and if he examined the +housekeeper--why, the man was dead. There seemed to be no use in +implying that somebody's ignorance or imprudence had killed him. And +after all, he himself might be wrong. + +He and Bulstrode rode back to Middlemarch together, talking of many +things--chiefly cholera and the chances of the Reform Bill in the House +of Lords, and the firm resolve of the political Unions. Nothing was +said about Raffles, except that Bulstrode mentioned the necessity of +having a grave for him in Lowick churchyard, and observed that, so far +as he knew, the poor man had no connections, except Rigg, whom he had +stated to be unfriendly towards him. + +On returning home Lydgate had a visit from Mr. Farebrother. The Vicar +had not been in the town the day before, but the news that there was an +execution in Lydgate's house had got to Lowick by the evening, having +been carried by Mr. Spicer, shoemaker and parish-clerk, who had it from +his brother, the respectable bell-hanger in Lowick Gate. Since that +evening when Lydgate had come down from the billiard room with Fred +Vincy, Mr. Farebrother's thoughts about him had been rather gloomy. +Playing at the Green Dragon once or oftener might have been a trifle in +another man; but in Lydgate it was one of several signs that he was +getting unlike his former self. He was beginning to do things for +which he had formerly even an excessive scorn. Whatever certain +dissatisfactions in marriage, which some silly tinklings of gossip had +given him hints of, might have to do with this change, Mr. Farebrother +felt sure that it was chiefly connected with the debts which were being +more and more distinctly reported, and he began to fear that any notion +of Lydgate's having resources or friends in the background must be +quite illusory. The rebuff he had met with in his first attempt to win +Lydgate's confidence, disinclined him to a second; but this news of the +execution being actually in the house, determined the Vicar to overcome +his reluctance. + +Lydgate had just dismissed a poor patient, in whom he was much +interested, and he came forward to put out his hand--with an open +cheerfulness which surprised Mr. Farebrother. Could this too be a +proud rejection of sympathy and help? Never mind; the sympathy and +help should be offered. + +"How are you, Lydgate? I came to see you because I had heard something +which made me anxious about you," said the Vicar, in the tone of a good +brother, only that there was no reproach in it. They were both seated +by this time, and Lydgate answered immediately-- + +"I think I know what you mean. You had heard that there was an +execution in the house?" + +"Yes; is it true?" + +"It was true," said Lydgate, with an air of freedom, as if he did not +mind talking about the affair now. "But the danger is over; the debt +is paid. I am out of my difficulties now: I shall be freed from debts, +and able, I hope, to start afresh on a better plan." + +"I am very thankful to hear it," said the Vicar, falling back in his +chair, and speaking with that low-toned quickness which often follows +the removal of a load. "I like that better than all the news in the +'Times.' I confess I came to you with a heavy heart." + +"Thank you for coming," said Lydgate, cordially. "I can enjoy the +kindness all the more because I am happier. I have certainly been a +good deal crushed. I'm afraid I shall find the bruises still painful +by-and by," he added, smiling rather sadly; "but just now I can only +feel that the torture-screw is off." + +Mr. Farebrother was silent for a moment, and then said earnestly, "My +dear fellow, let me ask you one question. Forgive me if I take a +liberty." + +"I don't believe you will ask anything that ought to offend me." + +"Then--this is necessary to set my heart quite at rest--you have +not--have you?--in order to pay your debts, incurred another debt which +may harass you worse hereafter?" + +"No," said Lydgate, coloring slightly. "There is no reason why I +should not tell you--since the fact is so--that the person to whom I am +indebted is Bulstrode. He has made me a very handsome advance--a +thousand pounds--and he can afford to wait for repayment." + +"Well, that is generous," said Mr. Farebrother, compelling himself to +approve of the man whom he disliked. His delicate feeling shrank from +dwelling even in his thought on the fact that he had always urged +Lydgate to avoid any personal entanglement with Bulstrode. He added +immediately, "And Bulstrode must naturally feel an interest in your +welfare, after you have worked with him in a way which has probably +reduced your income instead of adding to it. I am glad to think that +he has acted accordingly." + +Lydgate felt uncomfortable under these kindly suppositions. They made +more distinct within him the uneasy consciousness which had shown its +first dim stirrings only a few hours before, that Bulstrode's motives +for his sudden beneficence following close upon the chillest +indifference might be merely selfish. He let the kindly suppositions +pass. He could not tell the history of the loan, but it was more +vividly present with him than ever, as well as the fact which the Vicar +delicately ignored--that this relation of personal indebtedness to +Bulstrode was what he had once been most resolved to avoid. + +He began, instead of answering, to speak of his projected economies, +and of his having come to look at his life from a different point of +view. + +"I shall set up a surgery," he said. "I really think I made a mistaken +effort in that respect. And if Rosamond will not mind, I shall take an +apprentice. I don't like these things, but if one carries them out +faithfully they are not really lowering. I have had a severe galling +to begin with: that will make the small rubs seem easy." + +Poor Lydgate! the "if Rosamond will not mind," which had fallen from +him involuntarily as part of his thought, was a significant mark of the +yoke he bore. But Mr. Farebrother, whose hopes entered strongly into +the same current with Lydgate's, and who knew nothing about him that +could now raise a melancholy presentiment, left him with affectionate +congratulation. + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + + Clown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, + you have a delight to sit, have you not? + Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter. + Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths. + --Measure for Measure. + + +Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was standing at his +leisure under the large archway leading into the yard of the Green +Dragon. He was not fond of solitary contemplation, but he had only +just come out of the house, and any human figure standing at ease under +the archway in the early afternoon was as certain to attract +companionship as a pigeon which has found something worth pecking at. +In this case there was no material object to feed upon, but the eye of +reason saw a probability of mental sustenance in the shape of gossip. +Mr. Hopkins, the meek-mannered draper opposite, was the first to act on +this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little masculine talk +because his customers were chiefly women. Mr. Bambridge was rather +curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to +_him_, but that he was not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins. +Soon, however, there was a small cluster of more important listeners, +who were either deposited from the passers-by, or had sauntered to the +spot expressly to see if there were anything going on at the Green +Dragon; and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many +impressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing and the +purchases he had made on a journey in the north from which he had just +returned. Gentlemen present were assured that when they could show him +anything to cut out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be +seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge +would gratify them by being shot "from here to Hereford." Also, a pair +of blacks which he was going to put into the break recalled vividly to +his mind a pair which he had sold to Faulkner in '19, for a hundred +guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred and sixty two months +later--any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the +privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the +exercise made his throat dry. + +When the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank +Hawley. He was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the +Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing +Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to +ask the horsedealer whether he had found the first-rate gig-horse which +he had engaged to look for. Mr. Hawley was requested to wait until he +had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to +a hair, Bambridge did not know a horse when he saw it, which seemed to +be the highest conceivable unlikelihood. Mr. Hawley, standing with his +back to the street, was fixing a time for looking at the gray and +seeing it tried, when a horseman passed slowly by. + +"Bulstrode!" said two or three voices at once in a low tone, one of +them, which was the draper's, respectfully prefixing the "Mr.;" but +nobody having more intention in this interjectural naming than if they +had said "the Riverston coach" when that vehicle appeared in the +distance. Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at Bulstrode's back, +but as Bambridge's eyes followed it he made a sarcastic grimace. + +"By jingo! that reminds me," he began, lowering his voice a little, "I +picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley. +I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode. Do you know how he came by +his fortune? Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious information, I can +give it him free of expense. If everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode +might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay." + +"What do you mean?" said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his hands into his +pockets, and pushing a little forward under the archway. If Bulstrode +should turn out to be a rascal, Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul. + +"I had it from a party who was an old chum of Bulstrode's. I'll tell +you where I first picked him up," said Bambridge, with a sudden gesture +of his fore-finger. "He was at Larcher's sale, but I knew nothing of +him then--he slipped through my fingers--was after Bulstrode, no +doubt. He tells me he can tap Bulstrode to any amount, knows all his +secrets. However, he blabbed to me at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass. +Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort +of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, +till he'd brag of a spavin as if it 'ud fetch money. A man should know +when to pull up." Mr. Bambridge made this remark with an air of +disgust, satisfied that his own bragging showed a fine sense of the +marketable. + +"What's the man's name? Where can he be found?" said Mr. Hawley. + +"As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; +but his name is Raffles." + +"Raffles!" exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. "I furnished his funeral yesterday. +He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode followed him. A very decent +funeral." There was a strong sensation among the listeners. Mr. +Bambridge gave an ejaculation in which "brimstone" was the mildest +word, and Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head forward, +exclaimed, "What?--where did the man die?" + +"At Stone Court," said the draper. "The housekeeper said he was a +relation of the master's. He came there ill on Friday." + +"Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him," interposed +Bambridge. + +"Did any doctor attend him?" said Mr. Hawley + +"Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. He died +the third morning." + +"Go on, Bambridge," said Mr. Hawley, insistently. "What did this +fellow say about Bulstrode?" + +The group had already become larger, the town-clerk's presence being a +guarantee that something worth listening to was going on there; and Mr. +Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven. It was +mainly what we know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some +local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrode had dreaded +the betrayal of--and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of +Raffles--it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he +rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he was trusting that +Providence had delivered him from. Yes, Providence. He had not +confessed to himself yet that he had done anything in the way of +contrivance to this end; he had accepted what seemed to have been +offered. It was impossible to prove that he had done anything which +hastened the departure of that man's soul. + +But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the +smell of fire. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending +a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring +about hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about Raffles +and his illness from Mrs. Abel. In this way it came to his knowledge +that Mr. Garth had carried the man to Stone Court in his gig; and Mr. +Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at +his office to ask whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it +were required, and then asking him incidentally about Raffles. Caleb +was betrayed into no word injurious to Bulstrode beyond the fact which +he was forced to admit, that he had given up acting for him within the +last week. Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced that +Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that Garth had given up +Bulstrode's affairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr. +Toller. The statement was passed on until it had quite lost the stamp +of an inference, and was taken as information coming straight from +Garth, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to +be the chief publisher of Bulstrode's misdemeanors. + +Mr. Hawley was not slow to perceive that there was no handle for the +law either in the revelations made by Raffles or in the circumstances +of his death. He had himself ridden to Lowick village that he might +look at the register and talk over the whole matter with Mr. +Farebrother, who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly +secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he had always +had justice enough in him to hinder his antipathy from turning into +conclusions. But while they were talking another combination was +silently going forward in Mr. Farebrother's mind, which foreshadowed +what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary +"putting of two and two together." With the reasons which kept +Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread +might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical +man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it had been consciously +accepted in any way as a bribe, he had a foreboding that this +complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's +reputation. He perceived that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of +the sudden relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away +from all approaches towards the subject. + +"Well," he said, with a deep breath, wanting to wind up the illimitable +discussion of what might have been, though nothing could be legally +proven, "it is a strange story. So our mercurial Ladislaw has a queer +genealogy! A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot +made a likely enough stock for him to spring from, but I should never +have suspected a grafting of the Jew pawnbroker. However, there's no +knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. Some sorts of dirt +serve to clarify." + +"It's just what I should have expected," said Mr. Hawley, mounting his +horse. "Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy." + +"I know he's one of your black sheep, Hawley. But he is really a +disinterested, unworldly fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling. + +"Ay, ay, that is your Whiggish twist," said Mr. Hawley, who had been in +the habit of saying apologetically that Farebrother was such a damned +pleasant good-hearted fellow you would mistake him for a Tory. + +Mr. Hawley rode home without thinking of Lydgate's attendance on +Raffles in any other light than as a piece of evidence on the side of +Bulstrode. But the news that Lydgate had all at once become able not +only to get rid of the execution in his house but to pay all his debts +in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and +comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears +of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to see a +significant relation between this sudden command of money and +Bulstrode's desire to stifle the scandal of Raffles. That the money +came from Bulstrode would infallibly have been guessed even if there +had been no direct evidence of it; for it had beforehand entered into +the gossip about Lydgate's affairs, that neither his father-in-law nor +his own family would do anything for him, and direct evidence was +furnished not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by innocent Mrs. +Bulstrode herself, who mentioned the loan to Mrs. Plymdale, who +mentioned it to her daughter-in-law of the house of Toller, who +mentioned it generally. The business was felt to be so public and +important that it required dinners to feed it, and many invitations +were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal +concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took +their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public +conviviality, from the Green Dragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which +could not be won from the question whether the Lords would throw out +the Reform Bill. + +For hardly anybody doubted that some scandalous reason or other was at +the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Mr. Hawley indeed, in +the first instance, invited a select party, including the two +physicians, with Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close +discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to +them all the particulars which had been gathered from Mrs. Abel in +connection with Lydgate's certificate, that the death was due to +delirium tremens; and the medical gentlemen, who all stood +undisturbedly on the old paths in relation to this disease, declared +that they could see nothing in these particulars which could be +transformed into a positive ground of suspicion. But the moral grounds +of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly had for +wishing to be rid of Raffles, and the fact that at this critical moment +he had given Lydgate the help which he must for some time have known +the need for; the disposition, moreover, to believe that Bulstrode +would be unscrupulous, and the absence of any indisposition to believe +that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other haughty-minded men when +they have found themselves in want of money. Even if the money had +been given merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of +Bulstrode's earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate, +who had long been sneered at as making himself subservient to the +banker for the sake of working himself into predominance, and +discrediting the elder members of his profession. Hence, in spite of +the negative as to any direct sign of guilt in relation to the death at +Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the sense that the +affair had "an ugly look." + +But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enough to +keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial +professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power +of mystery over fact. Everybody liked better to conjecture how the +thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon became more +confident than knowledge, and had a more liberal allowance for the +incompatible. Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's +earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as +so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such +fantastic shapes as heaven pleased. + +This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. Dollop, the +spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had often to +resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that their +reports from the outer world were of equal force with what had "come +up" in her mind. How it had been brought to her she didn't know, but +it was there before her as if it had been "scored with the chalk on the +chimney-board--" as Bulstrode should say, "his inside was _that black_ +as if the hairs of his head knowed the thoughts of his heart, he'd tear +'em up by the roots." + +"That's odd," said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker, with weak eyes and +a piping voice. "Why, I read in the 'Trumpet' that was what the Duke +of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans." + +"Very like," said Mrs. Dollop. "If one raskill said it, it's more +reason why another should. But hypo_crite_ as he's been, and holding +things with that high hand, as there was no parson i' the country good +enough for him, he was forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and +Old Harry's been too many for him." + +"Ay, ay, he's a 'complice you can't send out o' the country," said Mr. +Crabbe, the glazier, who gathered much news and groped among it dimly. +"But by what I can make out, there's them says Bulstrode was for +running away, for fear o' being found out, before now." + +"He'll be drove away, whether or no," said Mr. Dill, the barber, who +had just dropped in. "I shaved Fletcher, Hawley's clerk, this +morning--he's got a bad finger--and he says they're all of one mind to +get rid of Bulstrode. Mr. Thesiger is turned against him, and wants +him out o' the parish. And there's gentlemen in this town says they'd +as soon dine with a fellow from the hulks. 'And a deal sooner I +would,' says Fletcher; 'for what's more against one's stomach than a +man coming and making himself bad company with his religion, and giving +out as the Ten Commandments are not enough for him, and all the while +he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?' Fletcher said so +himself." + +"It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes +out of it," said Mr. Limp, quaveringly. + +"Ah, there's better folks spend their money worse," said a firm-voiced +dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of keeping with his good-natured +face. + +"But he won't keep his money, by what I can make out," said the +glazier. "Don't they say as there's somebody can strip it off him? By +what I can understan', they could take every penny off him, if they +went to lawing." + +"No such thing!" said the barber, who felt himself a little above his +company at Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. "Fletcher says it's +no such thing. He says they might prove over and over again whose +child this young Ladislaw was, and they'd do no more than if they +proved I came out of the Fens--he couldn't touch a penny." + +"Look you there now!" said Mrs. Dollop, indignantly. "I thank the Lord +he took my children to Himself, if that's all the law can do for the +motherless. Then by that, it's o' no use who your father and mother +is. But as to listening to what one lawyer says without asking +another--I wonder at a man o' your cleverness, Mr. Dill. It's well +known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I +should like to know? It's a poor tale, with all the law as there is up +and down, if it's no use proving whose child you are. Fletcher may say +that if he likes, but I say, don't Fletcher _me_!" + +Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. Dollop, as a +woman who was more than a match for the lawyers; being disposed to +submit to much twitting from a landlady who had a long score against +him. + +"If they come to lawing, and it's all true as folks say, there's more +to be looked to nor money," said the glazier. "There's this poor +creetur as is dead and gone; by what I can make out, he'd seen the day +when he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode." + +"Finer gentleman! I'll warrant him," said Mrs. Dollop; "and a far +personabler man, by what I can hear. As I said when Mr. Baldwin, the +tax-gatherer, comes in, a-standing where you sit, and says, 'Bulstrode +got all his money as he brought into this town by thieving and +swindling,'--I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set +my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he came into +Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head: folks don't +look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if they wanted to +see into your backbone for nothingk.' That was what I said, and Mr. +Baldwin can bear me witness." + +"And in the rights of it too," said Mr. Crabbe. "For by what I can +make out, this Raffles, as they call him, was a lusty, fresh-colored +man as you'd wish to see, and the best o' company--though dead he lies +in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can understan', there's +them knows more than they _should_ know about how he got there." + +"I'll believe you!" said Mrs. Dallop, with a touch of scorn at Mr. +Crabbe's apparent dimness. "When a man's been 'ticed to a lone house, +and there's them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the +country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come +near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he +can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he can pay off +Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best o' +joints since last Michaelmas was a twelvemonth--I don't want anybody to +come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's +got a service for--I don't want to stand winking and blinking and +thinking." + +Mrs. Dollop looked round with the air of a landlady accustomed to +dominate her company. There was a chorus of adhesion from the more +courageous; but Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands +together and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down at them +with blear-eyed contemplation, as if the scorching power of Mrs. +Dollop's speech had quite dried up and nullified his wits until they +could be brought round again by further moisture. + +"Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner?" said the +dyer. "It's been done many and many's the time. If there's been foul +play they might find it out." + +"Not they, Mr. Jonas!" said Mrs Dollop, emphatically. "I know what +doctors are. They're a deal too cunning to be found out. And this +Doctor Lydgate that's been for cutting up everybody before the breath +was well out o' their body--it's plain enough what use he wanted to +make o' looking into respectable people's insides. He knows drugs, you +may be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they're +swallowed nor after. Why, I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor +Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought +more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch--I +say I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in +the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day. So I'll leave +your own sense to judge. Don't tell me! All I say is, it's a mercy +they didn't take this Doctor Lydgate on to our club. There's many a +mother's child might ha' rued it." + +The heads of this discussion at "Dollop's" had been the common theme +among all classes in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on +one side and to Tipton Grange on the other, had come fully to the ears +of the Vincy family, and had been discussed with sad reference to "poor +Harriet" by all Mrs. Bulstrode's friends, before Lydgate knew +distinctly why people were looking strangely at him, and before +Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of his secrets. He had not +been accustomed to very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence +he could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had been taking +journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that +he need not quit Middlemarch, and feeling able consequently to +determine on matters which he had before left in suspense. + +"We will make a journey to Cheltenham in the course of a month or two," +he had said to his wife. "There are great spiritual advantages to be +had in that town along with the air and the waters, and six weeks there +will be eminently refreshing to us." + +He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and meant that his life +henceforth should be the more devoted because of those later sins which +he represented to himself as hypothetic, praying hypothetically for +their pardon:--"if I have herein transgressed." + +As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, +fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the +death of Raffles. In his secret soul he believed that Lydgate +suspected his orders to have been intentionally disobeyed, and +suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. But nothing had been +betrayed to him as to the history of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious +not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined +suspicions. As to any certainty that a particular method of treatment +would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly arguing +against such dogmatism; he had no right to speak, and he had every +motive for being silent. Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially +secured. The only incident he had strongly winced under had been an +occasional encounter with Caleb Garth, who, however, had raised his hat +with mild gravity. + +Meanwhile, on the part of the principal townsmen a strong determination +was growing against him. + +A meeting was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which +had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case +in the town. Since the Act of Parliament, which had been hurriedly +passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been a +Board for the superintendence of such measures appointed in +Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in +by Whigs and Tories. The question now was, whether a piece of ground +outside the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means of +assessment or by private subscription. The meeting was to be open, and +almost everybody of importance in the town was expected to be there. + +Mr. Bulstrode was a member of the Board, and just before twelve o'clock +he started from the Bank with the intention of urging the plan of +private subscription. Under the hesitation of his projects, he had for +some time kept himself in the background, and he felt that he should +this morning resume his old position as a man of action and influence +in the public affairs of the town where he expected to end his days. +Among the various persons going in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; +they joined, talked over the object of the meeting, and entered it +together. + +It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than they. But there +were still spaces left near the head of the large central table, and +they made their way thither. Mr. Farebrother sat opposite, not far +from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in +the chair, and Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand. + +Lydgate noticed a peculiar interchange of glances when he and Bulstrode +took their seats. + +After the business had been fully opened by the chairman, who pointed +out the advantages of purchasing by subscription a piece of ground +large enough to be ultimately used as a general cemetery, Mr. +Bulstrode, whose rather high-pitched but subdued and fluent voice the +town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and asked leave to +deliver his opinion. Lydgate could see again the peculiar interchange +of glances before Mr. Hawley started up, and said in his firm resonant +voice, "Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his +opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a question of +public feeling, which not only by myself, but by many gentlemen +present, is regarded as preliminary." + +Mr. Hawley's mode of speech, even when public decorum repressed his +"awful language," was formidable in its curtness and self-possession. +Mr. Thesiger sanctioned the request, Mr. Bulstrode sat down, and Mr. +Hawley continued. + +"In what I have to say, Mr. Chairman, I am not speaking simply on my +own behalf: I am speaking with the concurrence and at the express +request of no fewer than eight of my fellow-townsmen, who are +immediately around us. It is our united sentiment that Mr. Bulstrode +should be called upon--and I do now call upon him--to resign public +positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as a gentleman +among gentlemen. There are practices and there are acts which, owing +to circumstances, the law cannot visit, though they may be worse than +many things which are legally punishable. Honest men and gentlemen, if +they don't want the company of people who perpetrate such acts, have +got to defend themselves as they best can, and that is what I and the +friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. +I don't say that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but I +call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous +statements made against him by a man now dead, and who died in his +house--the statement that he was for many years engaged in nefarious +practices, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures--or else +to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a +gentleman among gentlemen." + +All eyes in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode, who, since the first +mention of his name, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost +too violent for his delicate frame to support. Lydgate, who himself +was undergoing a shock as from the terrible practical interpretation of +some faint augury, felt, nevertheless, that his own movement of +resentful hatred was checked by that instinct of the Healer which +thinks first of bringing rescue or relief to the sufferer, when he +looked at the shrunken misery of Bulstrode's livid face. + +The quick vision that his life was after all a failure, that he was a +dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom +he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover--that God had +disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn +of those who were glad to have their hatred justified--the sense of +utter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with +the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously +upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie:--all this +rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and +leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration. The +sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety +came--not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to--the +susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery +and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him. + +But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction. Through all +his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious +self-preserving will, which had continually leaped out like a flame, +scattering all doctrinal fears, and which, even while he sat an object +of compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under +his ashy paleness. Before the last words were out of Mr. Hawley's +mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should answer, and that his answer would +be a retort. He dared not get up and say, "I am not guilty, the whole +story is false"--even if he had dared this, it would have seemed to +him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for +covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little +strain. + +For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the room +was looking at Bulstrode. He sat perfectly still, leaning hard against +the back of his chair; he could not venture to rise, and when he began +to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. But +his voice was perfectly audible, though hoarser than usual, and his +words were distinctly pronounced, though he paused between sentence as +if short of breath. He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, and +then looking at Mr. Hawley-- + +"I protest before you, sir, as a Christian minister, against the +sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent +hatred. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel +uttered by a loose tongue against me. And their consciences become +strict against me. Say that the evil-speaking of which I am to be made +the victim accuses me of malpractices--" here Bulstrode's voice rose +and took on a more biting accent, till it seemed a low cry--"who shall +be my accuser? Not men whose own lives are unchristian, nay, +scandalous--not men who themselves use low instruments to carry out +their ends--whose profession is a tissue of chicanery--who have been +spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have +been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life +and the next." + +After the word chicanery there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and +half of hisses, while four persons started up at once--Mr. Hawley, Mr. +Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Hawley's outburst was +instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence. + +"If you mean me, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection +of my professional life. As to Christian or unchristian, I repudiate +your canting palavering Christianity; and as to the way in which I +spend my income, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat +offspring of their due inheritance in order to support religion and set +myself up as a saintly Killjoy. I affect no niceness of conscience--I +have not found any nice standards necessary yet to measure your actions +by, sir. And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory +explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to withdraw +from posts in which we at any rate decline you as a colleague. I say, +sir, we decline to co-operate with a man whose character is not cleared +from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by reports but by recent +actions." + +"Allow me, Mr. Hawley," said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley, still +fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrust deep +in his pockets. + +"Mr. Bulstrode, it is not desirable, I think, to prolong the present +discussion," said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; "I +must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression +of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession +that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions. +I for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and +hearing. But I must say that your present attitude is painfully +inconsistent with those principles which you have sought to identify +yourself with, and for the honor of which I am bound to care. I +recommend you at present, as your clergyman, and one who hopes for your +reinstatement in respect, to quit the room, and avoid further hindrance +to business." + +Bulstrode, after a moment's hesitation, took his hat from the floor and +slowly rose, but he grasped the corner of the chair so totteringly that +Lydgate felt sure there was not strength enough in him to walk away +without support. What could he do? He could not see a man sink close +to him for want of help. He rose and gave his arm to Bulstrode, and in +that way led him out of the room; yet this act, which might have been +one of gentle duty and pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably +bitter to him. It seemed as if he were putting his sign-manual to that +association of himself with Bulstrode, of which he now saw the full +meaning as it must have presented itself to other minds. He now felt +the conviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, +had given him the thousand pounds as a bribe, and that somehow the +treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive. The +inferences were closely linked enough; the town knew of the loan, +believed it to be a bribe, and believed that he took it as a bribe. + +Poor Lydgate, his mind struggling under the terrible clutch of this +revelation, was all the while morally forced to take Mr. Bulstrode to +the Bank, send a man off for his carriage, and wait to accompany him +home. + +Meanwhile the business of the meeting was despatched, and fringed off +into eager discussion among various groups concerning this affair of +Bulstrode--and Lydgate. + +Mr. Brooke, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, and was +very uneasy that he had "gone a little too far" in countenancing +Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolent +sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which +Lydgate had come to be regarded. Mr. Farebrother was going to walk +back to Lowick. + +"Step into my carriage," said Mr. Brooke. "I am going round to see +Mrs. Casaubon. She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. She +will like to see me, you know." + +So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured hope that +there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior--a +young fellow whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark, when +he brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. Mr. Farebrother said +little: he was deeply mournful: with a keen perception of human +weakness, he could not be confident that under the pressure of +humiliating needs Lydgate had not fallen below himself. + +When the carriage drove up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea was out +on the gravel, and came to greet them. + +"Well, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have just come from a meeting--a +sanitary meeting, you know." + +"Was Mr. Lydgate there?" said Dorothea, who looked full of health and +animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April +lights. "I want to see him and have a great consultation with him +about the Hospital. I have engaged with Mr. Bulstrode to do so." + +"Oh, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have been hearing bad news--bad +news, you know." + +They walked through the garden towards the churchyard gate, Mr. +Farebrother wanting to go on to the parsonage; and Dorothea heard the +whole sad story. + +She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear twice over the +facts and impressions concerning Lydgate. After a short silence, +pausing at the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, she +said energetically-- + +"You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? I will +not believe it. Let us find out the truth and clear him!" + + + + + +BOOK VIII. + + + + + +SUNSET AND SUNRISE. + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + + Full souls are double mirrors, making still + An endless vista of fair things before, + Repeating things behind. + + +Dorothea's impetuous generosity, which would have leaped at once to the +vindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of having accepted money as a +bribe, underwent a melancholy check when she came to consider all the +circumstances of the case by the light of Mr. Farebrother's experience. + +"It is a delicate matter to touch," he said. "How can we begin to +inquire into it? It must be either publicly by setting the magistrate +and coroner to work, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As to the +first proceeding there is no solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would +have adopted it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess +I should shrink from it. He would probably take it as a deadly insult. +I have more than once experienced the difficulty of speaking to him on +personal matters. And--one should know the truth about his conduct +beforehand, to feel very confident of a good result." + +"I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty: I believe that +people are almost always better than their neighbors think they are," +said Dorothea. Some of her intensest experience in the last two years +had set her mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction +of others; and for the first time she felt rather discontented with Mr. +Farebrother. She disliked this cautious weighing of consequences, +instead of an ardent faith in efforts of justice and mercy, which would +conquer by their emotional force. Two days afterwards, he was dining +at the Manor with her uncle and the Chettams, and when the dessert was +standing uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mr. Brooke was +nodding in a nap, she returned to the subject with renewed vivacity. + +"Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a calumny about +him their first wish must be to justify him. What do we live for, if +it is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be +indifferent to the troubles of a man who advised me in _my_ trouble, +and attended me in my illness." + +Dorothea's tone and manner were not more energetic than they had been +when she was at the head of her uncle's table nearly three years +before, and her experience since had given her more right to express a +decided opinion. But Sir James Chettam was no longer the diffident and +acquiescent suitor: he was the anxious brother-in-law, with a devout +admiration for his sister, but with a constant alarm lest she should +fall under some new illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. He +smiled much less; when he said "Exactly" it was more often an +introduction to a dissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelor +days; and Dorothea found to her surprise that she had to resolve not to +be afraid of him--all the more because he was really her best friend. +He disagreed with her now. + +"But, Dorothea," he said, remonstrantly, "you can't undertake to manage +a man's life for him in that way. Lydgate must know--at least he will +soon come to know how he stands. If he can clear himself, he will. He +must act for himself." + +"I think his friends must wait till they find an opportunity," added +Mr. Farebrother. "It is possible--I have often felt so much weakness +in myself that I can conceive even a man of honorable disposition, such +as I have always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a +temptation as that of accepting money which was offered more or less +indirectly as a bribe to insure his silence about scandalous facts long +gone by. I say, I can conceive this, if he were under the pressure of +hard circumstances--if he had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has +been. I would not believe anything worse of him except under stringent +proof. But there is the terrible Nemesis following on some errors, +that it is always possible for those who like it to interpret them into +a crime: there is no proof in favor of the man outside his own +consciousness and assertion." + +"Oh, how cruel!" said Dorothea, clasping her hands. "And would you not +like to be the one person who believed in that man's innocence, if the +rest of the world belied him? Besides, there is a man's character +beforehand to speak for him." + +"But, my dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling gently at +her ardor, "character is not cut in marble--it is not something solid +and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become +diseased as our bodies do." + +"Then it may be rescued and healed," said Dorothea "I should not be +afraid of asking Mr. Lydgate to tell me the truth, that I might help +him. Why should I be afraid? Now that I am not to have the land, +James, I might do as Mr. Bulstrode proposed, and take his place in +providing for the Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to know +thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping up the +present plans. There is the best opportunity in the world for me to +ask for his confidence; and he would be able to tell me things which +might make all the circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by him +and bring him out of his trouble. People glorify all sorts of bravery +except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest +neighbors." Dorothea's eyes had a moist brightness in them, and the +changed tones of her voice roused her uncle, who began to listen. + +"It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of sympathy which +would hardly succeed if we men undertook them," said Mr. Farebrother, +almost converted by Dorothea's ardor. + +"Surely, a woman is bound to be cautious and listen to those who know +the world better than she does." said Sir James, with his little +frown. "Whatever you do in the end, Dorothea, you should really keep +back at present, and not volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrode +business. We don't know yet what may turn up. You must agree with +me?" he ended, looking at Mr. Farebrother. + +"I do think it would be better to wait," said the latter. + +"Yes, yes, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, not quite knowing at what point +the discussion had arrived, but coming up to it with a contribution +which was generally appropriate. "It is easy to go too far, you know. +You must not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in a +hurry to put money into schemes--it won't do, you know. Garth has +drawn me in uncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing: I'm +uncommonly out of pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up. +As for you, Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak fences +round your demesne." + +Dorothea, submitting uneasily to this discouragement, went with Celia +into the library, which was her usual drawing-room. + +"Now, Dodo, do listen to what James says," said Celia, "else you will +be getting into a scrape. You always did, and you always will, when +you set about doing as you please. And I think it is a mercy now after +all that you have got James to think for you. He lets you have your +plans, only he hinders you from being taken in. And that is the good +of having a brother instead of a husband. A husband would not let you +have your plans." + +"As if I wanted a husband!" said Dorothea. "I only want not to have my +feelings checked at every turn." Mrs. Casaubon was still undisciplined +enough to burst into angry tears. + +"Now, really, Dodo," said Celia, with rather a deeper guttural than +usual, "you _are_ contradictory: first one thing and then another. You +used to submit to Mr. Casaubon quite shamefully: I think you would have +given up ever coming to see me if he had asked you." + +"Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty; it was my +feeling for him," said Dorothea, looking through the prism of her tears. + +"Then why can't you think it your duty to submit a little to what James +wishes?" said Celia, with a sense of stringency in her argument. +"Because he only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, men +know best about everything, except what women know better." Dorothea +laughed and forgot her tears. + +"Well, I mean about babies and those things," explained Celia. "I +should not give up to James when I knew he was wrong, as you used to do +to Mr. Casaubon." + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + + Pity the laden one; this wandering woe + May visit you and me. + + +When Lydgate had allayed Mrs. Bulstrode's anxiety by telling her that +her husband had been seized with faintness at the meeting, but that he +trusted soon to see him better and would call again the next day, +unless she sent for him earlier, he went directly home, got on his +horse, and rode three miles out of the town for the sake of being out +of reach. + +He felt himself becoming violent and unreasonable as if raging under +the pain of stings: he was ready to curse the day on which he had come +to Middlemarch. Everything that bad happened to him there seemed a +mere preparation for this hateful fatality, which had come as a blight +on his honorable ambition, and must make even people who had only +vulgar standards regard his reputation as irrevocably damaged. In such +moments a man can hardly escape being unloving. Lydgate thought of +himself as the sufferer, and of others as the agents who had injured +his lot. He had meant everything to turn out differently; and others +had thrust themselves into his life and thwarted his purposes. His +marriage seemed an unmitigated calamity; and he was afraid of going to +Rosamond before he had vented himself in this solitary rage, lest the +mere sight of her should exasperate him and make him behave +unwarrantably. There are episodes in most men's lives in which their +highest qualities can only cast a deterring shadow over the objects +that fill their inward vision: Lydgate's tenderheartedness was present +just then only as a dread lest he should offend against it, not as an +emotion that swayed him to tenderness. For he was very miserable. +Only those who know the supremacy of the intellectual life--the life +which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it--can +understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into +the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances. + +How was he to live on without vindicating himself among people who +suspected him of baseness? How could he go silently away from +Middlemarch as if he were retreating before a just condemnation? And +yet how was he to set about vindicating himself? + +For that scene at the meeting, which he had just witnessed, although it +had told him no particulars, had been enough to make his own situation +thoroughly clear to him. Bulstrode had been in dread of scandalous +disclosures on the part of Raffles. Lydgate could now construct all +the probabilities of the case. "He was afraid of some betrayal in my +hearing: all he wanted was to bind me to him by a strong obligation: +that was why he passed on a sudden from hardness to liberality. And he +may have tampered with the patient--he may have disobeyed my orders. I +fear he did. But whether he did or not, the world believes that he +somehow or other poisoned the man and that I winked at the crime, if I +didn't help in it. And yet--and yet he may not be guilty of the last +offence; and it is just possible that the change towards me may have +been a genuine relenting--the effect of second thoughts such as he +alleged. What we call the 'just possible' is sometimes true and the +thing we find it easier to believe is grossly false. In his last +dealings with this man Bulstrode may have kept his hands pure, in spite +of my suspicion to the contrary." + +There was a benumbing cruelty in his position. Even if he renounced +every other consideration than that of justifying himself--if he met +shrugs, cold glances, and avoidance as an accusation, and made a public +statement of all the facts as he knew them, who would be convinced? It +would be playing the part of a fool to offer his own testimony on +behalf of himself, and say, "I did not take the money as a bribe." The +circumstances would always be stronger than his assertion. And +besides, to come forward and tell everything about himself must include +declarations about Bulstrode which would darken the suspicions of +others against him. He must tell that he had not known of Raffles's +existence when he first mentioned his pressing need of money to +Bulstrode, and that he took the money innocently as a result of that +communication, not knowing that a new motive for the loan might have +arisen on his being called in to this man. And after all, the +suspicion of Bulstrode's motives might be unjust. + +But then came the question whether he should have acted in precisely +the same way if he had not taken the money? Certainly, if Raffles had +continued alive and susceptible of further treatment when he arrived, +and he had then imagined any disobedience to his orders on the part of +Bulstrode, he would have made a strict inquiry, and if his conjecture +had been verified he would have thrown up the case, in spite of his +recent heavy obligation. But if he had not received any money--if +Bulstrode had never revoked his cold recommendation of bankruptcy--would +he, Lydgate, have abstained from all inquiry even on finding the +man dead?--would the shrinking from an insult to Bulstrode--would the +dubiousness of all medical treatment and the argument that his own +treatment would pass for the wrong with most members of his +profession--have had just the same force or significance with him? + +That was the uneasy corner of Lydgate's consciousness while he was +reviewing the facts and resisting all reproach. If he had been +independent, this matter of a patient's treatment and the distinct rule +that he must do or see done that which he believed best for the life +committed to him, would have been the point on which he would have been +the sturdiest. As it was, he had rested in the consideration that +disobedience to his orders, however it might have arisen, could not be +considered a crime, that in the dominant opinion obedience to his +orders was just as likely to be fatal, and that the affair was simply +one of etiquette. Whereas, again and again, in his time of freedom, he +had denounced the perversion of pathological doubt into moral doubt and +had said--"the purest experiment in treatment may still be +conscientious: my business is to take care of life, and to do the best +I can think of for it. Science is properly more scrupulous than dogma. +Dogma gives a charter to mistake, but the very breath of science is a +contest with mistake, and must keep the conscience alive." Alas! the +scientific conscience had got into the debasing company of money +obligation and selfish respects. + +"Is there a medical man of them all in Middlemarch who would question +himself as I do?" said poor Lydgate, with a renewed outburst of +rebellion against the oppression of his lot. "And yet they will all +feel warranted in making a wide space between me and them, as if I were +a leper! My practice and my reputation are utterly damned--I can see +that. Even if I could be cleared by valid evidence, it would make +little difference to the blessed world here. I have been set down as +tainted and should be cheapened to them all the same." + +Already there had been abundant signs which had hitherto puzzled him, +that just when he had been paying off his debts and getting cheerfully +on his feet, the townsmen were avoiding him or looking strangely at +him, and in two instances it came to his knowledge that patients of his +had called in another practitioner. The reasons were too plain now. +The general black-balling had begun. + +No wonder that in Lydgate's energetic nature the sense of a hopeless +misconstruction easily turned into a dogged resistance. The scowl +which occasionally showed itself on his square brow was not a +meaningless accident. Already when he was re-entering the town after +that ride taken in the first hours of stinging pain, he was setting his +mind on remaining in Middlemarch in spite of the worst that could be +done against him. He would not retreat before calumny, as if he +submitted to it. He would face it to the utmost, and no act of his +should show that he was afraid. It belonged to the generosity as well +as defiant force of his nature that he resolved not to shrink from +showing to the full his sense of obligation to Bulstrode. It was true +that the association with this man had been fatal to him--true that if +he had had the thousand pounds still in his hands with all his debts +unpaid he would have returned the money to Bulstrode, and taken beggary +rather than the rescue which had been sullied with the suspicion of a +bribe (for, remember, he was one of the proudest among the sons of +men)--nevertheless, he would not turn away from this crushed +fellow-mortal whose aid he had used, and make a pitiful effort to get +acquittal for himself by howling against another. "I shall do as I +think right, and explain to nobody. They will try to starve me out, +but--" he was going on with an obstinate resolve, but he was getting +near home, and the thought of Rosamond urged itself again into that +chief place from which it had been thrust by the agonized struggles of +wounded honor and pride. + +How would Rosamond take it all? Here was another weight of chain to +drag, and poor Lydgate was in a bad mood for bearing her dumb mastery. +He had no impulse to tell her the trouble which must soon be common to +them both. He preferred waiting for the incidental disclosure which +events must soon bring about. + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + + "Mercifully grant that we may grow aged together." + --BOOK OF TOBIT: Marriage Prayer. + + +In Middlemarch a wife could not long remain ignorant that the town held +a bad opinion of her husband. No feminine intimate might carry her +friendship so far as to make a plain statement to the wife of the +unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband; but when a woman +with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on +something grievously disadvantageous to her neighbors, various moral +impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. +Candor was one. To be candid, in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to +use an early opportunity of letting your friends know that you did not +take a cheerful view of their capacity, their conduct, or their +position; and a robust candor never waited to be asked for its opinion. +Then, again, there was the love of truth--a wide phrase, but meaning in +this relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than +her husband's character warranted, or manifest too much satisfaction in +her lot--the poor thing should have some hint given her that if she +knew the truth she would have less complacency in her bonnet, and in +light dishes for a supper-party. Stronger than all, there was the +regard for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul, +which was likely to be benefited by remarks tending to gloom, uttered +with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the furniture and a manner +implying that the speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from +regard to the feelings of her hearer. On the whole, one might say that +an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a +neighbor unhappy for her good. + +There were hardly any wives in Middlemarch whose matrimonial +misfortunes would in different ways be likely to call forth more of +this moral activity than Rosamond and her aunt Bulstrode. Mrs. +Bulstrode was not an object of dislike, and had never consciously +injured any human being. Men had always thought her a handsome +comfortable woman, and had reckoned it among the signs of Bulstrode's +hypocrisy that he had chosen a red-blooded Vincy, instead of a ghastly +and melancholy person suited to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. +When the scandal about her husband was disclosed they remarked of +her--"Ah, poor woman! She's as honest as the day--_she_ never +suspected anything wrong in him, you may depend on it." Women, who +were intimate with her, talked together much of "poor Harriet," +imagined what her feelings must be when she came to know everything, +and conjectured how much she had already come to know. There was no +spiteful disposition towards her; rather, there was a busy benevolence +anxious to ascertain what it would be well for her to feel and do under +the circumstances, which of course kept the imagination occupied with +her character and history from the times when she was Harriet Vincy +till now. With the review of Mrs. Bulstrode and her position it was +inevitable to associate Rosamond, whose prospects were under the same +blight with her aunt's. Rosamond was more severely criticised and less +pitied, though she too, as one of the good old Vincy family who had +always been known in Middlemarch, was regarded as a victim to marriage +with an interloper. The Vincys had their weaknesses, but then they lay +on the surface: there was never anything bad to be "found out" +concerning them. Mrs. Bulstrode was vindicated from any resemblance to +her husband. Harriet's faults were her own. + +"She has always been showy," said Mrs. Hackbutt, making tea for a small +party, "though she has got into the way of putting her religion +forward, to conform to her husband; she has tried to hold her head up +above Middlemarch by making it known that she invites clergymen and +heaven-knows-who from Riverston and those places." + +"We can hardly blame her for that," said Mrs. Sprague; "because few of +the best people in the town cared to associate with Bulstrode, and she +must have somebody to sit down at her table." + +"Mr. Thesiger has always countenanced him," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "I +think he must be sorry now." + +"But he was never fond of him in his heart--that every one knows," said +Mrs. Tom Toller. "Mr. Thesiger never goes into extremes. He keeps to +the truth in what is evangelical. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke, +who want to use Dissenting hymn-books and that low kind of religion, +who ever found Bulstrode to their taste." + +"I understand, Mr. Tyke is in great distress about him," said Mrs. +Hackbutt. "And well he may be: they say the Bulstrodes have half kept +the Tyke family." + +"And of course it is a discredit to his doctrines," said Mrs. Sprague, +who was elderly, and old-fashioned in her opinions. + +"People will not make a boast of being methodistical in Middlemarch for +a good while to come." + +"I think we must not set down people's bad actions to their religion," +said falcon-faced Mrs. Plymdale, who had been listening hitherto. + +"Oh, my dear, we are forgetting," said Mrs. Sprague. "We ought not to +be talking of this before you." + +"I am sure I have no reason to be partial," said Mrs. Plymdale, +coloring. "It's true Mr. Plymdale has always been on good terms with +Mr. Bulstrode, and Harriet Vincy was my friend long before she married +him. But I have always kept my own opinions and told her where she was +wrong, poor thing. Still, in point of religion, I must say, Mr. +Bulstrode might have done what he has, and worse, and yet have been a +man of no religion. I don't say that there has not been a little too +much of that--I like moderation myself. But truth is truth. The men +tried at the assizes are not all over-religious, I suppose." + +"Well," said Mrs. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, "all I can say is, that +I think she ought to separate from him." + +"I can't say that," said Mrs. Sprague. "She took him for better or +worse, you know." + +"But 'worse' can never mean finding out that your husband is fit for +Newgate," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "Fancy living with such a man! I should +expect to be poisoned." + +"Yes, I think myself it is an encouragement to crime if such men are to +be taken care of and waited on by good wives," said Mrs. Tom Toller. + +"And a good wife poor Harriet has been," said Mrs. Plymdale. "She +thinks her husband the first of men. It's true he has never denied her +anything." + +"Well, we shall see what she will do," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "I suppose +she knows nothing yet, poor creature. I do hope and trust I shall not +see her, for I should be frightened to death lest I should say anything +about her husband. Do you think any hint has reached her?" + +"I should hardly think so," said Mrs. Tom Toller. "We hear that he is +ill, and has never stirred out of the house since the meeting on +Thursday; but she was with her girls at church yesterday, and they had +new Tuscan bonnets. Her own had a feather in it. I have never seen +that her religion made any difference in her dress." + +"She wears very neat patterns always," said Mrs. Plymdale, a little +stung. "And that feather I know she got dyed a pale lavender on +purpose to be consistent. I must say it of Harriet that she wishes to +do right." + +"As to her knowing what has happened, it can't be kept from her long," +said Mrs. Hackbutt. "The Vincys know, for Mr. Vincy was at the +meeting. It will be a great blow to him. There is his daughter as +well as his sister." + +"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sprague. "Nobody supposes that Mr. Lydgate +can go on holding up his head in Middlemarch, things look so black +about the thousand pounds he took just at that man's death. It really +makes one shudder." + +"Pride must have a fall," said Mrs. Hackbutt. + +"I am not so sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was as I am for her aunt," +said Mrs. Plymdale. "She needed a lesson." + +"I suppose the Bulstrodes will go and live abroad somewhere," said Mrs. +Sprague. "That is what is generally done when there is anything +disgraceful in a family." + +"And a most deadly blow it will be to Harriet," said Mrs. Plymdale. +"If ever a woman was crushed, she will be. I pity her from my heart. +And with all her faults, few women are better. From a girl she had the +neatest ways, and was always good-hearted, and as open as the day. You +might look into her drawers when you would--always the same. And so +she has brought up Kate and Ellen. You may think how hard it will be +for her to go among foreigners." + +"The doctor says that is what he should recommend the Lydgates to do," +said Mrs. Sprague. "He says Lydgate ought to have kept among the +French." + +"That would suit _her_ well enough, I dare say," said Mrs. Plymdale; +"there is that kind of lightness about her. But she got that from her +mother; she never got it from her aunt Bulstrode, who always gave her +good advice, and to my knowledge would rather have had her marry +elsewhere." + +Mrs. Plymdale was in a situation which caused her some complication of +feeling. There had been not only her intimacy with Mrs. Bulstrode, but +also a profitable business relation of the great Plymdale dyeing house +with Mr. Bulstrode, which on the one hand would have inclined her to +desire that the mildest view of his character should be the true one, +but on the other, made her the more afraid of seeming to palliate his +culpability. Again, the late alliance of her family with the Tollers +had brought her in connection with the best circle, which gratified her +in every direction except in the inclination to those serious views +which she believed to be the best in another sense. The sharp little +woman's conscience was somewhat troubled in the adjustment of these +opposing "bests," and of her griefs and satisfactions under late +events, which were likely to humble those who needed humbling, but also +to fall heavily on her old friend whose faults she would have preferred +seeing on a background of prosperity. + +Poor Mrs. Bulstrode, meanwhile, had been no further shaken by the +oncoming tread of calamity than in the busier stirring of that secret +uneasiness which had always been present in her since the last visit of +Raffles to The Shrubs. That the hateful man had come ill to Stone +Court, and that her husband had chosen to remain there and watch over +him, she allowed to be explained by the fact that Raffles had been +employed and aided in earlier-days, and that this made a tie of +benevolence towards him in his degraded helplessness; and she had been +since then innocently cheered by her husband's more hopeful speech +about his own health and ability to continue his attention to business. +The calm was disturbed when Lydgate had brought him home ill from the +meeting, and in spite of comforting assurances during the next few +days, she cried in private from the conviction that her husband was not +suffering from bodily illness merely, but from something that afflicted +his mind. He would not allow her to read to him, and scarcely to sit +with him, alleging nervous susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet +she suspected that in shutting himself up in his private room he wanted +to be busy with his papers. Something, she felt sure, had happened. +Perhaps it was some great loss of money; and she was kept in the dark. +Not daring to question her husband, she said to Lydgate, on the fifth +day after the meeting, when she had not left home except to go to +church-- + +"Mr. Lydgate, pray be open with me: I like to know the truth. Has +anything happened to Mr. Bulstrode?" + +"Some little nervous shock," said Lydgate, evasively. He felt that it +was not for him to make the painful revelation. + +"But what brought it on?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking directly at him +with her large dark eyes. + +"There is often something poisonous in the air of public rooms," said +Lydgate. "Strong men can stand it, but it tells on people in +proportion to the delicacy of their systems. It is often impossible to +account for the precise moment of an attack--or rather, to say why the +strength gives way at a particular moment." + +Mrs. Bulstrode was not satisfied with this answer. There remained in +her the belief that some calamity had befallen her husband, of which +she was to be kept in ignorance; and it was in her nature strongly to +object to such concealment. She begged leave for her daughters to sit +with their father, and drove into the town to pay some visits, +conjecturing that if anything were known to have gone wrong in Mr. +Bulstrode's affairs, she should see or hear some sign of it. + +She called on Mrs. Thesiger, who was not at home, and then drove to +Mrs. Hackbutt's on the other side of the churchyard. Mrs. Hackbutt saw +her coming from an up-stairs window, and remembering her former alarm +lest she should meet Mrs. Bulstrode, felt almost bound in consistency +to send word that she was not at home; but against that, there was a +sudden strong desire within her for the excitement of an interview in +which she was quite determined not to make the slightest allusion to +what was in her mind. + +Hence Mrs. Bulstrode was shown into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Hackbutt +went to her, with more tightness of lip and rubbing of her hands than +was usually observable in her, these being precautions adopted against +freedom of speech. She was resolved not to ask how Mr. Bulstrode was. + +"I have not been anywhere except to church for nearly a week," said +Mrs. Bulstrode, after a few introductory remarks. "But Mr. Bulstrode +was taken so ill at the meeting on Thursday that I have not liked to +leave the house." + +Mrs. Hackbutt rubbed the back of one hand with the palm of the other +held against her chest, and let her eyes ramble over the pattern on the +rug. + +"Was Mr. Hackbutt at the meeting?" persevered Mrs. Bulstrode. + +"Yes, he was," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with the same attitude. "The land +is to be bought by subscription, I believe." + +"Let us hope that there will be no more cases of cholera to be buried +in it," said Mrs. Bulstrode. "It is an awful visitation. But I always +think Middlemarch a very healthy spot. I suppose it is being used to +it from a child; but I never saw the town I should like to live at +better, and especially our end." + +"I am sure I should be glad that you always should live at Middlemarch, +Mrs. Bulstrode," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with a slight sigh. "Still, we +must learn to resign ourselves, wherever our lot may be cast. Though I +am sure there will always be people in this town who will wish you +well." + +Mrs. Hackbutt longed to say, "if you take my advice you will part from +your husband," but it seemed clear to her that the poor woman knew +nothing of the thunder ready to bolt on her head, and she herself could +do no more than prepare her a little. Mrs. Bulstrode felt suddenly +rather chill and trembling: there was evidently something unusual +behind this speech of Mrs. Hackbutt's; but though she had set out with +the desire to be fully informed, she found herself unable now to pursue +her brave purpose, and turning the conversation by an inquiry about the +young Hackbutts, she soon took her leave saying that she was going to +see Mrs. Plymdale. On her way thither she tried to imagine that there +might have been some unusually warm sparring at the meeting between Mr. +Bulstrode and some of his frequent opponents--perhaps Mr. Hackbutt +might have been one of them. That would account for everything. + +But when she was in conversation with Mrs. Plymdale that comforting +explanation seemed no longer tenable. "Selina" received her with a +pathetic affectionateness and a disposition to give edifying answers on +the commonest topics, which could hardly have reference to an ordinary +quarrel of which the most important consequence was a perturbation of +Mr. Bulstrode's health. Beforehand Mrs. Bulstrode had thought that she +would sooner question Mrs. Plymdale than any one else; but she found to +her surprise that an old friend is not always the person whom it is +easiest to make a confidant of: there was the barrier of remembered +communication under other circumstances--there was the dislike of +being pitied and informed by one who had been long wont to allow her +the superiority. For certain words of mysterious appropriateness that +Mrs. Plymdale let fall about her resolution never to turn her back on +her friends, convinced Mrs. Bulstrode that what had happened must be +some kind of misfortune, and instead of being able to say with her +native directness, "What is it that you have in your mind?" she found +herself anxious to get away before she had heard anything more +explicit. She began to have an agitating certainty that the misfortune +was something more than the mere loss of money, being keenly sensitive +to the fact that Selina now, just as Mrs. Hackbutt had done before, +avoided noticing what she said about her husband, as they would have +avoided noticing a personal blemish. + +She said good-by with nervous haste, and told the coachman to drive to +Mr. Vincy's warehouse. In that short drive her dread gathered so much +force from the sense of darkness, that when she entered the private +counting-house where her brother sat at his desk, her knees trembled +and her usually florid face was deathly pale. Something of the same +effect was produced in him by the sight of her: he rose from his seat +to meet her, took her by the hand, and said, with his impulsive +rashness-- + +"God help you, Harriet! you know all." + +That moment was perhaps worse than any which came after. It contained +that concentrated experience which in great crises of emotion reveals +the bias of a nature, and is prophetic of the ultimate act which will +end an intermediate struggle. Without that memory of Raffles she might +still have thought only of monetary ruin, but now along with her +brother's look and words there darted into her mind the idea of some +guilt in her husband--then, under the working of terror came the image +of her husband exposed to disgrace--and then, after an instant of +scorching shame in which she felt only the eyes of the world, with one +leap of her heart she was at his side in mournful but unreproaching +fellowship with shame and isolation. All this went on within her in a +mere flash of time--while she sank into the chair, and raised her eyes +to her brother, who stood over her. "I know nothing, Walter. What is +it?" she said, faintly. + +He told her everything, very inartificially, in slow fragments, making +her aware that the scandal went much beyond proof, especially as to the +end of Raffles. + +"People will talk," he said. "Even if a man has been acquitted by a +jury, they'll talk, and nod and wink--and as far as the world goes, a +man might often as well be guilty as not. It's a breakdown blow, and +it damages Lydgate as much as Bulstrode. I don't pretend to say what +is the truth. I only wish we had never heard the name of either +Bulstrode or Lydgate. You'd better have been a Vincy all your life, +and so had Rosamond." Mrs. Bulstrode made no reply. + +"But you must bear up as well as you can, Harriet. People don't blame +_you_. And I'll stand by you whatever you make up your mind to do," +said the brother, with rough but well-meaning affectionateness. + +"Give me your arm to the carriage, Walter," said Mrs. Bulstrode. "I +feel very weak." + +And when she got home she was obliged to say to her daughter, "I am not +well, my dear; I must go and lie down. Attend to your papa. Leave me +in quiet. I shall take no dinner." + +She locked herself in her room. She needed time to get used to her +maimed consciousness, her poor lopped life, before she could walk +steadily to the place allotted her. A new searching light had fallen +on her husband's character, and she could not judge him leniently: the +twenty years in which she had believed in him and venerated him by +virtue of his concealments came back with particulars that made them +seem an odious deceit. He had married her with that bad past life +hidden behind him, and she had no faith left to protest his innocence +of the worst that was imputed to him. Her honest ostentatious nature +made the sharing of a merited dishonor as bitter as it could be to any +mortal. + +But this imperfectly taught woman, whose phrases and habits were an odd +patchwork, had a loyal spirit within her. The man whose prosperity she +had shared through nearly half a life, and who had unvaryingly +cherished her--now that punishment had befallen him it was not possible +to her in any sense to forsake him. There is a forsaking which still +sits at the same board and lies on the same couch with the forsaken +soul, withering it the more by unloving proximity. She knew, when she +locked her door, that she should unlock it ready to go down to her +unhappy husband and espouse his sorrow, and say of his guilt, I will +mourn and not reproach. But she needed time to gather up her strength; +she needed to sob out her farewell to all the gladness and pride of her +life. When she had resolved to go down, she prepared herself by some +little acts which might seem mere folly to a hard onlooker; they were +her way of expressing to all spectators visible or invisible that she +had begun a new life in which she embraced humiliation. She took off +all her ornaments and put on a plain black gown, and instead of wearing +her much-adorned cap and large bows of hair, she brushed her hair down +and put on a plain bonnet-cap, which made her look suddenly like an +early Methodist. + +Bulstrode, who knew that his wife had been out and had come in saying +that she was not well, had spent the time in an agitation equal to +hers. He had looked forward to her learning the truth from others, and +had acquiesced in that probability, as something easier to him than any +confession. But now that he imagined the moment of her knowledge come, +he awaited the result in anguish. His daughters had been obliged to +consent to leave him, and though he had allowed some food to be brought +to him, he had not touched it. He felt himself perishing slowly in +unpitied misery. Perhaps he should never see his wife's face with +affection in it again. And if he turned to God there seemed to be no +answer but the pressure of retribution. + +It was eight o'clock in the evening before the door opened and his wife +entered. He dared not look up at her. He sat with his eyes bent down, +and as she went towards him she thought he looked smaller--he seemed +so withered and shrunken. A movement of new compassion and old +tenderness went through her like a great wave, and putting one hand on +his which rested on the arm of the chair, and the other on his +shoulder, she said, solemnly but kindly-- + +"Look up, Nicholas." + +He raised his eyes with a little start and looked at her half amazed +for a moment: her pale face, her changed, mourning dress, the trembling +about her mouth, all said, "I know;" and her hands and eyes rested +gently on him. He burst out crying and they cried together, she +sitting at his side. They could not yet speak to each other of the +shame which she was bearing with him, or of the acts which had brought +it down on them. His confession was silent, and her promise of +faithfulness was silent. Open-minded as she was, she nevertheless +shrank from the words which would have expressed their mutual +consciousness, as she would have shrunk from flakes of fire. She could +not say, "How much is only slander and false suspicion?" and he did not +say, "I am innocent." + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + + "Le sentiment de la fausseté des plaisirs présents, et + l'ignorance de la vanité des plaisirs absents causent + l'inconstance."--PASCAL. + + +Rosamond had a gleam of returning cheerfulness when the house was freed +from the threatening figure, and when all the disagreeable creditors +were paid. But she was not joyous: her married life had fulfilled none +of her hopes, and had been quite spoiled for her imagination. In this +brief interval of calm, Lydgate, remembering that he had often been +stormy in his hours of perturbation, and mindful of the pain Rosamond +had had to bear, was carefully gentle towards her; but he, too, had +lost some of his old spirit, and he still felt it necessary to refer to +an economical change in their way of living as a matter of course, +trying to reconcile her to it gradually, and repressing his anger when +she answered by wishing that he would go to live in London. When she +did not make this answer, she listened languidly, and wondered what she +had that was worth living for. The hard and contemptuous words which +had fallen from her husband in his anger had deeply offended that +vanity which he had at first called into active enjoyment; and what she +regarded as his perverse way of looking at things, kept up a secret +repulsion, which made her receive all his tenderness as a poor +substitute for the happiness he had failed to give her. They were at a +disadvantage with their neighbors, and there was no longer any outlook +towards Quallingham--there was no outlook anywhere except in an +occasional letter from Will Ladislaw. She had felt stung and +disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, for in spite of +what she knew and guessed about his admiration for Dorothea, she +secretly cherished the belief that he had, or would necessarily come to +have, much more admiration for herself; Rosamond being one of those +women who live much in the idea that each man they meet would have +preferred them if the preference had not been hopeless. Mrs. Casaubon +was all very well; but Will's interest in her dated before he knew Mrs. +Lydgate. Rosamond took his way of talking to herself, which was a +mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry, as the +disguise of a deeper feeling; and in his presence she felt that +agreeable titillation of vanity and sense of romantic drama which +Lydgate's presence had no longer the magic to create. She even +fancied--what will not men and women fancy in these matters?--that +Will exaggerated his admiration for Mrs. Casaubon in order to pique +herself. In this way poor Rosamond's brain had been busy before Will's +departure. He would have made, she thought, a much more suitable +husband for her than she had found in Lydgate. No notion could have +been falser than this, for Rosamond's discontent in her marriage was +due to the conditions of marriage itself, to its demand for +self-suppression and tolerance, and not to the nature of her husband; +but the easy conception of an unreal Better had a sentimental charm +which diverted her ennui. She constructed a little romance which was +to vary the flatness of her life: Will Ladislaw was always to be a +bachelor and live near her, always to be at her command, and have an +understood though never fully expressed passion for her, which would be +sending out lambent flames every now and then in interesting scenes. +His departure had been a proportionate disappointment, and had sadly +increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but at first she had the +alternative dream of pleasures in store from her intercourse with the +family at Quallingham. Since then the troubles of her married life had +deepened, and the absence of other relief encouraged her regretful +rumination over that thin romance which she had once fed on. Men and +women make sad mistakes about their own symptoms, taking their vague +uneasy longings, sometimes for genius, sometimes for religion, and +oftener still for a mighty love. Will Ladislaw had written chatty +letters, half to her and half to Lydgate, and she had replied: their +separation, she felt, was not likely to be final, and the change she +now most longed for was that Lydgate should go to live in London; +everything would be agreeable in London; and she had set to work with +quiet determination to win this result, when there came a sudden, +delightful promise which inspirited her. + +It came shortly before the memorable meeting at the town-hall, and was +nothing less than a letter from Will Ladislaw to Lydgate, which turned +indeed chiefly on his new interest in plans of colonization, but +mentioned incidentally, that he might find it necessary to pay a visit +to Middlemarch within the next few weeks--a very pleasant necessity, he +said, almost as good as holidays to a schoolboy. He hoped there was +his old place on the rug, and a great deal of music in store for him. +But he was quite uncertain as to the time. While Lydgate was reading +the letter to Rosamond, her face looked like a reviving flower--it grew +prettier and more blooming. There was nothing unendurable now: the +debts were paid, Mr. Ladislaw was coming, and Lydgate would be +persuaded to leave Middlemarch and settle in London, which was "so +different from a provincial town." + +That was a bright bit of morning. But soon the sky became black over +poor Rosamond. The presence of a new gloom in her husband, about which +he was entirely reserved towards her--for he dreaded to expose his +lacerated feeling to her neutrality and misconception--soon received a +painfully strange explanation, alien to all her previous notions of +what could affect her happiness. In the new gayety of her spirits, +thinking that Lydgate had merely a worse fit of moodiness than usual, +causing him to leave her remarks unanswered, and evidently to keep out +of her way as much as possible, she chose, a few days after the +meeting, and without speaking to him on the subject, to send out notes +of invitation for a small evening party, feeling convinced that this +was a judicious step, since people seemed to have been keeping aloof +from them, and wanted restoring to the old habit of intercourse. When +the invitations had been accepted, she would tell Lydgate, and give him +a wise admonition as to how a medical man should behave to his +neighbors; for Rosamond had the gravest little airs possible about +other people's duties. But all the invitations were declined, and the +last answer came into Lydgate's hands. + +"This is Chichely's scratch. What is he writing to you about?" said +Lydgate, wonderingly, as he handed the note to her. She was obliged to +let him see it, and, looking at her severely, he said-- + +"Why on earth have you been sending out invitations without telling me, +Rosamond? I beg, I insist that you will not invite any one to this +house. I suppose you have been inviting others, and they have refused +too." She said nothing. + +"Do you hear me?" thundered Lydgate. + +"Yes, certainly I hear you," said Rosamond, turning her head aside with +the movement of a graceful long-necked bird. + +Lydgate tossed his head without any grace and walked out of the room, +feeling himself dangerous. Rosamond's thought was, that he was getting +more and more unbearable--not that there was any new special reason for +this peremptoriness. His indisposition to tell her anything in which +he was sure beforehand that she would not be interested was growing +into an unreflecting habit, and she was in ignorance of everything +connected with the thousand pounds except that the loan had come from +her uncle Bulstrode. Lydgate's odious humors and their neighbors' +apparent avoidance of them had an unaccountable date for her in their +relief from money difficulties. If the invitations had been accepted +she would have gone to invite her mamma and the rest, whom she had seen +nothing of for several days; and she now put on her bonnet to go and +inquire what had become of them all, suddenly feeling as if there were +a conspiracy to leave her in isolation with a husband disposed to +offend everybody. It was after the dinner hour, and she found her +father and mother seated together alone in the drawing-room. They +greeted her with sad looks, saying "Well, my dear!" and no more. She +had never seen her father look so downcast; and seating herself near +him she said-- + +"Is there anything the matter, papa?" + +He did not answer, but Mrs. Vincy said, "Oh, my dear, have you heard +nothing? It won't be long before it reaches you." + +"Is it anything about Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning pale. The idea +of trouble immediately connected itself with what had been +unaccountable to her in him. + +"Oh, my dear, yes. To think of your marrying into this trouble. Debt +was bad enough, but this will be worse." + +"Stay, stay, Lucy," said Mr. Vincy. "Have you heard nothing about your +uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond?" + +"No, papa," said the poor thing, feeling as if trouble were not +anything she had before experienced, but some invisible power with an +iron grasp that made her soul faint within her. + +Her father told her everything, saying at the end, "It's better for you +to know, my dear. I think Lydgate must leave the town. Things have +gone against him. I dare say he couldn't help it. I don't accuse him +of any harm," said Mr. Vincy. He had always before been disposed to +find the utmost fault with Lydgate. + +The shock to Rosamond was terrible. It seemed to her that no lot could +be so cruelly hard as hers to have married a man who had become the +centre of infamous suspicions. In many cases it is inevitable that the +shame is felt to be the worst part of crime; and it would have required +a great deal of disentangling reflection, such as had never entered +into Rosamond's life, for her in these moments to feel that her trouble +was less than if her husband had been certainly known to have done +something criminal. All the shame seemed to be there. And she had +innocently married this man with the belief that he and his family were +a glory to her! She showed her usual reticence to her parents, and +only said, that if Lydgate had done as she wished he would have left +Middlemarch long ago. + +"She bears it beyond anything," said her mother when she was gone. + +"Ah, thank God!" said Mr. Vincy, who was much broken down. + +But Rosamond went home with a sense of justified repugnance towards her +husband. What had he really done--how had he really acted? She did +not know. Why had he not told her everything? He did not speak to her +on the subject, and of course she could not speak to him. It came into +her mind once that she would ask her father to let her go home again; +but dwelling on that prospect made it seem utter dreariness to her: a +married woman gone back to live with her parents--life seemed to have +no meaning for her in such a position: she could not contemplate +herself in it. + +The next two days Lydgate observed a change in her, and believed that +she had heard the bad news. Would she speak to him about it, or would +she go on forever in the silence which seemed to imply that she +believed him guilty? We must remember that he was in a morbid state of +mind, in which almost all contact was pain. Certainly Rosamond in this +case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of confidence on +his part; but in the bitterness of his soul he excused himself;--was +he not justified in shrinking from the task of telling her, since now +she knew the truth she had no impulse to speak to him? But a +deeper-lying consciousness that he was in fault made him restless, and +the silence between them became intolerable to him; it was as if they +were both adrift on one piece of wreck and looked away from each other. + +He thought, "I am a fool. Haven't I given up expecting anything? I +have married care, not help." And that evening he said-- + +"Rosamond, have you heard anything that distresses you?" + +"Yes," she answered, laying down her work, which she had been carrying +on with a languid semi-consciousness, most unlike her usual self. + +"What have you heard?" + +"Everything, I suppose. Papa told me." + +"That people think me disgraced?" + +"Yes," said Rosamond, faintly, beginning to sew again automatically. + +There was silence. Lydgate thought, "If she has any trust in me--any +notion of what I am, she ought to speak now and say that she does not +believe I have deserved disgrace." + +But Rosamond on her side went on moving her fingers languidly. +Whatever was to be said on the subject she expected to come from +Tertius. What did she know? And if he were innocent of any wrong, why +did he not do something to clear himself? + +This silence of hers brought a new rush of gall to that bitter mood in +which Lydgate had been saying to himself that nobody believed in +him--even Farebrother had not come forward. He had begun to question +her with the intent that their conversation should disperse the chill +fog which had gathered between them, but he felt his resolution checked +by despairing resentment. Even this trouble, like the rest, she seemed +to regard as if it were hers alone. He was always to her a being +apart, doing what she objected to. He started from his chair with an +angry impulse, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked up and +down the room. There was an underlying consciousness all the while +that he should have to master this anger, and tell her everything, and +convince her of the facts. For he had almost learned the lesson that +he must bend himself to her nature, and that because she came short in +her sympathy, he must give the more. Soon he recurred to his intention +of opening himself: the occasion must not be lost. If he could bring +her to feel with some solemnity that here was a slander which must be +met and not run away from, and that the whole trouble had come out of +his desperate want of money, it would be a moment for urging powerfully +on her that they should be one in the resolve to do with as little +money as possible, so that they might weather the bad time and keep +themselves independent. He would mention the definite measures which +he desired to take, and win her to a willing spirit. He was bound to +try this--and what else was there for him to do? + +He did not know how long he had been walking uneasily backwards and +forwards, but Rosamond felt that it was long, and wished that he would +sit down. She too had begun to think this an opportunity for urging on +Tertius what he ought to do. Whatever might be the truth about all +this misery, there was one dread which asserted itself. + +Lydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair, but in one +nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards her, and looking at her +gravely before he reopened the sad subject. He had conquered himself +so far, and was about to speak with a sense of solemnity, as on an +occasion which was not to be repeated. He had even opened his lips, +when Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked at him and said-- + +"Surely, Tertius--" + +"Well?" + +"Surely now at last you have given up the idea of staying in +Middlemarch. I cannot go on living here. Let us go to London. Papa, +and every one else, says you had better go. Whatever misery I have to +put up with, it will be easier away from here." + +Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Instead of that critical outpouring for +which he had prepared himself with effort, here was the old round to be +gone through again. He could not bear it. With a quick change of +countenance he rose and went out of the room. + +Perhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his determination to +be the more because she was less, that evening might have had a better +issue. If his energy could have borne down that check, he might still +have wrought on Rosamond's vision and will. We cannot be sure that any +natures, however inflexible or peculiar, will resist this effect from a +more massive being than their own. They may be taken by storm and for +the moment converted, becoming part of the soul which enwraps them in +the ardor of its movement. But poor Lydgate had a throbbing pain +within him, and his energy had fallen short of its task. + +The beginning of mutual understanding and resolve seemed as far off as +ever; nay, it seemed blocked out by the sense of unsuccessful effort. +They lived on from day to day with their thoughts still apart, Lydgate +going about what work he had in a mood of despair, and Rosamond +feeling, with some justification, that he was behaving cruelly. It was +of no use to say anything to Tertius; but when Will Ladislaw came, she +was determined to tell him everything. In spite of her general +reticence, she needed some one who would recognize her wrongs. + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + + "To mercy, pity, peace, and love + All pray in their distress, + And to these virtues of delight, + Return their thankfulness. + . . . . . . + For Mercy has a human heart, + Pity a human face; + And Love, the human form divine; + And Peace, the human dress. + --WILLIAM BLAKE: Songs of Innocence. + + +Some days later, Lydgate was riding to Lowick Manor, in consequence of +a summons from Dorothea. The summons had not been unexpected, since it +had followed a letter from Mr. Bulstrode, in which he stated that he +had resumed his arrangements for quitting Middlemarch, and must remind +Lydgate of his previous communications about the Hospital, to the +purport of which he still adhered. It had been his duty, before taking +further steps, to reopen the subject with Mrs. Casaubon, who now +wished, as before, to discuss the question with Lydgate. "Your views +may possibly have undergone some change," wrote Mr. Bulstrode; "but, in +that case also, it is desirable that you should lay them before her." + +Dorothea awaited his arrival with eager interest. Though, in deference +to her masculine advisers, she had refrained from what Sir James had +called "interfering in this Bulstrode business," the hardship of +Lydgate's position was continually in her mind, and when Bulstrode +applied to her again about the hospital, she felt that the opportunity +was come to her which she had been hindered from hastening. In her +luxurious home, wandering under the boughs of her own great trees, her +thought was going out over the lot of others, and her emotions were +imprisoned. The idea of some active good within her reach, "haunted +her like a passion," and another's need having once come to her as a +distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the yearning to give +relief, and made her own ease tasteless. She was full of confident +hope about this interview with Lydgate, never heeding what was said of +his personal reserve; never heeding that she was a very young woman. +Nothing could have seemed more irrelevant to Dorothea than insistence +on her youth and sex when she was moved to show her human fellowship. + +As she sat waiting in the library, she could do nothing but live +through again all the past scenes which had brought Lydgate into her +memories. They all owed their significance to her marriage and its +troubles--but no; there were two occasions in which the image of +Lydgate had come painfully in connection with his wife and some one +else. The pain had been allayed for Dorothea, but it had left in her +an awakened conjecture as to what Lydgate's marriage might be to him, a +susceptibility to the slightest hint about Mrs. Lydgate. These +thoughts were like a drama to her, and made her eyes bright, and gave +an attitude of suspense to her whole frame, though she was only looking +out from the brown library on to the turf and the bright green buds +which stood in relief against the dark evergreens. + +When Lydgate came in, she was almost shocked at the change in his face, +which was strikingly perceptible to her who had not seen him for two +months. It was not the change of emaciation, but that effect which +even young faces will very soon show from the persistent presence of +resentment and despondency. Her cordial look, when she put out her +hand to him, softened his expression, but only with melancholy. + +"I have wished very much to see you for a long while, Mr. Lydgate," +said Dorothea when they were seated opposite each other; "but I put off +asking you to come until Mr. Bulstrode applied to me again about the +Hospital. I know that the advantage of keeping the management of it +separate from that of the Infirmary depends on you, or, at least, on +the good which you are encouraged to hope for from having it under your +control. And I am sure you will not refuse to tell me exactly what you +think." + +"You want to decide whether you should give a generous support to the +Hospital," said Lydgate. "I cannot conscientiously advise you to do it +in dependence on any activity of mine. I may be obliged to leave the +town." + +He spoke curtly, feeling the ache of despair as to his being able to +carry out any purpose that Rosamond had set her mind against. + +"Not because there is no one to believe in you?" said Dorothea, pouring +out her words in clearness from a full heart. "I know the unhappy +mistakes about you. I knew them from the first moment to be mistakes. +You have never done anything vile. You would not do anything +dishonorable." + +It was the first assurance of belief in him that had fallen on +Lydgate's ears. He drew a deep breath, and said, "Thank you." He could +say no more: it was something very new and strange in his life that +these few words of trust from a woman should be so much to him. + +"I beseech you to tell me how everything was," said Dorothea, +fearlessly. "I am sure that the truth would clear you." + +Lydgate started up from his chair and went towards the window, +forgetting where he was. He had so often gone over in his mind the +possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances +that would tell, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often +decided against it--he had so often said to himself that his assertions +would not change people's impressions--that Dorothea's words sounded +like a temptation to do something which in his soberness he had +pronounced to be unreasonable. + +"Tell me, pray," said Dorothea, with simple earnestness; "then we can +consult together. It is wicked to let people think evil of any one +falsely, when it can be hindered." + +Lydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw Dorothea's face +looking up at him with a sweet trustful gravity. The presence of a +noble nature, generous in its wishes, ardent in its charity, changes +the lights for us: we begin to see things again in their larger, +quieter masses, and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in +the wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning to act on +Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all life as one who is +dragged and struggling amid the throng. He sat down again, and felt +that he was recovering his old self in the consciousness that he was +with one who believed in it. + +"I don't want," he said, "to bear hard on Bulstrode, who has lent me +money of which I was in need--though I would rather have gone without +it now. He is hunted down and miserable, and has only a poor thread of +life in him. But I should like to tell you everything. It will be a +comfort to me to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and where I +shall not seem to be offering assertions of my own honesty. You will +feel what is fair to another, as you feel what is fair to me." + +"Do trust me," said Dorothea; "I will not repeat anything without your +leave. But at the very least, I could say that you have made all the +circumstances clear to me, and that I know you are not in any way +guilty. Mr. Farebrother would believe me, and my uncle, and Sir James +Chettam. Nay, there are persons in Middlemarch to whom I could go; +although they don't know much of me, they would believe me. They would +know that I could have no other motive than truth and justice. I would +take any pains to clear you. I have very little to do. There is +nothing better that I can do in the world." + +Dorothea's voice, as she made this childlike picture of what she would +do, might have been almost taken as a proof that she could do it +effectively. The searching tenderness of her woman's tones seemed made +for a defence against ready accusers. Lydgate did not stay to think +that she was Quixotic: he gave himself up, for the first time in his +life, to the exquisite sense of leaning entirely on a generous +sympathy, without any check of proud reserve. And he told her +everything, from the time when, under the pressure of his difficulties, +he unwillingly made his first application to Bulstrode; gradually, in +the relief of speaking, getting into a more thorough utterance of what +had gone on in his mind--entering fully into the fact that his +treatment of the patient was opposed to the dominant practice, into his +doubts at the last, his ideal of medical duty, and his uneasy +consciousness that the acceptance of the money had made some difference +in his private inclination and professional behavior, though not in his +fulfilment of any publicly recognized obligation. + +"It has come to my knowledge since," he added, "that Hawley sent some +one to examine the housekeeper at Stone Court, and she said that she +gave the patient all the opium in the phial I left, as well as a good +deal of brandy. But that would not have been opposed to ordinary +prescriptions, even of first-rate men. The suspicions against me had +no hold there: they are grounded on the knowledge that I took money, +that Bulstrode had strong motives for wishing the man to die, and that +he gave me the money as a bribe to concur in some malpractices or other +against the patient--that in any case I accepted a bribe to hold my +tongue. They are just the suspicions that cling the most obstinately, +because they lie in people's inclination and can never be disproved. +How my orders came to be disobeyed is a question to which I don't know +the answer. It is still possible that Bulstrode was innocent of any +criminal intention--even possible that he had nothing to do with the +disobedience, and merely abstained from mentioning it. But all that +has nothing to do with the public belief. It is one of those cases on +which a man is condemned on the ground of his character--it is +believed that he has committed a crime in some undefined way, because +he had the motive for doing it; and Bulstrode's character has enveloped +me, because I took his money. I am simply blighted--like a damaged +ear of corn--the business is done and can't be undone." + +"Oh, it is hard!" said Dorothea. "I understand the difficulty there is +in your vindicating yourself. And that all this should have come to +you who had meant to lead a higher life than the common, and to find +out better ways--I cannot bear to rest in this as unchangeable. I know +you meant that. I remember what you said to me when you first spoke to +me about the hospital. There is no sorrow I have thought more about +than that--to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail." + +"Yes," said Lydgate, feeling that here he had found room for the full +meaning of his grief. "I had some ambition. I meant everything to be +different with me. I thought I had more strength and mastery. But the +most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself." + +"Suppose," said Dorothea, meditatively,--"suppose we kept on the +Hospital according to the present plan, and you stayed here though only +with the friendship and support of a few, the evil feeling towards you +would gradually die out; there would come opportunities in which people +would be forced to acknowledge that they had been unjust to you, +because they would see that your purposes were pure. You may still win +a great fame like the Louis and Laennec I have heard you speak of, and +we shall all be proud of you," she ended, with a smile. + +"That might do if I had my old trust in myself," said Lydgate, +mournfully. "Nothing galls me more than the notion of turning round +and running away before this slander, leaving it unchecked behind me. +Still, I can't ask any one to put a great deal of money into a plan +which depends on me." + +"It would be quite worth my while," said Dorothea, simply. "Only +think. I am very uncomfortable with my money, because they tell me I +have too little for any great scheme of the sort I like best, and yet I +have too much. I don't know what to do. I have seven hundred a-year +of my own fortune, and nineteen hundred a-year that Mr. Casaubon left +me, and between three and four thousand of ready money in the bank. I +wished to raise money and pay it off gradually out of my income which I +don't want, to buy land with and found a village which should be a +school of industry; but Sir James and my uncle have convinced me that +the risk would be too great. So you see that what I should most +rejoice at would be to have something good to do with my money: I +should like it to make other people's lives better to them. It makes +me very uneasy--coming all to me who don't want it." + +A smile broke through the gloom of Lydgate's face. The childlike +grave-eyed earnestness with which Dorothea said all this was +irresistible--blent into an adorable whole with her ready understanding +of high experience. (Of lower experience such as plays a great part in +the world, poor Mrs. Casaubon had a very blurred shortsighted +knowledge, little helped by her imagination.) But she took the smile as +encouragement of her plan. + +"I think you see now that you spoke too scrupulously," she said, in a +tone of persuasion. "The hospital would be one good; and making your +life quite whole and well again would be another." + +Lydgate's smile had died away. "You have the goodness as well as the +money to do all that; if it could be done," he said. "But--" + +He hesitated a little while, looking vaguely towards the window; and +she sat in silent expectation. At last he turned towards her and said +impetuously-- + +"Why should I not tell you?--you know what sort of bond marriage is. +You will understand everything." + +Dorothea felt her heart beginning to beat faster. Had he that sorrow +too? But she feared to say any word, and he went on immediately. + +"It is impossible for me now to do anything--to take any step without +considering my wife's happiness. The thing that I might like to do if +I were alone, is become impossible to me. I can't see her miserable. +She married me without knowing what she was going into, and it might +have been better for her if she had not married me." + +"I know, I know--you could not give her pain, if you were not obliged +to do it," said Dorothea, with keen memory of her own life. + +"And she has set her mind against staying. She wishes to go. The +troubles she has had here have wearied her," said Lydgate, breaking off +again, lest he should say too much. + +"But when she saw the good that might come of staying--" said Dorothea, +remonstrantly, looking at Lydgate as if he had forgotten the reasons +which had just been considered. He did not speak immediately. + +"She would not see it," he said at last, curtly, feeling at first that +this statement must do without explanation. "And, indeed, I have lost +all spirit about carrying on my life here." He paused a moment and +then, following the impulse to let Dorothea see deeper into the +difficulty of his life, he said, "The fact is, this trouble has come +upon her confusedly. We have not been able to speak to each other +about it. I am not sure what is in her mind about it: she may fear +that I have really done something base. It is my fault; I ought to be +more open. But I have been suffering cruelly." + +"May I go and see her?" said Dorothea, eagerly. "Would she accept my +sympathy? I would tell her that you have not been blamable before any +one's judgment but your own. I would tell her that you shall be +cleared in every fair mind. I would cheer her heart. Will you ask her +if I may go to see her? I did see her once." + +"I am sure you may," said Lydgate, seizing the proposition with some +hope. "She would feel honored--cheered, I think, by the proof that you +at least have some respect for me. I will not speak to her about your +coming--that she may not connect it with my wishes at all. I know very +well that I ought not to have left anything to be told her by others, +but--" + +He broke off, and there was a moment's silence. Dorothea refrained +from saying what was in her mind--how well she knew that there might be +invisible barriers to speech between husband and wife. This was a +point on which even sympathy might make a wound. She returned to the +more outward aspect of Lydgate's position, saying cheerfully-- + +"And if Mrs. Lydgate knew that there were friends who would believe in +you and support you, she might then be glad that you should stay in +your place and recover your hopes--and do what you meant to do. +Perhaps then you would see that it was right to agree with what I +proposed about your continuing at the Hospital. Surely you would, if +you still have faith in it as a means of making your knowledge useful?" + +Lydgate did not answer, and she saw that he was debating with himself. + +"You need not decide immediately," she said, gently. "A few days hence +it will be early enough for me to send my answer to Mr. Bulstrode." + +Lydgate still waited, but at last turned to speak in his most decisive +tones. + +"No; I prefer that there should be no interval left for wavering. I am +no longer sure enough of myself--I mean of what it would be possible +for me to do under the changed circumstances of my life. It would be +dishonorable to let others engage themselves to anything serious in +dependence on me. I might be obliged to go away after all; I see +little chance of anything else. The whole thing is too problematic; I +cannot consent to be the cause of your goodness being wasted. No--let +the new Hospital be joined with the old Infirmary, and everything go on +as it might have done if I had never come. I have kept a valuable +register since I have been there; I shall send it to a man who will +make use of it," he ended bitterly. "I can think of nothing for a long +while but getting an income." + +"It hurts me very much to hear you speak so hopelessly," said Dorothea. +"It would be a happiness to your friends, who believe in your future, +in your power to do great things, if you would let them save you from +that. Think how much money I have; it would be like taking a burthen +from me if you took some of it every year till you got free from this +fettering want of income. Why should not people do these things? It +is so difficult to make shares at all even. This is one way." + +"God bless you, Mrs. Casaubon!" said Lydgate, rising as if with the +same impulse that made his words energetic, and resting his arm on the +back of the great leather chair he had been sitting in. "It is good +that you should have such feelings. But I am not the man who ought to +allow himself to benefit by them. I have not given guarantees enough. +I must not at least sink into the degradation of being pensioned for +work that I never achieved. It is very clear to me that I must not +count on anything else than getting away from Middlemarch as soon as I +can manage it. I should not be able for a long while, at the very +best, to get an income here, and--and it is easier to make necessary +changes in a new place. I must do as other men do, and think what will +please the world and bring in money; look for a little opening in the +London crowd, and push myself; set up in a watering-place, or go to +some southern town where there are plenty of idle English, and get +myself puffed,--that is the sort of shell I must creep into and try to +keep my soul alive in." + +"Now that is not brave," said Dorothea,--"to give up the fight." + +"No, it is not brave," said Lydgate, "but if a man is afraid of +creeping paralysis?" Then, in another tone, "Yet you have made a great +difference in my courage by believing in me. Everything seems more +bearable since I have talked to you; and if you can clear me in a few +other minds, especially in Farebrother's, I shall be deeply grateful. +The point I wish you not to mention is the fact of disobedience to my +orders. That would soon get distorted. After all, there is no +evidence for me but people's opinion of me beforehand. You can only +repeat my own report of myself." + +"Mr. Farebrother will believe--others will believe," said Dorothea. "I +can say of you what will make it stupidity to suppose that you would be +bribed to do a wickedness." + +"I don't know," said Lydgate, with something like a groan in his voice. +"I have not taken a bribe yet. But there is a pale shade of bribery +which is sometimes called prosperity. You will do me another great +kindness, then, and come to see my wife?" + +"Yes, I will. I remember how pretty she is," said Dorothea, into whose +mind every impression about Rosamond had cut deep. "I hope she will +like me." + +As Lydgate rode away, he thought, "This young creature has a heart +large enough for the Virgin Mary. She evidently thinks nothing of her +own future, and would pledge away half her income at once, as if she +wanted nothing for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can +look down with those clear eyes at the poor mortals who pray to her. +She seems to have what I never saw in any woman before--a fountain of +friendship towards men--a man can make a friend of her. Casaubon must +have raised some heroic hallucination in her. I wonder if she could +have any other sort of passion for a man? Ladislaw?--there was +certainly an unusual feeling between them. And Casaubon must have had +a notion of it. Well--her love might help a man more than her money." + +Dorothea on her side had immediately formed a plan of relieving Lydgate +from his obligation to Bulstrode, which she felt sure was a part, +though small, of the galling pressure he had to bear. She sat down at +once under the inspiration of their interview, and wrote a brief note, +in which she pleaded that she had more claim than Mr. Bulstrode had to +the satisfaction of providing the money which had been serviceable to +Lydgate--that it would be unkind in Lydgate not to grant her the +position of being his helper in this small matter, the favor being +entirely to her who had so little that was plainly marked out for her +to do with her superfluous money. He might call her a creditor or by +any other name if it did but imply that he granted her request. She +enclosed a check for a thousand pounds, and determined to take the +letter with her the next day when she went to see Rosamond. + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + + "And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, + To mark the full-fraught man and best indued + With some suspicion." + --Henry V. + + +The next day Lydgate had to go to Brassing, and told Rosamond that he +should be away until the evening. Of late she had never gone beyond +her own house and garden, except to church, and once to see her papa, +to whom she said, "If Tertius goes away, you will help us to move, will +you not, papa? I suppose we shall have very little money. I am sure I +hope some one will help us." And Mr. Vincy had said, "Yes, child, I +don't mind a hundred or two. I can see the end of that." With these +exceptions she had sat at home in languid melancholy and suspense, +fixing her mind on Will Ladislaw's coming as the one point of hope and +interest, and associating this with some new urgency on Lydgate to make +immediate arrangements for leaving Middlemarch and going to London, +till she felt assured that the coming would be a potent cause of the +going, without at all seeing how. This way of establishing sequences +is too common to be fairly regarded as a peculiar folly in Rosamond. +And it is precisely this sort of sequence which causes the greatest +shock when it is sundered: for to see how an effect may be produced is +often to see possible missings and checks; but to see nothing except +the desirable cause, and close upon it the desirable effect, rids us of +doubt and makes our minds strongly intuitive. That was the process +going on in poor Rosamond, while she arranged all objects around her +with the same nicety as ever, only with more slowness--or sat down to +the piano, meaning to play, and then desisting, yet lingering on the +music stool with her white fingers suspended on the wooden front, and +looking before her in dreamy ennui. Her melancholy had become so +marked that Lydgate felt a strange timidity before it, as a perpetual +silent reproach, and the strong man, mastered by his keen sensibilities +towards this fair fragile creature whose life he seemed somehow to have +bruised, shrank from her look, and sometimes started at her approach, +fear of her and fear for her rushing in only the more forcibly after it +had been momentarily expelled by exasperation. + +But this morning Rosamond descended from her room upstairs--where she +sometimes sat the whole day when Lydgate was out--equipped for a walk +in the town. She had a letter to post--a letter addressed to Mr. +Ladislaw and written with charming discretion, but intended to hasten +his arrival by a hint of trouble. The servant-maid, their sole +house-servant now, noticed her coming down-stairs in her walking dress, +and thought "there never did anybody look so pretty in a bonnet poor +thing." + +Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was filled with her project of going to +Rosamond, and with the many thoughts, both of the past and the probable +future, which gathered round the idea of that visit. Until yesterday +when Lydgate had opened to her a glimpse of some trouble in his married +life, the image of Mrs. Lydgate had always been associated for her with +that of Will Ladislaw. Even in her most uneasy moments--even when she +had been agitated by Mrs. Cadwallader's painfully graphic report of +gossip--her effort, nay, her strongest impulsive prompting, had been +towards the vindication of Will from any sullying surmises; and when, +in her meeting with him afterwards, she had at first interpreted his +words as a probable allusion to a feeling towards Mrs. Lydgate which he +was determined to cut himself off from indulging, she had had a quick, +sad, excusing vision of the charm there might be in his constant +opportunities of companionship with that fair creature, who most likely +shared his other tastes as she evidently did his delight in music. But +there had followed his parting words--the few passionate words in +which he had implied that she herself was the object of whom his love +held him in dread, that it was his love for her only which he was +resolved not to declare but to carry away into banishment. From the +time of that parting, Dorothea, believing in Will's love for her, +believing with a proud delight in his delicate sense of honor and his +determination that no one should impeach him justly, felt her heart +quite at rest as to the regard he might have for Mrs. Lydgate. She was +sure that the regard was blameless. + +There are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious of having +a sort of baptism and consecration: they bind us over to rectitude and +purity by their pure belief about us; and our sins become that worst +kind of sacrilege which tears down the invisible altar of trust. "If +you are not good, none is good"--those little words may give a +terrific meaning to responsibility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for +remorse. + +Dorothea's nature was of that kind: her own passionate faults lay along +the easily counted open channels of her ardent character; and while she +was full of pity for the visible mistakes of others, she had not yet +any material within her experience for subtle constructions and +suspicions of hidden wrong. But that simplicity of hers, holding up an +ideal for others in her believing conception of them, was one of the +great powers of her womanhood. And it had from the first acted +strongly on Will Ladislaw. He felt, when he parted from her, that the +brief words by which he had tried to convey to her his feeling about +herself and the division which her fortune made between them, would +only profit by their brevity when Dorothea had to interpret them: he +felt that in her mind he had found his highest estimate. + +And he was right there. In the months since their parting Dorothea had +felt a delicious though sad repose in their relation to each other, as +one which was inwardly whole and without blemish. She had an active +force of antagonism within her, when the antagonism turned on the +defence either of plans or persons that she believed in; and the wrongs +which she felt that Will had received from her husband, and the +external conditions which to others were grounds for slighting him, +only gave the more tenacity to her affection and admiring judgment. +And now with the disclosures about Bulstrode had come another fact +affecting Will's social position, which roused afresh Dorothea's inward +resistance to what was said about him in that part of her world which +lay within park palings. + +"Young Ladislaw the grandson of a thieving Jew pawnbroker" was a phrase +which had entered emphatically into the dialogues about the Bulstrode +business, at Lowick, Tipton, and Freshitt, and was a worse kind of +placard on poor Will's back than the "Italian with white mice." +Upright Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own satisfaction was +righteous when he thought with some complacency that here was an added +league to that mountainous distance between Ladislaw and Dorothea, +which enabled him to dismiss any anxiety in that direction as too +absurd. And perhaps there had been some pleasure in pointing Mr. +Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of Ladislaw's genealogy, as a fresh +candle for him to see his own folly by. Dorothea had observed the +animus with which Will's part in the painful story had been recalled +more than once; but she had uttered no word, being checked now, as she +had not been formerly in speaking of Will, by the consciousness of a +deeper relation between them which must always remain in consecrated +secrecy. But her silence shrouded her resistant emotion into a more +thorough glow; and this misfortune in Will's lot which, it seemed, +others were wishing to fling at his back as an opprobrium, only gave +something more of enthusiasm to her clinging thought. + +She entertained no visions of their ever coming into nearer union, and +yet she had taken no posture of renunciation. She had accepted her +whole relation to Will very simply as part of her marriage sorrows, and +would have thought it very sinful in her to keep up an inward wail +because she was not completely happy, being rather disposed to dwell on +the superfluities of her lot. She could bear that the chief pleasures +of her tenderness should lie in memory, and the idea of marriage came +to her solely as a repulsive proposition from some suitor of whom she +at present knew nothing, but whose merits, as seen by her friends, +would be a source of torment to her:--"somebody who will manage your +property for you, my dear," was Mr. Brooke's attractive suggestion of +suitable characteristics. "I should like to manage it myself, if I +knew what to do with it," said Dorothea. No--she adhered to her +declaration that she would never be married again, and in the long +valley of her life which looked so flat and empty of waymarks, guidance +would come as she walked along the road, and saw her fellow-passengers +by the way. + +This habitual state of feeling about Will Ladislaw had been strong in +all her waking hours since she had proposed to pay a visit to Mrs. +Lydgate, making a sort of background against which she saw Rosamond's +figure presented to her without hindrances to her interest and +compassion. There was evidently some mental separation, some barrier +to complete confidence which had arisen between this wife and the +husband who had yet made her happiness a law to him. That was a +trouble which no third person must directly touch. But Dorothea +thought with deep pity of the loneliness which must have come upon +Rosamond from the suspicions cast on her husband; and there would +surely be help in the manifestation of respect for Lydgate and sympathy +with her. + +"I shall talk to her about her husband," thought Dorothea, as she was +being driven towards the town. The clear spring morning, the scent of +the moist earth, the fresh leaves just showing their creased-up wealth +of greenery from out their half-opened sheaths, seemed part of the +cheerfulness she was feeling from a long conversation with Mr. +Farebrother, who had joyfully accepted the justifying explanation of +Lydgate's conduct. "I shall take Mrs. Lydgate good news, and perhaps +she will like to talk to me and make a friend of me." + +Dorothea had another errand in Lowick Gate: it was about a new +fine-toned bell for the school-house, and as she had to get out of her +carriage very near to Lydgate's, she walked thither across the street, +having told the coachman to wait for some packages. The street door +was open, and the servant was taking the opportunity of looking out at +the carriage which was pausing within sight when it became apparent to +her that the lady who "belonged to it" was coming towards her. + +"Is Mrs. Lydgate at home?" said Dorothea. + +"I'm not sure, my lady; I'll see, if you'll please to walk in," said +Martha, a little confused on the score of her kitchen apron, but +collected enough to be sure that "mum" was not the right title for this +queenly young widow with a carriage and pair. "Will you please to walk +in, and I'll go and see." + +"Say that I am Mrs. Casaubon," said Dorothea, as Martha moved forward +intending to show her into the drawing-room and then to go up-stairs to +see if Rosamond had returned from her walk. + +They crossed the broader part of the entrance-hall, and turned up the +passage which led to the garden. The drawing-room door was unlatched, +and Martha, pushing it without looking into the room, waited for Mrs. +Casaubon to enter and then turned away, the door having swung open and +swung back again without noise. + +Dorothea had less of outward vision than usual this morning, being +filled with images of things as they had been and were going to be. +She found herself on the other side of the door without seeing anything +remarkable, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones +which startled her as with a sense of dreaming in daylight, and +advancing unconsciously a step or two beyond the projecting slab of a +bookcase, she saw, in the terrible illumination of a certainty which +filled up all outlines, something which made her pause, motionless, +without self-possession enough to speak. + +Seated with his back towards her on a sofa which stood against the wall +on a line with the door by which she had entered, she saw Will +Ladislaw: close by him and turned towards him with a flushed +tearfulness which gave a new brilliancy to her face sat Rosamond, her +bonnet hanging back, while Will leaning towards her clasped both her +upraised hands in his and spoke with low-toned fervor. + +Rosamond in her agitated absorption had not noticed the silently +advancing figure; but when Dorothea, after the first immeasurable +instant of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herself +impeded by some piece of furniture, Rosamond was suddenly aware of her +presence, and with a spasmodic movement snatched away her hands and +rose, looking at Dorothea who was necessarily arrested. Will Ladislaw, +starting up, looked round also, and meeting Dorothea's eyes with a new +lightning in them, seemed changing to marble: But she immediately +turned them away from him to Rosamond and said in a firm voice-- + +"Excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate, the servant did not know that you were here. +I called to deliver an important letter for Mr. Lydgate, which I wished +to put into your own hands." + +She laid down the letter on the small table which had checked her +retreat, and then including Rosamond and Will in one distant glance and +bow, she went quickly out of the room, meeting in the passage the +surprised Martha, who said she was sorry the mistress was not at home, +and then showed the strange lady out with an inward reflection that +grand people were probably more impatient than others. + +Dorothea walked across the street with her most elastic step and was +quickly in her carriage again. + +"Drive on to Freshitt Hall," she said to the coachman, and any one +looking at her might have thought that though she was paler than usual +she was never animated by a more self-possessed energy. And that was +really her experience. It was as if she had drunk a great draught of +scorn that stimulated her beyond the susceptibility to other feelings. +She had seen something so far below her belief, that her emotions +rushed back from it and made an excited throng without an object. She +needed something active to turn her excitement out upon. She felt +power to walk and work for a day, without meat or drink. And she would +carry out the purpose with which she had started in the morning, of +going to Freshitt and Tipton to tell Sir James and her uncle all that +she wished them to know about Lydgate, whose married loneliness under +his trial now presented itself to her with new significance, and made +her more ardent in readiness to be his champion. She had never felt +anything like this triumphant power of indignation in the struggle of +her married life, in which there had always been a quickly subduing +pang; and she took it as a sign of new strength. + +"Dodo, how very bright your eyes are!" said Celia, when Sir James was +gone out of the room. "And you don't see anything you look at, Arthur +or anything. You are going to do something uncomfortable, I know. Is +it all about Mr. Lydgate, or has something else happened?" Celia had +been used to watch her sister with expectation. + +"Yes, dear, a great many things have happened," said Dodo, in her full +tones. + +"I wonder what," said Celia, folding her arms cozily and leaning +forward upon them. + +"Oh, all the troubles of all people on the face of the earth," said +Dorothea, lifting her arms to the back of her head. + +"Dear me, Dodo, are you going to have a scheme for them?" said Celia, a +little uneasy at this Hamlet-like raving. + +But Sir James came in again, ready to accompany Dorothea to the Grange, +and she finished her expedition well, not swerving in her resolution +until she descended at her own door. + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + + "Would it were yesterday and I i' the grave, + With her sweet faith above for monument" + + +Rosamond and Will stood motionless--they did not know how long--he +looking towards the spot where Dorothea had stood, and she looking +towards him with doubt. It seemed an endless time to Rosamond, in +whose inmost soul there was hardly so much annoyance as gratification +from what had just happened. Shallow natures dream of an easy sway +over the emotions of others, trusting implicitly in their own petty +magic to turn the deepest streams, and confident, by pretty gestures +and remarks, of making the thing that is not as though it were. She +knew that Will had received a severe blow, but she had been little used +to imagining other people's states of mind except as a material cut +into shape by her own wishes; and she believed in her own power to +soothe or subdue. Even Tertius, that most perverse of men, was always +subdued in the long-run: events had been obstinate, but still Rosamond +would have said now, as she did before her marriage, that she never +gave up what she had set her mind on. + +She put out her arm and laid the tips of her fingers on Will's +coat-sleeve. + +"Don't touch me!" he said, with an utterance like the cut of a lash, +darting from her, and changing from pink to white and back again, as if +his whole frame were tingling with the pain of the sting. He wheeled +round to the other side of the room and stood opposite to her, with the +tips of his fingers in his pockets and his head thrown back, looking +fiercely not at Rosamond but at a point a few inches away from her. + +She was keenly offended, but the Signs she made of this were such as +only Lydgate was used to interpret. She became suddenly quiet and +seated herself, untying her hanging bonnet and laying it down with her +shawl. Her little hands which she folded before her were very cold. + +It would have been safer for Will in the first instance to have taken +up his hat and gone away; but he had felt no impulse to do this; on the +contrary, he had a horrible inclination to stay and shatter Rosamond +with his anger. It seemed as impossible to bear the fatality she had +drawn down on him without venting his fury as it would be to a panther +to bear the javelin-wound without springing and biting. And yet--how +could he tell a woman that he was ready to curse her? He was fuming +under a repressive law which he was forced to acknowledge: he was +dangerously poised, and Rosamond's voice now brought the decisive +vibration. In flute-like tones of sarcasm she said-- + +"You can easily go after Mrs. Casaubon and explain your preference." + +"Go after her!" he burst out, with a sharp edge in his voice. "Do you +think she would turn to look at me, or value any word I ever uttered to +her again at more than a dirty feather?--Explain! How can a man +explain at the expense of a woman?" + +"You can tell her what you please," said Rosamond with more tremor. + +"Do you suppose she would like me better for sacrificing you? She is +not a woman to be flattered because I made myself despicable--to +believe that I must be true to her because I was a dastard to you." + +He began to move about with the restlessness of a wild animal that sees +prey but cannot reach it. Presently he burst out again-- + +"I had no hope before--not much--of anything better to come. But I had +one certainty--that she believed in me. Whatever people had said or +done about me, she believed in me.--That's gone! She'll never again +think me anything but a paltry pretence--too nice to take heaven +except upon flattering conditions, and yet selling myself for any +devil's change by the sly. She'll think of me as an incarnate insult +to her, from the first moment we--" + +Will stopped as if he had found himself grasping something that must +not be thrown and shattered. He found another vent for his rage by +snatching up Rosamond's words again, as if they were reptiles to be +throttled and flung off. + +"Explain! Tell a man to explain how he dropped into hell! Explain my +preference! I never had a _preference_ for her, any more than I have a +preference for breathing. No other woman exists by the side of her. I +would rather touch her hand if it were dead, than I would touch any +other woman's living." + +Rosamond, while these poisoned weapons were being hurled at her, was +almost losing the sense of her identity, and seemed to be waking into +some new terrible existence. She had no sense of chill resolute +repulsion, of reticent self-justification such as she had known under +Lydgate's most stormy displeasure: all her sensibility was turned into +a bewildering novelty of pain; she felt a new terrified recoil under a +lash never experienced before. What another nature felt in opposition +to her own was being burnt and bitten into her consciousness. When +Will had ceased to speak she had become an image of sickened misery: +her lips were pale, and her eyes had a tearless dismay in them. If it +had been Tertius who stood opposite to her, that look of misery would +have been a pang to him, and he would have sunk by her side to comfort +her, with that strong-armed comfort which, she had often held very +cheap. + +Let it be forgiven to Will that he had no such movement of pity. He +had felt no bond beforehand to this woman who had spoiled the ideal +treasure of his life, and he held himself blameless. He knew that he +was cruel, but he had no relenting in him yet. + +After he had done speaking, he still moved about, half in absence of +mind, and Rosamond sat perfectly still. At length Will, seeming to +bethink himself, took up his hat, yet stood some moments irresolute. +He had spoken to her in a way that made a phrase of common politeness +difficult to utter; and yet, now that he had come to the point of going +away from her without further speech, he shrank from it as a brutality; +he felt checked and stultified in his anger. He walked towards the +mantel-piece and leaned his arm on it, and waited in silence for--he +hardly knew what. The vindictive fire was still burning in him, and he +could utter no word of retractation; but it was nevertheless in his +mind that having come back to this hearth where he had enjoyed a +caressing friendship he had found calamity seated there--he had had +suddenly revealed to him a trouble that lay outside the home as well as +within it. And what seemed a foreboding was pressing upon him as with +slow pincers:--that his life might come to be enslaved by this helpless +woman who had thrown herself upon him in the dreary sadness of her +heart. But he was in gloomy rebellion against the fact that his quick +apprehensiveness foreshadowed to him, and when his eyes fell on +Rosamond's blighted face it seemed to him that he was the more pitiable +of the two; for pain must enter into its glorified life of memory +before it can turn into compassion. + +And so they remained for many minutes, opposite each other, far apart, +in silence; Will's face still possessed by a mute rage, and Rosamond's +by a mute misery. The poor thing had no force to fling out any passion +in return; the terrible collapse of the illusion towards which all her +hope had been strained was a stroke which had too thoroughly shaken +her: her little world was in ruins, and she felt herself tottering in +the midst as a lonely bewildered consciousness. + +Will wished that she would speak and bring some mitigating shadow +across his own cruel speech, which seemed to stand staring at them both +in mockery of any attempt at revived fellowship. But she said nothing, +and at last with a desperate effort over himself, he asked, "Shall I +come in and see Lydgate this evening?" + +"If you like," Rosamond answered, just audibly. + +And then Will went out of the house, Martha never knowing that he had +been in. + +After he was gone, Rosamond tried to get up from her seat, but fell +back fainting. When she came to herself again, she felt too ill to +make the exertion of rising to ring the bell, and she remained helpless +until the girl, surprised at her long absence, thought for the first +time of looking for her in all the down-stairs rooms. Rosamond said +that she had felt suddenly sick and faint, and wanted to be helped +up-stairs. When there she threw herself on the bed with her clothes on, +and lay in apparent torpor, as she had done once before on a memorable +day of grief. + +Lydgate came home earlier than he had expected, about half-past five, +and found her there. The perception that she was ill threw every other +thought into the background. When he felt her pulse, her eyes rested +on him with more persistence than they had done for a long while, as if +she felt some content that he was there. He perceived the difference +in a moment, and seating himself by her put his arm gently under her, +and bending over her said, "My poor Rosamond! has something agitated +you?" Clinging to him she fell into hysterical sobbings and cries, and +for the next hour he did nothing but soothe and tend her. He imagined +that Dorothea had been to see her, and that all this effect on her +nervous system, which evidently involved some new turning towards +himself, was due to the excitement of the new impressions which that +visit had raised. + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + + "Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended their + talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was in the + midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall + suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was + Despond."--BUNYAN. + + +When Rosamond was quiet, and Lydgate had left her, hoping that she +might soon sleep under the effect of an anodyne, he went into the +drawing-room to fetch a book which he had left there, meaning to spend +the evening in his work-room, and he saw on the table Dorothea's letter +addressed to him. He had not ventured to ask Rosamond if Mrs. Casaubon +had called, but the reading of this letter assured him of the fact, for +Dorothea mentioned that it was to be carried by herself. + +When Will Ladislaw came in a little later Lydgate met him with a +surprise which made it clear that he had not been told of the earlier +visit, and Will could not say, "Did not Mrs. Lydgate tell you that I +came this morning?" + +"Poor Rosamond is ill," Lydgate added immediately on his greeting. + +"Not seriously, I hope," said Will. + +"No--only a slight nervous shock--the effect of some agitation. She +has been overwrought lately. The truth is, Ladislaw, I am an unlucky +devil. We have gone through several rounds of purgatory since you +left, and I have lately got on to a worse ledge of it than ever. I +suppose you are only just come down--you look rather battered--you +have not been long enough in the town to hear anything?" + +"I travelled all night and got to the White Hart at eight o'clock this +morning. I have been shutting myself up and resting," said Will, +feeling himself a sneak, but seeing no alternative to this evasion. + +And then he heard Lydgate's account of the troubles which Rosamond had +already depicted to him in her way. She had not mentioned the fact of +Will's name being connected with the public story--this detail not +immediately affecting her--and he now heard it for the first time. + +"I thought it better to tell you that your name is mixed up with the +disclosures," said Lydgate, who could understand better than most men +how Ladislaw might be stung by the revelation. "You will be sure to +hear it as soon as you turn out into the town. I suppose it is true +that Raffles spoke to you." + +"Yes," said Will, sardonically. "I shall be fortunate if gossip does +not make me the most disreputable person in the whole affair. I should +think the latest version must be, that I plotted with Raffles to murder +Bulstrode, and ran away from Middlemarch for the purpose." + +He was thinking "Here is a new ring in the sound of my name to +recommend it in her hearing; however--what does it signify now?" + +But he said nothing of Bulstrode's offer to him. Will was very open +and careless about his personal affairs, but it was among the more +exquisite touches in nature's modelling of him that he had a delicate +generosity which warned him into reticence here. He shrank from saying +that he had rejected Bulstrode's money, in the moment when he was +learning that it was Lydgate's misfortune to have accepted it. + +Lydgate too was reticent in the midst of his confidence. He made no +allusion to Rosamond's feeling under their trouble, and of Dorothea he +only said, "Mrs. Casaubon has been the one person to come forward and +say that she had no belief in any of the suspicions against me." +Observing a change in Will's face, he avoided any further mention of +her, feeling himself too ignorant of their relation to each other not +to fear that his words might have some hidden painful bearing on it. +And it occurred to him that Dorothea was the real cause of the present +visit to Middlemarch. + +The two men were pitying each other, but it was only Will who guessed +the extent of his companion's trouble. When Lydgate spoke with +desperate resignation of going to settle in London, and said with a +faint smile, "We shall have you again, old fellow." Will felt +inexpressibly mournful, and said nothing. Rosamond had that morning +entreated him to urge this step on Lydgate; and it seemed to him as if +he were beholding in a magic panorama a future where he himself was +sliding into that pleasureless yielding to the small solicitations of +circumstance, which is a commoner history of perdition than any single +momentous bargain. + +We are on a perilous margin when we begin to look passively at our +future selves, and see our own figures led with dull consent into +insipid misdoing and shabby achievement. Poor Lydgate was inwardly +groaning on that margin, and Will was arriving at it. It seemed to him +this evening as if the cruelty of his outburst to Rosamond had made an +obligation for him, and he dreaded the obligation: he dreaded Lydgate's +unsuspecting good-will: he dreaded his own distaste for his spoiled +life, which would leave him in motiveless levity. + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + + "Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear + The Godhead's most benignant grace; + Nor know we anything so fair + As is the smile upon thy face; + Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, + And fragrance in thy footing treads; + Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; + And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. + --WORDSWORTH: Ode to Duty. + + +When Dorothea had seen Mr. Farebrother in the morning, she had promised +to go and dine at the parsonage on her return from Freshitt. There was +a frequent interchange of visits between her and the Farebrother +family, which enabled her to say that she was not at all lonely at the +Manor, and to resist for the present the severe prescription of a lady +companion. When she reached home and remembered her engagement, she +was glad of it; and finding that she had still an hour before she could +dress for dinner, she walked straight to the schoolhouse and entered +into a conversation with the master and mistress about the new bell, +giving eager attention to their small details and repetitions, and +getting up a dramatic sense that her life was very busy. She paused on +her way back to talk to old Master Bunney who was putting in some +garden-seeds, and discoursed wisely with that rural sage about the +crops that would make the most return on a perch of ground, and the +result of sixty years' experience as to soils--namely, that if your +soil was pretty mellow it would do, but if there came wet, wet, wet to +make it all of a mummy, why then-- + +Finding that the social spirit had beguiled her into being rather late, +she dressed hastily and went over to the parsonage rather earlier than +was necessary. That house was never dull, Mr. Farebrother, like +another White of Selborne, having continually something new to tell of +his inarticulate guests and proteges, whom he was teaching the boys not +to torment; and he had just set up a pair of beautiful goats to be pets +of the village in general, and to walk at large as sacred animals. The +evening went by cheerfully till after tea, Dorothea talking more than +usual and dilating with Mr. Farebrother on the possible histories of +creatures that converse compendiously with their antennae, and for +aught we know may hold reformed parliaments; when suddenly some +inarticulate little sounds were heard which called everybody's +attention. + +"Henrietta Noble," said Mrs. Farebrother, seeing her small sister +moving about the furniture-legs distressfully, "what is the matter?" + +"I have lost my tortoise-shell lozenge-box. I fear the kitten has +rolled it away," said the tiny old lady, involuntarily continuing her +beaver-like notes. + +"Is it a great treasure, aunt?" said Mr. Farebrother, putting up his +glasses and looking at the carpet. + +"Mr. Ladislaw gave it me," said Miss Noble. "A German box--very +pretty, but if it falls it always spins away as far as it can." + +"Oh, if it is Ladislaw's present," said Mr. Farebrother, in a deep tone +of comprehension, getting up and hunting. The box was found at last +under a chiffonier, and Miss Noble grasped it with delight, saying, "it +was under a fender the last time." + +"That is an affair of the heart with my aunt," said Mr. Farebrother, +smiling at Dorothea, as he reseated himself. + +"If Henrietta Noble forms an attachment to any one, Mrs. Casaubon," +said his mother, emphatically,--"she is like a dog--she would take +their shoes for a pillow and sleep the better." + +"Mr. Ladislaw's shoes, I would," said Henrietta Noble. + +Dorothea made an attempt at smiling in return. She was surprised and +annoyed to find that her heart was palpitating violently, and that it +was quite useless to try after a recovery of her former animation. +Alarmed at herself--fearing some further betrayal of a change so marked +in its occasion, she rose and said in a low voice with undisguised +anxiety, "I must go; I have overtired myself." + +Mr. Farebrother, quick in perception, rose and said, "It is true; you +must have half-exhausted yourself in talking about Lydgate. That sort +of work tells upon one after the excitement is over." + +He gave her his arm back to the Manor, but Dorothea did not attempt to +speak, even when he said good-night. + +The limit of resistance was reached, and she had sunk back helpless +within the clutch of inescapable anguish. Dismissing Tantripp with a +few faint words, she locked her door, and turning away from it towards +the vacant room she pressed her hands hard on the top of her head, and +moaned out-- + +"Oh, I did love him!" + +Then came the hour in which the waves of suffering shook her too +thoroughly to leave any power of thought. She could only cry in loud +whispers, between her sobs, after her lost belief which she had planted +and kept alive from a very little seed since the days in Rome--after +her lost joy of clinging with silent love and faith to one who, +misprized by others, was worthy in her thought--after her lost woman's +pride of reigning in his memory--after her sweet dim perspective of +hope, that along some pathway they should meet with unchanged +recognition and take up the backward years as a yesterday. + +In that hour she repeated what the merciful eyes of solitude have +looked on for ages in the spiritual struggles of man--she besought +hardness and coldness and aching weariness to bring her relief from the +mysterious incorporeal might of her anguish: she lay on the bare floor +and let the night grow cold around her; while her grand woman's frame +was shaken by sobs as if she had been a despairing child. + +There were two images--two living forms that tore her heart in two, as +if it had been the heart of a mother who seems to see her child divided +by the sword, and presses one bleeding half to her breast while her +gaze goes forth in agony towards the half which is carried away by the +lying woman that has never known the mother's pang. + +Here, with the nearness of an answering smile, here within the +vibrating bond of mutual speech, was the bright creature whom she had +trusted--who had come to her like the spirit of morning visiting the +dim vault where she sat as the bride of a worn-out life; and now, with +a full consciousness which had never awakened before, she stretched out +her arms towards him and cried with bitter cries that their nearness +was a parting vision: she discovered her passion to herself in the +unshrinking utterance of despair. + +And there, aloof, yet persistently with her, moving wherever she moved, +was the Will Ladislaw who was a changed belief exhausted of hope, a +detected illusion--no, a living man towards whom there could not yet +struggle any wail of regretful pity, from the midst of scorn and +indignation and jealous offended pride. The fire of Dorothea's anger +was not easily spent, and it flamed out in fitful returns of spurning +reproach. Why had he come obtruding his life into hers, hers that +might have been whole enough without him? Why had he brought his cheap +regard and his lip-born words to her who had nothing paltry to give in +exchange? He knew that he was deluding her--wished, in the very moment +of farewell, to make her believe that he gave her the whole price of +her heart, and knew that he had spent it half before. Why had he not +stayed among the crowd of whom she asked nothing--but only prayed that +they might be less contemptible? + +But she lost energy at last even for her loud-whispered cries and +moans: she subsided into helpless sobs, and on the cold floor she +sobbed herself to sleep. + +In the chill hours of the morning twilight, when all was dim around +her, she awoke--not with any amazed wondering where she was or what had +happened, but with the clearest consciousness that she was looking into +the eyes of sorrow. She rose, and wrapped warm things around her, and +seated herself in a great chair where she had often watched before. +She was vigorous enough to have borne that hard night without feeling +ill in body, beyond some aching and fatigue; but she had waked to a new +condition: she felt as if her soul had been liberated from its terrible +conflict; she was no longer wrestling with her grief, but could sit +down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her +thoughts. For now the thoughts came thickly. It was not in Dorothea's +nature, for longer than the duration of a paroxysm, to sit in the +narrow cell of her calamity, in the besotted misery of a consciousness +that only sees another's lot as an accident of its own. + +She began now to live through that yesterday morning deliberately +again, forcing herself to dwell on every detail and its possible +meaning. Was she alone in that scene? Was it her event only? She +forced herself to think of it as bound up with another woman's life--a +woman towards whom she had set out with a longing to carry some +clearness and comfort into her beclouded youth. In her first outleap +of jealous indignation and disgust, when quitting the hateful room, she +had flung away all the mercy with which she had undertaken that visit. +She had enveloped both Will and Rosamond in her burning scorn, and it +seemed to her as if Rosamond were burned out of her sight forever. But +that base prompting which makes a women more cruel to a rival than to a +faithless lover, could have no strength of recurrence in Dorothea when +the dominant spirit of justice within her had once overcome the tumult +and had once shown her the truer measure of things. All the active +thought with which she had before been representing to herself the +trials of Lydgate's lot, and this young marriage union which, like her +own, seemed to have its hidden as well as evident troubles--all this +vivid sympathetic experience returned to her now as a power: it +asserted itself as acquired knowledge asserts itself and will not let +us see as we saw in the day of our ignorance. She said to her own +irremediable grief, that it should make her more helpful, instead of +driving her back from effort. + +And what sort of crisis might not this be in three lives whose contact +with hers laid an obligation on her as if they had been suppliants +bearing the sacred branch? The objects of her rescue were not to be +sought out by her fancy: they were chosen for her. She yearned towards +the perfect Right, that it might make a throne within her, and rule her +errant will. "What should I do--how should I act now, this very day, +if I could clutch my own pain, and compel it to silence, and think of +those three?" + +It had taken long for her to come to that question, and there was light +piercing into the room. She opened her curtains, and looked out +towards the bit of road that lay in view, with fields beyond outside +the entrance-gates. On the road there was a man with a bundle on his +back and a woman carrying her baby; in the field she could see figures +moving--perhaps the shepherd with his dog. Far off in the bending sky +was the pearly light; and she felt the largeness of the world and the +manifold wakings of men to labor and endurance. She was a part of that +involuntary, palpitating life, and could neither look out on it from +her luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her eyes in selfish +complaining. + +What she would resolve to do that day did not yet seem quite clear, but +something that she could achieve stirred her as with an approaching +murmur which would soon gather distinctness. She took off the clothes +which seemed to have some of the weariness of a hard watching in them, +and began to make her toilet. Presently she rang for Tantripp, who +came in her dressing-gown. + +"Why, madam, you've never been in bed this blessed night," burst out +Tantripp, looking first at the bed and then at Dorothea's face, which +in spite of bathing had the pale cheeks and pink eyelids of a mater +dolorosa. "You'll kill yourself, you _will_. Anybody might think now +you had a right to give yourself a little comfort." + +"Don't be alarmed, Tantripp," said Dorothea, smiling. "I have slept; I +am not ill. I shall be glad of a cup of coffee as soon as possible. +And I want you to bring me my new dress; and most likely I shall want +my new bonnet to-day." + +"They've lain there a month and more ready for you, madam, and most +thankful I shall be to see you with a couple o' pounds' worth less of +crape," said Tantripp, stooping to light the fire. "There's a reason +in mourning, as I've always said; and three folds at the bottom of your +skirt and a plain quilling in your bonnet--and if ever anybody looked +like an angel, it's you in a net quilling--is what's consistent for a +second year. At least, that's _my_ thinking," ended Tantripp, looking +anxiously at the fire; "and if anybody was to marry me flattering +himself I should wear those hijeous weepers two years for him, he'd be +deceived by his own vanity, that's all." + +"The fire will do, my good Tan," said Dorothea, speaking as she used to +do in the old Lausanne days, only with a very low voice; "get me the +coffee." + +She folded herself in the large chair, and leaned her head against it +in fatigued quiescence, while Tantripp went away wondering at this +strange contrariness in her young mistress--that just the morning when +she had more of a widow's face than ever, she should have asked for her +lighter mourning which she had waived before. Tantripp would never +have found the clew to this mystery. Dorothea wished to acknowledge +that she had not the less an active life before her because she had +buried a private joy; and the tradition that fresh garments belonged to +all initiation, haunting her mind, made her grasp after even that +slight outward help towards calm resolve. For the resolve was not easy. + +Nevertheless at eleven o'clock she was walking towards Middlemarch, +having made up her mind that she would make as quietly and unnoticeably +as possible her second attempt to see and save Rosamond. + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + + "Du Erde warst auch diese Nacht bestandig, + Und athmest neu erquickt zu meinen Fussen, + Beginnest schon mit Lust mich zu umgeben, + Zum regst und ruhrst ein kraftiges Reschliessen + Zum hochsten Dasein immerfort zu streben. + --Faust: 2r Theil. + + +When Dorothea was again at Lydgate's door speaking to Martha, he was in +the room close by with the door ajar, preparing to go out. He heard +her voice, and immediately came to her. + +"Do you think that Mrs. Lydgate can receive me this morning?" she said, +having reflected that it would be better to leave out all allusion to +her previous visit. + +"I have no doubt she will," said Lydgate, suppressing his thought about +Dorothea's looks, which were as much changed as Rosamond's, "if you +will be kind enough to come in and let me tell her that you are here. +She has not been very well since you were here yesterday, but she is +better this morning, and I think it is very likely that she will be +cheered by seeing you again." + +It was plain that Lydgate, as Dorothea had expected, knew nothing about +the circumstances of her yesterday's visit; nay, he appeared to imagine +that she had carried it out according to her intention. She had +prepared a little note asking Rosamond to see her, which she would have +given to the servant if he had not been in the way, but now she was in +much anxiety as to the result of his announcement. + +After leading her into the drawing-room, he paused to take a letter +from his pocket and put it into her hands, saying, "I wrote this last +night, and was going to carry it to Lowick in my ride. When one is +grateful for something too good for common thanks, writing is less +unsatisfactory than speech--one does not at least _hear_ how inadequate +the words are." + +Dorothea's face brightened. "It is I who have most to thank for, since +you have let me take that place. You _have_ consented?" she said, +suddenly doubting. + +"Yes, the check is going to Bulstrode to-day." + +He said no more, but went up-stairs to Rosamond, who had but lately +finished dressing herself, and sat languidly wondering what she should +do next, her habitual industry in small things, even in the days of her +sadness, prompting her to begin some kind of occupation, which she +dragged through slowly or paused in from lack of interest. She looked +ill, but had recovered her usual quietude of manner, and Lydgate had +feared to disturb her by any questions. He had told her of Dorothea's +letter containing the check, and afterwards he had said, "Ladislaw is +come, Rosy; he sat with me last night; I dare say he will be here again +to-day. I thought he looked rather battered and depressed." And +Rosamond had made no reply. + +Now, when he came up, he said to her very gently, "Rosy, dear, Mrs. +Casaubon is come to see you again; you would like to see her, would you +not?" That she colored and gave rather a startled movement did not +surprise him after the agitation produced by the interview yesterday--a +beneficent agitation, he thought, since it seemed to have made her turn +to him again. + +Rosamond dared not say no. She dared not with a tone of her voice +touch the facts of yesterday. Why had Mrs. Casaubon come again? The +answer was a blank which Rosamond could only fill up with dread, for +Will Ladislaw's lacerating words had made every thought of Dorothea a +fresh smart to her. Nevertheless, in her new humiliating uncertainty +she dared do nothing but comply. She did not say yes, but she rose and +let Lydgate put a light shawl over her shoulders, while he said, "I am +going out immediately." Then something crossed her mind which prompted +her to say, "Pray tell Martha not to bring any one else into the +drawing-room." And Lydgate assented, thinking that he fully understood +this wish. He led her down to the drawing-room door, and then turned +away, observing to himself that he was rather a blundering husband to +be dependent for his wife's trust in him on the influence of another +woman. + +Rosamond, wrapping her soft shawl around her as she walked towards +Dorothea, was inwardly wrapping her soul in cold reserve. Had Mrs. +Casaubon come to say anything to her about Will? If so, it was a +liberty that Rosamond resented; and she prepared herself to meet every +word with polite impassibility. Will had bruised her pride too sorely +for her to feel any compunction towards him and Dorothea: her own +injury seemed much the greater. Dorothea was not only the "preferred" +woman, but had also a formidable advantage in being Lydgate's +benefactor; and to poor Rosamond's pained confused vision it seemed +that this Mrs. Casaubon--this woman who predominated in all things +concerning her--must have come now with the sense of having the +advantage, and with animosity prompting her to use it. Indeed, not +Rosamond only, but any one else, knowing the outer facts of the case, +and not the simple inspiration on which Dorothea acted, might well have +wondered why she came. + +Looking like the lovely ghost of herself, her graceful slimness wrapped +in her soft white shawl, the rounded infantine mouth and cheek +inevitably suggesting mildness and innocence, Rosamond paused at three +yards' distance from her visitor and bowed. But Dorothea, who had +taken off her gloves, from an impulse which she could never resist when +she wanted a sense of freedom, came forward, and with her face full of +a sad yet sweet openness, put out her hand. Rosamond could not avoid +meeting her glance, could not avoid putting her small hand into +Dorothea's, which clasped it with gentle motherliness; and immediately +a doubt of her own prepossessions began to stir within her. Rosamond's +eye was quick for faces; she saw that Mrs. Casaubon's face looked pale +and changed since yesterday, yet gentle, and like the firm softness of +her hand. But Dorothea had counted a little too much on her own +strength: the clearness and intensity of her mental action this morning +were the continuance of a nervous exaltation which made her frame as +dangerously responsive as a bit of finest Venetian crystal; and in +looking at Rosamond, she suddenly found her heart swelling, and was +unable to speak--all her effort was required to keep back tears. She +succeeded in that, and the emotion only passed over her face like the +spirit of a sob; but it added to Rosamond's impression that Mrs. +Casaubon's state of mind must be something quite different from what +she had imagined. + +So they sat down without a word of preface on the two chairs that +happened to be nearest, and happened also to be close together; though +Rosamond's notion when she first bowed was that she should stay a long +way off from Mrs. Casaubon. But she ceased thinking how anything would +turn out--merely wondering what would come. And Dorothea began to +speak quite simply, gathering firmness as she went on. + +"I had an errand yesterday which I did not finish; that is why I am +here again so soon. You will not think me too troublesome when I tell +you that I came to talk to you about the injustice that has been shown +towards Mr. Lydgate. It will cheer you--will it not?--to know a great +deal about him, that he may not like to speak about himself just +because it is in his own vindication and to his own honor. You will +like to know that your husband has warm friends, who have not left off +believing in his high character? You will let me speak of this without +thinking that I take a liberty?" + +The cordial, pleading tones which seemed to flow with generous +heedlessness above all the facts which had filled Rosamond's mind as +grounds of obstruction and hatred between her and this woman, came as +soothingly as a warm stream over her shrinking fears. Of course Mrs. +Casaubon had the facts in her mind, but she was not going to speak of +anything connected with them. That relief was too great for Rosamond +to feel much else at the moment. She answered prettily, in the new +ease of her soul-- + +"I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear anything you +will say to me about Tertius." + +"The day before yesterday," said Dorothea, "when I had asked him to +come to Lowick to give me his opinion on the affairs of the Hospital, +he told me everything about his conduct and feelings in this sad event +which has made ignorant people cast suspicions on him. The reason he +told me was because I was very bold and asked him. I believed that he +had never acted dishonorably, and I begged him to tell me the history. +He confessed to me that he had never told it before, not even to you, +because he had a great dislike to say, 'I was not wrong,' as if that +were proof, when there are guilty people who will say so. The truth +is, he knew nothing of this man Raffles, or that there were any bad +secrets about him; and he thought that Mr. Bulstrode offered him the +money because he repented, out of kindness, of having refused it +before. All his anxiety about his patient was to treat him rightly, +and he was a little uncomfortable that the case did not end as he had +expected; but he thought then and still thinks that there may have been +no wrong in it on any one's part. And I have told Mr. Farebrother, and +Mr. Brooke, and Sir James Chettam: they all believe in your husband. +That will cheer you, will it not? That will give you courage?" + +Dorothea's face had become animated, and as it beamed on Rosamond very +close to her, she felt something like bashful timidity before a +superior, in the presence of this self-forgetful ardor. She said, with +blushing embarrassment, "Thank you: you are very kind." + +"And he felt that he had been so wrong not to pour out everything about +this to you. But you will forgive him. It was because he feels so +much more about your happiness than anything else--he feels his life +bound into one with yours, and it hurts him more than anything, that +his misfortunes must hurt you. He could speak to me because I am an +indifferent person. And then I asked him if I might come to see you; +because I felt so much for his trouble and yours. That is why I came +yesterday, and why I am come to-day. Trouble is so hard to bear, is it +not?-- How can we live and think that any one has trouble--piercing +trouble--and we could help them, and never try?" + +Dorothea, completely swayed by the feeling that she was uttering, +forgot everything but that she was speaking from out the heart of her +own trial to Rosamond's. The emotion had wrought itself more and more +into her utterance, till the tones might have gone to one's very +marrow, like a low cry from some suffering creature in the darkness. +And she had unconsciously laid her hand again on the little hand that +she had pressed before. + +Rosamond, with an overmastering pang, as if a wound within her had been +probed, burst into hysterical crying as she had done the day before +when she clung to her husband. Poor Dorothea was feeling a great wave +of her own sorrow returning over her--her thought being drawn to the +possible share that Will Ladislaw might have in Rosamond's mental +tumult. She was beginning to fear that she should not be able to +suppress herself enough to the end of this meeting, and while her hand +was still resting on Rosamond's lap, though the hand underneath it was +withdrawn, she was struggling against her own rising sobs. She tried +to master herself with the thought that this might be a turning-point +in three lives--not in her own; no, there the irrevocable had +happened, but--in those three lives which were touching hers with the +solemn neighborhood of danger and distress. The fragile creature who +was crying close to her--there might still be time to rescue her from +the misery of false incompatible bonds; and this moment was unlike any +other: she and Rosamond could never be together again with the same +thrilling consciousness of yesterday within them both. She felt the +relation between them to be peculiar enough to give her a peculiar +influence, though she had no conception that the way in which her own +feelings were involved was fully known to Mrs. Lydgate. + +It was a newer crisis in Rosamond's experience than even Dorothea could +imagine: she was under the first great shock that had shattered her +dream-world in which she had been easily confident of herself and +critical of others; and this strange unexpected manifestation of +feeling in a woman whom she had approached with a shrinking aversion +and dread, as one who must necessarily have a jealous hatred towards +her, made her soul totter all the more with a sense that she had been +walking in an unknown world which had just broken in upon her. + +When Rosamond's convulsed throat was subsiding into calm, and she +withdrew the handkerchief with which she had been hiding her face, her +eyes met Dorothea's as helplessly as if they had been blue flowers. +What was the use of thinking about behavior after this crying? And +Dorothea looked almost as childish, with the neglected trace of a +silent tear. Pride was broken down between these two. + +"We were talking about your husband," Dorothea said, with some +timidity. "I thought his looks were sadly changed with suffering the +other day. I had not seen him for many weeks before. He said he had +been feeling very lonely in his trial; but I think he would have borne +it all better if he had been able to be quite open with you." + +"Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything," said Rosamond, +imagining that he had been complaining of her to Dorothea. "He ought +not to wonder that I object to speak to him on painful subjects." + +"It was himself he blamed for not speaking," said Dorothea. "What he +said of you was, that he could not be happy in doing anything which +made you unhappy--that his marriage was of course a bond which must +affect his choice about everything; and for that reason he refused my +proposal that he should keep his position at the Hospital, because that +would bind him to stay in Middlemarch, and he would not undertake to do +anything which would be painful to you. He could say that to me, +because he knows that I had much trial in my marriage, from my +husband's illness, which hindered his plans and saddened him; and he +knows that I have felt how hard it is to walk always in fear of hurting +another who is tied to us." + +Dorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint pleasure stealing +over Rosamond's face. But there was no answer, and she went on, with a +gathering tremor, "Marriage is so unlike everything else. There is +something even awful in the nearness it brings. Even if we loved some +one else better than--than those we were married to, it would be no +use"--poor Dorothea, in her palpitating anxiety, could only seize her +language brokenly--"I mean, marriage drinks up all our power of giving +or getting any blessedness in that sort of love. I know it may be very +dear--but it murders our marriage--and then the marriage stays with us +like a murder--and everything else is gone. And then our husband--if +he loved and trusted us, and we have not helped him, but made a curse +in his life--" + +Her voice had sunk very low: there was a dread upon her of presuming +too far, and of speaking as if she herself were perfection addressing +error. She was too much preoccupied with her own anxiety, to be aware +that Rosamond was trembling too; and filled with the need to express +pitying fellowship rather than rebuke, she put her hands on Rosamond's, +and said with more agitated rapidity,--"I know, I know that the feeling +may be very dear--it has taken hold of us unawares--it is so hard, it +may seem like death to part with it--and we are weak--I am weak--" + +The waves of her own sorrow, from out of which she was struggling to +save another, rushed over Dorothea with conquering force. She stopped +in speechless agitation, not crying, but feeling as if she were being +inwardly grappled. Her face had become of a deathlier paleness, her +lips trembled, and she pressed her hands helplessly on the hands that +lay under them. + +Rosamond, taken hold of by an emotion stronger than her own--hurried +along in a new movement which gave all things some new, awful, +undefined aspect--could find no words, but involuntarily she put her +lips to Dorothea's forehead which was very near her, and then for a +minute the two women clasped each other as if they had been in a +shipwreck. + +"You are thinking what is not true," said Rosamond, in an eager +half-whisper, while she was still feeling Dorothea's arms round +her--urged by a mysterious necessity to free herself from something +that oppressed her as if it were blood guiltiness. + +They moved apart, looking at each other. + +"When you came in yesterday--it was not as you thought," said Rosamond +in the same tone. + +There was a movement of surprised attention in Dorothea. She expected +a vindication of Rosamond herself. + +"He was telling me how he loved another woman, that I might know he +could never love me," said Rosamond, getting more and more hurried as +she went on. "And now I think he hates me because--because you +mistook him yesterday. He says it is through me that you will think +ill of him--think that he is a false person. But it shall not be +through me. He has never had any love for me--I know he has not--he +has always thought slightly of me. He said yesterday that no other +woman existed for him beside you. The blame of what happened is +entirely mine. He said he could never explain to you--because of me. +He said you could never think well of him again. But now I have told +you, and he cannot reproach me any more." + +Rosamond had delivered her soul under impulses which she had not known +before. She had begun her confession under the subduing influence of +Dorothea's emotion; and as she went on she had gathered the sense that +she was repelling Will's reproaches, which were still like a +knife-wound within her. + +The revulsion of feeling in Dorothea was too strong to be called joy. +It was a tumult in which the terrible strain of the night and morning +made a resistant pain:--she could only perceive that this would be joy +when she had recovered her power of feeling it. Her immediate +consciousness was one of immense sympathy without check; she cared for +Rosamond without struggle now, and responded earnestly to her last +words-- + +"No, he cannot reproach you any more." + +With her usual tendency to over-estimate the good in others, she felt a +great outgoing of her heart towards Rosamond, for the generous effort +which had redeemed her from suffering, not counting that the effort was +a reflex of her own energy. After they had been silent a little, she +said-- + +"You are not sorry that I came this morning?" + +"No, you have been very good to me," said Rosamond. "I did not think +that you would be so good. I was very unhappy. I am not happy now. +Everything is so sad." + +"But better days will come. Your husband will be rightly valued. And +he depends on you for comfort. He loves you best. The worst loss +would be to lose that--and you have not lost it," said Dorothea. + +She tried to thrust away the too overpowering thought of her own +relief, lest she should fail to win some sign that Rosamond's affection +was yearning back towards her husband. + +"Tertius did not find fault with me, then?" said Rosamond, +understanding now that Lydgate might have said anything to Mrs. +Casaubon, and that she certainly was different from other women. +Perhaps there was a faint taste of jealousy in the question. A smile +began to play over Dorothea's face as she said-- + +"No, indeed! How could you imagine it?" But here the door opened, and +Lydgate entered. + +"I am come back in my quality of doctor," he said. "After I went away, +I was haunted by two pale faces: Mrs. Casaubon looked as much in need +of care as you, Rosy. And I thought that I had not done my duty in +leaving you together; so when I had been to Coleman's I came home +again. I noticed that you were walking, Mrs. Casaubon, and the sky has +changed--I think we may have rain. May I send some one to order your +carriage to come for you?" + +"Oh, no! I am strong: I need the walk," said Dorothea, rising with +animation in her face. "Mrs. Lydgate and I have chatted a great deal, +and it is time for me to go. I have always been accused of being +immoderate and saying too much." + +She put out her hand to Rosamond, and they said an earnest, quiet +good-by without kiss or other show of effusion: there had been between +them too much serious emotion for them to use the signs of it +superficially. + +As Lydgate took her to the door she said nothing of Rosamond, but told +him of Mr. Farebrother and the other friends who had listened with +belief to his story. + +When he came back to Rosamond, she had already thrown herself on the +sofa, in resigned fatigue. + +"Well, Rosy," he said, standing over her, and touching her hair, "what +do you think of Mrs. Casaubon now you have seen so much of her?" + +"I think she must be better than any one," said Rosamond, "and she is +very beautiful. If you go to talk to her so often, you will be more +discontented with me than ever!" + +Lydgate laughed at the "so often." "But has she made you any less +discontented with me?" + +"I think she has," said Rosamond, looking up in his face. "How heavy +your eyes are, Tertius--and do push your hair back." He lifted up his +large white hand to obey her, and felt thankful for this little mark of +interest in him. Poor Rosamond's vagrant fancy had come back terribly +scourged--meek enough to nestle under the old despised shelter. And +the shelter was still there: Lydgate had accepted his narrowed lot with +sad resignation. He had chosen this fragile creature, and had taken +the burthen of her life upon his arms. He must walk as he could, +carrying that burthen pitifully. + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + + "My grief lies onward and my joy behind." + --SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets. + + +Exiles notoriously feed much on hopes, and are unlikely to stay in +banishment unless they are obliged. When Will Ladislaw exiled himself +from Middlemarch he had placed no stronger obstacle to his return than +his own resolve, which was by no means an iron barrier, but simply a +state of mind liable to melt into a minuet with other states of mind, +and to find itself bowing, smiling, and giving place with polite +facility. As the months went on, it had seemed more and more difficult +to him to say why he should not run down to Middlemarch--merely for the +sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and if on such a flying visit +he should chance by some strange coincidence to meet with her, there +was no reason for him to be ashamed of having taken an innocent journey +which he had beforehand supposed that he should not take. Since he was +hopelessly divided from her, he might surely venture into her +neighborhood; and as to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch +over her--their opinions seemed less and less important with time and +change of air. + +And there had come a reason quite irrespective of Dorothea, which +seemed to make a journey to Middlemarch a sort of philanthropic duty. +Will had given a disinterested attention to an intended settlement on a +new plan in the Far West, and the need for funds in order to carry out +a good design had set him on debating with himself whether it would not +be a laudable use to make of his claim on Bulstrode, to urge the +application of that money which had been offered to himself as a means +of carrying out a scheme likely to be largely beneficial. The question +seemed a very dubious one to Will, and his repugnance to again entering +into any relation with the banker might have made him dismiss it +quickly, if there had not arisen in his imagination the probability +that his judgment might be more safely determined by a visit to +Middlemarch. + +That was the object which Will stated to himself as a reason for coming +down. He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and discuss the money +question with him, and he had meant to amuse himself for the few +evenings of his stay by having a great deal of music and badinage with +fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick Parsonage:--if +the Parsonage was close to the Manor, that was no fault of his. He had +neglected the Farebrothers before his departure, from a proud +resistance to the possible accusation of indirectly seeking interviews +with Dorothea; but hunger tames us, and Will had become very hungry for +the vision of a certain form and the sound of a certain voice. +Nothing, had done instead--not the opera, or the converse of zealous +politicians, or the flattering reception (in dim corners) of his new +hand in leading articles. + +Thus he had come down, foreseeing with confidence how almost everything +would be in his familiar little world; fearing, indeed, that there +would be no surprises in his visit. But he had found that humdrum +world in a terribly dynamic condition, in which even badinage and +lyrism had turned explosive; and the first day of this visit had become +the most fatal epoch of his life. The next morning he felt so harassed +with the nightmare of consequences--he dreaded so much the immediate +issues before him--that seeing while he breakfasted the arrival of the +Riverston coach, he went out hurriedly and took his place on it, that +he might be relieved, at least for a day, from the necessity of doing +or saying anything in Middlemarch. Will Ladislaw was in one of those +tangled crises which are commoner in experience than one might imagine, +from the shallow absoluteness of men's judgments. He had found +Lydgate, for whom he had the sincerest respect, under circumstances +which claimed his thorough and frankly declared sympathy; and the +reason why, in spite of that claim, it would have been better for Will +to have avoided all further intimacy, or even contact, with Lydgate, +was precisely of the kind to make such a course appear impossible. To +a creature of Will's susceptible temperament--without any neutral +region of indifference in his nature, ready to turn everything that +befell him into the collisions of a passionate drama--the revelation +that Rosamond had made her happiness in any way dependent on him was a +difficulty which his outburst of rage towards her had immeasurably +increased for him. He hated his own cruelty, and yet he dreaded to +show the fulness of his relenting: he must go to her again; the +friendship could not be put to a sudden end; and her unhappiness was a +power which he dreaded. And all the while there was no more foretaste +of enjoyment in the life before him than if his limbs had been lopped +off and he was making his fresh start on crutches. In the night he had +debated whether he should not get on the coach, not for Riverston, but +for London, leaving a note to Lydgate which would give a makeshift +reason for his retreat. But there were strong cords pulling him back +from that abrupt departure: the blight on his happiness in thinking of +Dorothea, the crushing of that chief hope which had remained in spite +of the acknowledged necessity for renunciation, was too fresh a misery +for him to resign himself to it and go straightway into a distance +which was also despair. + +Thus he did nothing more decided than taking the Riverston coach. He +came back again by it while it was still daylight, having made up his +mind that he must go to Lydgate's that evening. The Rubicon, we know, +was a very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay +entirely in certain invisible conditions. Will felt as if he were +forced to cross his small boundary ditch, and what he saw beyond it was +not empire, but discontented subjection. + +But it is given to us sometimes even in our every-day life to witness +the saving influence of a noble nature, the divine efficacy of rescue +that may lie in a self-subduing act of fellowship. If Dorothea, after +her night's anguish, had not taken that walk to Rosamond--why, she +perhaps would have been a woman who gained a higher character for +discretion, but it would certainly not have been as well for those +three who were on one hearth in Lydgate's house at half-past seven that +evening. + +Rosamond had been prepared for Will's visit, and she received him with +a languid coldness which Lydgate accounted for by her nervous +exhaustion, of which he could not suppose that it had any relation to +Will. And when she sat in silence bending over a bit of work, he +innocently apologized for her in an indirect way by begging her to lean +backward and rest. Will was miserable in the necessity for playing the +part of a friend who was making his first appearance and greeting to +Rosamond, while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that +scene of yesterday, which seemed still inexorably to enclose them both, +like the painful vision of a double madness. It happened that nothing +called Lydgate out of the room; but when Rosamond poured out the tea, +and Will came near to fetch it, she placed a tiny bit of folded paper +in his saucer. He saw it and secured it quickly, but as he went back +to his inn he had no eagerness to unfold the paper. What Rosamond had +written to him would probably deepen the painful impressions of the +evening. Still, he opened and read it by his bed-candle. There were +only these few words in her neatly flowing hand:-- + +"I have told Mrs. Casaubon. She is not under any mistake about you. I +told her because she came to see me and was very kind. You will have +nothing to reproach me with now. I shall not have made any difference +to you." + +The effect of these words was not quite all gladness. As Will dwelt on +them with excited imagination, he felt his cheeks and ears burning at +the thought of what had occurred between Dorothea and Rosamond--at the +uncertainty how far Dorothea might still feel her dignity wounded in +having an explanation of his conduct offered to her. There might still +remain in her mind a changed association with him which made an +irremediable difference--a lasting flaw. With active fancy he wrought +himself into a state of doubt little more easy than that of the man who +has escaped from wreck by night and stands on unknown ground in the +darkness. Until that wretched yesterday--except the moment of +vexation long ago in the very same room and in the very same +presence--all their vision, all their thought of each other, had been +as in a world apart, where the sunshine fell on tall white lilies, +where no evil lurked, and no other soul entered. But now--would +Dorothea meet him in that world again? + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + + "And now good-morrow to our waking souls + Which watch not one another out of fear; + For love all love of other sights controls, + And makes one little room, an everywhere." + --DR. DONNE. + + +On the second morning after Dorothea's visit to Rosamond, she had had +two nights of sound sleep, and had not only lost all traces of fatigue, +but felt as if she had a great deal of superfluous strength--that is +to say, more strength than she could manage to concentrate on any +occupation. The day before, she had taken long walks outside the +grounds, and had paid two visits to the Parsonage; but she never in her +life told any one the reason why she spent her time in that fruitless +manner, and this morning she was rather angry with herself for her +childish restlessness. To-day was to be spent quite differently. What +was there to be done in the village? Oh dear! nothing. Everybody was +well and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and it was Saturday +morning, when there was a general scrubbing of doors and door-stones, +and when it was useless to go into the school. But there were various +subjects that Dorothea was trying to get clear upon, and she resolved +to throw herself energetically into the gravest of all. She sat down +in the library before her particular little heap of books on political +economy and kindred matters, out of which she was trying to get light +as to the best way of spending money so as not to injure one's +neighbors, or--what comes to the same thing--so as to do them the most +good. Here was a weighty subject which, if she could but lay hold of +it, would certainly keep her mind steady. Unhappily her mind slipped +off it for a whole hour; and at the end she found herself reading +sentences twice over with an intense consciousness of many things, but +not of any one thing contained in the text. This was hopeless. Should +she order the carriage and drive to Tipton? No; for some reason or +other she preferred staying at Lowick. But her vagrant mind must be +reduced to order: there was an art in self-discipline; and she walked +round and round the brown library considering by what sort of manoeuvre +she could arrest her wandering thoughts. Perhaps a mere task was the +best means--something to which she must go doggedly. Was there not the +geography of Asia Minor, in which her slackness had often been rebuked +by Mr. Casaubon? She went to the cabinet of maps and unrolled one: +this morning she might make herself finally sure that Paphlagonia was +not on the Levantine coast, and fix her total darkness about the +Chalybes firmly on the shores of the Euxine. A map was a fine thing to +study when you were disposed to think of something else, being made up +of names that would turn into a chime if you went back upon them. +Dorothea set earnestly to work, bending close to her map, and uttering +the names in an audible, subdued tone, which often got into a chime. +She looked amusingly girlish after all her deep experience--nodding +her head and marking the names off on her fingers, with a little +pursing of her lip, and now and then breaking off to put her hands on +each side of her face and say, "Oh dear! oh dear!" + +There was no reason why this should end any more than a merry-go-round; +but it was at last interrupted by the opening of the door and the +announcement of Miss Noble. + +The little old lady, whose bonnet hardly reached Dorothea's shoulder, +was warmly welcomed, but while her hand was being pressed she made many +of her beaver-like noises, as if she had something difficult to say. + +"Do sit down," said Dorothea, rolling a chair forward. "Am I wanted +for anything? I shall be so glad if I can do anything." + +"I will not stay," said Miss Noble, putting her hand into her small +basket, and holding some article inside it nervously; "I have left a +friend in the churchyard." She lapsed into her inarticulate sounds, +and unconsciously drew forth the article which she was fingering. It +was the tortoise-shell lozenge-box, and Dorothea felt the color +mounting to her cheeks. + +"Mr. Ladislaw," continued the timid little woman. "He fears he has +offended you, and has begged me to ask if you will see him for a few +minutes." + +Dorothea did not answer on the instant: it was crossing her mind that +she could not receive him in this library, where her husband's +prohibition seemed to dwell. She looked towards the window. Could she +go out and meet him in the grounds? The sky was heavy, and the trees +had begun to shiver as at a coming storm. Besides, she shrank from +going out to him. + +"Do see him, Mrs. Casaubon," said Miss Noble, pathetically; "else I +must go back and say No, and that will hurt him." + +"Yes, I will see him," said Dorothea. "Pray tell him to come." + +What else was there to be done? There was nothing that she longed for +at that moment except to see Will: the possibility of seeing him had +thrust itself insistently between her and every other object; and yet +she had a throbbing excitement like an alarm upon her--a sense that +she was doing something daringly defiant for his sake. + +When the little lady had trotted away on her mission, Dorothea stood in +the middle of the library with her hands falling clasped before her, +making no attempt to compose herself in an attitude of dignified +unconsciousness. What she was least conscious of just then was her own +body: she was thinking of what was likely to be in Will's mind, and of +the hard feelings that others had had about him. How could any duty +bind her to hardness? Resistance to unjust dispraise had mingled with +her feeling for him from the very first, and now in the rebound of her +heart after her anguish the resistance was stronger than ever. "If I +love him too much it is because he has been used so ill:"--there was a +voice within her saying this to some imagined audience in the library, +when the door was opened, and she saw Will before her. + +She did not move, and he came towards her with more doubt and timidity +in his face than she had ever seen before. He was in a state of +uncertainty which made him afraid lest some look or word of his should +condemn him to a new distance from her; and Dorothea was afraid of her +_own_ emotion. She looked as if there were a spell upon her, keeping +her motionless and hindering her from unclasping her hands, while some +intense, grave yearning was imprisoned within her eyes. Seeing that +she did not put out her hand as usual, Will paused a yard from her and +said with embarrassment, "I am so grateful to you for seeing me." + +"I wanted to see you," said Dorothea, having no other words at command. +It did not occur to her to sit down, and Will did not give a cheerful +interpretation to this queenly way of receiving him; but he went on to +say what he had made up his mind to say. + +"I fear you think me foolish and perhaps wrong for coming back so soon. +I have been punished for my impatience. You know--every one knows +now--a painful story about my parentage. I knew of it before I went +away, and I always meant to tell you of it if--if we ever met again." + +There was a slight movement in Dorothea, and she unclasped her hands, +but immediately folded them over each other. + +"But the affair is matter of gossip now," Will continued. "I wished +you to know that something connected with it--something which happened +before I went away, helped to bring me down here again. At least I +thought it excused my coming. It was the idea of getting Bulstrode to +apply some money to a public purpose--some money which he had thought +of giving me. Perhaps it is rather to Bulstrode's credit that he +privately offered me compensation for an old injury: he offered to give +me a good income to make amends; but I suppose you know the +disagreeable story?" + +Will looked doubtfully at Dorothea, but his manner was gathering some +of the defiant courage with which he always thought of this fact in his +destiny. He added, "You know that it must be altogether painful to me." + +"Yes--yes--I know," said Dorothea, hastily. + +"I did not choose to accept an income from such a source. I was sure +that you would not think well of me if I did so," said Will. Why +should he mind saying anything of that sort to her now? She knew that +he had avowed his love for her. "I felt that"--he broke off, +nevertheless. + +"You acted as I should have expected you to act," said Dorothea, her +face brightening and her head becoming a little more erect on its +beautiful stem. + +"I did not believe that you would let any circumstance of my birth +create a prejudice in you against me, though it was sure to do so in +others," said Will, shaking his head backward in his old way, and +looking with a grave appeal into her eyes. + +"If it were a new hardship it would be a new reason for me to cling to +you," said Dorothea, fervidly. "Nothing could have changed me but--" +her heart was swelling, and it was difficult to go on; she made a great +effort over herself to say in a low tremulous voice, "but thinking that +you were different--not so good as I had believed you to be." + +"You are sure to believe me better than I am in everything but one," +said Will, giving way to his own feeling in the evidence of hers. "I +mean, in my truth to you. When I thought you doubted of that, I didn't +care about anything that was left. I thought it was all over with me, +and there was nothing to try for--only things to endure." + +"I don't doubt you any longer," said Dorothea, putting out her hand; a +vague fear for him impelling her unutterable affection. + +He took her hand and raised it to his lips with something like a sob. +But he stood with his hat and gloves in the other hand, and might have +done for the portrait of a Royalist. Still it was difficult to loose +the hand, and Dorothea, withdrawing it in a confusion that distressed +her, looked and moved away. + +"See how dark the clouds have become, and how the trees are tossed," +she said, walking towards the window, yet speaking and moving with only +a dim sense of what she was doing. + +Will followed her at a little distance, and leaned against the tall +back of a leather chair, on which he ventured now to lay his hat and +gloves, and free himself from the intolerable durance of formality to +which he had been for the first time condemned in Dorothea's presence. +It must be confessed that he felt very happy at that moment leaning on +the chair. He was not much afraid of anything that she might feel now. + +They stood silent, not looking at each other, but looking at the +evergreens which were being tossed, and were showing the pale underside +of their leaves against the blackening sky. Will never enjoyed the +prospect of a storm so much: it delivered him from the necessity of +going away. Leaves and little branches were hurled about, and the +thunder was getting nearer. The light was more and more sombre, but +there came a flash of lightning which made them start and look at each +other, and then smile. Dorothea began to say what she had been +thinking of. + +"That was a wrong thing for you to say, that you would have had nothing +to try for. If we had lost our own chief good, other people's good +would remain, and that is worth trying for. Some can be happy. I +seemed to see that more clearly than ever, when I was the most +wretched. I can hardly think how I could have borne the trouble, if +that feeling had not come to me to make strength." + +"You have never felt the sort of misery I felt," said Will; "the misery +of knowing that you must despise me." + +"But I have felt worse--it was worse to think ill--" Dorothea had begun +impetuously, but broke off. + +Will colored. He had the sense that whatever she said was uttered in +the vision of a fatality that kept them apart. He was silent a moment, +and then said passionately-- + +"We may at least have the comfort of speaking to each other without +disguise. Since I must go away--since we must always be divided--you +may think of me as one on the brink of the grave." + +While he was speaking there came a vivid flash of lightning which lit +each of them up for the other--and the light seemed to be the terror of +a hopeless love. Dorothea darted instantaneously from the window; Will +followed her, seizing her hand with a spasmodic movement; and so they +stood, with their hands clasped, like two children, looking out on the +storm, while the thunder gave a tremendous crack and roll above them, +and the rain began to pour down. Then they turned their faces towards +each other, with the memory of his last words in them, and they did not +loose each other's hands. + +"There is no hope for me," said Will. "Even if you loved me as well as +I love you--even if I were everything to you--I shall most likely +always be very poor: on a sober calculation, one can count on nothing +but a creeping lot. It is impossible for us ever to belong to each +other. It is perhaps base of me to have asked for a word from you. I +meant to go away into silence, but I have not been able to do what I +meant." + +"Don't be sorry," said Dorothea, in her clear tender tones. "I would +rather share all the trouble of our parting." + +Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were +the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly, +and then they moved apart. + +The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit +were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was +one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a +certain awe. + +Dorothea sat down on the seat nearest to her, a long low ottoman in the +middle of the room, and with her hands folded over each other on her +lap, looked at the drear outer world. Will stood still an instant +looking at her, then seated himself beside her, and laid his hand on +hers, which turned itself upward to be clasped. They sat in that way +without looking at each other, until the rain abated and began to fall +in stillness. Each had been full of thoughts which neither of them +could begin to utter. + +But when the rain was quiet, Dorothea turned to look at Will. With +passionate exclamation, as if some torture screw were threatening him, +he started up and said, "It is impossible!" + +He went and leaned on the back of the chair again, and seemed to be +battling with his own anger, while she looked towards him sadly. + +"It is as fatal as a murder or any other horror that divides people," +he burst out again; "it is more intolerable--to have our life maimed by +petty accidents." + +"No--don't say that--your life need not be maimed," said Dorothea, +gently. + +"Yes, it must," said Will, angrily. "It is cruel of you to speak in +that way--as if there were any comfort. You may see beyond the misery +of it, but I don't. It is unkind--it is throwing back my love for you +as if it were a trifle, to speak in that way in the face of the fact. +We can never be married." + +"Some time--we might," said Dorothea, in a trembling voice. + +"When?" said Will, bitterly. "What is the use of counting on any +success of mine? It is a mere toss up whether I shall ever do more +than keep myself decently, unless I choose to sell myself as a mere pen +and a mouthpiece. I can see that clearly enough. I could not offer +myself to any woman, even if she had no luxuries to renounce." + +There was silence. Dorothea's heart was full of something that she +wanted to say, and yet the words were too difficult. She was wholly +possessed by them: at that moment debate was mute within her. And it +was very hard that she could not say what she wanted to say. Will was +looking out of the window angrily. If he would have looked at her and +not gone away from her side, she thought everything would have been +easier. At last he turned, still resting against the chair, and +stretching his hand automatically towards his hat, said with a sort of +exasperation, "Good-by." + +"Oh, I cannot bear it--my heart will break," said Dorothea, starting +from her seat, the flood of her young passion bearing down all the +obstructions which had kept her silent--the great tears rising and +falling in an instant: "I don't mind about poverty--I hate my wealth." + +In an instant Will was close to her and had his arms round her, but she +drew her head back and held his away gently that she might go on +speaking, her large tear-filled eyes looking at his very simply, while +she said in a sobbing childlike way, "We could live quite well on my +own fortune--it is too much--seven hundred a-year--I want so little--no +new clothes--and I will learn what everything costs." + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + + "Though it be songe of old and yonge, + That I sholde be to blame, + Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large + In hurtynge of my name." + --The Not-Browne Mayde. + + +It was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform Bill: that +explains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be walking on the slope of the +lawn near the great conservatory at Freshitt Hall, holding the "Times" +in his hands behind him, while he talked with a trout-fisher's +dispassionateness about the prospects of the country to Sir James +Chettam. Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia were +sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet little +Arthur, who was being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the +infantine Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsome +silken fringe. + +The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully. Mrs. +Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of peers: she had it +for certain from her cousin that Truberry had gone over to the other +side entirely at the instigation of his wife, who had scented peerages +in the air from the very first introduction of the Reform question, and +would sign her soul away to take precedence of her younger sister, who +had married a baronet. Lady Chettam thought that such conduct was very +reprehensible, and remembered that Mrs. Truberry's mother was a Miss +Walsingham of Melspring. Celia confessed it was nicer to be "Lady" +than "Mrs.," and that Dodo never minded about precedence if she could +have her own way. Mrs. Cadwallader held that it was a poor +satisfaction to take precedence when everybody about you knew that you +had not a drop of good blood in your veins; and Celia again, stopping +to look at Arthur, said, "It would be very nice, though, if he were a +Viscount--and his lordship's little tooth coming through! He might +have been, if James had been an Earl." + +"My dear Celia," said the Dowager, "James's title is worth far more +than any new earldom. I never wished his father to be anything else +than Sir James." + +"Oh, I only meant about Arthur's little tooth," said Celia, +comfortably. "But see, here is my uncle coming." + +She tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and Mr. Cadwallader +came forward to make one group with the ladies. Celia had slipped her +arm through her uncle's, and he patted her hand with a rather +melancholy "Well, my dear!" As they approached, it was evident that +Mr. Brooke was looking dejected, but this was fully accounted for by +the state of politics; and as he was shaking hands all round without +more greeting than a "Well, you're all here, you know," the Rector +said, laughingly-- + +"Don't take the throwing out of the Bill so much to heart, Brooke; +you've got all the riff-raff of the country on your side." + +"The Bill, eh? ah!" said Mr. Brooke, with a mild distractedness of +manner. "Thrown out, you know, eh? The Lords are going too far, +though. They'll have to pull up. Sad news, you know. I mean, here at +home--sad news. But you must not blame me, Chettam." + +"What is the matter?" said Sir James. "Not another gamekeeper shot, I +hope? It's what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass is +let off so easily." + +"Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, you +know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that he +included them in his confidence. "As to poachers like Trapping Bass, +you know, Chettam," he continued, as they were entering, "when you are +a magistrate, you'll not find it so easy to commit. Severity is all +very well, but it's a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do +it for you. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you +know--you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing." + +Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When he +had something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce it +among a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that +would get a milder flavor by mixing. He continued his chat with Sir +James about the poachers until they were all seated, and Mrs. +Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said-- + +"I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that is +settled. What is it, then?" + +"Well, it's a very trying thing, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "I'm glad +you and the Rector are here; it's a family matter--but you will help +us all to bear it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear." +Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celia--"You've no notion what it is, you +know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonly--but, you see, you +have not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. There's +something singular in things: they come round, you know." + +"It must be about Dodo," said Celia, who had been used to think of her +sister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seated +herself on a low stool against her husband's knee. + +"For God's sake let us hear what it is!" said Sir James. + +"Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was a +sort of will to make things worse." + +"Exactly," said Sir James, hastily. "But _what_ is worse?" + +"Dorothea is going to be married again, you know," said Mr. Brooke, +nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with a +frightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost +white with anger, but he did not speak. + +"Merciful heaven!" said Mrs. Cadwallader. "Not to _young_ Ladislaw?" + +Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, "Yes; to Ladislaw," and then fell into a +prudential silence. + +"You see, Humphrey!" said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her arm towards her +husband. "Another time you will admit that I have some foresight; or +rather you will contradict me and be just as blind as ever. _You_ +supposed that the young gentleman was gone out of the country." + +"So he might be, and yet come back," said the Rector, quietly + +"When did you learn this?" said Sir James, not liking to hear any one +else speak, though finding it difficult to speak himself. + +"Yesterday," said Mr. Brooke, meekly. "I went to Lowick. Dorothea +sent for me, you know. It had come about quite suddenly--neither of +them had any idea two days ago--not any idea, you know. There's +something singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determined--it is +no use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty, Chettam. +But she can act as she likes, you know." + +"It would have been better if I had called him out and shot him a year +ago," said Sir James, not from bloody-mindedness, but because he needed +something strong to say. + +"Really, James, that would have been very disagreeable," said Celia. + +"Be reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more quietly," said Mr. +Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-natured friend so overmastered by +anger. + +"That is not so very easy for a man of any dignity--with any sense of +right--when the affair happens to be in his own family," said Sir +James, still in his white indignation. "It is perfectly scandalous. +If Ladislaw had had a spark of honor he would have gone out of the +country at once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I am +not surprised. The day after Casaubon's funeral I said what ought to +be done. But I was not listened to." + +"You wanted what was impossible, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke. +"You wanted him shipped off. I told you Ladislaw was not to be done as +we liked with: he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellow--I always +said he was a remarkable fellow." + +"Yes," said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, "it is rather a pity +you formed that high opinion of him. We are indebted to that for his +being lodged in this neighborhood. We are indebted to that for seeing +a woman like Dorothea degrading herself by marrying him." Sir James +made little stoppages between his clauses, the words not coming easily. +"A man so marked out by her husband's will, that delicacy ought to have +forbidden her from seeing him again--who takes her out of her proper +rank--into poverty--has the meanness to accept such a sacrifice--has +always had an objectionable position--a bad origin--and, I _believe_, +is a man of little principle and light character. That is my opinion." +Sir James ended emphatically, turning aside and crossing his leg. + +"I pointed everything out to her," said Mr. Brooke, apologetically--"I +mean the poverty, and abandoning her position. I said, 'My dear, you +don't know what it is to live on seven hundred a-year, and have no +carriage, and that kind of thing, and go amongst people who don't know +who you are.' I put it strongly to her. But I advise you to talk to +Dorothea herself. The fact is, she has a dislike to Casaubon's +property. You will hear what she says, you know." + +"No--excuse me--I shall not," said Sir James, with more coolness. "I +cannot bear to see her again; it is too painful. It hurts me too much +that a woman like Dorothea should have done what is wrong." + +"Be just, Chettam," said the easy, large-lipped Rector, who objected to +all this unnecessary discomfort. "Mrs. Casaubon may be acting +imprudently: she is giving up a fortune for the sake of a man, and we +men have so poor an opinion of each other that we can hardly call a +woman wise who does that. But I think you should not condemn it as a +wrong action, in the strict sense of the word." + +"Yes, I do," answered Sir James. "I think that Dorothea commits a +wrong action in marrying Ladislaw." + +"My dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it +is unpleasant to us," said the Rector, quietly. Like many men who take +life easily, he had the knack of saying a home truth occasionally to +those who felt themselves virtuously out of temper. Sir James took out +his handkerchief and began to bite the corner. + +"It is very dreadful of Dodo, though," said Celia, wishing to justify +her husband. "She said she _never would_ marry again--not anybody at +all." + +"I heard her say the same thing myself," said Lady Chettam, +majestically, as if this were royal evidence. + +"Oh, there is usually a silent exception in such cases," said Mrs. +Cadwallader. "The only wonder to me is, that any of you are surprised. +You did nothing to hinder it. If you would have had Lord Triton down +here to woo her with his philanthropy, he might have carried her off +before the year was over. There was no safety in anything else. Mr. +Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as possible. He made +himself disagreeable--or it pleased God to make him so--and then he +dared her to contradict him. It's the way to make any trumpery +tempting, to ticket it at a high price in that way." + +"I don't know what you mean by wrong, Cadwallader," said Sir James, +still feeling a little stung, and turning round in his chair towards +the Rector. "He's not a man we can take into the family. At least, I +must speak for myself," he continued, carefully keeping his eyes off +Mr. Brooke. "I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to +care about the propriety of the thing." + +"Well, you know, Chettam," said Mr. Brooke, good-humoredly, nursing his +leg, "I can't turn my back on Dorothea. I must be a father to her up +to a certain point. I said, 'My dear, I won't refuse to give you +away.' I had spoken strongly before. But I can cut off the entail, +you know. It will cost money and be troublesome; but I can do it, you +know." + +Mr. Brooke nodded at Sir James, and felt that he was both showing his +own force of resolution and propitiating what was just in the Baronet's +vexation. He had hit on a more ingenious mode of parrying than he was +aware of. He had touched a motive of which Sir James was ashamed. The +mass of his feeling about Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw was due +partly to excusable prejudice, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a +jealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's. +He was convinced that the marriage was a fatal one for Dorothea. But +amid that mass ran a vein of which he was too good and honorable a man +to like the avowal even to himself: it was undeniable that the union of +the two estates--Tipton and Freshitt--lying charmingly within a +ring-fence, was a prospect that flattered him for his son and heir. +Hence when Mr. Brooke noddingly appealed to that motive, Sir James felt +a sudden embarrassment; there was a stoppage in his throat; he even +blushed. He had found more words than usual in the first jet of his +anger, but Mr. Brooke's propitiation was more clogging to his tongue +than Mr. Cadwallader's caustic hint. + +But Celia was glad to have room for speech after her uncle's suggestion +of the marriage ceremony, and she said, though with as little eagerness +of manner as if the question had turned on an invitation to dinner, "Do +you mean that Dodo is going to be married directly, uncle?" + +"In three weeks, you know," said Mr. Brooke, helplessly. "I can do +nothing to hinder it, Cadwallader," he added, turning for a little +countenance toward the Rector, who said-- + +"--I--should not make any fuss about it. If she likes to be poor, that +is her affair. Nobody would have said anything if she had married the +young fellow because he was rich. Plenty of beneficed clergy are +poorer than they will be. Here is Elinor," continued the provoking +husband; "she vexed her friends by me: I had hardly a thousand +a-year--I was a lout--nobody could see anything in me--my shoes were +not the right cut--all the men wondered how a woman could like me. +Upon my word, I must take Ladislaw's part until I hear more harm of +him." + +"Humphrey, that is all sophistry, and you know it," said his wife. +"Everything is all one--that is the beginning and end with you. As if +you had not been a Cadwallader! Does any one suppose that I would have +taken such a monster as you by any other name?" + +"And a clergyman too," observed Lady Chettam with approbation. "Elinor +cannot be said to have descended below her rank. It is difficult to +say what Mr. Ladislaw is, eh, James?" + +Sir James gave a small grunt, which was less respectful than his usual +mode of answering his mother. Celia looked up at him like a thoughtful +kitten. + +"It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful mixture!" said Mrs. +Cadwallader. "The Casaubon cuttle-fish fluid to begin with, and then a +rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was it?--and then an old +clo--" + +"Nonsense, Elinor," said the Rector, rising. "It is time for us to go." + +"After all, he is a pretty sprig," said Mrs. Cadwallader, rising too, +and wishing to make amends. "He is like the fine old Crichley +portraits before the idiots came in." + +"I'll go with you," said Mr. Brooke, starting up with alacrity. "You +must all come and dine with me to-morrow, you know--eh, Celia, my dear?" + +"You will, James--won't you?" said Celia, taking her husband's hand. + +"Oh, of course, if you like," said Sir James, pulling down his +waistcoat, but unable yet to adjust his face good-humoredly. "That is +to say, if it is not to meet anybody else.': + +"No, no, no," said Mr. Brooke, understanding the condition. "Dorothea +would not come, you know, unless you had been to see her." + +When Sir James and Celia were alone, she said, "Do you mind about my +having the carriage to go to Lowick, James?" + +"What, now, directly?" he answered, with some surprise. + +"Yes, it is very important," said Celia. + +"Remember, Celia, I cannot see her," said Sir James. + +"Not if she gave up marrying?" + +"What is the use of saying that?--however, I'm going to the stables. +I'll tell Briggs to bring the carriage round." + +Celia thought it was of great use, if not to say that, at least to take +a journey to Lowick in order to influence Dorothea's mind. All through +their girlhood she had felt that she could act on her sister by a word +judiciously placed--by opening a little window for the daylight of her +own understanding to enter among the strange colored lamps by which +Dodo habitually saw. And Celia the matron naturally felt more able to +advise her childless sister. How could any one understand Dodo so well +as Celia did or love her so tenderly? + +Dorothea, busy in her boudoir, felt a glow of pleasure at the sight of +her sister so soon after the revelation of her intended marriage. She +had prefigured to herself, even with exaggeration, the disgust of her +friends, and she had even feared that Celia might be kept aloof from +her. + +"O Kitty, I am delighted to see you!" said Dorothea, putting her hands +on Celia's shoulders, and beaming on her. "I almost thought you would +not come to me." + +"I have not brought Arthur, because I was in a hurry," said Celia, and +they sat down on two small chairs opposite each other, with their knees +touching. + +"You know, Dodo, it is very bad," said Celia, in her placid guttural, +looking as prettily free from humors as possible. "You have +disappointed us all so. And I can't think that it ever _will_ be--you +never can go and live in that way. And then there are all your plans! +You never can have thought of that. James would have taken any trouble +for you, and you might have gone on all your life doing what you liked." + +"On the contrary, dear," said Dorothea, "I never could do anything that +I liked. I have never carried out any plan yet." + +"Because you always wanted things that wouldn't do. But other plans +would have come. And how can you marry Mr. Ladislaw, that we none of +us ever thought you _could_ marry? It shocks James so dreadfully. And +then it is all so different from what you have always been. You would +have Mr. Casaubon because he had such a great soul, and was so and +dismal and learned; and now, to think of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who has +got no estate or anything. I suppose it is because you must be making +yourself uncomfortable in some way or other." + +Dorothea laughed. + +"Well, it is very serious, Dodo," said Celia, becoming more impressive. +"How will you live? and you will go away among queer people. And I +shall never see you--and you won't mind about little Arthur--and I +thought you always would--" + +Celia's rare tears had got into her eyes, and the corners of her mouth +were agitated. + +"Dear Celia," said Dorothea, with tender gravity, "if you don't ever +see me, it will not be my fault." + +"Yes, it will," said Celia, with the same touching distortion of her +small features. "How can I come to you or have you with me when James +can't bear it?--that is because he thinks it is not right--he thinks +you are so wrong, Dodo. But you always were wrong: only I can't help +loving you. And nobody can think where you will live: where can you +go?" + +"I am going to London," said Dorothea. + +"How can you always live in a street? And you will be so poor. I +could give you half my things, only how can I, when I never see you?" + +"Bless you, Kitty," said Dorothea, with gentle warmth. "Take comfort: +perhaps James will forgive me some time." + +"But it would be much better if you would not be married," said Celia, +drying her eyes, and returning to her argument; "then there would be +nothing uncomfortable. And you would not do what nobody thought you +could do. James always said you ought to be a queen; but this is not +at all being like a queen. You know what mistakes you have always been +making, Dodo, and this is another. Nobody thinks Mr. Ladislaw a proper +husband for you. And you _said you_ would never be married again." + +"It is quite true that I might be a wiser person, Celia," said +Dorothea, "and that I might have done something better, if I had been +better. But this is what I am going to do. I have promised to marry +Mr. Ladislaw; and I am going to marry him." + +The tone in which Dorothea said this was a note that Celia had long +learned to recognize. She was silent a few moments, and then said, as +if she had dismissed all contest, "Is he very fond of you, Dodo?" + +"I hope so. I am very fond of him." + +"That is nice," said Celia, comfortably. "Only I rather you had such a +sort of husband as James is, with a place very near, that I could drive +to." + +Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative. Presently she +said, "I cannot think how it all came about." Celia thought it would be +pleasant to hear the story. + +"I dare say not," said-Dorothea, pinching her sister's chin. "If you +knew how it came about, it would not seem wonderful to you." + +"Can't you tell me?" said Celia, settling her arms cozily. + +"No, dear, you would have to feel with me, else you would never know." + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + + "Then went the jury out whose names were Mr. Blindman, Mr. + No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr. + Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. + Hate-light, Mr. Implacable, who every one gave in his + private verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards + unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the + judge. And first among themselves, Mr. Blindman, the + foreman, said, I see clearly that this man is a heretic. + Then said Mr. No-good, Away with such a fellow from the + earth! Ay, said Mr. Malice, for I hate the very look of him. + Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could never endure him. Nor I, + said Mr. Live-loose; for he would be always condemning my + way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said + Mr. High-mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity. + He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging is too good for him, + said Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch him out of the way said + Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have all + the world given me, I could not be reconciled to him; + therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death." + --Pilgrim's Progress. + + +When immortal Bunyan makes his picture of the persecuting passions +bringing in their verdict of guilty, who pities Faithful? That is a +rare and blessed lot which some greatest men have not attained, to know +ourselves guiltless before a condemning crowd--to be sure that what we +are denounced for is solely the good in us. The pitiable lot is that +of the man who could not call himself a martyr even though he were to +persuade himself that the men who stoned him were but ugly passions +incarnate--who knows that he is stoned, not for professing the Right, +but for not being the man he professed to be. + +This was the consciousness that Bulstrode was withering under while he +made his preparations for departing from Middlemarch, and going to end +his stricken life in that sad refuge, the indifference of new faces. +The duteous merciful constancy of his wife had delivered him from one +dread, but it could not hinder her presence from being still a tribunal +before which he shrank from confession and desired advocacy. His +equivocations with himself about the death of Raffles had sustained the +conception of an Omniscience whom he prayed to, yet he had a terror +upon him which would not let him expose them to judgment by a full +confession to his wife: the acts which he had washed and diluted with +inward argument and motive, and for which it seemed comparatively easy +to win invisible pardon--what name would she call them by? That she +should ever silently call his acts Murder was what he could not bear. +He felt shrouded by her doubt: he got strength to face her from the +sense that she could not yet feel warranted in pronouncing that worst +condemnation on him. Some time, perhaps--when he was dying--he would +tell her all: in the deep shadow of that time, when she held his hand +in the gathering darkness, she might listen without recoiling from his +touch. Perhaps: but concealment had been the habit of his life, and +the impulse to confession had no power against the dread of a deeper +humiliation. + +He was full of timid care for his wife, not only because he deprecated +any harshness of judgment from her, but because he felt a deep distress +at the sight of her suffering. She had sent her daughters away to +board at a school on the coast, that this crisis might be hidden from +them as far as possible. Set free by their absence from the +intolerable necessity of accounting for her grief or of beholding their +frightened wonder, she could live unconstrainedly with the sorrow that +was every day streaking her hair with whiteness and making her eyelids +languid. + +"Tell me anything that you would like to have me do, Harriet," +Bulstrode had said to her; "I mean with regard to arrangements of +property. It is my intention not to sell the land I possess in this +neighborhood, but to leave it to you as a safe provision. If you have +any wish on such subjects, do not conceal it from me." + +A few days afterwards, when she had returned from a visit to her +brother's, she began to speak to her husband on a subject which had for +some time been in her mind. + +"I _should_ like to do something for my brother's family, Nicholas; and +I think we are bound to make some amends to Rosamond and her husband. +Walter says Mr. Lydgate must leave the town, and his practice is almost +good for nothing, and they have very little left to settle anywhere +with. I would rather do without something for ourselves, to make some +amends to my poor brother's family." + +Mrs. Bulstrode did not wish to go nearer to the facts than in the +phrase "make some amends;" knowing that her husband must understand +her. He had a particular reason, which she was not aware of, for +wincing under her suggestion. He hesitated before he said-- + +"It is not possible to carry out your wish in the way you propose, my +dear. Mr. Lydgate has virtually rejected any further service from me. +He has returned the thousand pounds which I lent him. Mrs. Casaubon +advanced him the sum for that purpose. Here is his letter." + +The letter seemed to cut Mrs. Bulstrode severely. The mention of Mrs. +Casaubon's loan seemed a reflection of that public feeling which held +it a matter of course that every one would avoid a connection with her +husband. She was silent for some time; and the tears fell one after +the other, her chin trembling as she wiped them away. Bulstrode, +sitting opposite to her, ached at the sight of that grief-worn face, +which two months before had been bright and blooming. It had aged to +keep sad company with his own withered features. Urged into some +effort at comforting her, he said-- + +"There is another means, Harriet, by which I might do a service to your +brother's family, if you like to act in it. And it would, I think, be +beneficial to you: it would be an advantageous way of managing the land +which I mean to be yours." + +She looked attentive. + +"Garth once thought of undertaking the management of Stone Court in +order to place your nephew Fred there. The stock was to remain as it +is, and they were to pay a certain share of the profits instead of an +ordinary rent. That would be a desirable beginning for the young man, +in conjunction with his employment under Garth. Would it be a +satisfaction to you?" + +"Yes, it would," said Mrs. Bulstrode, with some return of energy. +"Poor Walter is so cast down; I would try anything in my power to do +him some good before I go away. We have always been brother and +sister." + +"You must make the proposal to Garth yourself, Harriet," said Mr. +Bulstrode, not liking what he had to say, but desiring the end he had +in view, for other reasons besides the consolation of his wife. "You +must state to him that the land is virtually yours, and that he need +have no transactions with me. Communications can be made through +Standish. I mention this, because Garth gave up being my agent. I can +put into your hands a paper which he himself drew up, stating +conditions; and you can propose his renewed acceptance of them. I +think it is not unlikely that he will accept when you propose the thing +for the sake of your nephew." + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + + "Le coeur se sature d'amour comme d'un sel divin qui le + conserve; de la l'incorruptible adherence de ceux qui se + sont aimes des l'aube de la vie, et la fraicheur des vielles + amours prolonges. Il existe un embaumement d'amour. C'est de + Daphnis et Chloe que sont faits Philemon et Baucis. Cette + vieillesse la, ressemblance du soir avec l'aurore." + --VICTOR HUGO: L'homme qui rit. + + +Mrs. Garth, hearing Caleb enter the passage about tea-time, opened the +parlor-door and said, "There you are, Caleb. Have you had your +dinner?" (Mr. Garth's meals were much subordinated to "business.") + +"Oh yes, a good dinner--cold mutton and I don't know what. Where is +Mary?" + +"In the garden with Letty, I think." + +"Fred is not come yet?" + +"No. Are you going out again without taking tea, Caleb?" said Mrs. +Garth, seeing that her absent-minded husband was putting on again the +hat which he had just taken off. + +"No, no; I'm only going to Mary a minute." + +Mary was in a grassy corner of the garden, where there was a swing +loftily hung between two pear-trees. She had a pink kerchief tied over +her head, making a little poke to shade her eyes from the level +sunbeams, while she was giving a glorious swing to Letty, who laughed +and screamed wildly. + +Seeing her father, Mary left the swing and went to meet him, pushing +back the pink kerchief and smiling afar off at him with the involuntary +smile of loving pleasure. + +"I came to look for you, Mary," said Mr. Garth. "Let us walk about a +bit." + +Mary knew quite well that her father had something particular to say: +his eyebrows made their pathetic angle, and there was a tender gravity +in his voice: these things had been signs to her when she was Letty's +age. She put her arm within his, and they turned by the row of +nut-trees. + +"It will be a sad while before you can be married, Mary," said her +father, not looking at her, but at the end of the stick which he held +in his other hand. + +"Not a sad while, father--I mean to be merry," said Mary, laughingly. +"I have been single and merry for four-and-twenty years and more: I +suppose it will not be quite as long again as that." Then, after a +little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her +father's, "If you are contented with Fred?" + +Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely. + +"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an +uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things." + +"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly. + +"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything," +said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his +behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you; +and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has." + +"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match." + +"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match." + +"What for, then?" + +"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like +scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in +a husband." + +"Your mind is quite settled, then, Mary?" said Caleb, returning to his +first tone. "There's no other wish come into it since things have been +going on as they have been of late?" (Caleb meant a great deal in that +vague phrase;) "because, better late than never. A woman must not +force her heart--she'll do a man no good by that." + +"My feelings have not changed, father," said Mary, calmly. "I shall be +constant to Fred as long as he is constant to me. I don't think either +of us could spare the other, or like any one else better, however much +we might admire them. It would make too great a difference to us--like +seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for +everything. We must wait for each other a long while; but Fred knows +that." + +Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and screwed his +stick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with emotion in his voice, +"Well, I've got a bit of news. What do you think of Fred going to live +at Stone Court, and managing the land there?" + +"How can that ever be, father?" said Mary, wonderingly. + +"He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor woman has been to +me begging and praying. She wants to do the lad good, and it might be +a fine thing for him. With saving, he might gradually buy the stock, +and he has a turn for farming." + +"Oh, Fred would be so happy! It is too good to believe." + +"Ah, but mind you," said Caleb, turning his head warningly, "I must +take it on _my_ shoulders, and be responsible, and see after +everything; and that will grieve your mother a bit, though she mayn't +say so. Fred had need be careful." + +"Perhaps it is too much, father," said Mary, checked in her joy. +"There would be no happiness in bringing you any fresh trouble." + +"Nay, nay; work is my delight, child, when it doesn't vex your mother. +And then, if you and Fred get married," here Caleb's voice shook just +perceptibly, "he'll be steady and saving; and you've got your mother's +cleverness, and mine too, in a woman's sort of way; and you'll keep him +in order. He'll be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell you first, +because I think you'd like to tell _him_ by yourselves. After that, I +could talk it well over with him, and we could go into business and the +nature of things." + +"Oh, you dear good father!" cried Mary, putting her hands round her +father's neck, while he bent his head placidly, willing to be caressed. +"I wonder if any other girl thinks her father the best man in the +world!" + +"Nonsense, child; you'll think your husband better." + +"Impossible," said Mary, relapsing into her usual tone; "husbands are +an inferior class of men, who require keeping in order." + +When they were entering the house with Letty, who had run to join them, +Mary saw Fred at the orchard-gate, and went to meet him. + +"What fine clothes you wear, you extravagant youth!" said Mary, as Fred +stood still and raised his hat to her with playful formality. "You are +not learning economy." + +"Now that is too bad, Mary," said Fred. "Just look at the edges of +these coat-cuffs! It is only by dint of good brushing that I look +respectable. I am saving up three suits--one for a wedding-suit." + +"How very droll you will look!--like a gentleman in an old +fashion-book." + +"Oh no, they will keep two years." + +"Two years! be reasonable, Fred," said Mary, turning to walk. "Don't +encourage flattering expectations." + +"Why not? One lives on them better than on unflattering ones. If we +can't be married in two years, the truth will be quite bad enough when +it comes." + +"I have heard a story of a young gentleman who once encouraged +flattering expectations, and they did him harm." + +"Mary, if you've got something discouraging to tell me, I shall bolt; I +shall go into the house to Mr. Garth. I am out of spirits. My father +is so cut up--home is not like itself. I can't bear any more bad news." + +"Should you call it bad news to be told that you were to live at Stone +Court, and manage the farm, and be remarkably prudent, and save money +every year till all the stock and furniture were your own, and you were +a distinguished agricultural character, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull +says--rather stout, I fear, and with the Greek and Latin sadly +weather-worn?" + +"You don't mean anything except nonsense, Mary?" said Fred, coloring +slightly nevertheless. + +"That is what my father has just told me of as what may happen, and he +never talks nonsense," said Mary, looking up at Fred now, while he +grasped her hand as they walked, till it rather hurt her; but she would +not complain. + +"Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary, and we could be +married directly." + +"Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not rather defer our +marriage for some years? That would leave you time to misbehave, and +then if I liked some one else better, I should have an excuse for +jilting you." + +"Pray don't joke, Mary," said Fred, with strong feeling. "Tell me +seriously that all this is true, and that you are happy because of +it--because you love me best." + +"It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it--because I love you +best," said Mary, in a tone of obedient recitation. + +They lingered on the door-step under the steep-roofed porch, and Fred +almost in a whisper said-- + +"When we were first engaged, with the umbrella-ring, Mary, you used +to--" + +The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, but the +fatal Ben came running to the door with Brownie yapping behind him, +and, bouncing against them, said-- + +"Fred and Mary! are you ever coming in?--or may I eat your cake?" + + +FINALE. + + +Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who can quit young +lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know +what befell them in their after-years? For the fragment of a life, +however typical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be +kept, and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers +may find their long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand +retrieval. + +Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is still a +great beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoon in +Eden, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of +the wilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epic--the +gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which +makes the advancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet +memories in common. + +Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment of hope +and enthusiasm and get broken by the way, wanting patience with each +other and the world. + +All who have cared for Fred Vincy and Mary Garth will like to know that +these two made no such failure, but achieved a solid mutual happiness. +Fred surprised his neighbors in various ways. He became rather +distinguished in his side of the county as a theoretic and practical +farmer, and produced a work on the "Cultivation of Green Crops and the +Economy of Cattle-Feeding" which won him high congratulations at +agricultural meetings. In Middlemarch admiration was more reserved: +most persons there were inclined to believe that the merit of Fred's +authorship was due to his wife, since they had never expected Fred +Vincy to write on turnips and mangel-wurzel. + +But when Mary wrote a little book for her boys, called "Stories of +Great Men, taken from Plutarch," and had it printed and published by +Gripp & Co., Middlemarch, every one in the town was willing to give the +credit of this work to Fred, observing that he had been to the +University, "where the ancients were studied," and might have been a +clergyman if he had chosen. + +In this way it was made clear that Middlemarch had never been deceived, +and that there was no need to praise anybody for writing a book, since +it was always done by somebody else. + +Moreover, Fred remained unswervingly steady. Some years after his +marriage he told Mary that his happiness was half owing to Farebrother, +who gave him a strong pull-up at the right moment. I cannot say that +he was never again misled by his hopefulness: the yield of crops or the +profits of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was +always prone to believe that he could make money by the purchase of a +horse which turned out badly--though this, Mary observed, was of +course the fault of the horse, not of Fred's judgment. He kept his +love of horsemanship, but he rarely allowed himself a day's hunting; +and when he did so, it was remarkable that he submitted to be laughed +at for cowardliness at the fences, seeming to see Mary and the boys +sitting on the five-barred gate, or showing their curly heads between +hedge and ditch. + +There were three boys: Mary was not discontented that she brought forth +men-children only; and when Fred wished to have a girl like her, she +said, laughingly, "that would be too great a trial to your mother." +Mrs. Vincy in her declining years, and in the diminished lustre of her +housekeeping, was much comforted by her perception that two at least of +Fred's boys were real Vincys, and did not "feature the Garths." But +Mary secretly rejoiced that the youngest of the three was very much +what her father must have been when he wore a round jacket, and showed +a marvellous nicety of aim in playing at marbles, or in throwing stones +to bring down the mellow pears. + +Ben and Letty Garth, who were uncle and aunt before they were well in +their teens, disputed much as to whether nephews or nieces were more +desirable; Ben contending that it was clear girls were good for less +than boys, else they would not be always in petticoats, which showed +how little they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who argued much from +books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam +and Eve alike--also it occurred to her that in the East the men too +wore petticoats. But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty of +the former, was one too many, for Ben answered contemptuously, "The +more spooneys they!" and immediately appealed to his mother whether +boys were not better than girls. Mrs. Garth pronounced that both were +alike naughty, but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could run +faster, and throw with more precision to a greater distance. With this +oracular sentence Ben was well satisfied, not minding the naughtiness; +but Letty took it ill, her feeling of superiority being stronger than +her muscles. + +Fred never became rich--his hopefulness had not led him to expect that; +but he gradually saved enough to become owner of the stock and +furniture at Stone Court, and the work which Mr. Garth put into his +hands carried him in plenty through those "bad times" which are always +present with farmers. Mary, in her matronly days, became as solid in +figure as her mother; but, unlike her, gave the boys little formal +teaching, so that Mrs. Garth was alarmed lest they should never be well +grounded in grammar and geography. Nevertheless, they were found quite +forward enough when they went to school; perhaps, because they had +liked nothing so well as being with their mother. When Fred was riding +home on winter evenings he had a pleasant vision beforehand of the +bright hearth in the wainscoted parlor, and was sorry for other men who +could not have Mary for their wife; especially for Mr. Farebrother. +"He was ten times worthier of you than I was," Fred could now say to +her, magnanimously. "To be sure he was," Mary answered; "and for that +reason he could do better without me. But you--I shudder to think what +you would have been--a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric +pocket-handkerchiefs!" + +On inquiry it might possibly be found that Fred and Mary still inhabit +Stone Court--that the creeping plants still cast the foam of their +blossoms over the fine stone-wall into the field where the walnut-trees +stand in stately row--and that on sunny days the two lovers who were +first engaged with the umbrella-ring may be seen in white-haired +placidity at the open window from which Mary Garth, in the days of old +Peter Featherstone, had often been ordered to look out for Mr. Lydgate. + +Lydgate's hair never became white. He died when he was only fifty, +leaving his wife and children provided for by a heavy insurance on his +life. He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to +the season, between London and a Continental bathing-place; having +written a treatise on Gout, a disease which has a good deal of wealth +on its side. His skill was relied on by many paying patients, but he +always regarded himself as a failure: he had not done what he once +meant to do. His acquaintances thought him enviable to have so +charming a wife, and nothing happened to shake their opinion. Rosamond +never committed a second compromising indiscretion. She simply +continued to be mild in her temper, inflexible in her judgment, +disposed to admonish her husband, and able to frustrate him by +stratagem. As the years went on he opposed her less and less, whence +Rosamond concluded that he had learned the value of her opinion; on the +other hand, she had a more thorough conviction of his talents now that +he gained a good income, and instead of the threatened cage in Bride +Street provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for the bird of +paradise that she resembled. In brief, Lydgate was what is called a +successful man. But he died prematurely of diphtheria, and Rosamond +afterwards married an elderly and wealthy physician, who took kindly to +her four children. She made a very pretty show with her daughters, +driving out in her carriage, and often spoke of her happiness as "a +reward"--she did not say for what, but probably she meant that it was a +reward for her patience with Tertius, whose temper never became +faultless, and to the last occasionally let slip a bitter speech which +was more memorable than the signs he made of his repentance. He once +called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said +that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered +man's brains. Rosamond had a placid but strong answer to such +speeches. Why then had he chosen her? It was a pity he had not had +Mrs. Ladislaw, whom he was always praising and placing above her. And +thus the conversation ended with the advantage on Rosamond's side. But +it would be unjust not to tell, that she never uttered a word in +depreciation of Dorothea, keeping in religious remembrance the +generosity which had come to her aid in the sharpest crisis of her life. + +Dorothea herself had no dreams of being praised above other women, +feeling that there was always something better which she might have +done, if she had only been better and known better. Still, she never +repented that she had given up position and fortune to marry Will +Ladislaw, and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as +sorrow to him if she had repented. They were bound to each other by a +love stronger than any impulses which could have marred it. No life +would have been possible to Dorothea which was not filled with emotion, +and she had now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she +had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself. +Will became an ardent public man, working well in those times when +reforms were begun with a young hopefulness of immediate good which has +been much checked in our days, and getting at last returned to +Parliament by a constituency who paid his expenses. Dorothea could +have liked nothing better, since wrongs existed, than that her husband +should be in the thick of a struggle against them, and that she should +give him wifely help. Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so +substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed into the life +of another, and be only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother. +But no one stated exactly what else that was in her power she ought +rather to have done--not even Sir James Chettam, who went no further +than the negative prescription that she ought not to have married Will +Ladislaw. + +But this opinion of his did not cause a lasting alienation; and the way +in which the family was made whole again was characteristic of all +concerned. Mr. Brooke could not resist the pleasure of corresponding +with Will and Dorothea; and one morning when his pen had been +remarkably fluent on the prospects of Municipal Reform, it ran off into +an invitation to the Grange, which, once written, could not be done +away with at less cost than the sacrifice (hardly to be conceived) of +the whole valuable letter. During the months of this correspondence +Mr. Brooke had continually, in his talk with Sir James Chettam, been +presupposing or hinting that the intention of cutting off the entail +was still maintained; and the day on which his pen gave the daring +invitation, he went to Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had a +stronger sense than ever of the reasons for taking that energetic step +as a precaution against any mixture of low blood in the heir of the +Brookes. + +But that morning something exciting had happened at the Hall. A letter +had come to Celia which made her cry silently as she read it; and when +Sir James, unused to see her in tears, asked anxiously what was the +matter, she burst out in a wail such as he had never heard from her +before. + +"Dorothea has a little boy. And you will not let me go and see her. +And I am sure she wants to see me. And she will not know what to do +with the baby--she will do wrong things with it. And they thought she +would die. It is very dreadful! Suppose it had been me and little +Arthur, and Dodo had been hindered from coming to see me! I wish you +would be less unkind, James!" + +"Good heavens, Celia!" said Sir James, much wrought upon, "what do you +wish? I will do anything you like. I will take you to town to-morrow +if you wish it." And Celia did wish it. + +It was after this that Mr. Brooke came, and meeting the Baronet in the +grounds, began to chat with him in ignorance of the news, which Sir +James for some reason did not care to tell him immediately. But when +the entail was touched on in the usual way, he said, "My dear sir, it +is not for me to dictate to you, but for my part I would let that +alone. I would let things remain as they are." + +Mr. Brooke felt so much surprised that he did not at once find out how +much he was relieved by the sense that he was not expected to do +anything in particular. + +Such being the bent of Celia's heart, it was inevitable that Sir James +should consent to a reconciliation with Dorothea and her husband. +Where women love each other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. +Sir James never liked Ladislaw, and Will always preferred to have Sir +James's company mixed with another kind: they were on a footing of +reciprocal tolerance which was made quite easy only when Dorothea and +Celia were present. + +It became an understood thing that Mr. and Mrs. Ladislaw should pay at +least two visits during the year to the Grange, and there came +gradually a small row of cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with +the two cousins visiting Tipton as much as if the blood of these +cousins had been less dubiously mixed. + +Mr. Brooke lived to a good old age, and his estate was inherited by +Dorothea's son, who might have represented Middlemarch, but declined, +thinking that his opinions had less chance of being stifled if he +remained out of doors. + +Sir James never ceased to regard Dorothea's second marriage as a +mistake; and indeed this remained the tradition concerning it in +Middlemarch, where she was spoken of to a younger generation as a fine +girl who married a sickly clergyman, old enough to be her father, and +in little more than a year after his death gave up her estate to marry +his cousin--young enough to have been his son, with no property, and +not well-born. Those who had not seen anything of Dorothea usually +observed that she could not have been "a nice woman," else she would +not have married either the one or the other. + +Certainly those determining acts of her life were not ideally +beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse +struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which +great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the +aspect of illusion. For there is no creature whose inward being is so +strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. A +new Theresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual +life, any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in +daring all for the sake of a brother's burial: the medium in which +their ardent deeds took shape is forever gone. But we insignificant +people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many +Dorotheas, some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that +of the Dorothea whose story we know. + +Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were +not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus +broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on +the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was +incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly +dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you +and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived +faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. diff --git a/pg550.txt b/pg550.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34b9126 --- /dev/null +++ b/pg550.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6976 @@ +SILAS MARNER + +The Weaver of Raveloe + + +by + +George Eliot + +(Mary Anne Evans) + + + +1861 + + + + "A child, more than all other gifts + That earth can offer to declining man, + Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts." + --WORDSWORTH. + + + + +PART ONE + + + +CHAPTER I + +In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the +farmhouses--and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had +their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak--there might be seen in +districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, +certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny +country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The +shepherd's dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men +appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what +dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?--and these pale men rarely +stirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd himself, +though he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing but +flaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that +thread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensable +though it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the +Evil One. In that far-off time superstition clung easily round every +person or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent and +occasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder. +No one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; and +how was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody who +knew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the world +outside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness and +mystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was a +conception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came back +with the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts, +hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which would +have prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct on +his part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he had +any reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handicraft. All +cleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument the +tongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itself +suspicious: honest folk, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostly +not overwise or clever--at least, not beyond such a matter as knowing +the signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity and +dexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that they +partook of the nature of conjuring. In this way it came to pass that +those scattered linen-weavers--emigrants from the town into the +country--were to the last regarded as aliens by their rustic +neighbours, and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong to +a state of loneliness. + +In the early years of this century, such a linen-weaver, named Silas +Marner, worked at his vocation in a stone cottage that stood among the +nutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edge +of a deserted stone-pit. The questionable sound of Silas's loom, so +unlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing-machine, or the +simpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for the +Raveloe boys, who would often leave off their nutting or birds'-nesting +to peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing a +certain awe at the mysterious action of the loom, by a pleasant sense +of scornful superiority, drawn from the mockery of its alternating +noises, along with the bent, tread-mill attitude of the weaver. But +sometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity in +his thread, became aware of the small scoundrels, and, though chary of +his time, he liked their intrusion so ill that he would descend from +his loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that was +always enough to make them take to their legs in terror. For how was +it possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in Silas +Marner's pale face really saw nothing very distinctly that was not +close to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dart +cramp, or rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who happened to be in the +rear? They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint that +Silas Marner could cure folks' rheumatism if he had a mind, and add, +still more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough, +he might save you the cost of the doctor. Such strange lingering +echoes of the old demon-worship might perhaps even now be caught by the +diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry; for the rude mind +with difficulty associates the ideas of power and benignity. A shadowy +conception of power that by much persuasion can be induced to refrain +from inflicting harm, is the shape most easily taken by the sense of +the Invisible in the minds of men who have always been pressed close by +primitive wants, and to whom a life of hard toil has never been +illuminated by any enthusiastic religious faith. To them pain and +mishap present a far wider range of possibilities than gladness and +enjoyment: their imagination is almost barren of the images that feed +desire and hope, but is all overgrown by recollections that are a +perpetual pasture to fear. "Is there anything you can fancy that you +would like to eat?" I once said to an old labouring man, who was in +his last illness, and who had refused all the food his wife had offered +him. "No," he answered, "I've never been used to nothing but common +victual, and I can't eat that." Experience had bred no fancies in him +that could raise the phantasm of appetite. + +And Raveloe was a village where many of the old echoes lingered, +undrowned by new voices. Not that it was one of those barren parishes +lying on the outskirts of civilization--inhabited by meagre sheep and +thinly-scattered shepherds: on the contrary, it lay in the rich central +plain of what we are pleased to call Merry England, and held farms +which, speaking from a spiritual point of view, paid highly-desirable +tithes. But it was nestled in a snug well-wooded hollow, quite an +hour's journey on horseback from any turnpike, where it was never +reached by the vibrations of the coach-horn, or of public opinion. It +was an important-looking village, with a fine old church and large +churchyard in the heart of it, and two or three large brick-and-stone +homesteads, with well-walled orchards and ornamental weathercocks, +standing close upon the road, and lifting more imposing fronts than the +rectory, which peeped from among the trees on the other side of the +churchyard:--a village which showed at once the summits of its social +life, and told the practised eye that there was no great park and +manor-house in the vicinity, but that there were several chiefs in +Raveloe who could farm badly quite at their ease, drawing enough money +from their bad farming, in those war times, to live in a rollicking +fashion, and keep a jolly Christmas, Whitsun, and Easter tide. + +It was fifteen years since Silas Marner had first come to Raveloe; he +was then simply a pallid young man, with prominent short-sighted brown +eyes, whose appearance would have had nothing strange for people of +average culture and experience, but for the villagers near whom he had +come to settle it had mysterious peculiarities which corresponded with +the exceptional nature of his occupation, and his advent from an +unknown region called "North'ard". So had his way of life:--he invited +no comer to step across his door-sill, and he never strolled into the +village to drink a pint at the Rainbow, or to gossip at the +wheelwright's: he sought no man or woman, save for the purposes of his +calling, or in order to supply himself with necessaries; and it was +soon clear to the Raveloe lasses that he would never urge one of them +to accept him against her will--quite as if he had heard them declare +that they would never marry a dead man come to life again. This view +of Marner's personality was not without another ground than his pale +face and unexampled eyes; for Jem Rodney, the mole-catcher, averred +that one evening as he was returning homeward, he saw Silas Marner +leaning against a stile with a heavy bag on his back, instead of +resting the bag on the stile as a man in his senses would have done; +and that, on coming up to him, he saw that Marner's eyes were set like +a dead man's, and he spoke to him, and shook him, and his limbs were +stiff, and his hands clutched the bag as if they'd been made of iron; +but just as he had made up his mind that the weaver was dead, he came +all right again, like, as you might say, in the winking of an eye, and +said "Good-night", and walked off. All this Jem swore he had seen, +more by token that it was the very day he had been mole-catching on +Squire Cass's land, down by the old saw-pit. Some said Marner must +have been in a "fit", a word which seemed to explain things otherwise +incredible; but the argumentative Mr. Macey, clerk of the parish, shook +his head, and asked if anybody was ever known to go off in a fit and +not fall down. A fit was a stroke, wasn't it? and it was in the +nature of a stroke to partly take away the use of a man's limbs and +throw him on the parish, if he'd got no children to look to. No, no; +it was no stroke that would let a man stand on his legs, like a horse +between the shafts, and then walk off as soon as you can say "Gee!" +But there might be such a thing as a man's soul being loose from his +body, and going out and in, like a bird out of its nest and back; and +that was how folks got over-wise, for they went to school in this +shell-less state to those who could teach them more than their +neighbours could learn with their five senses and the parson. And +where did Master Marner get his knowledge of herbs from--and charms +too, if he liked to give them away? Jem Rodney's story was no more +than what might have been expected by anybody who had seen how Marner +had cured Sally Oates, and made her sleep like a baby, when her heart +had been beating enough to burst her body, for two months and more, +while she had been under the doctor's care. He might cure more folks +if he would; but he was worth speaking fair, if it was only to keep him +from doing you a mischief. + +It was partly to this vague fear that Marner was indebted for +protecting him from the persecution that his singularities might have +drawn upon him, but still more to the fact that, the old linen-weaver +in the neighbouring parish of Tarley being dead, his handicraft made +him a highly welcome settler to the richer housewives of the district, +and even to the more provident cottagers, who had their little stock of +yarn at the year's end. Their sense of his usefulness would have +counteracted any repugnance or suspicion which was not confirmed by a +deficiency in the quality or the tale of the cloth he wove for them. +And the years had rolled on without producing any change in the +impressions of the neighbours concerning Marner, except the change from +novelty to habit. At the end of fifteen years the Raveloe men said +just the same things about Silas Marner as at the beginning: they did +not say them quite so often, but they believed them much more strongly +when they did say them. There was only one important addition which +the years had brought: it was, that Master Marner had laid by a fine +sight of money somewhere, and that he could buy up "bigger men" than +himself. + +But while opinion concerning him had remained nearly stationary, and +his daily habits had presented scarcely any visible change, Marner's +inward life had been a history and a metamorphosis, as that of every +fervid nature must be when it has fled, or been condemned, to solitude. +His life, before he came to Raveloe, had been filled with the movement, +the mental activity, and the close fellowship, which, in that day as in +this, marked the life of an artisan early incorporated in a narrow +religious sect, where the poorest layman has the chance of +distinguishing himself by gifts of speech, and has, at the very least, +the weight of a silent voter in the government of his community. +Marner was highly thought of in that little hidden world, known to +itself as the church assembling in Lantern Yard; he was believed to be +a young man of exemplary life and ardent faith; and a peculiar interest +had been centred in him ever since he had fallen, at a prayer-meeting, +into a mysterious rigidity and suspension of consciousness, which, +lasting for an hour or more, had been mistaken for death. To have +sought a medical explanation for this phenomenon would have been held +by Silas himself, as well as by his minister and fellow-members, a +wilful self-exclusion from the spiritual significance that might lie +therein. Silas was evidently a brother selected for a peculiar +discipline; and though the effort to interpret this discipline was +discouraged by the absence, on his part, of any spiritual vision during +his outward trance, yet it was believed by himself and others that its +effect was seen in an accession of light and fervour. A less truthful +man than he might have been tempted into the subsequent creation of a +vision in the form of resurgent memory; a less sane man might have +believed in such a creation; but Silas was both sane and honest, +though, as with many honest and fervent men, culture had not defined +any channels for his sense of mystery, and so it spread itself over the +proper pathway of inquiry and knowledge. He had inherited from his +mother some acquaintance with medicinal herbs and their preparation--a +little store of wisdom which she had imparted to him as a solemn +bequest--but of late years he had had doubts about the lawfulness of +applying this knowledge, believing that herbs could have no efficacy +without prayer, and that prayer might suffice without herbs; so that +the inherited delight he had in wandering in the fields in search of +foxglove and dandelion and coltsfoot, began to wear to him the +character of a temptation. + +Among the members of his church there was one young man, a little older +than himself, with whom he had long lived in such close friendship that +it was the custom of their Lantern Yard brethren to call them David and +Jonathan. The real name of the friend was William Dane, and he, too, +was regarded as a shining instance of youthful piety, though somewhat +given to over-severity towards weaker brethren, and to be so dazzled by +his own light as to hold himself wiser than his teachers. But whatever +blemishes others might discern in William, to his friend's mind he was +faultless; for Marner had one of those impressible self-doubting +natures which, at an inexperienced age, admire imperativeness and lean +on contradiction. The expression of trusting simplicity in Marner's +face, heightened by that absence of special observation, that +defenceless, deer-like gaze which belongs to large prominent eyes, was +strongly contrasted by the self-complacent suppression of inward +triumph that lurked in the narrow slanting eyes and compressed lips of +William Dane. One of the most frequent topics of conversation between +the two friends was Assurance of salvation: Silas confessed that he +could never arrive at anything higher than hope mingled with fear, and +listened with longing wonder when William declared that he had +possessed unshaken assurance ever since, in the period of his +conversion, he had dreamed that he saw the words "calling and election +sure" standing by themselves on a white page in the open Bible. Such +colloquies have occupied many a pair of pale-faced weavers, whose +unnurtured souls have been like young winged things, fluttering +forsaken in the twilight. + +It had seemed to the unsuspecting Silas that the friendship had +suffered no chill even from his formation of another attachment of a +closer kind. For some months he had been engaged to a young +servant-woman, waiting only for a little increase to their mutual +savings in order to their marriage; and it was a great delight to him +that Sarah did not object to William's occasional presence in their +Sunday interviews. It was at this point in their history that Silas's +cataleptic fit occurred during the prayer-meeting; and amidst the +various queries and expressions of interest addressed to him by his +fellow-members, William's suggestion alone jarred with the general +sympathy towards a brother thus singled out for special dealings. He +observed that, to him, this trance looked more like a visitation of +Satan than a proof of divine favour, and exhorted his friend to see +that he hid no accursed thing within his soul. Silas, feeling bound to +accept rebuke and admonition as a brotherly office, felt no resentment, +but only pain, at his friend's doubts concerning him; and to this was +soon added some anxiety at the perception that Sarah's manner towards +him began to exhibit a strange fluctuation between an effort at an +increased manifestation of regard and involuntary signs of shrinking +and dislike. He asked her if she wished to break off their engagement; +but she denied this: their engagement was known to the church, and had +been recognized in the prayer-meetings; it could not be broken off +without strict investigation, and Sarah could render no reason that +would be sanctioned by the feeling of the community. At this time the +senior deacon was taken dangerously ill, and, being a childless +widower, he was tended night and day by some of the younger brethren or +sisters. Silas frequently took his turn in the night-watching with +William, the one relieving the other at two in the morning. The old +man, contrary to expectation, seemed to be on the way to recovery, when +one night Silas, sitting up by his bedside, observed that his usual +audible breathing had ceased. The candle was burning low, and he had +to lift it to see the patient's face distinctly. Examination convinced +him that the deacon was dead--had been dead some time, for the limbs +were rigid. Silas asked himself if he had been asleep, and looked at +the clock: it was already four in the morning. How was it that William +had not come? In much anxiety he went to seek for help, and soon there +were several friends assembled in the house, the minister among them, +while Silas went away to his work, wishing he could have met William to +know the reason of his non-appearance. But at six o'clock, as he was +thinking of going to seek his friend, William came, and with him the +minister. They came to summon him to Lantern Yard, to meet the church +members there; and to his inquiry concerning the cause of the summons +the only reply was, "You will hear." Nothing further was said until +Silas was seated in the vestry, in front of the minister, with the eyes +of those who to him represented God's people fixed solemnly upon him. +Then the minister, taking out a pocket-knife, showed it to Silas, and +asked him if he knew where he had left that knife? Silas said, he did +not know that he had left it anywhere out of his own pocket--but he was +trembling at this strange interrogation. He was then exhorted not to +hide his sin, but to confess and repent. The knife had been found in +the bureau by the departed deacon's bedside--found in the place where +the little bag of church money had lain, which the minister himself had +seen the day before. Some hand had removed that bag; and whose hand +could it be, if not that of the man to whom the knife belonged? For +some time Silas was mute with astonishment: then he said, "God will +clear me: I know nothing about the knife being there, or the money +being gone. Search me and my dwelling; you will find nothing but three +pound five of my own savings, which William Dane knows I have had these +six months." At this William groaned, but the minister said, "The +proof is heavy against you, brother Marner. The money was taken in the +night last past, and no man was with our departed brother but you, for +William Dane declares to us that he was hindered by sudden sickness +from going to take his place as usual, and you yourself said that he +had not come; and, moreover, you neglected the dead body." + +"I must have slept," said Silas. Then, after a pause, he added, "Or I +must have had another visitation like that which you have all seen me +under, so that the thief must have come and gone while I was not in the +body, but out of the body. But, I say again, search me and my +dwelling, for I have been nowhere else." + +The search was made, and it ended--in William Dane's finding the +well-known bag, empty, tucked behind the chest of drawers in Silas's +chamber! On this William exhorted his friend to confess, and not to +hide his sin any longer. Silas turned a look of keen reproach on him, +and said, "William, for nine years that we have gone in and out +together, have you ever known me tell a lie? But God will clear me." + +"Brother," said William, "how do I know what you may have done in the +secret chambers of your heart, to give Satan an advantage over you?" + +Silas was still looking at his friend. Suddenly a deep flush came over +his face, and he was about to speak impetuously, when he seemed checked +again by some inward shock, that sent the flush back and made him +tremble. But at last he spoke feebly, looking at William. + +"I remember now--the knife wasn't in my pocket." + +William said, "I know nothing of what you mean." The other persons +present, however, began to inquire where Silas meant to say that the +knife was, but he would give no further explanation: he only said, "I +am sore stricken; I can say nothing. God will clear me." + +On their return to the vestry there was further deliberation. Any +resort to legal measures for ascertaining the culprit was contrary to +the principles of the church in Lantern Yard, according to which +prosecution was forbidden to Christians, even had the case held less +scandal to the community. But the members were bound to take other +measures for finding out the truth, and they resolved on praying and +drawing lots. This resolution can be a ground of surprise only to +those who are unacquainted with that obscure religious life which has +gone on in the alleys of our towns. Silas knelt with his brethren, +relying on his own innocence being certified by immediate divine +interference, but feeling that there was sorrow and mourning behind for +him even then--that his trust in man had been cruelly bruised. _The +lots declared that Silas Marner was guilty._ He was solemnly suspended +from church-membership, and called upon to render up the stolen money: +only on confession, as the sign of repentance, could he be received +once more within the folds of the church. Marner listened in silence. +At last, when everyone rose to depart, he went towards William Dane and +said, in a voice shaken by agitation-- + +"The last time I remember using my knife, was when I took it out to cut +a strap for you. I don't remember putting it in my pocket again. +_You_ stole the money, and you have woven a plot to lay the sin at my +door. But you may prosper, for all that: there is no just God that +governs the earth righteously, but a God of lies, that bears witness +against the innocent." + +There was a general shudder at this blasphemy. + +William said meekly, "I leave our brethren to judge whether this is the +voice of Satan or not. I can do nothing but pray for you, Silas." + +Poor Marner went out with that despair in his soul--that shaken trust +in God and man, which is little short of madness to a loving nature. +In the bitterness of his wounded spirit, he said to himself, "_She_ +will cast me off too." And he reflected that, if she did not believe +the testimony against him, her whole faith must be upset as his was. +To people accustomed to reason about the forms in which their religious +feeling has incorporated itself, it is difficult to enter into that +simple, untaught state of mind in which the form and the feeling have +never been severed by an act of reflection. We are apt to think it +inevitable that a man in Marner's position should have begun to +question the validity of an appeal to the divine judgment by drawing +lots; but to him this would have been an effort of independent thought +such as he had never known; and he must have made the effort at a +moment when all his energies were turned into the anguish of +disappointed faith. If there is an angel who records the sorrows of +men as well as their sins, he knows how many and deep are the sorrows +that spring from false ideas for which no man is culpable. + +Marner went home, and for a whole day sat alone, stunned by despair, +without any impulse to go to Sarah and attempt to win her belief in his +innocence. The second day he took refuge from benumbing unbelief, by +getting into his loom and working away as usual; and before many hours +were past, the minister and one of the deacons came to him with the +message from Sarah, that she held her engagement to him at an end. +Silas received the message mutely, and then turned away from the +messengers to work at his loom again. In little more than a month from +that time, Sarah was married to William Dane; and not long afterwards +it was known to the brethren in Lantern Yard that Silas Marner had +departed from the town. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Even people whose lives have been made various by learning, sometimes +find it hard to keep a fast hold on their habitual views of life, on +their faith in the Invisible, nay, on the sense that their past joys +and sorrows are a real experience, when they are suddenly transported +to a new land, where the beings around them know nothing of their +history, and share none of their ideas--where their mother earth shows +another lap, and human life has other forms than those on which their +souls have been nourished. Minds that have been unhinged from their +old faith and love, have perhaps sought this Lethean influence of +exile, in which the past becomes dreamy because its symbols have all +vanished, and the present too is dreamy because it is linked with no +memories. But even _their_ experience may hardly enable them +thoroughly to imagine what was the effect on a simple weaver like Silas +Marner, when he left his own country and people and came to settle in +Raveloe. Nothing could be more unlike his native town, set within +sight of the widespread hillsides, than this low, wooded region, where +he felt hidden even from the heavens by the screening trees and +hedgerows. There was nothing here, when he rose in the deep morning +quiet and looked out on the dewy brambles and rank tufted grass, that +seemed to have any relation with that life centring in Lantern Yard, +which had once been to him the altar-place of high dispensations. The +whitewashed walls; the little pews where well-known figures entered +with a subdued rustling, and where first one well-known voice and then +another, pitched in a peculiar key of petition, uttered phrases at once +occult and familiar, like the amulet worn on the heart; the pulpit +where the minister delivered unquestioned doctrine, and swayed to and +fro, and handled the book in a long accustomed manner; the very pauses +between the couplets of the hymn, as it was given out, and the +recurrent swell of voices in song: these things had been the channel of +divine influences to Marner--they were the fostering home of his +religious emotions--they were Christianity and God's kingdom upon +earth. A weaver who finds hard words in his hymn-book knows nothing of +abstractions; as the little child knows nothing of parental love, but +only knows one face and one lap towards which it stretches its arms for +refuge and nurture. + +And what could be more unlike that Lantern Yard world than the world in +Raveloe?--orchards looking lazy with neglected plenty; the large church +in the wide churchyard, which men gazed at lounging at their own doors +in service-time; the purple-faced farmers jogging along the lanes or +turning in at the Rainbow; homesteads, where men supped heavily and +slept in the light of the evening hearth, and where women seemed to be +laying up a stock of linen for the life to come. There were no lips in +Raveloe from which a word could fall that would stir Silas Marner's +benumbed faith to a sense of pain. In the early ages of the world, we +know, it was believed that each territory was inhabited and ruled by +its own divinities, so that a man could cross the bordering heights and +be out of the reach of his native gods, whose presence was confined to +the streams and the groves and the hills among which he had lived from +his birth. And poor Silas was vaguely conscious of something not +unlike the feeling of primitive men, when they fled thus, in fear or in +sullenness, from the face of an unpropitious deity. It seemed to him +that the Power he had vainly trusted in among the streets and at the +prayer-meetings, was very far away from this land in which he had taken +refuge, where men lived in careless abundance, knowing and needing +nothing of that trust, which, for him, had been turned to bitterness. +The little light he possessed spread its beams so narrowly, that +frustrated belief was a curtain broad enough to create for him the +blackness of night. + +His first movement after the shock had been to work in his loom; and he +went on with this unremittingly, never asking himself why, now he was +come to Raveloe, he worked far on into the night to finish the tale of +Mrs. Osgood's table-linen sooner than she expected--without +contemplating beforehand the money she would put into his hand for the +work. He seemed to weave, like the spider, from pure impulse, without +reflection. Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to +become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of +his life. Silas's hand satisfied itself with throwing the shuttle, and +his eye with seeing the little squares in the cloth complete themselves +under his effort. Then there were the calls of hunger; and Silas, in +his solitude, had to provide his own breakfast, dinner, and supper, to +fetch his own water from the well, and put his own kettle on the fire; +and all these immediate promptings helped, along with the weaving, to +reduce his life to the unquestioning activity of a spinning insect. He +hated the thought of the past; there was nothing that called out his +love and fellowship toward the strangers he had come amongst; and the +future was all dark, for there was no Unseen Love that cared for him. +Thought was arrested by utter bewilderment, now its old narrow pathway +was closed, and affection seemed to have died under the bruise that had +fallen on its keenest nerves. + +But at last Mrs. Osgood's table-linen was finished, and Silas was paid +in gold. His earnings in his native town, where he worked for a +wholesale dealer, had been after a lower rate; he had been paid weekly, +and of his weekly earnings a large proportion had gone to objects of +piety and charity. Now, for the first time in his life, he had five +bright guineas put into his hand; no man expected a share of them, and +he loved no man that he should offer him a share. But what were the +guineas to him who saw no vista beyond countless days of weaving? It +was needless for him to ask that, for it was pleasant to him to feel +them in his palm, and look at their bright faces, which were all his +own: it was another element of life, like the weaving and the +satisfaction of hunger, subsisting quite aloof from the life of belief +and love from which he had been cut off. The weaver's hand had known +the touch of hard-won money even before the palm had grown to its full +breadth; for twenty years, mysterious money had stood to him as the +symbol of earthly good, and the immediate object of toil. He had +seemed to love it little in the years when every penny had its purpose +for him; for he loved the _purpose_ then. But now, when all purpose +was gone, that habit of looking towards the money and grasping it with +a sense of fulfilled effort made a loam that was deep enough for the +seeds of desire; and as Silas walked homeward across the fields in the +twilight, he drew out the money and thought it was brighter in the +gathering gloom. + +About this time an incident happened which seemed to open a possibility +of some fellowship with his neighbours. One day, taking a pair of +shoes to be mended, he saw the cobbler's wife seated by the fire, +suffering from the terrible symptoms of heart-disease and dropsy, which +he had witnessed as the precursors of his mother's death. He felt a +rush of pity at the mingled sight and remembrance, and, recalling the +relief his mother had found from a simple preparation of foxglove, he +promised Sally Oates to bring her something that would ease her, since +the doctor did her no good. In this office of charity, Silas felt, for +the first time since he had come to Raveloe, a sense of unity between +his past and present life, which might have been the beginning of his +rescue from the insect-like existence into which his nature had shrunk. +But Sally Oates's disease had raised her into a personage of much +interest and importance among the neighbours, and the fact of her +having found relief from drinking Silas Marner's "stuff" became a +matter of general discourse. When Doctor Kimble gave physic, it was +natural that it should have an effect; but when a weaver, who came from +nobody knew where, worked wonders with a bottle of brown waters, the +occult character of the process was evident. Such a sort of thing had +not been known since the Wise Woman at Tarley died; and she had charms +as well as "stuff": everybody went to her when their children had fits. +Silas Marner must be a person of the same sort, for how did he know +what would bring back Sally Oates's breath, if he didn't know a fine +sight more than that? The Wise Woman had words that she muttered to +herself, so that you couldn't hear what they were, and if she tied a +bit of red thread round the child's toe the while, it would keep off +the water in the head. There were women in Raveloe, at that present +time, who had worn one of the Wise Woman's little bags round their +necks, and, in consequence, had never had an idiot child, as Ann +Coulter had. Silas Marner could very likely do as much, and more; and +now it was all clear how he should have come from unknown parts, and be +so "comical-looking". But Sally Oates must mind and not tell the +doctor, for he would be sure to set his face against Marner: he was +always angry about the Wise Woman, and used to threaten those who went +to her that they should have none of his help any more. + +Silas now found himself and his cottage suddenly beset by mothers who +wanted him to charm away the whooping-cough, or bring back the milk, +and by men who wanted stuff against the rheumatics or the knots in the +hands; and, to secure themselves against a refusal, the applicants +brought silver in their palms. Silas might have driven a profitable +trade in charms as well as in his small list of drugs; but money on +this condition was no temptation to him: he had never known an impulse +towards falsity, and he drove one after another away with growing +irritation, for the news of him as a wise man had spread even to +Tarley, and it was long before people ceased to take long walks for the +sake of asking his aid. But the hope in his wisdom was at length +changed into dread, for no one believed him when he said he knew no +charms and could work no cures, and every man and woman who had an +accident or a new attack after applying to him, set the misfortune down +to Master Marner's ill-will and irritated glances. Thus it came to +pass that his movement of pity towards Sally Oates, which had given him +a transient sense of brotherhood, heightened the repulsion between him +and his neighbours, and made his isolation more complete. + +Gradually the guineas, the crowns, and the half-crowns grew to a heap, +and Marner drew less and less for his own wants, trying to solve the +problem of keeping himself strong enough to work sixteen hours a-day on +as small an outlay as possible. Have not men, shut up in solitary +imprisonment, found an interest in marking the moments by straight +strokes of a certain length on the wall, until the growth of the sum of +straight strokes, arranged in triangles, has become a mastering +purpose? Do we not wile away moments of inanity or fatigued waiting by +repeating some trivial movement or sound, until the repetition has bred +a want, which is incipient habit? That will help us to understand how +the love of accumulating money grows an absorbing passion in men whose +imaginations, even in the very beginning of their hoard, showed them no +purpose beyond it. Marner wanted the heaps of ten to grow into a +square, and then into a larger square; and every added guinea, while it +was itself a satisfaction, bred a new desire. In this strange world, +made a hopeless riddle to him, he might, if he had had a less intense +nature, have sat weaving, weaving--looking towards the end of his +pattern, or towards the end of his web, till he forgot the riddle, and +everything else but his immediate sensations; but the money had come to +mark off his weaving into periods, and the money not only grew, but it +remained with him. He began to think it was conscious of him, as his +loom was, and he would on no account have exchanged those coins, which +had become his familiars, for other coins with unknown faces. He +handled them, he counted them, till their form and colour were like the +satisfaction of a thirst to him; but it was only in the night, when his +work was done, that he drew them out to enjoy their companionship. He +had taken up some bricks in his floor underneath his loom, and here he +had made a hole in which he set the iron pot that contained his guineas +and silver coins, covering the bricks with sand whenever he replaced +them. Not that the idea of being robbed presented itself often or +strongly to his mind: hoarding was common in country districts in those +days; there were old labourers in the parish of Raveloe who were known +to have their savings by them, probably inside their flock-beds; but +their rustic neighbours, though not all of them as honest as their +ancestors in the days of King Alfred, had not imaginations bold enough +to lay a plan of burglary. How could they have spent the money in +their own village without betraying themselves? They would be obliged +to "run away"--a course as dark and dubious as a balloon journey. + +So, year after year, Silas Marner had lived in this solitude, his +guineas rising in the iron pot, and his life narrowing and hardening +itself more and more into a mere pulsation of desire and satisfaction +that had no relation to any other being. His life had reduced itself +to the functions of weaving and hoarding, without any contemplation of +an end towards which the functions tended. The same sort of process +has perhaps been undergone by wiser men, when they have been cut off +from faith and love--only, instead of a loom and a heap of guineas, +they have had some erudite research, some ingenious project, or some +well-knit theory. Strangely Marner's face and figure shrank and bent +themselves into a constant mechanical relation to the objects of his +life, so that he produced the same sort of impression as a handle or a +crooked tube, which has no meaning standing apart. The prominent eyes +that used to look trusting and dreamy, now looked as if they had been +made to see only one kind of thing that was very small, like tiny +grain, for which they hunted everywhere: and he was so withered and +yellow, that, though he was not yet forty, the children always called +him "Old Master Marner". + +Yet even in this stage of withering a little incident happened, which +showed that the sap of affection was not all gone. It was one of his +daily tasks to fetch his water from a well a couple of fields off, and +for this purpose, ever since he came to Raveloe, he had had a brown +earthenware pot, which he held as his most precious utensil among the +very few conveniences he had granted himself. It had been his +companion for twelve years, always standing on the same spot, always +lending its handle to him in the early morning, so that its form had an +expression for him of willing helpfulness, and the impress of its +handle on his palm gave a satisfaction mingled with that of having the +fresh clear water. One day as he was returning from the well, he +stumbled against the step of the stile, and his brown pot, falling with +force against the stones that overarched the ditch below him, was +broken in three pieces. Silas picked up the pieces and carried them +home with grief in his heart. The brown pot could never be of use to +him any more, but he stuck the bits together and propped the ruin in +its old place for a memorial. + +This is the history of Silas Marner, until the fifteenth year after he +came to Raveloe. The livelong day he sat in his loom, his ear filled +with its monotony, his eyes bent close down on the slow growth of +sameness in the brownish web, his muscles moving with such even +repetition that their pause seemed almost as much a constraint as the +holding of his breath. But at night came his revelry: at night he +closed his shutters, and made fast his doors, and drew forth his gold. +Long ago the heap of coins had become too large for the iron pot to +hold them, and he had made for them two thick leather bags, which +wasted no room in their resting-place, but lent themselves flexibly to +every corner. How the guineas shone as they came pouring out of the +dark leather mouths! The silver bore no large proportion in amount to +the gold, because the long pieces of linen which formed his chief work +were always partly paid for in gold, and out of the silver he supplied +his own bodily wants, choosing always the shillings and sixpences to +spend in this way. He loved the guineas best, but he would not change +the silver--the crowns and half-crowns that were his own earnings, +begotten by his labour; he loved them all. He spread them out in heaps +and bathed his hands in them; then he counted them and set them up in +regular piles, and felt their rounded outline between his thumb and +fingers, and thought fondly of the guineas that were only half-earned +by the work in his loom, as if they had been unborn children--thought +of the guineas that were coming slowly through the coming years, +through all his life, which spread far away before him, the end quite +hidden by countless days of weaving. No wonder his thoughts were still +with his loom and his money when he made his journeys through the +fields and the lanes to fetch and carry home his work, so that his +steps never wandered to the hedge-banks and the lane-side in search of +the once familiar herbs: these too belonged to the past, from which his +life had shrunk away, like a rivulet that has sunk far down from the +grassy fringe of its old breadth into a little shivering thread, that +cuts a groove for itself in the barren sand. + +But about the Christmas of that fifteenth year, a second great change +came over Marner's life, and his history became blent in a singular +manner with the life of his neighbours. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The greatest man in Raveloe was Squire Cass, who lived in the large red +house with the handsome flight of stone steps in front and the high +stables behind it, nearly opposite the church. He was only one among +several landed parishioners, but he alone was honoured with the title +of Squire; for though Mr. Osgood's family was also understood to be of +timeless origin--the Raveloe imagination having never ventured back to +that fearful blank when there were no Osgoods--still, he merely owned +the farm he occupied; whereas Squire Cass had a tenant or two, who +complained of the game to him quite as if he had been a lord. + +It was still that glorious war-time which was felt to be a peculiar +favour of Providence towards the landed interest, and the fall of +prices had not yet come to carry the race of small squires and yeomen +down that road to ruin for which extravagant habits and bad husbandry +were plentifully anointing their wheels. I am speaking now in relation +to Raveloe and the parishes that resembled it; for our old-fashioned +country life had many different aspects, as all life must have when it +is spread over a various surface, and breathed on variously by +multitudinous currents, from the winds of heaven to the thoughts of +men, which are for ever moving and crossing each other with +incalculable results. Raveloe lay low among the bushy trees and the +rutted lanes, aloof from the currents of industrial energy and Puritan +earnestness: the rich ate and drank freely, accepting gout and apoplexy +as things that ran mysteriously in respectable families, and the poor +thought that the rich were entirely in the right of it to lead a jolly +life; besides, their feasting caused a multiplication of orts, which +were the heirlooms of the poor. Betty Jay scented the boiling of +Squire Cass's hams, but her longing was arrested by the unctuous liquor +in which they were boiled; and when the seasons brought round the great +merry-makings, they were regarded on all hands as a fine thing for the +poor. For the Raveloe feasts were like the rounds of beef and the +barrels of ale--they were on a large scale, and lasted a good while, +especially in the winter-time. After ladies had packed up their best +gowns and top-knots in bandboxes, and had incurred the risk of fording +streams on pillions with the precious burden in rainy or snowy weather, +when there was no knowing how high the water would rise, it was not to +be supposed that they looked forward to a brief pleasure. On this +ground it was always contrived in the dark seasons, when there was +little work to be done, and the hours were long, that several +neighbours should keep open house in succession. So soon as Squire +Cass's standing dishes diminished in plenty and freshness, his guests +had nothing to do but to walk a little higher up the village to Mr. +Osgood's, at the Orchards, and they found hams and chines uncut, +pork-pies with the scent of the fire in them, spun butter in all its +freshness--everything, in fact, that appetites at leisure could desire, +in perhaps greater perfection, though not in greater abundance, than at +Squire Cass's. + +For the Squire's wife had died long ago, and the Red House was without +that presence of the wife and mother which is the fountain of wholesome +love and fear in parlour and kitchen; and this helped to account not +only for there being more profusion than finished excellence in the +holiday provisions, but also for the frequency with which the proud +Squire condescended to preside in the parlour of the Rainbow rather +than under the shadow of his own dark wainscot; perhaps, also, for the +fact that his sons had turned out rather ill. Raveloe was not a place +where moral censure was severe, but it was thought a weakness in the +Squire that he had kept all his sons at home in idleness; and though +some licence was to be allowed to young men whose fathers could afford +it, people shook their heads at the courses of the second son, Dunstan, +commonly called Dunsey Cass, whose taste for swopping and betting might +turn out to be a sowing of something worse than wild oats. To be sure, +the neighbours said, it was no matter what became of Dunsey--a spiteful +jeering fellow, who seemed to enjoy his drink the more when other +people went dry--always provided that his doings did not bring trouble +on a family like Squire Cass's, with a monument in the church, and +tankards older than King George. But it would be a thousand pities if +Mr. Godfrey, the eldest, a fine open-faced good-natured young man who +was to come into the land some day, should take to going along the same +road with his brother, as he had seemed to do of late. If he went on +in that way, he would lose Miss Nancy Lammeter; for it was well known +that she had looked very shyly on him ever since last Whitsuntide +twelvemonth, when there was so much talk about his being away from home +days and days together. There was something wrong, more than +common--that was quite clear; for Mr. Godfrey didn't look half so +fresh-coloured and open as he used to do. At one time everybody was +saying, What a handsome couple he and Miss Nancy Lammeter would make! +and if she could come to be mistress at the Red House, there would be a +fine change, for the Lammeters had been brought up in that way, that +they never suffered a pinch of salt to be wasted, and yet everybody in +their household had of the best, according to his place. Such a +daughter-in-law would be a saving to the old Squire, if she never +brought a penny to her fortune; for it was to be feared that, +notwithstanding his incomings, there were more holes in his pocket than +the one where he put his own hand in. But if Mr. Godfrey didn't turn +over a new leaf, he might say "Good-bye" to Miss Nancy Lammeter. + +It was the once hopeful Godfrey who was standing, with his hands in his +side-pockets and his back to the fire, in the dark wainscoted parlour, +one late November afternoon in that fifteenth year of Silas Marner's +life at Raveloe. The fading grey light fell dimly on the walls +decorated with guns, whips, and foxes' brushes, on coats and hats flung +on the chairs, on tankards sending forth a scent of flat ale, and on a +half-choked fire, with pipes propped up in the chimney-corners: signs +of a domestic life destitute of any hallowing charm, with which the +look of gloomy vexation on Godfrey's blond face was in sad accordance. +He seemed to be waiting and listening for some one's approach, and +presently the sound of a heavy step, with an accompanying whistle, was +heard across the large empty entrance-hall. + +The door opened, and a thick-set, heavy-looking young man entered, with +the flushed face and the gratuitously elated bearing which mark the +first stage of intoxication. It was Dunsey, and at the sight of him +Godfrey's face parted with some of its gloom to take on the more active +expression of hatred. The handsome brown spaniel that lay on the +hearth retreated under the chair in the chimney-corner. + +"Well, Master Godfrey, what do you want with me?" said Dunsey, in a +mocking tone. "You're my elders and betters, you know; I was obliged +to come when you sent for me." + +"Why, this is what I want--and just shake yourself sober and listen, +will you?" said Godfrey, savagely. He had himself been drinking more +than was good for him, trying to turn his gloom into uncalculating +anger. "I want to tell you, I must hand over that rent of Fowler's to +the Squire, or else tell him I gave it you; for he's threatening to +distrain for it, and it'll all be out soon, whether I tell him or not. +He said, just now, before he went out, he should send word to Cox to +distrain, if Fowler didn't come and pay up his arrears this week. The +Squire's short o' cash, and in no humour to stand any nonsense; and you +know what he threatened, if ever he found you making away with his +money again. So, see and get the money, and pretty quickly, will you?" + +"Oh!" said Dunsey, sneeringly, coming nearer to his brother and +looking in his face. "Suppose, now, you get the money yourself, and +save me the trouble, eh? Since you was so kind as to hand it over to +me, you'll not refuse me the kindness to pay it back for me: it was +your brotherly love made you do it, you know." + +Godfrey bit his lips and clenched his fist. "Don't come near me with +that look, else I'll knock you down." + +"Oh no, you won't," said Dunsey, turning away on his heel, however. +"Because I'm such a good-natured brother, you know. I might get you +turned out of house and home, and cut off with a shilling any day. I +might tell the Squire how his handsome son was married to that nice +young woman, Molly Farren, and was very unhappy because he couldn't +live with his drunken wife, and I should slip into your place as +comfortable as could be. But you see, I don't do it--I'm so easy and +good-natured. You'll take any trouble for me. You'll get the hundred +pounds for me--I know you will." + +"How can I get the money?" said Godfrey, quivering. "I haven't a +shilling to bless myself with. And it's a lie that you'd slip into my +place: you'd get yourself turned out too, that's all. For if you begin +telling tales, I'll follow. Bob's my father's favourite--you know that +very well. He'd only think himself well rid of you." + +"Never mind," said Dunsey, nodding his head sideways as he looked out +of the window. "It 'ud be very pleasant to me to go in your +company--you're such a handsome brother, and we've always been so fond +of quarrelling with one another, I shouldn't know what to do without +you. But you'd like better for us both to stay at home together; I +know you would. So you'll manage to get that little sum o' money, and +I'll bid you good-bye, though I'm sorry to part." + +Dunstan was moving off, but Godfrey rushed after him and seized him by +the arm, saying, with an oath-- + +"I tell you, I have no money: I can get no money." + +"Borrow of old Kimble." + +"I tell you, he won't lend me any more, and I shan't ask him." + +"Well, then, sell Wildfire." + +"Yes, that's easy talking. I must have the money directly." + +"Well, you've only got to ride him to the hunt to-morrow. There'll be +Bryce and Keating there, for sure. You'll get more bids than one." + +"I daresay, and get back home at eight o'clock, splashed up to the +chin. I'm going to Mrs. Osgood's birthday dance." + +"Oho!" said Dunsey, turning his head on one side, and trying to speak +in a small mincing treble. "And there's sweet Miss Nancy coming; and +we shall dance with her, and promise never to be naughty again, and be +taken into favour, and--" + +"Hold your tongue about Miss Nancy, you fool," said Godfrey, turning +red, "else I'll throttle you." + +"What for?" said Dunsey, still in an artificial tone, but taking a +whip from the table and beating the butt-end of it on his palm. "You've +a very good chance. I'd advise you to creep up her sleeve again: it +'ud be saving time, if Molly should happen to take a drop too much +laudanum some day, and make a widower of you. Miss Nancy wouldn't mind +being a second, if she didn't know it. And you've got a good-natured +brother, who'll keep your secret well, because you'll be so very +obliging to him." + +"I'll tell you what it is," said Godfrey, quivering, and pale again, +"my patience is pretty near at an end. If you'd a little more +sharpness in you, you might know that you may urge a man a bit too far, +and make one leap as easy as another. I don't know but what it is so +now: I may as well tell the Squire everything myself--I should get you +off my back, if I got nothing else. And, after all, he'll know some +time. She's been threatening to come herself and tell him. So, don't +flatter yourself that your secrecy's worth any price you choose to ask. +You drain me of money till I have got nothing to pacify _her_ with, and +she'll do as she threatens some day. It's all one. I'll tell my +father everything myself, and you may go to the devil." + +Dunsey perceived that he had overshot his mark, and that there was a +point at which even the hesitating Godfrey might be driven into +decision. But he said, with an air of unconcern-- + +"As you please; but I'll have a draught of ale first." And ringing the +bell, he threw himself across two chairs, and began to rap the +window-seat with the handle of his whip. + +Godfrey stood, still with his back to the fire, uneasily moving his +fingers among the contents of his side-pockets, and looking at the +floor. That big muscular frame of his held plenty of animal courage, +but helped him to no decision when the dangers to be braved were such +as could neither be knocked down nor throttled. His natural +irresolution and moral cowardice were exaggerated by a position in +which dreaded consequences seemed to press equally on all sides, and +his irritation had no sooner provoked him to defy Dunstan and +anticipate all possible betrayals, than the miseries he must bring on +himself by such a step seemed more unendurable to him than the present +evil. The results of confession were not contingent, they were +certain; whereas betrayal was not certain. From the near vision of that +certainty he fell back on suspense and vacillation with a sense of +repose. The disinherited son of a small squire, equally disinclined to +dig and to beg, was almost as helpless as an uprooted tree, which, by +the favour of earth and sky, has grown to a handsome bulk on the spot +where it first shot upward. Perhaps it would have been possible to +think of digging with some cheerfulness if Nancy Lammeter were to be +won on those terms; but, since he must irrevocably lose _her_ as well +as the inheritance, and must break every tie but the one that degraded +him and left him without motive for trying to recover his better self, +he could imagine no future for himself on the other side of confession +but that of "'listing for a soldier"--the most desperate step, short of +suicide, in the eyes of respectable families. No! he would rather +trust to casualties than to his own resolve--rather go on sitting at +the feast, and sipping the wine he loved, though with the sword hanging +over him and terror in his heart, than rush away into the cold darkness +where there was no pleasure left. The utmost concession to Dunstan +about the horse began to seem easy, compared with the fulfilment of his +own threat. But his pride would not let him recommence the +conversation otherwise than by continuing the quarrel. Dunstan was +waiting for this, and took his ale in shorter draughts than usual. + +"It's just like you," Godfrey burst out, in a bitter tone, "to talk +about my selling Wildfire in that cool way--the last thing I've got to +call my own, and the best bit of horse-flesh I ever had in my life. +And if you'd got a spark of pride in you, you'd be ashamed to see the +stables emptied, and everybody sneering about it. But it's my belief +you'd sell yourself, if it was only for the pleasure of making somebody +feel he'd got a bad bargain." + +"Aye, aye," said Dunstan, very placably, "you do me justice, I see. +You know I'm a jewel for 'ticing people into bargains. For which +reason I advise you to let _me_ sell Wildfire. I'd ride him to the +hunt to-morrow for you, with pleasure. I shouldn't look so handsome as +you in the saddle, but it's the horse they'll bid for, and not the +rider." + +"Yes, I daresay--trust my horse to you!" + +"As you please," said Dunstan, rapping the window-seat again with an +air of great unconcern. "It's _you_ have got to pay Fowler's money; +it's none of my business. You received the money from him when you +went to Bramcote, and _you_ told the Squire it wasn't paid. I'd nothing +to do with that; you chose to be so obliging as to give it me, that was +all. If you don't want to pay the money, let it alone; it's all one to +me. But I was willing to accommodate you by undertaking to sell the +horse, seeing it's not convenient to you to go so far to-morrow." + +Godfrey was silent for some moments. He would have liked to spring on +Dunstan, wrench the whip from his hand, and flog him to within an inch +of his life; and no bodily fear could have deterred him; but he was +mastered by another sort of fear, which was fed by feelings stronger +even than his resentment. When he spoke again, it was in a +half-conciliatory tone. + +"Well, you mean no nonsense about the horse, eh? You'll sell him all +fair, and hand over the money? If you don't, you know, everything 'ull +go to smash, for I've got nothing else to trust to. And you'll have +less pleasure in pulling the house over my head, when your own skull's +to be broken too." + +"Aye, aye," said Dunstan, rising; "all right. I thought you'd come +round. I'm the fellow to bring old Bryce up to the scratch. I'll get +you a hundred and twenty for him, if I get you a penny." + +"But it'll perhaps rain cats and dogs to-morrow, as it did yesterday, +and then you can't go," said Godfrey, hardly knowing whether he wished +for that obstacle or not. + +"Not _it_," said Dunstan. "I'm always lucky in my weather. It might +rain if you wanted to go yourself. You never hold trumps, you know--I +always do. You've got the beauty, you see, and I've got the luck, so +you must keep me by you for your crooked sixpence; you'll _ne_-ver get +along without me." + +"Confound you, hold your tongue!" said Godfrey, impetuously. "And take +care to keep sober to-morrow, else you'll get pitched on your head +coming home, and Wildfire might be the worse for it." + +"Make your tender heart easy," said Dunstan, opening the door. "You +never knew me see double when I'd got a bargain to make; it 'ud spoil +the fun. Besides, whenever I fall, I'm warranted to fall on my legs." + +With that, Dunstan slammed the door behind him, and left Godfrey to +that bitter rumination on his personal circumstances which was now +unbroken from day to day save by the excitement of sporting, drinking, +card-playing, or the rarer and less oblivious pleasure of seeing Miss +Nancy Lammeter. The subtle and varied pains springing from the higher +sensibility that accompanies higher culture, are perhaps less pitiable +than that dreary absence of impersonal enjoyment and consolation which +leaves ruder minds to the perpetual urgent companionship of their own +griefs and discontents. The lives of those rural forefathers, whom we +are apt to think very prosaic figures--men whose only work was to ride +round their land, getting heavier and heavier in their saddles, and who +passed the rest of their days in the half-listless gratification of +senses dulled by monotony--had a certain pathos in them nevertheless. +Calamities came to _them_ too, and their early errors carried hard +consequences: perhaps the love of some sweet maiden, the image of +purity, order, and calm, had opened their eyes to the vision of a life +in which the days would not seem too long, even without rioting; but +the maiden was lost, and the vision passed away, and then what was left +to them, especially when they had become too heavy for the hunt, or for +carrying a gun over the furrows, but to drink and get merry, or to +drink and get angry, so that they might be independent of variety, and +say over again with eager emphasis the things they had said already any +time that twelvemonth? Assuredly, among these flushed and dull-eyed men +there were some whom--thanks to their native human-kindness--even riot +could never drive into brutality; men who, when their cheeks were +fresh, had felt the keen point of sorrow or remorse, had been pierced +by the reeds they leaned on, or had lightly put their limbs in fetters +from which no struggle could loose them; and under these sad +circumstances, common to us all, their thoughts could find no +resting-place outside the ever-trodden round of their own petty history. + +That, at least, was the condition of Godfrey Cass in this +six-and-twentieth year of his life. A movement of compunction, helped +by those small indefinable influences which every personal relation +exerts on a pliant nature, had urged him into a secret marriage, which +was a blight on his life. It was an ugly story of low passion, +delusion, and waking from delusion, which needs not to be dragged from +the privacy of Godfrey's bitter memory. He had long known that the +delusion was partly due to a trap laid for him by Dunstan, who saw in +his brother's degrading marriage the means of gratifying at once his +jealous hate and his cupidity. And if Godfrey could have felt himself +simply a victim, the iron bit that destiny had put into his mouth would +have chafed him less intolerably. If the curses he muttered half aloud +when he was alone had had no other object than Dunstan's diabolical +cunning, he might have shrunk less from the consequences of avowal. +But he had something else to curse--his own vicious folly, which now +seemed as mad and unaccountable to him as almost all our follies and +vices do when their promptings have long passed away. For four years +he had thought of Nancy Lammeter, and wooed her with tacit patient +worship, as the woman who made him think of the future with joy: she +would be his wife, and would make home lovely to him, as his father's +home had never been; and it would be easy, when she was always near, to +shake off those foolish habits that were no pleasures, but only a +feverish way of annulling vacancy. Godfrey's was an essentially +domestic nature, bred up in a home where the hearth had no smiles, and +where the daily habits were not chastised by the presence of household +order. His easy disposition made him fall in unresistingly with the +family courses, but the need of some tender permanent affection, the +longing for some influence that would make the good he preferred easy +to pursue, caused the neatness, purity, and liberal orderliness of the +Lammeter household, sunned by the smile of Nancy, to seem like those +fresh bright hours of the morning when temptations go to sleep and +leave the ear open to the voice of the good angel, inviting to +industry, sobriety, and peace. And yet the hope of this paradise had +not been enough to save him from a course which shut him out of it for +ever. Instead of keeping fast hold of the strong silken rope by which +Nancy would have drawn him safe to the green banks where it was easy to +step firmly, he had let himself be dragged back into mud and slime, in +which it was useless to struggle. He had made ties for himself which +robbed him of all wholesome motive, and were a constant exasperation. + +Still, there was one position worse than the present: it was the +position he would be in when the ugly secret was disclosed; and the +desire that continually triumphed over every other was that of warding +off the evil day, when he would have to bear the consequences of his +father's violent resentment for the wound inflicted on his family +pride--would have, perhaps, to turn his back on that hereditary ease +and dignity which, after all, was a sort of reason for living, and +would carry with him the certainty that he was banished for ever from +the sight and esteem of Nancy Lammeter. The longer the interval, the +more chance there was of deliverance from some, at least, of the +hateful consequences to which he had sold himself; the more +opportunities remained for him to snatch the strange gratification of +seeing Nancy, and gathering some faint indications of her lingering +regard. Towards this gratification he was impelled, fitfully, every +now and then, after having passed weeks in which he had avoided her as +the far-off bright-winged prize that only made him spring forward and +find his chain all the more galling. One of those fits of yearning was +on him now, and it would have been strong enough to have persuaded him +to trust Wildfire to Dunstan rather than disappoint the yearning, even +if he had not had another reason for his disinclination towards the +morrow's hunt. That other reason was the fact that the morning's meet +was near Batherley, the market-town where the unhappy woman lived, +whose image became more odious to him every day; and to his thought the +whole vicinage was haunted by her. The yoke a man creates for himself +by wrong-doing will breed hate in the kindliest nature; and the +good-humoured, affectionate-hearted Godfrey Cass was fast becoming a +bitter man, visited by cruel wishes, that seemed to enter, and depart, +and enter again, like demons who had found in him a ready-garnished +home. + +What was he to do this evening to pass the time? He might as well go +to the Rainbow, and hear the talk about the cock-fighting: everybody +was there, and what else was there to be done? Though, for his own +part, he did not care a button for cock-fighting. Snuff, the brown +spaniel, who had placed herself in front of him, and had been watching +him for some time, now jumped up in impatience for the expected caress. +But Godfrey thrust her away without looking at her, and left the room, +followed humbly by the unresenting Snuff--perhaps because she saw no +other career open to her. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Dunstan Cass, setting off in the raw morning, at the judiciously quiet +pace of a man who is obliged to ride to cover on his hunter, had to +take his way along the lane which, at its farther extremity, passed by +the piece of unenclosed ground called the Stone-pit, where stood the +cottage, once a stone-cutter's shed, now for fifteen years inhabited by +Silas Marner. The spot looked very dreary at this season, with the +moist trodden clay about it, and the red, muddy water high up in the +deserted quarry. That was Dunstan's first thought as he approached it; +the second was, that the old fool of a weaver, whose loom he heard +rattling already, had a great deal of money hidden somewhere. How was +it that he, Dunstan Cass, who had often heard talk of Marner's +miserliness, had never thought of suggesting to Godfrey that he should +frighten or persuade the old fellow into lending the money on the +excellent security of the young Squire's prospects? The resource +occurred to him now as so easy and agreeable, especially as Marner's +hoard was likely to be large enough to leave Godfrey a handsome surplus +beyond his immediate needs, and enable him to accommodate his faithful +brother, that he had almost turned the horse's head towards home again. +Godfrey would be ready enough to accept the suggestion: he would snatch +eagerly at a plan that might save him from parting with Wildfire. But +when Dunstan's meditation reached this point, the inclination to go on +grew strong and prevailed. He didn't want to give Godfrey that +pleasure: he preferred that Master Godfrey should be vexed. Moreover, +Dunstan enjoyed the self-important consciousness of having a horse to +sell, and the opportunity of driving a bargain, swaggering, and +possibly taking somebody in. He might have all the satisfaction +attendant on selling his brother's horse, and not the less have the +further satisfaction of setting Godfrey to borrow Marner's money. So +he rode on to cover. + +Bryce and Keating were there, as Dunstan was quite sure they would +be--he was such a lucky fellow. + +"Heyday!" said Bryce, who had long had his eye on Wildfire, "you're on +your brother's horse to-day: how's that?" + +"Oh, I've swopped with him," said Dunstan, whose delight in lying, +grandly independent of utility, was not to be diminished by the +likelihood that his hearer would not believe him--"Wildfire's mine now." + +"What! has he swopped with you for that big-boned hack of yours?" said +Bryce, quite aware that he should get another lie in answer. + +"Oh, there was a little account between us," said Dunsey, carelessly, +"and Wildfire made it even. I accommodated him by taking the horse, +though it was against my will, for I'd got an itch for a mare o' +Jortin's--as rare a bit o' blood as ever you threw your leg across. +But I shall keep Wildfire, now I've got him, though I'd a bid of a +hundred and fifty for him the other day, from a man over at +Flitton--he's buying for Lord Cromleck--a fellow with a cast in his +eye, and a green waistcoat. But I mean to stick to Wildfire: I shan't +get a better at a fence in a hurry. The mare's got more blood, but +she's a bit too weak in the hind-quarters." + +Bryce of course divined that Dunstan wanted to sell the horse, and +Dunstan knew that he divined it (horse-dealing is only one of many +human transactions carried on in this ingenious manner); and they both +considered that the bargain was in its first stage, when Bryce replied +ironically-- + +"I wonder at that now; I wonder you mean to keep him; for I never heard +of a man who didn't want to sell his horse getting a bid of half as +much again as the horse was worth. You'll be lucky if you get a +hundred." + +Keating rode up now, and the transaction became more complicated. It +ended in the purchase of the horse by Bryce for a hundred and twenty, +to be paid on the delivery of Wildfire, safe and sound, at the +Batherley stables. It did occur to Dunsey that it might be wise for +him to give up the day's hunting, proceed at once to Batherley, and, +having waited for Bryce's return, hire a horse to carry him home with +the money in his pocket. But the inclination for a run, encouraged by +confidence in his luck, and by a draught of brandy from his +pocket-pistol at the conclusion of the bargain, was not easy to +overcome, especially with a horse under him that would take the fences +to the admiration of the field. Dunstan, however, took one fence too +many, and got his horse pierced with a hedge-stake. His own +ill-favoured person, which was quite unmarketable, escaped without +injury; but poor Wildfire, unconscious of his price, turned on his +flank and painfully panted his last. It happened that Dunstan, a short +time before, having had to get down to arrange his stirrup, had +muttered a good many curses at this interruption, which had thrown him +in the rear of the hunt near the moment of glory, and under this +exasperation had taken the fences more blindly. He would soon have +been up with the hounds again, when the fatal accident happened; and +hence he was between eager riders in advance, not troubling themselves +about what happened behind them, and far-off stragglers, who were as +likely as not to pass quite aloof from the line of road in which +Wildfire had fallen. Dunstan, whose nature it was to care more for +immediate annoyances than for remote consequences, no sooner recovered +his legs, and saw that it was all over with Wildfire, than he felt a +satisfaction at the absence of witnesses to a position which no +swaggering could make enviable. Reinforcing himself, after his shake, +with a little brandy and much swearing, he walked as fast as he could +to a coppice on his right hand, through which it occurred to him that +he could make his way to Batherley without danger of encountering any +member of the hunt. His first intention was to hire a horse there and +ride home forthwith, for to walk many miles without a gun in his hand, +and along an ordinary road, was as much out of the question to him as +to other spirited young men of his kind. He did not much mind about +taking the bad news to Godfrey, for he had to offer him at the same +time the resource of Marner's money; and if Godfrey kicked, as he +always did, at the notion of making a fresh debt from which he himself +got the smallest share of advantage, why, he wouldn't kick long: +Dunstan felt sure he could worry Godfrey into anything. The idea of +Marner's money kept growing in vividness, now the want of it had become +immediate; the prospect of having to make his appearance with the muddy +boots of a pedestrian at Batherley, and to encounter the grinning +queries of stablemen, stood unpleasantly in the way of his impatience +to be back at Raveloe and carry out his felicitous plan; and a casual +visitation of his waistcoat-pocket, as he was ruminating, awakened his +memory to the fact that the two or three small coins his forefinger +encountered there were of too pale a colour to cover that small debt, +without payment of which the stable-keeper had declared he would never +do any more business with Dunsey Cass. After all, according to the +direction in which the run had brought him, he was not so very much +farther from home than he was from Batherley; but Dunsey, not being +remarkable for clearness of head, was only led to this conclusion by +the gradual perception that there were other reasons for choosing the +unprecedented course of walking home. It was now nearly four o'clock, +and a mist was gathering: the sooner he got into the road the better. +He remembered having crossed the road and seen the finger-post only a +little while before Wildfire broke down; so, buttoning his coat, +twisting the lash of his hunting-whip compactly round the handle, and +rapping the tops of his boots with a self-possessed air, as if to +assure himself that he was not at all taken by surprise, he set off +with the sense that he was undertaking a remarkable feat of bodily +exertion, which somehow and at some time he should be able to dress up +and magnify to the admiration of a select circle at the Rainbow. When +a young gentleman like Dunsey is reduced to so exceptional a mode of +locomotion as walking, a whip in his hand is a desirable corrective to +a too bewildering dreamy sense of unwontedness in his position; and +Dunstan, as he went along through the gathering mist, was always +rapping his whip somewhere. It was Godfrey's whip, which he had chosen +to take without leave because it had a gold handle; of course no one +could see, when Dunstan held it, that the name _Godfrey Cass_ was cut +in deep letters on that gold handle--they could only see that it was a +very handsome whip. Dunsey was not without fear that he might meet some +acquaintance in whose eyes he would cut a pitiable figure, for mist is +no screen when people get close to each other; but when he at last +found himself in the well-known Raveloe lanes without having met a +soul, he silently remarked that that was part of his usual good luck. +But now the mist, helped by the evening darkness, was more of a screen +than he desired, for it hid the ruts into which his feet were liable to +slip--hid everything, so that he had to guide his steps by dragging his +whip along the low bushes in advance of the hedgerow. He must soon, he +thought, be getting near the opening at the Stone-pits: he should find +it out by the break in the hedgerow. He found it out, however, by +another circumstance which he had not expected--namely, by certain +gleams of light, which he presently guessed to proceed from Silas +Marner's cottage. That cottage and the money hidden within it had been +in his mind continually during his walk, and he had been imagining ways +of cajoling and tempting the weaver to part with the immediate +possession of his money for the sake of receiving interest. Dunstan +felt as if there must be a little frightening added to the cajolery, +for his own arithmetical convictions were not clear enough to afford +him any forcible demonstration as to the advantages of interest; and as +for security, he regarded it vaguely as a means of cheating a man by +making him believe that he would be paid. Altogether, the operation on +the miser's mind was a task that Godfrey would be sure to hand over to +his more daring and cunning brother: Dunstan had made up his mind to +that; and by the time he saw the light gleaming through the chinks of +Marner's shutters, the idea of a dialogue with the weaver had become so +familiar to him, that it occurred to him as quite a natural thing to +make the acquaintance forthwith. There might be several conveniences +attending this course: the weaver had possibly got a lantern, and +Dunstan was tired of feeling his way. He was still nearly +three-quarters of a mile from home, and the lane was becoming +unpleasantly slippery, for the mist was passing into rain. He turned up +the bank, not without some fear lest he might miss the right way, since +he was not certain whether the light were in front or on the side of +the cottage. But he felt the ground before him cautiously with his +whip-handle, and at last arrived safely at the door. He knocked +loudly, rather enjoying the idea that the old fellow would be +frightened at the sudden noise. He heard no movement in reply: all was +silence in the cottage. Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why +had he left a light? That was a strange forgetfulness in a miser. +Dunstan knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply, +pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to shake the door +and pull the latch-string up and down, not doubting that the door was +fastened. But, to his surprise, at this double motion the door opened, +and he found himself in front of a bright fire which lit up every +corner of the cottage--the bed, the loom, the three chairs, and the +table--and showed him that Marner was not there. + +Nothing at that moment could be much more inviting to Dunsey than the +bright fire on the brick hearth: he walked in and seated himself by it +at once. There was something in front of the fire, too, that would +have been inviting to a hungry man, if it had been in a different stage +of cooking. It was a small bit of pork suspended from the +kettle-hanger by a string passed through a large door-key, in a way +known to primitive housekeepers unpossessed of jacks. But the pork had +been hung at the farthest extremity of the hanger, apparently to +prevent the roasting from proceeding too rapidly during the owner's +absence. The old staring simpleton had hot meat for his supper, then? +thought Dunstan. People had always said he lived on mouldy bread, on +purpose to check his appetite. But where could he be at this time, and +on such an evening, leaving his supper in this stage of preparation, +and his door unfastened? Dunstan's own recent difficulty in making his +way suggested to him that the weaver had perhaps gone outside his +cottage to fetch in fuel, or for some such brief purpose, and had +slipped into the Stone-pit. That was an interesting idea to Dunstan, +carrying consequences of entire novelty. If the weaver was dead, who +had a right to his money? Who would know where his money was hidden? +_Who would know that anybody had come to take it away?_ He went no +farther into the subtleties of evidence: the pressing question, "Where +_is_ the money?" now took such entire possession of him as to make him +quite forget that the weaver's death was not a certainty. A dull mind, +once arriving at an inference that flatters a desire, is rarely able to +retain the impression that the notion from which the inference started +was purely problematic. And Dunstan's mind was as dull as the mind of +a possible felon usually is. There were only three hiding-places where +he had ever heard of cottagers' hoards being found: the thatch, the +bed, and a hole in the floor. Marner's cottage had no thatch; and +Dunstan's first act, after a train of thought made rapid by the +stimulus of cupidity, was to go up to the bed; but while he did so, his +eyes travelled eagerly over the floor, where the bricks, distinct in +the fire-light, were discernible under the sprinkling of sand. But not +everywhere; for there was one spot, and one only, which was quite +covered with sand, and sand showing the marks of fingers, which had +apparently been careful to spread it over a given space. It was near +the treddles of the loom. In an instant Dunstan darted to that spot, +swept away the sand with his whip, and, inserting the thin end of the +hook between the bricks, found that they were loose. In haste he +lifted up two bricks, and saw what he had no doubt was the object of +his search; for what could there be but money in those two leathern +bags? And, from their weight, they must be filled with guineas. +Dunstan felt round the hole, to be certain that it held no more; then +hastily replaced the bricks, and spread the sand over them. Hardly +more than five minutes had passed since he entered the cottage, but it +seemed to Dunstan like a long while; and though he was without any +distinct recognition of the possibility that Marner might be alive, and +might re-enter the cottage at any moment, he felt an undefinable dread +laying hold on him, as he rose to his feet with the bags in his hand. +He would hasten out into the darkness, and then consider what he should +do with the bags. He closed the door behind him immediately, that he +might shut in the stream of light: a few steps would be enough to carry +him beyond betrayal by the gleams from the shutter-chinks and the +latch-hole. The rain and darkness had got thicker, and he was glad of +it; though it was awkward walking with both hands filled, so that it +was as much as he could do to grasp his whip along with one of the +bags. But when he had gone a yard or two, he might take his time. So +he stepped forward into the darkness. + + + +CHAPTER V + +When Dunstan Cass turned his back on the cottage, Silas Marner was not +more than a hundred yards away from it, plodding along from the village +with a sack thrown round his shoulders as an overcoat, and with a horn +lantern in his hand. His legs were weary, but his mind was at ease, +free from the presentiment of change. The sense of security more +frequently springs from habit than from conviction, and for this reason +it often subsists after such a change in the conditions as might have +been expected to suggest alarm. The lapse of time during which a given +event has not happened, is, in this logic of habit, constantly alleged +as a reason why the event should never happen, even when the lapse of +time is precisely the added condition which makes the event imminent. +A man will tell you that he has worked in a mine for forty years unhurt +by an accident as a reason why he should apprehend no danger, though +the roof is beginning to sink; and it is often observable, that the +older a man gets, the more difficult it is to him to retain a believing +conception of his own death. This influence of habit was necessarily +strong in a man whose life was so monotonous as Marner's--who saw no +new people and heard of no new events to keep alive in him the idea of +the unexpected and the changeful; and it explains simply enough, why +his mind could be at ease, though he had left his house and his +treasure more defenceless than usual. Silas was thinking with double +complacency of his supper: first, because it would be hot and savoury; +and secondly, because it would cost him nothing. For the little bit of +pork was a present from that excellent housewife, Miss Priscilla +Lammeter, to whom he had this day carried home a handsome piece of +linen; and it was only on occasion of a present like this, that Silas +indulged himself with roast-meat. Supper was his favourite meal, +because it came at his time of revelry, when his heart warmed over his +gold; whenever he had roast-meat, he always chose to have it for +supper. But this evening, he had no sooner ingeniously knotted his +string fast round his bit of pork, twisted the string according to rule +over his door-key, passed it through the handle, and made it fast on +the hanger, than he remembered that a piece of very fine twine was +indispensable to his "setting up" a new piece of work in his loom early +in the morning. It had slipped his memory, because, in coming from Mr. +Lammeter's, he had not had to pass through the village; but to lose +time by going on errands in the morning was out of the question. It +was a nasty fog to turn out into, but there were things Silas loved +better than his own comfort; so, drawing his pork to the extremity of +the hanger, and arming himself with his lantern and his old sack, he +set out on what, in ordinary weather, would have been a twenty minutes' +errand. He could not have locked his door without undoing his +well-knotted string and retarding his supper; it was not worth his +while to make that sacrifice. What thief would find his way to the +Stone-pits on such a night as this? and why should he come on this +particular night, when he had never come through all the fifteen years +before? These questions were not distinctly present in Silas's mind; +they merely serve to represent the vaguely-felt foundation of his +freedom from anxiety. + +He reached his door in much satisfaction that his errand was done: he +opened it, and to his short-sighted eyes everything remained as he had +left it, except that the fire sent out a welcome increase of heat. He +trod about the floor while putting by his lantern and throwing aside +his hat and sack, so as to merge the marks of Dunstan's feet on the +sand in the marks of his own nailed boots. Then he moved his pork +nearer to the fire, and sat down to the agreeable business of tending +the meat and warming himself at the same time. + +Any one who had looked at him as the red light shone upon his pale +face, strange straining eyes, and meagre form, would perhaps have +understood the mixture of contemptuous pity, dread, and suspicion with +which he was regarded by his neighbours in Raveloe. Yet few men could +be more harmless than poor Marner. In his truthful simple soul, not +even the growing greed and worship of gold could beget any vice +directly injurious to others. The light of his faith quite put out, +and his affections made desolate, he had clung with all the force of +his nature to his work and his money; and like all objects to which a +man devotes himself, they had fashioned him into correspondence with +themselves. His loom, as he wrought in it without ceasing, had in its +turn wrought on him, and confirmed more and more the monotonous craving +for its monotonous response. His gold, as he hung over it and saw it +grow, gathered his power of loving together into a hard isolation like +its own. + +As soon as he was warm he began to think it would be a long while to +wait till after supper before he drew out his guineas, and it would be +pleasant to see them on the table before him as he ate his unwonted +feast. For joy is the best of wine, and Silas's guineas were a golden +wine of that sort. + +He rose and placed his candle unsuspectingly on the floor near his +loom, swept away the sand without noticing any change, and removed the +bricks. The sight of the empty hole made his heart leap violently, but +the belief that his gold was gone could not come at once--only terror, +and the eager effort to put an end to the terror. He passed his +trembling hand all about the hole, trying to think it possible that his +eyes had deceived him; then he held the candle in the hole and examined +it curiously, trembling more and more. At last he shook so violently +that he let fall the candle, and lifted his hands to his head, trying +to steady himself, that he might think. Had he put his gold somewhere +else, by a sudden resolution last night, and then forgotten it? A man +falling into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding +stones; and Silas, by acting as if he believed in false hopes, warded +off the moment of despair. He searched in every corner, he turned his +bed over, and shook it, and kneaded it; he looked in his brick oven +where he laid his sticks. When there was no other place to be +searched, he kneeled down again and felt once more all round the hole. +There was no untried refuge left for a moment's shelter from the +terrible truth. + +Yes, there was a sort of refuge which always comes with the prostration +of thought under an overpowering passion: it was that expectation of +impossibilities, that belief in contradictory images, which is still +distinct from madness, because it is capable of being dissipated by the +external fact. Silas got up from his knees trembling, and looked round +at the table: didn't the gold lie there after all? The table was bare. +Then he turned and looked behind him--looked all round his dwelling, +seeming to strain his brown eyes after some possible appearance of the +bags where he had already sought them in vain. He could see every +object in his cottage--and his gold was not there. + +Again he put his trembling hands to his head, and gave a wild ringing +scream, the cry of desolation. For a few moments after, he stood +motionless; but the cry had relieved him from the first maddening +pressure of the truth. He turned, and tottered towards his loom, and +got into the seat where he worked, instinctively seeking this as the +strongest assurance of reality. + +And now that all the false hopes had vanished, and the first shock of +certainty was past, the idea of a thief began to present itself, and he +entertained it eagerly, because a thief might be caught and made to +restore the gold. The thought brought some new strength with it, and +he started from his loom to the door. As he opened it the rain beat in +upon him, for it was falling more and more heavily. There were no +footsteps to be tracked on such a night--footsteps? When had the thief +come? During Silas's absence in the daytime the door had been locked, +and there had been no marks of any inroad on his return by daylight. +And in the evening, too, he said to himself, everything was the same as +when he had left it. The sand and bricks looked as if they had not +been moved. _Was_ it a thief who had taken the bags? or was it a +cruel power that no hands could reach, which had delighted in making +him a second time desolate? He shrank from this vaguer dread, and +fixed his mind with struggling effort on the robber with hands, who +could be reached by hands. His thoughts glanced at all the neighbours +who had made any remarks, or asked any questions which he might now +regard as a ground of suspicion. There was Jem Rodney, a known +poacher, and otherwise disreputable: he had often met Marner in his +journeys across the fields, and had said something jestingly about the +weaver's money; nay, he had once irritated Marner, by lingering at the +fire when he called to light his pipe, instead of going about his +business. Jem Rodney was the man--there was ease in the thought. Jem +could be found and made to restore the money: Marner did not want to +punish him, but only to get back his gold which had gone from him, and +left his soul like a forlorn traveller on an unknown desert. The +robber must be laid hold of. Marner's ideas of legal authority were +confused, but he felt that he must go and proclaim his loss; and the +great people in the village--the clergyman, the constable, and Squire +Cass--would make Jem Rodney, or somebody else, deliver up the stolen +money. He rushed out in the rain, under the stimulus of this hope, +forgetting to cover his head, not caring to fasten his door; for he +felt as if he had nothing left to lose. He ran swiftly, till want of +breath compelled him to slacken his pace as he was entering the village +at the turning close to the Rainbow. + +The Rainbow, in Marner's view, was a place of luxurious resort for rich +and stout husbands, whose wives had superfluous stores of linen; it was +the place where he was likely to find the powers and dignities of +Raveloe, and where he could most speedily make his loss public. He +lifted the latch, and turned into the bright bar or kitchen on the +right hand, where the less lofty customers of the house were in the +habit of assembling, the parlour on the left being reserved for the +more select society in which Squire Cass frequently enjoyed the double +pleasure of conviviality and condescension. But the parlour was dark +to-night, the chief personages who ornamented its circle being all at +Mrs. Osgood's birthday dance, as Godfrey Cass was. And in consequence +of this, the party on the high-screened seats in the kitchen was more +numerous than usual; several personages, who would otherwise have been +admitted into the parlour and enlarged the opportunity of hectoring and +condescension for their betters, being content this evening to vary +their enjoyment by taking their spirits-and-water where they could +themselves hector and condescend in company that called for beer. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The conversation, which was at a high pitch of animation when Silas +approached the door of the Rainbow, had, as usual, been slow and +intermittent when the company first assembled. The pipes began to be +puffed in a silence which had an air of severity; the more important +customers, who drank spirits and sat nearest the fire, staring at each +other as if a bet were depending on the first man who winked; while the +beer-drinkers, chiefly men in fustian jackets and smock-frocks, kept +their eyelids down and rubbed their hands across their mouths, as if +their draughts of beer were a funereal duty attended with embarrassing +sadness. At last Mr. Snell, the landlord, a man of a neutral +disposition, accustomed to stand aloof from human differences as those +of beings who were all alike in need of liquor, broke silence, by +saying in a doubtful tone to his cousin the butcher-- + +"Some folks 'ud say that was a fine beast you druv in yesterday, Bob?" + +The butcher, a jolly, smiling, red-haired man, was not disposed to +answer rashly. He gave a few puffs before he spat and replied, "And +they wouldn't be fur wrong, John." + +After this feeble delusive thaw, the silence set in as severely as +before. + +"Was it a red Durham?" said the farrier, taking up the thread of +discourse after the lapse of a few minutes. + +The farrier looked at the landlord, and the landlord looked at the +butcher, as the person who must take the responsibility of answering. + +"Red it was," said the butcher, in his good-humoured husky treble--"and +a Durham it was." + +"Then you needn't tell _me_ who you bought it of," said the farrier, +looking round with some triumph; "I know who it is has got the red +Durhams o' this country-side. And she'd a white star on her brow, I'll +bet a penny?" The farrier leaned forward with his hands on his knees +as he put this question, and his eyes twinkled knowingly. + +"Well; yes--she might," said the butcher, slowly, considering that he +was giving a decided affirmative. "I don't say contrairy." + +"I knew that very well," said the farrier, throwing himself backward +again, and speaking defiantly; "if _I_ don't know Mr. Lammeter's cows, +I should like to know who does--that's all. And as for the cow you've +bought, bargain or no bargain, I've been at the drenching of +her--contradick me who will." + +The farrier looked fierce, and the mild butcher's conversational spirit +was roused a little. + +"I'm not for contradicking no man," he said; "I'm for peace and +quietness. Some are for cutting long ribs--I'm for cutting 'em short +myself; but _I_ don't quarrel with 'em. All I say is, it's a lovely +carkiss--and anybody as was reasonable, it 'ud bring tears into their +eyes to look at it." + +"Well, it's the cow as I drenched, whatever it is," pursued the +farrier, angrily; "and it was Mr. Lammeter's cow, else you told a lie +when you said it was a red Durham." + +"I tell no lies," said the butcher, with the same mild huskiness as +before, "and I contradick none--not if a man was to swear himself +black: he's no meat o' mine, nor none o' my bargains. All I say is, +it's a lovely carkiss. And what I say, I'll stick to; but I'll quarrel +wi' no man." + +"No," said the farrier, with bitter sarcasm, looking at the company +generally; "and p'rhaps you aren't pig-headed; and p'rhaps you didn't +say the cow was a red Durham; and p'rhaps you didn't say she'd got a +star on her brow--stick to that, now you're at it." + +"Come, come," said the landlord; "let the cow alone. The truth lies +atween you: you're both right and both wrong, as I allays say. And as +for the cow's being Mr. Lammeter's, I say nothing to that; but this I +say, as the Rainbow's the Rainbow. And for the matter o' that, if the +talk is to be o' the Lammeters, _you_ know the most upo' that head, eh, +Mr. Macey? You remember when first Mr. Lammeter's father come into +these parts, and took the Warrens?" + +Mr. Macey, tailor and parish-clerk, the latter of which functions +rheumatism had of late obliged him to share with a small-featured young +man who sat opposite him, held his white head on one side, and twirled +his thumbs with an air of complacency, slightly seasoned with +criticism. He smiled pityingly, in answer to the landlord's appeal, +and said-- + +"Aye, aye; I know, I know; but I let other folks talk. I've laid by +now, and gev up to the young uns. Ask them as have been to school at +Tarley: they've learnt pernouncing; that's come up since my day." + +"If you're pointing at me, Mr. Macey," said the deputy clerk, with an +air of anxious propriety, "I'm nowise a man to speak out of my place. +As the psalm says-- + + "I know what's right, nor only so, + But also practise what I know." + + +"Well, then, I wish you'd keep hold o' the tune, when it's set for you; +if you're for prac_tis_ing, I wish you'd prac_tise_ that," said a large +jocose-looking man, an excellent wheelwright in his week-day capacity, +but on Sundays leader of the choir. He winked, as he spoke, at two of +the company, who were known officially as the "bassoon" and the +"key-bugle", in the confidence that he was expressing the sense of the +musical profession in Raveloe. + +Mr. Tookey, the deputy-clerk, who shared the unpopularity common to +deputies, turned very red, but replied, with careful moderation--"Mr. +Winthrop, if you'll bring me any proof as I'm in the wrong, I'm not the +man to say I won't alter. But there's people set up their own ears for +a standard, and expect the whole choir to follow 'em. There may be two +opinions, I hope." + +"Aye, aye," said Mr. Macey, who felt very well satisfied with this +attack on youthful presumption; "you're right there, Tookey: there's +allays two 'pinions; there's the 'pinion a man has of himsen, and +there's the 'pinion other folks have on him. There'd be two 'pinions +about a cracked bell, if the bell could hear itself." + +"Well, Mr. Macey," said poor Tookey, serious amidst the general +laughter, "I undertook to partially fill up the office of parish-clerk +by Mr. Crackenthorp's desire, whenever your infirmities should make you +unfitting; and it's one of the rights thereof to sing in the +choir--else why have you done the same yourself?" + +"Ah! but the old gentleman and you are two folks," said Ben Winthrop. +"The old gentleman's got a gift. Why, the Squire used to invite him to +take a glass, only to hear him sing the "Red Rovier"; didn't he, Mr. +Macey? It's a nat'ral gift. There's my little lad Aaron, he's got a +gift--he can sing a tune off straight, like a throstle. But as for +you, Master Tookey, you'd better stick to your "Amens": your voice is +well enough when you keep it up in your nose. It's your inside as +isn't right made for music: it's no better nor a hollow stalk." + +This kind of unflinching frankness was the most piquant form of joke to +the company at the Rainbow, and Ben Winthrop's insult was felt by +everybody to have capped Mr. Macey's epigram. + +"I see what it is plain enough," said Mr. Tookey, unable to keep cool +any longer. "There's a consperacy to turn me out o' the choir, as I +shouldn't share the Christmas money--that's where it is. But I shall +speak to Mr. Crackenthorp; I'll not be put upon by no man." + +"Nay, nay, Tookey," said Ben Winthrop. "We'll pay you your share to +keep out of it--that's what we'll do. There's things folks 'ud pay to +be rid on, besides varmin." + +"Come, come," said the landlord, who felt that paying people for their +absence was a principle dangerous to society; "a joke's a joke. We're +all good friends here, I hope. We must give and take. You're both +right and you're both wrong, as I say. I agree wi' Mr. Macey here, as +there's two opinions; and if mine was asked, I should say they're both +right. Tookey's right and Winthrop's right, and they've only got to +split the difference and make themselves even." + +The farrier was puffing his pipe rather fiercely, in some contempt at +this trivial discussion. He had no ear for music himself, and never +went to church, as being of the medical profession, and likely to be in +requisition for delicate cows. But the butcher, having music in his +soul, had listened with a divided desire for Tookey's defeat and for +the preservation of the peace. + +"To be sure," he said, following up the landlord's conciliatory view, +"we're fond of our old clerk; it's nat'ral, and him used to be such a +singer, and got a brother as is known for the first fiddler in this +country-side. Eh, it's a pity but what Solomon lived in our village, +and could give us a tune when we liked; eh, Mr. Macey? I'd keep him in +liver and lights for nothing--that I would." + +"Aye, aye," said Mr. Macey, in the height of complacency; "our family's +been known for musicianers as far back as anybody can tell. But them +things are dying out, as I tell Solomon every time he comes round; +there's no voices like what there used to be, and there's nobody +remembers what we remember, if it isn't the old crows." + +"Aye, you remember when first Mr. Lammeter's father come into these +parts, don't you, Mr. Macey?" said the landlord. + +"I should think I did," said the old man, who had now gone through that +complimentary process necessary to bring him up to the point of +narration; "and a fine old gentleman he was--as fine, and finer nor the +Mr. Lammeter as now is. He came from a bit north'ard, so far as I +could ever make out. But there's nobody rightly knows about those +parts: only it couldn't be far north'ard, nor much different from this +country, for he brought a fine breed o' sheep with him, so there must +be pastures there, and everything reasonable. We heared tell as he'd +sold his own land to come and take the Warrens, and that seemed odd for +a man as had land of his own, to come and rent a farm in a strange +place. But they said it was along of his wife's dying; though there's +reasons in things as nobody knows on--that's pretty much what I've made +out; yet some folks are so wise, they'll find you fifty reasons +straight off, and all the while the real reason's winking at 'em in the +corner, and they niver see't. Howsomever, it was soon seen as we'd got +a new parish'ner as know'd the rights and customs o' things, and kep a +good house, and was well looked on by everybody. And the young +man--that's the Mr. Lammeter as now is, for he'd niver a sister--soon +begun to court Miss Osgood, that's the sister o' the Mr. Osgood as now +is, and a fine handsome lass she was--eh, you can't think--they pretend +this young lass is like her, but that's the way wi' people as don't +know what come before 'em. _I_ should know, for I helped the old +rector, Mr. Drumlow as was, I helped him marry 'em." + +Here Mr. Macey paused; he always gave his narrative in instalments, +expecting to be questioned according to precedent. + +"Aye, and a partic'lar thing happened, didn't it, Mr. Macey, so as you +were likely to remember that marriage?" said the landlord, in a +congratulatory tone. + +"I should think there did--a _very_ partic'lar thing," said Mr. Macey, +nodding sideways. "For Mr. Drumlow--poor old gentleman, I was fond on +him, though he'd got a bit confused in his head, what wi' age and wi' +taking a drop o' summat warm when the service come of a cold morning. +And young Mr. Lammeter, he'd have no way but he must be married in +Janiwary, which, to be sure, 's a unreasonable time to be married in, +for it isn't like a christening or a burying, as you can't help; and so +Mr. Drumlow--poor old gentleman, I was fond on him--but when he come to +put the questions, he put 'em by the rule o' contrairy, like, and he +says, "Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded wife?" says he, and then +he says, "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded husband?" says he. +But the partic'larest thing of all is, as nobody took any notice on it +but me, and they answered straight off "yes", like as if it had been me +saying "Amen" i' the right place, without listening to what went +before." + +"But _you_ knew what was going on well enough, didn't you, Mr. Macey? +You were live enough, eh?" said the butcher. + +"Lor bless you!" said Mr. Macey, pausing, and smiling in pity at the +impotence of his hearer's imagination--"why, I was all of a tremble: it +was as if I'd been a coat pulled by the two tails, like; for I couldn't +stop the parson, I couldn't take upon me to do that; and yet I said to +myself, I says, "Suppose they shouldn't be fast married, 'cause the +words are contrairy?" and my head went working like a mill, for I was +allays uncommon for turning things over and seeing all round 'em; and I +says to myself, "Is't the meanin' or the words as makes folks fast i' +wedlock?" For the parson meant right, and the bride and bridegroom +meant right. But then, when I come to think on it, meanin' goes but a +little way i' most things, for you may mean to stick things together +and your glue may be bad, and then where are you? And so I says to +mysen, "It isn't the meanin', it's the glue." And I was worreted as if +I'd got three bells to pull at once, when we went into the vestry, and +they begun to sign their names. But where's the use o' talking?--you +can't think what goes on in a 'cute man's inside." + +"But you held in for all that, didn't you, Mr. Macey?" said the +landlord. + +"Aye, I held in tight till I was by mysen wi' Mr. Drumlow, and then I +out wi' everything, but respectful, as I allays did. And he made light +on it, and he says, "Pooh, pooh, Macey, make yourself easy," he says; +"it's neither the meaning nor the words--it's the re_ges_ter does +it--that's the glue." So you see he settled it easy; for parsons and +doctors know everything by heart, like, so as they aren't worreted wi' +thinking what's the rights and wrongs o' things, as I'n been many and +many's the time. And sure enough the wedding turned out all right, +on'y poor Mrs. Lammeter--that's Miss Osgood as was--died afore the +lasses was growed up; but for prosperity and everything respectable, +there's no family more looked on." + +Every one of Mr. Macey's audience had heard this story many times, but +it was listened to as if it had been a favourite tune, and at certain +points the puffing of the pipes was momentarily suspended, that the +listeners might give their whole minds to the expected words. But +there was more to come; and Mr. Snell, the landlord, duly put the +leading question. + +"Why, old Mr. Lammeter had a pretty fortin, didn't they say, when he +come into these parts?" + +"Well, yes," said Mr. Macey; "but I daresay it's as much as this Mr. +Lammeter's done to keep it whole. For there was allays a talk as +nobody could get rich on the Warrens: though he holds it cheap, for +it's what they call Charity Land." + +"Aye, and there's few folks know so well as you how it come to be +Charity Land, eh, Mr. Macey?" said the butcher. + +"How should they?" said the old clerk, with some contempt. "Why, my +grandfather made the grooms' livery for that Mr. Cliff as came and +built the big stables at the Warrens. Why, they're stables four times +as big as Squire Cass's, for he thought o' nothing but hosses and +hunting, Cliff didn't--a Lunnon tailor, some folks said, as had gone +mad wi' cheating. For he couldn't ride; lor bless you! they said he'd +got no more grip o' the hoss than if his legs had been cross-sticks: my +grandfather heared old Squire Cass say so many and many a time. But +ride he would, as if Old Harry had been a-driving him; and he'd a son, +a lad o' sixteen; and nothing would his father have him do, but he must +ride and ride--though the lad was frighted, they said. And it was a +common saying as the father wanted to ride the tailor out o' the lad, +and make a gentleman on him--not but what I'm a tailor myself, but in +respect as God made me such, I'm proud on it, for "Macey, tailor", 's +been wrote up over our door since afore the Queen's heads went out on +the shillings. But Cliff, he was ashamed o' being called a tailor, and +he was sore vexed as his riding was laughed at, and nobody o' the +gentlefolks hereabout could abide him. Howsomever, the poor lad got +sickly and died, and the father didn't live long after him, for he got +queerer nor ever, and they said he used to go out i' the dead o' the +night, wi' a lantern in his hand, to the stables, and set a lot o' +lights burning, for he got as he couldn't sleep; and there he'd stand, +cracking his whip and looking at his hosses; and they said it was a +mercy as the stables didn't get burnt down wi' the poor dumb creaturs +in 'em. But at last he died raving, and they found as he'd left all +his property, Warrens and all, to a Lunnon Charity, and that's how the +Warrens come to be Charity Land; though, as for the stables, Mr. +Lammeter never uses 'em--they're out o' all charicter--lor bless you! +if you was to set the doors a-banging in 'em, it 'ud sound like thunder +half o'er the parish." + +"Aye, but there's more going on in the stables than what folks see by +daylight, eh, Mr. Macey?" said the landlord. + +"Aye, aye; go that way of a dark night, that's all," said Mr. Macey, +winking mysteriously, "and then make believe, if you like, as you +didn't see lights i' the stables, nor hear the stamping o' the hosses, +nor the cracking o' the whips, and howling, too, if it's tow'rt +daybreak. "Cliff's Holiday" has been the name of it ever sin' I were a +boy; that's to say, some said as it was the holiday Old Harry gev him +from roasting, like. That's what my father told me, and he was a +reasonable man, though there's folks nowadays know what happened afore +they were born better nor they know their own business." + +"What do you say to that, eh, Dowlas?" said the landlord, turning to +the farrier, who was swelling with impatience for his cue. "There's a +nut for _you_ to crack." + +Mr. Dowlas was the negative spirit in the company, and was proud of his +position. + +"Say? I say what a man _should_ say as doesn't shut his eyes to look +at a finger-post. I say, as I'm ready to wager any man ten pound, if +he'll stand out wi' me any dry night in the pasture before the Warren +stables, as we shall neither see lights nor hear noises, if it isn't +the blowing of our own noses. That's what I say, and I've said it many +a time; but there's nobody 'ull ventur a ten-pun' note on their ghos'es +as they make so sure of." + +"Why, Dowlas, that's easy betting, that is," said Ben Winthrop. "You +might as well bet a man as he wouldn't catch the rheumatise if he stood +up to 's neck in the pool of a frosty night. It 'ud be fine fun for a +man to win his bet as he'd catch the rheumatise. Folks as believe in +Cliff's Holiday aren't agoing to ventur near it for a matter o' ten +pound." + +"If Master Dowlas wants to know the truth on it," said Mr. Macey, with +a sarcastic smile, tapping his thumbs together, "he's no call to lay +any bet--let him go and stan' by himself--there's nobody 'ull hinder +him; and then he can let the parish'ners know if they're wrong." + +"Thank you! I'm obliged to you," said the farrier, with a snort of +scorn. "If folks are fools, it's no business o' mine. _I_ don't want +to make out the truth about ghos'es: I know it a'ready. But I'm not +against a bet--everything fair and open. Let any man bet me ten pound +as I shall see Cliff's Holiday, and I'll go and stand by myself. I +want no company. I'd as lief do it as I'd fill this pipe." + +"Ah, but who's to watch you, Dowlas, and see you do it? That's no fair +bet," said the butcher. + +"No fair bet?" replied Mr. Dowlas, angrily. "I should like to hear +any man stand up and say I want to bet unfair. Come now, Master Lundy, +I should like to hear you say it." + +"Very like you would," said the butcher. "But it's no business o' +mine. You're none o' my bargains, and I aren't a-going to try and +'bate your price. If anybody 'll bid for you at your own vallying, let +him. I'm for peace and quietness, I am." + +"Yes, that's what every yapping cur is, when you hold a stick up at +him," said the farrier. "But I'm afraid o' neither man nor ghost, and +I'm ready to lay a fair bet. _I_ aren't a turn-tail cur." + +"Aye, but there's this in it, Dowlas," said the landlord, speaking in a +tone of much candour and tolerance. "There's folks, i' my opinion, +they can't see ghos'es, not if they stood as plain as a pike-staff +before 'em. And there's reason i' that. For there's my wife, now, +can't smell, not if she'd the strongest o' cheese under her nose. I +never see'd a ghost myself; but then I says to myself, "Very like I +haven't got the smell for 'em." I mean, putting a ghost for a smell, +or else contrairiways. And so, I'm for holding with both sides; for, +as I say, the truth lies between 'em. And if Dowlas was to go and +stand, and say he'd never seen a wink o' Cliff's Holiday all the night +through, I'd back him; and if anybody said as Cliff's Holiday was +certain sure, for all that, I'd back _him_ too. For the smell's what I +go by." + +The landlord's analogical argument was not well received by the +farrier--a man intensely opposed to compromise. + +"Tut, tut," he said, setting down his glass with refreshed irritation; +"what's the smell got to do with it? Did ever a ghost give a man a +black eye? That's what I should like to know. If ghos'es want me to +believe in 'em, let 'em leave off skulking i' the dark and i' lone +places--let 'em come where there's company and candles." + +"As if ghos'es 'ud want to be believed in by anybody so ignirant!" said +Mr. Macey, in deep disgust at the farrier's crass incompetence to +apprehend the conditions of ghostly phenomena. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Yet the next moment there seemed to be some evidence that ghosts had a +more condescending disposition than Mr. Macey attributed to them; for +the pale thin figure of Silas Marner was suddenly seen standing in the +warm light, uttering no word, but looking round at the company with his +strange unearthly eyes. The long pipes gave a simultaneous movement, +like the antennae of startled insects, and every man present, not +excepting even the sceptical farrier, had an impression that he saw, +not Silas Marner in the flesh, but an apparition; for the door by which +Silas had entered was hidden by the high-screened seats, and no one had +noticed his approach. Mr. Macey, sitting a long way off the ghost, +might be supposed to have felt an argumentative triumph, which would +tend to neutralize his share of the general alarm. Had he not always +said that when Silas Marner was in that strange trance of his, his soul +went loose from his body? Here was the demonstration: nevertheless, on +the whole, he would have been as well contented without it. For a few +moments there was a dead silence, Marner's want of breath and agitation +not allowing him to speak. The landlord, under the habitual sense that +he was bound to keep his house open to all company, and confident in +the protection of his unbroken neutrality, at last took on himself the +task of adjuring the ghost. + +"Master Marner," he said, in a conciliatory tone, "what's lacking to +you? What's your business here?" + +"Robbed!" said Silas, gaspingly. "I've been robbed! I want the +constable--and the Justice--and Squire Cass--and Mr. Crackenthorp." + +"Lay hold on him, Jem Rodney," said the landlord, the idea of a ghost +subsiding; "he's off his head, I doubt. He's wet through." + +Jem Rodney was the outermost man, and sat conveniently near Marner's +standing-place; but he declined to give his services. + +"Come and lay hold on him yourself, Mr. Snell, if you've a mind," said +Jem, rather sullenly. "He's been robbed, and murdered too, for what I +know," he added, in a muttering tone. + +"Jem Rodney!" said Silas, turning and fixing his strange eyes on the +suspected man. + +"Aye, Master Marner, what do you want wi' me?" said Jem, trembling a +little, and seizing his drinking-can as a defensive weapon. + +"If it was you stole my money," said Silas, clasping his hands +entreatingly, and raising his voice to a cry, "give it me back--and I +won't meddle with you. I won't set the constable on you. Give it me +back, and I'll let you--I'll let you have a guinea." + +"Me stole your money!" said Jem, angrily. "I'll pitch this can at +your eye if you talk o' _my_ stealing your money." + +"Come, come, Master Marner," said the landlord, now rising resolutely, +and seizing Marner by the shoulder, "if you've got any information to +lay, speak it out sensible, and show as you're in your right mind, if +you expect anybody to listen to you. You're as wet as a drownded rat. +Sit down and dry yourself, and speak straight forrard." + +"Ah, to be sure, man," said the farrier, who began to feel that he had +not been quite on a par with himself and the occasion. "Let's have no +more staring and screaming, else we'll have you strapped for a madman. +That was why I didn't speak at the first--thinks I, the man's run mad." + +"Aye, aye, make him sit down," said several voices at once, well +pleased that the reality of ghosts remained still an open question. + +The landlord forced Marner to take off his coat, and then to sit down +on a chair aloof from every one else, in the centre of the circle and +in the direct rays of the fire. The weaver, too feeble to have any +distinct purpose beyond that of getting help to recover his money, +submitted unresistingly. The transient fears of the company were now +forgotten in their strong curiosity, and all faces were turned towards +Silas, when the landlord, having seated himself again, said-- + +"Now then, Master Marner, what's this you've got to say--as you've been +robbed? Speak out." + +"He'd better not say again as it was me robbed him," cried Jem Rodney, +hastily. "What could I ha' done with his money? I could as easy steal +the parson's surplice, and wear it." + +"Hold your tongue, Jem, and let's hear what he's got to say," said the +landlord. "Now then, Master Marner." + +Silas now told his story, under frequent questioning as the mysterious +character of the robbery became evident. + +This strangely novel situation of opening his trouble to his Raveloe +neighbours, of sitting in the warmth of a hearth not his own, and +feeling the presence of faces and voices which were his nearest promise +of help, had doubtless its influence on Marner, in spite of his +passionate preoccupation with his loss. Our consciousness rarely +registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us: +there have been many circulations of the sap before we detect the +smallest sign of the bud. + +The slight suspicion with which his hearers at first listened to him, +gradually melted away before the convincing simplicity of his distress: +it was impossible for the neighbours to doubt that Marner was telling +the truth, not because they were capable of arguing at once from the +nature of his statements to the absence of any motive for making them +falsely, but because, as Mr. Macey observed, "Folks as had the devil to +back 'em were not likely to be so mushed" as poor Silas was. Rather, +from the strange fact that the robber had left no traces, and had +happened to know the nick of time, utterly incalculable by mortal +agents, when Silas would go away from home without locking his door, +the more probable conclusion seemed to be, that his disreputable +intimacy in that quarter, if it ever existed, had been broken up, and +that, in consequence, this ill turn had been done to Marner by somebody +it was quite in vain to set the constable after. Why this +preternatural felon should be obliged to wait till the door was left +unlocked, was a question which did not present itself. + +"It isn't Jem Rodney as has done this work, Master Marner," said the +landlord. "You mustn't be a-casting your eye at poor Jem. There may be +a bit of a reckoning against Jem for the matter of a hare or so, if +anybody was bound to keep their eyes staring open, and niver to wink; +but Jem's been a-sitting here drinking his can, like the decentest man +i' the parish, since before you left your house, Master Marner, by your +own account." + +"Aye, aye," said Mr. Macey; "let's have no accusing o' the innicent. +That isn't the law. There must be folks to swear again' a man before +he can be ta'en up. Let's have no accusing o' the innicent, Master +Marner." + +Memory was not so utterly torpid in Silas that it could not be awakened +by these words. With a movement of compunction as new and strange to +him as everything else within the last hour, he started from his chair +and went close up to Jem, looking at him as if he wanted to assure +himself of the expression in his face. + +"I was wrong," he said--"yes, yes--I ought to have thought. There's +nothing to witness against you, Jem. Only you'd been into my house +oftener than anybody else, and so you came into my head. I don't accuse +you--I won't accuse anybody--only," he added, lifting up his hands to +his head, and turning away with bewildered misery, "I try--I try to +think where my guineas can be." + +"Aye, aye, they're gone where it's hot enough to melt 'em, I doubt," +said Mr. Macey. + +"Tchuh!" said the farrier. And then he asked, with a cross-examining +air, "How much money might there be in the bags, Master Marner?" + +"Two hundred and seventy-two pounds, twelve and sixpence, last night +when I counted it," said Silas, seating himself again, with a groan. + +"Pooh! why, they'd be none so heavy to carry. Some tramp's been in, +that's all; and as for the no footmarks, and the bricks and the sand +being all right--why, your eyes are pretty much like a insect's, Master +Marner; they're obliged to look so close, you can't see much at a time. +It's my opinion as, if I'd been you, or you'd been me--for it comes to +the same thing--you wouldn't have thought you'd found everything as you +left it. But what I vote is, as two of the sensiblest o' the company +should go with you to Master Kench, the constable's--he's ill i' bed, I +know that much--and get him to appoint one of us his deppity; for +that's the law, and I don't think anybody 'ull take upon him to +contradick me there. It isn't much of a walk to Kench's; and then, if +it's me as is deppity, I'll go back with you, Master Marner, and +examine your premises; and if anybody's got any fault to find with +that, I'll thank him to stand up and say it out like a man." + +By this pregnant speech the farrier had re-established his +self-complacency, and waited with confidence to hear himself named as +one of the superlatively sensible men. + +"Let us see how the night is, though," said the landlord, who also +considered himself personally concerned in this proposition. "Why, it +rains heavy still," he said, returning from the door. + +"Well, I'm not the man to be afraid o' the rain," said the farrier. +"For it'll look bad when Justice Malam hears as respectable men like us +had a information laid before 'em and took no steps." + +The landlord agreed with this view, and after taking the sense of the +company, and duly rehearsing a small ceremony known in high +ecclesiastical life as the _nolo episcopari_, he consented to take on +himself the chill dignity of going to Kench's. But to the farrier's +strong disgust, Mr. Macey now started an objection to his proposing +himself as a deputy-constable; for that oracular old gentleman, +claiming to know the law, stated, as a fact delivered to him by his +father, that no doctor could be a constable. + +"And you're a doctor, I reckon, though you're only a cow-doctor--for a +fly's a fly, though it may be a hoss-fly," concluded Mr. Macey, +wondering a little at his own "'cuteness". + +There was a hot debate upon this, the farrier being of course +indisposed to renounce the quality of doctor, but contending that a +doctor could be a constable if he liked--the law meant, he needn't be +one if he didn't like. Mr. Macey thought this was nonsense, since the +law was not likely to be fonder of doctors than of other folks. +Moreover, if it was in the nature of doctors more than of other men not +to like being constables, how came Mr. Dowlas to be so eager to act in +that capacity? + +"_I_ don't want to act the constable," said the farrier, driven into a +corner by this merciless reasoning; "and there's no man can say it of +me, if he'd tell the truth. But if there's to be any jealousy and +en_vy_ing about going to Kench's in the rain, let them go as like +it--you won't get me to go, I can tell you." + +By the landlord's intervention, however, the dispute was accommodated. +Mr. Dowlas consented to go as a second person disinclined to act +officially; and so poor Silas, furnished with some old coverings, +turned out with his two companions into the rain again, thinking of the +long night-hours before him, not as those do who long to rest, but as +those who expect to "watch for the morning". + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +When Godfrey Cass returned from Mrs. Osgood's party at midnight, he was +not much surprised to learn that Dunsey had not come home. Perhaps he +had not sold Wildfire, and was waiting for another chance--perhaps, on +that foggy afternoon, he had preferred housing himself at the Red Lion +at Batherley for the night, if the run had kept him in that +neighbourhood; for he was not likely to feel much concern about leaving +his brother in suspense. Godfrey's mind was too full of Nancy +Lammeter's looks and behaviour, too full of the exasperation against +himself and his lot, which the sight of her always produced in him, for +him to give much thought to Wildfire, or to the probabilities of +Dunstan's conduct. + +The next morning the whole village was excited by the story of the +robbery, and Godfrey, like every one else, was occupied in gathering +and discussing news about it, and in visiting the Stone-pits. The rain +had washed away all possibility of distinguishing foot-marks, but a +close investigation of the spot had disclosed, in the direction +opposite to the village, a tinder-box, with a flint and steel, half +sunk in the mud. It was not Silas's tinder-box, for the only one he +had ever had was still standing on his shelf; and the inference +generally accepted was, that the tinder-box in the ditch was somehow +connected with the robbery. A small minority shook their heads, and +intimated their opinion that it was not a robbery to have much light +thrown on it by tinder-boxes, that Master Marner's tale had a queer +look with it, and that such things had been known as a man's doing +himself a mischief, and then setting the justice to look for the doer. +But when questioned closely as to their grounds for this opinion, and +what Master Marner had to gain by such false pretences, they only shook +their heads as before, and observed that there was no knowing what some +folks counted gain; moreover, that everybody had a right to their own +opinions, grounds or no grounds, and that the weaver, as everybody +knew, was partly crazy. Mr. Macey, though he joined in the defence of +Marner against all suspicions of deceit, also pooh-poohed the +tinder-box; indeed, repudiated it as a rather impious suggestion, +tending to imply that everything must be done by human hands, and that +there was no power which could make away with the guineas without +moving the bricks. Nevertheless, he turned round rather sharply on Mr. +Tookey, when the zealous deputy, feeling that this was a view of the +case peculiarly suited to a parish-clerk, carried it still farther, and +doubted whether it was right to inquire into a robbery at all when the +circumstances were so mysterious. + +"As if," concluded Mr. Tookey--"as if there was nothing but what could +be made out by justices and constables." + +"Now, don't you be for overshooting the mark, Tookey," said Mr. Macey, +nodding his head aside admonishingly. "That's what you're allays at; +if I throw a stone and hit, you think there's summat better than +hitting, and you try to throw a stone beyond. What I said was against +the tinder-box: I said nothing against justices and constables, for +they're o' King George's making, and it 'ud be ill-becoming a man in a +parish office to fly out again' King George." + +While these discussions were going on amongst the group outside the +Rainbow, a higher consultation was being carried on within, under the +presidency of Mr. Crackenthorp, the rector, assisted by Squire Cass and +other substantial parishioners. It had just occurred to Mr. Snell, the +landlord--he being, as he observed, a man accustomed to put two and two +together--to connect with the tinder-box, which, as deputy-constable, +he himself had had the honourable distinction of finding, certain +recollections of a pedlar who had called to drink at the house about a +month before, and had actually stated that he carried a tinder-box +about with him to light his pipe. Here, surely, was a clue to be +followed out. And as memory, when duly impregnated with ascertained +facts, is sometimes surprisingly fertile, Mr. Snell gradually recovered +a vivid impression of the effect produced on him by the pedlar's +countenance and conversation. He had a "look with his eye" which fell +unpleasantly on Mr. Snell's sensitive organism. To be sure, he didn't +say anything particular--no, except that about the tinder-box--but it +isn't what a man says, it's the way he says it. Moreover, he had a +swarthy foreignness of complexion which boded little honesty. + +"Did he wear ear-rings?" Mr. Crackenthorp wished to know, having some +acquaintance with foreign customs. + +"Well--stay--let me see," said Mr. Snell, like a docile clairvoyante, +who would really not make a mistake if she could help it. After +stretching the corners of his mouth and contracting his eyes, as if he +were trying to see the ear-rings, he appeared to give up the effort, +and said, "Well, he'd got ear-rings in his box to sell, so it's nat'ral +to suppose he might wear 'em. But he called at every house, a'most, in +the village; there's somebody else, mayhap, saw 'em in his ears, though +I can't take upon me rightly to say." + +Mr. Snell was correct in his surmise, that somebody else would remember +the pedlar's ear-rings. For on the spread of inquiry among the +villagers it was stated with gathering emphasis, that the parson had +wanted to know whether the pedlar wore ear-rings in his ears, and an +impression was created that a great deal depended on the eliciting of +this fact. Of course, every one who heard the question, not having any +distinct image of the pedlar as _without_ ear-rings, immediately had an +image of him _with_ ear-rings, larger or smaller, as the case might be; +and the image was presently taken for a vivid recollection, so that the +glazier's wife, a well-intentioned woman, not given to lying, and whose +house was among the cleanest in the village, was ready to declare, as +sure as ever she meant to take the sacrament the very next Christmas +that was ever coming, that she had seen big ear-rings, in the shape of +the young moon, in the pedlar's two ears; while Jinny Oates, the +cobbler's daughter, being a more imaginative person, stated not only +that she had seen them too, but that they had made her blood creep, as +it did at that very moment while there she stood. + +Also, by way of throwing further light on this clue of the tinder-box, +a collection was made of all the articles purchased from the pedlar at +various houses, and carried to the Rainbow to be exhibited there. In +fact, there was a general feeling in the village, that for the +clearing-up of this robbery there must be a great deal done at the +Rainbow, and that no man need offer his wife an excuse for going there +while it was the scene of severe public duties. + +Some disappointment was felt, and perhaps a little indignation also, +when it became known that Silas Marner, on being questioned by the +Squire and the parson, had retained no other recollection of the pedlar +than that he had called at his door, but had not entered his house, +having turned away at once when Silas, holding the door ajar, had said +that he wanted nothing. This had been Silas's testimony, though he +clutched strongly at the idea of the pedlar's being the culprit, if +only because it gave him a definite image of a whereabout for his gold +after it had been taken away from its hiding-place: he could see it now +in the pedlar's box. But it was observed with some irritation in the +village, that anybody but a "blind creatur" like Marner would have seen +the man prowling about, for how came he to leave his tinder-box in the +ditch close by, if he hadn't been lingering there? Doubtless, he had +made his observations when he saw Marner at the door. Anybody might +know--and only look at him--that the weaver was a half-crazy miser. It +was a wonder the pedlar hadn't murdered him; men of that sort, with +rings in their ears, had been known for murderers often and often; +there had been one tried at the 'sizes, not so long ago but what there +were people living who remembered it. + +Godfrey Cass, indeed, entering the Rainbow during one of Mr. Snell's +frequently repeated recitals of his testimony, had treated it lightly, +stating that he himself had bought a pen-knife of the pedlar, and +thought him a merry grinning fellow enough; it was all nonsense, he +said, about the man's evil looks. But this was spoken of in the +village as the random talk of youth, "as if it was only Mr. Snell who +had seen something odd about the pedlar!" On the contrary, there were +at least half-a-dozen who were ready to go before Justice Malam, and +give in much more striking testimony than any the landlord could +furnish. It was to be hoped Mr. Godfrey would not go to Tarley and +throw cold water on what Mr. Snell said there, and so prevent the +justice from drawing up a warrant. He was suspected of intending this, +when, after mid-day, he was seen setting off on horseback in the +direction of Tarley. + +But by this time Godfrey's interest in the robbery had faded before his +growing anxiety about Dunstan and Wildfire, and he was going, not to +Tarley, but to Batherley, unable to rest in uncertainty about them any +longer. The possibility that Dunstan had played him the ugly trick of +riding away with Wildfire, to return at the end of a month, when he had +gambled away or otherwise squandered the price of the horse, was a fear +that urged itself upon him more, even, than the thought of an +accidental injury; and now that the dance at Mrs. Osgood's was past, he +was irritated with himself that he had trusted his horse to Dunstan. +Instead of trying to still his fears, he encouraged them, with that +superstitious impression which clings to us all, that if we expect evil +very strongly it is the less likely to come; and when he heard a horse +approaching at a trot, and saw a hat rising above a hedge beyond an +angle of the lane, he felt as if his conjuration had succeeded. But no +sooner did the horse come within sight, than his heart sank again. It +was not Wildfire; and in a few moments more he discerned that the rider +was not Dunstan, but Bryce, who pulled up to speak, with a face that +implied something disagreeable. + +"Well, Mr. Godfrey, that's a lucky brother of yours, that Master +Dunsey, isn't he?" + +"What do you mean?" said Godfrey, hastily. + +"Why, hasn't he been home yet?" said Bryce. + +"Home? no. What has happened? Be quick. What has he done with my +horse?" + +"Ah, I thought it was yours, though he pretended you had parted with it +to him." + +"Has he thrown him down and broken his knees?" said Godfrey, flushed +with exasperation. + +"Worse than that," said Bryce. "You see, I'd made a bargain with him +to buy the horse for a hundred and twenty--a swinging price, but I +always liked the horse. And what does he do but go and stake him--fly +at a hedge with stakes in it, atop of a bank with a ditch before it. +The horse had been dead a pretty good while when he was found. So he +hasn't been home since, has he?" + +"Home? no," said Godfrey, "and he'd better keep away. Confound me for +a fool! I might have known this would be the end of it." + +"Well, to tell you the truth," said Bryce, "after I'd bargained for the +horse, it did come into my head that he might be riding and selling the +horse without your knowledge, for I didn't believe it was his own. I +knew Master Dunsey was up to his tricks sometimes. But where can he be +gone? He's never been seen at Batherley. He couldn't have been hurt, +for he must have walked off." + +"Hurt?" said Godfrey, bitterly. "He'll never be hurt--he's made to +hurt other people." + +"And so you _did_ give him leave to sell the horse, eh?" said Bryce. + +"Yes; I wanted to part with the horse--he was always a little too hard +in the mouth for me," said Godfrey; his pride making him wince under +the idea that Bryce guessed the sale to be a matter of necessity. "I +was going to see after him--I thought some mischief had happened. I'll +go back now," he added, turning the horse's head, and wishing he could +get rid of Bryce; for he felt that the long-dreaded crisis in his life +was close upon him. "You're coming on to Raveloe, aren't you?" + +"Well, no, not now," said Bryce. "I _was_ coming round there, for I +had to go to Flitton, and I thought I might as well take you in my way, +and just let you know all I knew myself about the horse. I suppose +Master Dunsey didn't like to show himself till the ill news had blown +over a bit. He's perhaps gone to pay a visit at the Three Crowns, by +Whitbridge--I know he's fond of the house." + +"Perhaps he is," said Godfrey, rather absently. Then rousing himself, +he said, with an effort at carelessness, "We shall hear of him soon +enough, I'll be bound." + +"Well, here's my turning," said Bryce, not surprised to perceive that +Godfrey was rather "down"; "so I'll bid you good-day, and wish I may +bring you better news another time." + +Godfrey rode along slowly, representing to himself the scene of +confession to his father from which he felt that there was now no +longer any escape. The revelation about the money must be made the +very next morning; and if he withheld the rest, Dunstan would be sure +to come back shortly, and, finding that he must bear the brunt of his +father's anger, would tell the whole story out of spite, even though he +had nothing to gain by it. There was one step, perhaps, by which he +might still win Dunstan's silence and put off the evil day: he might +tell his father that he had himself spent the money paid to him by +Fowler; and as he had never been guilty of such an offence before, the +affair would blow over after a little storming. But Godfrey could not +bend himself to this. He felt that in letting Dunstan have the money, +he had already been guilty of a breach of trust hardly less culpable +than that of spending the money directly for his own behoof; and yet +there was a distinction between the two acts which made him feel that +the one was so much more blackening than the other as to be intolerable +to him. + +"I don't pretend to be a good fellow," he said to himself; "but I'm not +a scoundrel--at least, I'll stop short somewhere. I'll bear the +consequences of what I _have_ done sooner than make believe I've done +what I never would have done. I'd never have spent the money for my +own pleasure--I was tortured into it." + +Through the remainder of this day Godfrey, with only occasional +fluctuations, kept his will bent in the direction of a complete avowal +to his father, and he withheld the story of Wildfire's loss till the +next morning, that it might serve him as an introduction to heavier +matter. The old Squire was accustomed to his son's frequent absence +from home, and thought neither Dunstan's nor Wildfire's non-appearance +a matter calling for remark. Godfrey said to himself again and again, +that if he let slip this one opportunity of confession, he might never +have another; the revelation might be made even in a more odious way +than by Dunstan's malignity: _she_ might come as she had threatened to +do. And then he tried to make the scene easier to himself by +rehearsal: he made up his mind how he would pass from the admission of +his weakness in letting Dunstan have the money to the fact that Dunstan +had a hold on him which he had been unable to shake off, and how he +would work up his father to expect something very bad before he told +him the fact. The old Squire was an implacable man: he made +resolutions in violent anger, and he was not to be moved from them +after his anger had subsided--as fiery volcanic matters cool and harden +into rock. Like many violent and implacable men, he allowed evils to +grow under favour of his own heedlessness, till they pressed upon him +with exasperating force, and then he turned round with fierce severity +and became unrelentingly hard. This was his system with his tenants: +he allowed them to get into arrears, neglect their fences, reduce their +stock, sell their straw, and otherwise go the wrong way,--and then, +when he became short of money in consequence of this indulgence, he +took the hardest measures and would listen to no appeal. Godfrey knew +all this, and felt it with the greater force because he had constantly +suffered annoyance from witnessing his father's sudden fits of +unrelentingness, for which his own habitual irresolution deprived him +of all sympathy. (He was not critical on the faulty indulgence which +preceded these fits; _that_ seemed to him natural enough.) Still there +was just the chance, Godfrey thought, that his father's pride might see +this marriage in a light that would induce him to hush it up, rather +than turn his son out and make the family the talk of the country for +ten miles round. + +This was the view of the case that Godfrey managed to keep before him +pretty closely till midnight, and he went to sleep thinking that he had +done with inward debating. But when he awoke in the still morning +darkness he found it impossible to reawaken his evening thoughts; it +was as if they had been tired out and were not to be roused to further +work. Instead of arguments for confession, he could now feel the +presence of nothing but its evil consequences: the old dread of +disgrace came back--the old shrinking from the thought of raising a +hopeless barrier between himself and Nancy--the old disposition to rely +on chances which might be favourable to him, and save him from +betrayal. Why, after all, should he cut off the hope of them by his +own act? He had seen the matter in a wrong light yesterday. He had +been in a rage with Dunstan, and had thought of nothing but a thorough +break-up of their mutual understanding; but what it would be really +wisest for him to do, was to try and soften his father's anger against +Dunsey, and keep things as nearly as possible in their old condition. +If Dunsey did not come back for a few days (and Godfrey did not know +but that the rascal had enough money in his pocket to enable him to +keep away still longer), everything might blow over. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Godfrey rose and took his own breakfast earlier than usual, but +lingered in the wainscoted parlour till his younger brothers had +finished their meal and gone out; awaiting his father, who always took +a walk with his managing-man before breakfast. Every one breakfasted +at a different hour in the Red House, and the Squire was always the +latest, giving a long chance to a rather feeble morning appetite before +he tried it. The table had been spread with substantial eatables +nearly two hours before he presented himself--a tall, stout man of +sixty, with a face in which the knit brow and rather hard glance seemed +contradicted by the slack and feeble mouth. His person showed marks of +habitual neglect, his dress was slovenly; and yet there was something +in the presence of the old Squire distinguishable from that of the +ordinary farmers in the parish, who were perhaps every whit as refined +as he, but, having slouched their way through life with a consciousness +of being in the vicinity of their "betters", wanted that +self-possession and authoritativeness of voice and carriage which +belonged to a man who thought of superiors as remote existences with +whom he had personally little more to do than with America or the +stars. The Squire had been used to parish homage all his life, used to +the presupposition that his family, his tankards, and everything that +was his, were the oldest and best; and as he never associated with any +gentry higher than himself, his opinion was not disturbed by comparison. + +He glanced at his son as he entered the room, and said, "What, sir! +haven't _you_ had your breakfast yet?" but there was no pleasant +morning greeting between them; not because of any unfriendliness, but +because the sweet flower of courtesy is not a growth of such homes as +the Red House. + +"Yes, sir," said Godfrey, "I've had my breakfast, but I was waiting to +speak to you." + +"Ah! well," said the Squire, throwing himself indifferently into his +chair, and speaking in a ponderous coughing fashion, which was felt in +Raveloe to be a sort of privilege of his rank, while he cut a piece of +beef, and held it up before the deer-hound that had come in with him. +"Ring the bell for my ale, will you? You youngsters' business is your +own pleasure, mostly. There's no hurry about it for anybody but +yourselves." + +The Squire's life was quite as idle as his sons', but it was a fiction +kept up by himself and his contemporaries in Raveloe that youth was +exclusively the period of folly, and that their aged wisdom was +constantly in a state of endurance mitigated by sarcasm. Godfrey +waited, before he spoke again, until the ale had been brought and the +door closed--an interval during which Fleet, the deer-hound, had +consumed enough bits of beef to make a poor man's holiday dinner. + +"There's been a cursed piece of ill-luck with Wildfire," he began; +"happened the day before yesterday." + +"What! broke his knees?" said the Squire, after taking a draught of +ale. "I thought you knew how to ride better than that, sir. I never +threw a horse down in my life. If I had, I might ha' whistled for +another, for _my_ father wasn't quite so ready to unstring as some +other fathers I know of. But they must turn over a new leaf--_they_ +must. What with mortgages and arrears, I'm as short o' cash as a +roadside pauper. And that fool Kimble says the newspaper's talking +about peace. Why, the country wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Prices +'ud run down like a jack, and I should never get my arrears, not if I +sold all the fellows up. And there's that damned Fowler, I won't put +up with him any longer; I've told Winthrop to go to Cox this very day. +The lying scoundrel told me he'd be sure to pay me a hundred last +month. He takes advantage because he's on that outlying farm, and +thinks I shall forget him." + +The Squire had delivered this speech in a coughing and interrupted +manner, but with no pause long enough for Godfrey to make it a pretext +for taking up the word again. He felt that his father meant to ward +off any request for money on the ground of the misfortune with +Wildfire, and that the emphasis he had thus been led to lay on his +shortness of cash and his arrears was likely to produce an attitude of +mind the utmost unfavourable for his own disclosure. But he must go on, +now he had begun. + +"It's worse than breaking the horse's knees--he's been staked and +killed," he said, as soon as his father was silent, and had begun to +cut his meat. "But I wasn't thinking of asking you to buy me another +horse; I was only thinking I'd lost the means of paying you with the +price of Wildfire, as I'd meant to do. Dunsey took him to the hunt to +sell him for me the other day, and after he'd made a bargain for a +hundred and twenty with Bryce, he went after the hounds, and took some +fool's leap or other that did for the horse at once. If it hadn't been +for that, I should have paid you a hundred pounds this morning." + +The Squire had laid down his knife and fork, and was staring at his son +in amazement, not being sufficiently quick of brain to form a probable +guess as to what could have caused so strange an inversion of the +paternal and filial relations as this proposition of his son to pay him +a hundred pounds. + +"The truth is, sir--I'm very sorry--I was quite to blame," said +Godfrey. "Fowler did pay that hundred pounds. He paid it to me, when +I was over there one day last month. And Dunsey bothered me for the +money, and I let him have it, because I hoped I should be able to pay +it you before this." + +The Squire was purple with anger before his son had done speaking, and +found utterance difficult. "You let Dunsey have it, sir? And how long +have you been so thick with Dunsey that you must _collogue_ with him to +embezzle my money? Are you turning out a scamp? I tell you I won't +have it. I'll turn the whole pack of you out of the house together, +and marry again. I'd have you to remember, sir, my property's got no +entail on it;--since my grandfather's time the Casses can do as they +like with their land. Remember that, sir. Let Dunsey have the money! +Why should you let Dunsey have the money? There's some lie at the +bottom of it." + +"There's no lie, sir," said Godfrey. "I wouldn't have spent the money +myself, but Dunsey bothered me, and I was a fool, and let him have it. +But I meant to pay it, whether he did or not. That's the whole story. +I never meant to embezzle money, and I'm not the man to do it. You +never knew me do a dishonest trick, sir." + +"Where's Dunsey, then? What do you stand talking there for? Go and +fetch Dunsey, as I tell you, and let him give account of what he wanted +the money for, and what he's done with it. He shall repent it. I'll +turn him out. I said I would, and I'll do it. He shan't brave me. Go +and fetch him." + +"Dunsey isn't come back, sir." + +"What! did he break his own neck, then?" said the Squire, with some +disgust at the idea that, in that case, he could not fulfil his threat. + +"No, he wasn't hurt, I believe, for the horse was found dead, and +Dunsey must have walked off. I daresay we shall see him again +by-and-by. I don't know where he is." + +"And what must you be letting him have my money for? Answer me that," +said the Squire, attacking Godfrey again, since Dunsey was not within +reach. + +"Well, sir, I don't know," said Godfrey, hesitatingly. That was a +feeble evasion, but Godfrey was not fond of lying, and, not being +sufficiently aware that no sort of duplicity can long flourish without +the help of vocal falsehoods, he was quite unprepared with invented +motives. + +"You don't know? I tell you what it is, sir. You've been up to some +trick, and you've been bribing him not to tell," said the Squire, with +a sudden acuteness which startled Godfrey, who felt his heart beat +violently at the nearness of his father's guess. The sudden alarm +pushed him on to take the next step--a very slight impulse suffices for +that on a downward road. + +"Why, sir," he said, trying to speak with careless ease, "it was a +little affair between me and Dunsey; it's no matter to anybody else. +It's hardly worth while to pry into young men's fooleries: it wouldn't +have made any difference to you, sir, if I'd not had the bad luck to +lose Wildfire. I should have paid you the money." + +"Fooleries! Pshaw! it's time you'd done with fooleries. And I'd have +you know, sir, you _must_ ha' done with 'em," said the Squire, frowning +and casting an angry glance at his son. "Your goings-on are not what I +shall find money for any longer. There's my grandfather had his +stables full o' horses, and kept a good house, too, and in worse times, +by what I can make out; and so might I, if I hadn't four +good-for-nothing fellows to hang on me like horse-leeches. I've been +too good a father to you all--that's what it is. But I shall pull up, +sir." + +Godfrey was silent. He was not likely to be very penetrating in his +judgments, but he had always had a sense that his father's indulgence +had not been kindness, and had had a vague longing for some discipline +that would have checked his own errant weakness and helped his better +will. The Squire ate his bread and meat hastily, took a deep draught +of ale, then turned his chair from the table, and began to speak again. + +"It'll be all the worse for you, you know--you'd need try and help me +keep things together." + +"Well, sir, I've often offered to take the management of things, but +you know you've taken it ill always, and seemed to think I wanted to +push you out of your place." + +"I know nothing o' your offering or o' my taking it ill," said the +Squire, whose memory consisted in certain strong impressions unmodified +by detail; "but I know, one while you seemed to be thinking o' +marrying, and I didn't offer to put any obstacles in your way, as some +fathers would. I'd as lieve you married Lammeter's daughter as +anybody. I suppose, if I'd said you nay, you'd ha' kept on with it; +but, for want o' contradiction, you've changed your mind. You're a +shilly-shally fellow: you take after your poor mother. She never had a +will of her own; a woman has no call for one, if she's got a proper man +for her husband. But _your_ wife had need have one, for you hardly +know your own mind enough to make both your legs walk one way. The +lass hasn't said downright she won't have you, has she?" + +"No," said Godfrey, feeling very hot and uncomfortable; "but I don't +think she will." + +"Think! why haven't you the courage to ask her? Do you stick to it, +you want to have _her_--that's the thing?" + +"There's no other woman I want to marry," said Godfrey, evasively. + +"Well, then, let me make the offer for you, that's all, if you haven't +the pluck to do it yourself. Lammeter isn't likely to be loath for his +daughter to marry into _my_ family, I should think. And as for the +pretty lass, she wouldn't have her cousin--and there's nobody else, as +I see, could ha' stood in your way." + +"I'd rather let it be, please sir, at present," said Godfrey, in alarm. +"I think she's a little offended with me just now, and I should like to +speak for myself. A man must manage these things for himself." + +"Well, speak, then, and manage it, and see if you can't turn over a new +leaf. That's what a man must do when he thinks o' marrying." + +"I don't see how I can think of it at present, sir. You wouldn't like +to settle me on one of the farms, I suppose, and I don't think she'd +come to live in this house with all my brothers. It's a different sort +of life to what she's been used to." + +"Not come to live in this house? Don't tell me. You ask her, that's +all," said the Squire, with a short, scornful laugh. + +"I'd rather let the thing be, at present, sir," said Godfrey. "I hope +you won't try to hurry it on by saying anything." + +"I shall do what I choose," said the Squire, "and I shall let you know +I'm master; else you may turn out and find an estate to drop into +somewhere else. Go out and tell Winthrop not to go to Cox's, but wait +for me. And tell 'em to get my horse saddled. And stop: look out and +get that hack o' Dunsey's sold, and hand me the money, will you? He'll +keep no more hacks at my expense. And if you know where he's +sneaking--I daresay you do--you may tell him to spare himself the +journey o' coming back home. Let him turn ostler, and keep himself. +He shan't hang on me any more." + +"I don't know where he is, sir; and if I did, it isn't my place to tell +him to keep away," said Godfrey, moving towards the door. + +"Confound it, sir, don't stay arguing, but go and order my horse," said +the Squire, taking up a pipe. + +Godfrey left the room, hardly knowing whether he were more relieved by +the sense that the interview was ended without having made any change +in his position, or more uneasy that he had entangled himself still +further in prevarication and deceit. What had passed about his +proposing to Nancy had raised a new alarm, lest by some after-dinner +words of his father's to Mr. Lammeter he should be thrown into the +embarrassment of being obliged absolutely to decline her when she +seemed to be within his reach. He fled to his usual refuge, that of +hoping for some unforeseen turn of fortune, some favourable chance +which would save him from unpleasant consequences--perhaps even justify +his insincerity by manifesting its prudence. And in this point of +trusting to some throw of fortune's dice, Godfrey can hardly be called +specially old-fashioned. Favourable Chance, I fancy, is the god of all +men who follow their own devices instead of obeying a law they believe +in. Let even a polished man of these days get into a position he is +ashamed to avow, and his mind will be bent on all the possible issues +that may deliver him from the calculable results of that position. Let +him live outside his income, or shirk the resolute honest work that +brings wages, and he will presently find himself dreaming of a possible +benefactor, a possible simpleton who may be cajoled into using his +interest, a possible state of mind in some possible person not yet +forthcoming. Let him neglect the responsibilities of his office, and he +will inevitably anchor himself on the chance that the thing left undone +may turn out not to be of the supposed importance. Let him betray his +friend's confidence, and he will adore that same cunning complexity +called Chance, which gives him the hope that his friend will never +know. Let him forsake a decent craft that he may pursue the +gentilities of a profession to which nature never called him, and his +religion will infallibly be the worship of blessed Chance, which he +will believe in as the mighty creator of success. The evil principle +deprecated in that religion is the orderly sequence by which the seed +brings forth a crop after its kind. + + + +CHAPTER X + +Justice Malam was naturally regarded in Tarley and Raveloe as a man of +capacious mind, seeing that he could draw much wider conclusions +without evidence than could be expected of his neighbours who were not +on the Commission of the Peace. Such a man was not likely to neglect +the clue of the tinder-box, and an inquiry was set on foot concerning a +pedlar, name unknown, with curly black hair and a foreign complexion, +carrying a box of cutlery and jewellery, and wearing large rings in his +ears. But either because inquiry was too slow-footed to overtake him, +or because the description applied to so many pedlars that inquiry did +not know how to choose among them, weeks passed away, and there was no +other result concerning the robbery than a gradual cessation of the +excitement it had caused in Raveloe. Dunstan Cass's absence was hardly +a subject of remark: he had once before had a quarrel with his father, +and had gone off, nobody knew whither, to return at the end of six +weeks, take up his old quarters unforbidden, and swagger as usual. His +own family, who equally expected this issue, with the sole difference +that the Squire was determined this time to forbid him the old +quarters, never mentioned his absence; and when his uncle Kimble or Mr. +Osgood noticed it, the story of his having killed Wildfire, and +committed some offence against his father, was enough to prevent +surprise. To connect the fact of Dunsey's disappearance with that of +the robbery occurring on the same day, lay quite away from the track of +every one's thought--even Godfrey's, who had better reason than any one +else to know what his brother was capable of. He remembered no mention +of the weaver between them since the time, twelve years ago, when it +was their boyish sport to deride him; and, besides, his imagination +constantly created an _alibi_ for Dunstan: he saw him continually in +some congenial haunt, to which he had walked off on leaving +Wildfire--saw him sponging on chance acquaintances, and meditating a +return home to the old amusement of tormenting his elder brother. Even +if any brain in Raveloe had put the said two facts together, I doubt +whether a combination so injurious to the prescriptive respectability +of a family with a mural monument and venerable tankards, would not +have been suppressed as of unsound tendency. But Christmas puddings, +brawn, and abundance of spirituous liquors, throwing the mental +originality into the channel of nightmare, are great preservatives +against a dangerous spontaneity of waking thought. + +When the robbery was talked of at the Rainbow and elsewhere, in good +company, the balance continued to waver between the rational +explanation founded on the tinder-box, and the theory of an +impenetrable mystery that mocked investigation. The advocates of the +tinder-box-and-pedlar view considered the other side a muddle-headed +and credulous set, who, because they themselves were wall-eyed, +supposed everybody else to have the same blank outlook; and the +adherents of the inexplicable more than hinted that their antagonists +were animals inclined to crow before they had found any corn--mere +skimming-dishes in point of depth--whose clear-sightedness consisted in +supposing there was nothing behind a barn-door because they couldn't +see through it; so that, though their controversy did not serve to +elicit the fact concerning the robbery, it elicited some true opinions +of collateral importance. + +But while poor Silas's loss served thus to brush the slow current of +Raveloe conversation, Silas himself was feeling the withering +desolation of that bereavement about which his neighbours were arguing +at their ease. To any one who had observed him before he lost his +gold, it might have seemed that so withered and shrunken a life as his +could hardly be susceptible of a bruise, could hardly endure any +subtraction but such as would put an end to it altogether. But in +reality it had been an eager life, filled with immediate purpose which +fenced him in from the wide, cheerless unknown. It had been a clinging +life; and though the object round which its fibres had clung was a dead +disrupted thing, it satisfied the need for clinging. But now the fence +was broken down--the support was snatched away. Marner's thoughts +could no longer move in their old round, and were baffled by a blank +like that which meets a plodding ant when the earth has broken away on +its homeward path. The loom was there, and the weaving, and the +growing pattern in the cloth; but the bright treasure in the hole under +his feet was gone; the prospect of handling and counting it was gone: +the evening had no phantasm of delight to still the poor soul's +craving. The thought of the money he would get by his actual work +could bring no joy, for its meagre image was only a fresh reminder of +his loss; and hope was too heavily crushed by the sudden blow for his +imagination to dwell on the growth of a new hoard from that small +beginning. + +He filled up the blank with grief. As he sat weaving, he every now and +then moaned low, like one in pain: it was the sign that his thoughts +had come round again to the sudden chasm--to the empty evening-time. +And all the evening, as he sat in his loneliness by his dull fire, he +leaned his elbows on his knees, and clasped his head with his hands, +and moaned very low--not as one who seeks to be heard. + +And yet he was not utterly forsaken in his trouble. The repulsion +Marner had always created in his neighbours was partly dissipated by +the new light in which this misfortune had shown him. Instead of a man +who had more cunning than honest folks could come by, and, what was +worse, had not the inclination to use that cunning in a neighbourly +way, it was now apparent that Silas had not cunning enough to keep his +own. He was generally spoken of as a "poor mushed creatur"; and that +avoidance of his neighbours, which had before been referred to his +ill-will and to a probable addiction to worse company, was now +considered mere craziness. + +This change to a kindlier feeling was shown in various ways. The odour +of Christmas cooking being on the wind, it was the season when +superfluous pork and black puddings are suggestive of charity in +well-to-do families; and Silas's misfortune had brought him uppermost +in the memory of housekeepers like Mrs. Osgood. Mr. Crackenthorp, too, +while he admonished Silas that his money had probably been taken from +him because he thought too much of it and never came to church, +enforced the doctrine by a present of pigs' pettitoes, well calculated +to dissipate unfounded prejudices against the clerical character. +Neighbours who had nothing but verbal consolation to give showed a +disposition not only to greet Silas and discuss his misfortune at some +length when they encountered him in the village, but also to take the +trouble of calling at his cottage and getting him to repeat all the +details on the very spot; and then they would try to cheer him by +saying, "Well, Master Marner, you're no worse off nor other poor folks, +after all; and if you was to be crippled, the parish 'ud give you a +'lowance." + +I suppose one reason why we are seldom able to comfort our neighbours +with our words is that our goodwill gets adulterated, in spite of +ourselves, before it can pass our lips. We can send black puddings and +pettitoes without giving them a flavour of our own egoism; but language +is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil. There was +a fair proportion of kindness in Raveloe; but it was often of a beery +and bungling sort, and took the shape least allied to the complimentary +and hypocritical. + +Mr. Macey, for example, coming one evening expressly to let Silas know +that recent events had given him the advantage of standing more +favourably in the opinion of a man whose judgment was not formed +lightly, opened the conversation by saying, as soon as he had seated +himself and adjusted his thumbs-- + +"Come, Master Marner, why, you've no call to sit a-moaning. You're a +deal better off to ha' lost your money, nor to ha' kep it by foul +means. I used to think, when you first come into these parts, as you +were no better nor you should be; you were younger a deal than what you +are now; but you were allays a staring, white-faced creatur, partly +like a bald-faced calf, as I may say. But there's no knowing: it isn't +every queer-looksed thing as Old Harry's had the making of--I mean, +speaking o' toads and such; for they're often harmless, like, and +useful against varmin. And it's pretty much the same wi' you, as fur +as I can see. Though as to the yarbs and stuff to cure the breathing, +if you brought that sort o' knowledge from distant parts, you might ha' +been a bit freer of it. And if the knowledge wasn't well come by, why, +you might ha' made up for it by coming to church reg'lar; for, as for +the children as the Wise Woman charmed, I've been at the christening of +'em again and again, and they took the water just as well. And that's +reasonable; for if Old Harry's a mind to do a bit o' kindness for a +holiday, like, who's got anything against it? That's my thinking; and +I've been clerk o' this parish forty year, and I know, when the parson +and me does the cussing of a Ash Wednesday, there's no cussing o' folks +as have a mind to be cured without a doctor, let Kimble say what he +will. And so, Master Marner, as I was saying--for there's windings i' +things as they may carry you to the fur end o' the prayer-book afore +you get back to 'em--my advice is, as you keep up your sperrits; for as +for thinking you're a deep un, and ha' got more inside you nor 'ull +bear daylight, I'm not o' that opinion at all, and so I tell the +neighbours. For, says I, you talk o' Master Marner making out a +tale--why, it's nonsense, that is: it 'ud take a 'cute man to make a +tale like that; and, says I, he looked as scared as a rabbit." + +During this discursive address Silas had continued motionless in his +previous attitude, leaning his elbows on his knees, and pressing his +hands against his head. Mr. Macey, not doubting that he had been +listened to, paused, in the expectation of some appreciatory reply, but +Marner remained silent. He had a sense that the old man meant to be +good-natured and neighbourly; but the kindness fell on him as sunshine +falls on the wretched--he had no heart to taste it, and felt that it +was very far off him. + +"Come, Master Marner, have you got nothing to say to that?" said Mr. +Macey at last, with a slight accent of impatience. + +"Oh," said Marner, slowly, shaking his head between his hands, "I thank +you--thank you--kindly." + +"Aye, aye, to be sure: I thought you would," said Mr. Macey; "and my +advice is--have you got a Sunday suit?" + +"No," said Marner. + +"I doubted it was so," said Mr. Macey. "Now, let me advise you to get +a Sunday suit: there's Tookey, he's a poor creatur, but he's got my +tailoring business, and some o' my money in it, and he shall make a +suit at a low price, and give you trust, and then you can come to +church, and be a bit neighbourly. Why, you've never heared me say +"Amen" since you come into these parts, and I recommend you to lose no +time, for it'll be poor work when Tookey has it all to himself, for I +mayn't be equil to stand i' the desk at all, come another winter." +Here Mr. Macey paused, perhaps expecting some sign of emotion in his +hearer; but not observing any, he went on. "And as for the money for +the suit o' clothes, why, you get a matter of a pound a-week at your +weaving, Master Marner, and you're a young man, eh, for all you look so +mushed. Why, you couldn't ha' been five-and-twenty when you come into +these parts, eh?" + +Silas started a little at the change to a questioning tone, and +answered mildly, "I don't know; I can't rightly say--it's a long while +since." + +After receiving such an answer as this, it is not surprising that Mr. +Macey observed, later on in the evening at the Rainbow, that Marner's +head was "all of a muddle", and that it was to be doubted if he ever +knew when Sunday came round, which showed him a worse heathen than many +a dog. + +Another of Silas's comforters, besides Mr. Macey, came to him with a +mind highly charged on the same topic. This was Mrs. Winthrop, the +wheelwright's wife. The inhabitants of Raveloe were not severely +regular in their church-going, and perhaps there was hardly a person in +the parish who would not have held that to go to church every Sunday in +the calendar would have shown a greedy desire to stand well with +Heaven, and get an undue advantage over their neighbours--a wish to be +better than the "common run", that would have implied a reflection on +those who had had godfathers and godmothers as well as themselves, and +had an equal right to the burying-service. At the same time, it was +understood to be requisite for all who were not household servants, or +young men, to take the sacrament at one of the great festivals: Squire +Cass himself took it on Christmas-day; while those who were held to be +"good livers" went to church with greater, though still with moderate, +frequency. + +Mrs. Winthrop was one of these: she was in all respects a woman of +scrupulous conscience, so eager for duties that life seemed to offer +them too scantily unless she rose at half-past four, though this threw +a scarcity of work over the more advanced hours of the morning, which +it was a constant problem with her to remove. Yet she had not the +vixenish temper which is sometimes supposed to be a necessary condition +of such habits: she was a very mild, patient woman, whose nature it was +to seek out all the sadder and more serious elements of life, and +pasture her mind upon them. She was the person always first thought of +in Raveloe when there was illness or death in a family, when leeches +were to be applied, or there was a sudden disappointment in a monthly +nurse. She was a "comfortable woman"--good-looking, +fresh-complexioned, having her lips always slightly screwed, as if she +felt herself in a sick-room with the doctor or the clergyman present. +But she was never whimpering; no one had seen her shed tears; she was +simply grave and inclined to shake her head and sigh, almost +imperceptibly, like a funereal mourner who is not a relation. It +seemed surprising that Ben Winthrop, who loved his quart-pot and his +joke, got along so well with Dolly; but she took her husband's jokes +and joviality as patiently as everything else, considering that "men +_would_ be so", and viewing the stronger sex in the light of animals +whom it had pleased Heaven to make naturally troublesome, like bulls +and turkey-cocks. + +This good wholesome woman could hardly fail to have her mind drawn +strongly towards Silas Marner, now that he appeared in the light of a +sufferer; and one Sunday afternoon she took her little boy Aaron with +her, and went to call on Silas, carrying in her hand some small +lard-cakes, flat paste-like articles much esteemed in Raveloe. Aaron, +an apple-cheeked youngster of seven, with a clean starched frill which +looked like a plate for the apples, needed all his adventurous +curiosity to embolden him against the possibility that the big-eyed +weaver might do him some bodily injury; and his dubiety was much +increased when, on arriving at the Stone-pits, they heard the +mysterious sound of the loom. + +"Ah, it is as I thought," said Mrs. Winthrop, sadly. + +They had to knock loudly before Silas heard them; but when he did come +to the door he showed no impatience, as he would once have done, at a +visit that had been unasked for and unexpected. Formerly, his heart had +been as a locked casket with its treasure inside; but now the casket +was empty, and the lock was broken. Left groping in darkness, with his +prop utterly gone, Silas had inevitably a sense, though a dull and +half-despairing one, that if any help came to him it must come from +without; and there was a slight stirring of expectation at the sight of +his fellow-men, a faint consciousness of dependence on their goodwill. +He opened the door wide to admit Dolly, but without otherwise returning +her greeting than by moving the armchair a few inches as a sign that +she was to sit down in it. Dolly, as soon as she was seated, removed +the white cloth that covered her lard-cakes, and said in her gravest +way-- + +"I'd a baking yisterday, Master Marner, and the lard-cakes turned out +better nor common, and I'd ha' asked you to accept some, if you'd +thought well. I don't eat such things myself, for a bit o' bread's +what I like from one year's end to the other; but men's stomichs are +made so comical, they want a change--they do, I know, God help 'em." + +Dolly sighed gently as she held out the cakes to Silas, who thanked her +kindly and looked very close at them, absently, being accustomed to +look so at everything he took into his hand--eyed all the while by the +wondering bright orbs of the small Aaron, who had made an outwork of +his mother's chair, and was peeping round from behind it. + +"There's letters pricked on 'em," said Dolly. "I can't read 'em +myself, and there's nobody, not Mr. Macey himself, rightly knows what +they mean; but they've a good meaning, for they're the same as is on +the pulpit-cloth at church. What are they, Aaron, my dear?" + +Aaron retreated completely behind his outwork. + +"Oh, go, that's naughty," said his mother, mildly. "Well, whativer the +letters are, they've a good meaning; and it's a stamp as has been in +our house, Ben says, ever since he was a little un, and his mother used +to put it on the cakes, and I've allays put it on too; for if there's +any good, we've need of it i' this world." + +"It's I. H. S.," said Silas, at which proof of learning Aaron peeped +round the chair again. + +"Well, to be sure, you can read 'em off," said Dolly. "Ben's read 'em +to me many and many a time, but they slip out o' my mind again; the +more's the pity, for they're good letters, else they wouldn't be in the +church; and so I prick 'em on all the loaves and all the cakes, though +sometimes they won't hold, because o' the rising--for, as I said, if +there's any good to be got we've need of it i' this world--that we +have; and I hope they'll bring good to you, Master Marner, for it's wi' +that will I brought you the cakes; and you see the letters have held +better nor common." + +Silas was as unable to interpret the letters as Dolly, but there was no +possibility of misunderstanding the desire to give comfort that made +itself heard in her quiet tones. He said, with more feeling than +before--"Thank you--thank you kindly." But he laid down the cakes and +seated himself absently--drearily unconscious of any distinct benefit +towards which the cakes and the letters, or even Dolly's kindness, +could tend for him. + +"Ah, if there's good anywhere, we've need of it," repeated Dolly, who +did not lightly forsake a serviceable phrase. She looked at Silas +pityingly as she went on. "But you didn't hear the church-bells this +morning, Master Marner? I doubt you didn't know it was Sunday. Living +so lone here, you lose your count, I daresay; and then, when your loom +makes a noise, you can't hear the bells, more partic'lar now the frost +kills the sound." + +"Yes, I did; I heard 'em," said Silas, to whom Sunday bells were a mere +accident of the day, and not part of its sacredness. There had been no +bells in Lantern Yard. + +"Dear heart!" said Dolly, pausing before she spoke again. "But what a +pity it is you should work of a Sunday, and not clean yourself--if you +_didn't_ go to church; for if you'd a roasting bit, it might be as you +couldn't leave it, being a lone man. But there's the bakehus, if you +could make up your mind to spend a twopence on the oven now and +then,--not every week, in course--I shouldn't like to do that +myself,--you might carry your bit o' dinner there, for it's nothing but +right to have a bit o' summat hot of a Sunday, and not to make it as +you can't know your dinner from Saturday. But now, upo' Christmas-day, +this blessed Christmas as is ever coming, if you was to take your +dinner to the bakehus, and go to church, and see the holly and the yew, +and hear the anthim, and then take the sacramen', you'd be a deal the +better, and you'd know which end you stood on, and you could put your +trust i' Them as knows better nor we do, seein' you'd ha' done what it +lies on us all to do." + +Dolly's exhortation, which was an unusually long effort of speech for +her, was uttered in the soothing persuasive tone with which she would +have tried to prevail on a sick man to take his medicine, or a basin of +gruel for which he had no appetite. Silas had never before been +closely urged on the point of his absence from church, which had only +been thought of as a part of his general queerness; and he was too +direct and simple to evade Dolly's appeal. + +"Nay, nay," he said, "I know nothing o' church. I've never been to +church." + +"No!" said Dolly, in a low tone of wonderment. Then bethinking +herself of Silas's advent from an unknown country, she said, "Could it +ha' been as they'd no church where you was born?" + +"Oh, yes," said Silas, meditatively, sitting in his usual posture of +leaning on his knees, and supporting his head. "There was churches--a +many--it was a big town. But I knew nothing of 'em--I went to chapel." + +Dolly was much puzzled at this new word, but she was rather afraid of +inquiring further, lest "chapel" might mean some haunt of wickedness. +After a little thought, she said-- + +"Well, Master Marner, it's niver too late to turn over a new leaf, and +if you've niver had no church, there's no telling the good it'll do +you. For I feel so set up and comfortable as niver was, when I've been +and heard the prayers, and the singing to the praise and glory o' God, +as Mr. Macey gives out--and Mr. Crackenthorp saying good words, and +more partic'lar on Sacramen' Day; and if a bit o' trouble comes, I feel +as I can put up wi' it, for I've looked for help i' the right quarter, +and gev myself up to Them as we must all give ourselves up to at the +last; and if we'n done our part, it isn't to be believed as Them as are +above us 'ull be worse nor we are, and come short o' Their'n." + +Poor Dolly's exposition of her simple Raveloe theology fell rather +unmeaningly on Silas's ears, for there was no word in it that could +rouse a memory of what he had known as religion, and his comprehension +was quite baffled by the plural pronoun, which was no heresy of +Dolly's, but only her way of avoiding a presumptuous familiarity. He +remained silent, not feeling inclined to assent to the part of Dolly's +speech which he fully understood--her recommendation that he should go +to church. Indeed, Silas was so unaccustomed to talk beyond the brief +questions and answers necessary for the transaction of his simple +business, that words did not easily come to him without the urgency of +a distinct purpose. + +But now, little Aaron, having become used to the weaver's awful +presence, had advanced to his mother's side, and Silas, seeming to +notice him for the first time, tried to return Dolly's signs of +good-will by offering the lad a bit of lard-cake. Aaron shrank back a +little, and rubbed his head against his mother's shoulder, but still +thought the piece of cake worth the risk of putting his hand out for it. + +"Oh, for shame, Aaron," said his mother, taking him on her lap, +however; "why, you don't want cake again yet awhile. He's wonderful +hearty," she went on, with a little sigh--"that he is, God knows. He's +my youngest, and we spoil him sadly, for either me or the father must +allays hev him in our sight--that we must." + +She stroked Aaron's brown head, and thought it must do Master Marner +good to see such a "pictur of a child". But Marner, on the other side +of the hearth, saw the neat-featured rosy face as a mere dim round, +with two dark spots in it. + +"And he's got a voice like a bird--you wouldn't think," Dolly went on; +"he can sing a Christmas carril as his father's taught him; and I take +it for a token as he'll come to good, as he can learn the good tunes so +quick. Come, Aaron, stan' up and sing the carril to Master Marner, +come." + +Aaron replied by rubbing his forehead against his mother's shoulder. + +"Oh, that's naughty," said Dolly, gently. "Stan' up, when mother tells +you, and let me hold the cake till you've done." + +Aaron was not indisposed to display his talents, even to an ogre, under +protecting circumstances; and after a few more signs of coyness, +consisting chiefly in rubbing the backs of his hands over his eyes, and +then peeping between them at Master Marner, to see if he looked anxious +for the "carril", he at length allowed his head to be duly adjusted, +and standing behind the table, which let him appear above it only as +far as his broad frill, so that he looked like a cherubic head +untroubled with a body, he began with a clear chirp, and in a melody +that had the rhythm of an industrious hammer + + "God rest you, merry gentlemen, + Let nothing you dismay, + For Jesus Christ our Savior + Was born on Christmas-day." + + +Dolly listened with a devout look, glancing at Marner in some +confidence that this strain would help to allure him to church. + +"That's Christmas music," she said, when Aaron had ended, and had +secured his piece of cake again. "There's no other music equil to the +Christmas music--"Hark the erol angils sing." And you may judge what +it is at church, Master Marner, with the bassoon and the voices, as you +can't help thinking you've got to a better place a'ready--for I +wouldn't speak ill o' this world, seeing as Them put us in it as knows +best--but what wi' the drink, and the quarrelling, and the bad +illnesses, and the hard dying, as I've seen times and times, one's +thankful to hear of a better. The boy sings pretty, don't he, Master +Marner?" + +"Yes," said Silas, absently, "very pretty." + +The Christmas carol, with its hammer-like rhythm, had fallen on his +ears as strange music, quite unlike a hymn, and could have none of the +effect Dolly contemplated. But he wanted to show her that he was +grateful, and the only mode that occurred to him was to offer Aaron a +bit more cake. + +"Oh, no, thank you, Master Marner," said Dolly, holding down Aaron's +willing hands. "We must be going home now. And so I wish you +good-bye, Master Marner; and if you ever feel anyways bad in your +inside, as you can't fend for yourself, I'll come and clean up for you, +and get you a bit o' victual, and willing. But I beg and pray of you +to leave off weaving of a Sunday, for it's bad for soul and body--and +the money as comes i' that way 'ull be a bad bed to lie down on at the +last, if it doesn't fly away, nobody knows where, like the white frost. +And you'll excuse me being that free with you, Master Marner, for I +wish you well--I do. Make your bow, Aaron." + +Silas said "Good-bye, and thank you kindly," as he opened the door for +Dolly, but he couldn't help feeling relieved when she was +gone--relieved that he might weave again and moan at his ease. Her +simple view of life and its comforts, by which she had tried to cheer +him, was only like a report of unknown objects, which his imagination +could not fashion. The fountains of human love and of faith in a +divine love had not yet been unlocked, and his soul was still the +shrunken rivulet, with only this difference, that its little groove of +sand was blocked up, and it wandered confusedly against dark +obstruction. + +And so, notwithstanding the honest persuasions of Mr. Macey and Dolly +Winthrop, Silas spent his Christmas-day in loneliness, eating his meat +in sadness of heart, though the meat had come to him as a neighbourly +present. In the morning he looked out on the black frost that seemed +to press cruelly on every blade of grass, while the half-icy red pool +shivered under the bitter wind; but towards evening the snow began to +fall, and curtained from him even that dreary outlook, shutting him +close up with his narrow grief. And he sat in his robbed home through +the livelong evening, not caring to close his shutters or lock his +door, pressing his head between his hands and moaning, till the cold +grasped him and told him that his fire was grey. + +Nobody in this world but himself knew that he was the same Silas Marner +who had once loved his fellow with tender love, and trusted in an +unseen goodness. Even to himself that past experience had become dim. + +But in Raveloe village the bells rang merrily, and the church was +fuller than all through the rest of the year, with red faces among the +abundant dark-green boughs--faces prepared for a longer service than +usual by an odorous breakfast of toast and ale. Those green boughs, +the hymn and anthem never heard but at Christmas--even the Athanasian +Creed, which was discriminated from the others only as being longer and +of exceptional virtue, since it was only read on rare +occasions--brought a vague exulting sense, for which the grown men +could as little have found words as the children, that something great +and mysterious had been done for them in heaven above and in earth +below, which they were appropriating by their presence. And then the +red faces made their way through the black biting frost to their own +homes, feeling themselves free for the rest of the day to eat, drink, +and be merry, and using that Christian freedom without diffidence. + +At Squire Cass's family party that day nobody mentioned Dunstan--nobody +was sorry for his absence, or feared it would be too long. The doctor +and his wife, uncle and aunt Kimble, were there, and the annual +Christmas talk was carried through without any omissions, rising to the +climax of Mr. Kimble's experience when he walked the London hospitals +thirty years back, together with striking professional anecdotes then +gathered. Whereupon cards followed, with aunt Kimble's annual failure +to follow suit, and uncle Kimble's irascibility concerning the odd +trick which was rarely explicable to him, when it was not on his side, +without a general visitation of tricks to see that they were formed on +sound principles: the whole being accompanied by a strong steaming +odour of spirits-and-water. + +But the party on Christmas-day, being a strictly family party, was not +the pre-eminently brilliant celebration of the season at the Red House. +It was the great dance on New Year's Eve that made the glory of Squire +Cass's hospitality, as of his forefathers', time out of mind. This was +the occasion when all the society of Raveloe and Tarley, whether old +acquaintances separated by long rutty distances, or cooled +acquaintances separated by misunderstandings concerning runaway calves, +or acquaintances founded on intermittent condescension, counted on +meeting and on comporting themselves with mutual appropriateness. This +was the occasion on which fair dames who came on pillions sent their +bandboxes before them, supplied with more than their evening costume; +for the feast was not to end with a single evening, like a paltry town +entertainment, where the whole supply of eatables is put on the table +at once, and bedding is scanty. The Red House was provisioned as if +for a siege; and as for the spare feather-beds ready to be laid on +floors, they were as plentiful as might naturally be expected in a +family that had killed its own geese for many generations. + +Godfrey Cass was looking forward to this New Year's Eve with a foolish +reckless longing, that made him half deaf to his importunate companion, +Anxiety. + +"Dunsey will be coming home soon: there will be a great blow-up, and +how will you bribe his spite to silence?" said Anxiety. + +"Oh, he won't come home before New Year's Eve, perhaps," said Godfrey; +"and I shall sit by Nancy then, and dance with her, and get a kind look +from her in spite of herself." + +"But money is wanted in another quarter," said Anxiety, in a louder +voice, "and how will you get it without selling your mother's diamond +pin? And if you don't get it...?" + +"Well, but something may happen to make things easier. At any rate, +there's one pleasure for me close at hand: Nancy is coming." + +"Yes, and suppose your father should bring matters to a pass that will +oblige you to decline marrying her--and to give your reasons?" + +"Hold your tongue, and don't worry me. I can see Nancy's eyes, just as +they will look at me, and feel her hand in mine already." + +But Anxiety went on, though in noisy Christmas company; refusing to be +utterly quieted even by much drinking. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Some women, I grant, would not appear to advantage seated on a pillion, +and attired in a drab joseph and a drab beaver-bonnet, with a crown +resembling a small stew-pan; for a garment suggesting a coachman's +greatcoat, cut out under an exiguity of cloth that would only allow of +miniature capes, is not well adapted to conceal deficiencies of +contour, nor is drab a colour that will throw sallow cheeks into lively +contrast. It was all the greater triumph to Miss Nancy Lammeter's +beauty that she looked thoroughly bewitching in that costume, as, +seated on the pillion behind her tall, erect father, she held one arm +round him, and looked down, with open-eyed anxiety, at the treacherous +snow-covered pools and puddles, which sent up formidable splashings of +mud under the stamp of Dobbin's foot. A painter would, perhaps, have +preferred her in those moments when she was free from +self-consciousness; but certainly the bloom on her cheeks was at its +highest point of contrast with the surrounding drab when she arrived at +the door of the Red House, and saw Mr. Godfrey Cass ready to lift her +from the pillion. She wished her sister Priscilla had come up at the +same time behind the servant, for then she would have contrived that +Mr. Godfrey should have lifted off Priscilla first, and, in the +meantime, she would have persuaded her father to go round to the +horse-block instead of alighting at the door-steps. It was very +painful, when you had made it quite clear to a young man that you were +determined not to marry him, however much he might wish it, that he +would still continue to pay you marked attentions; besides, why didn't +he always show the same attentions, if he meant them sincerely, instead +of being so strange as Mr. Godfrey Cass was, sometimes behaving as if +he didn't want to speak to her, and taking no notice of her for weeks +and weeks, and then, all on a sudden, almost making love again? +Moreover, it was quite plain he had no real love for her, else he would +not let people have _that_ to say of him which they did say. Did he +suppose that Miss Nancy Lammeter was to be won by any man, squire or no +squire, who led a bad life? That was not what she had been used to see +in her own father, who was the soberest and best man in that +country-side, only a little hot and hasty now and then, if things were +not done to the minute. + +All these thoughts rushed through Miss Nancy's mind, in their habitual +succession, in the moments between her first sight of Mr. Godfrey Cass +standing at the door and her own arrival there. Happily, the Squire +came out too and gave a loud greeting to her father, so that, somehow, +under cover of this noise she seemed to find concealment for her +confusion and neglect of any suitably formal behaviour, while she was +being lifted from the pillion by strong arms which seemed to find her +ridiculously small and light. And there was the best reason for +hastening into the house at once, since the snow was beginning to fall +again, threatening an unpleasant journey for such guests as were still +on the road. These were a small minority; for already the afternoon +was beginning to decline, and there would not be too much time for the +ladies who came from a distance to attire themselves in readiness for +the early tea which was to inspirit them for the dance. + +There was a buzz of voices through the house, as Miss Nancy entered, +mingled with the scrape of a fiddle preluding in the kitchen; but the +Lammeters were guests whose arrival had evidently been thought of so +much that it had been watched for from the windows, for Mrs. Kimble, +who did the honours at the Red House on these great occasions, came +forward to meet Miss Nancy in the hall, and conduct her up-stairs. +Mrs. Kimble was the Squire's sister, as well as the doctor's wife--a +double dignity, with which her diameter was in direct proportion; so +that, a journey up-stairs being rather fatiguing to her, she did not +oppose Miss Nancy's request to be allowed to find her way alone to the +Blue Room, where the Miss Lammeters' bandboxes had been deposited on +their arrival in the morning. + +There was hardly a bedroom in the house where feminine compliments were +not passing and feminine toilettes going forward, in various stages, in +space made scanty by extra beds spread upon the floor; and Miss Nancy, +as she entered the Blue Room, had to make her little formal curtsy to a +group of six. On the one hand, there were ladies no less important +than the two Miss Gunns, the wine merchant's daughters from Lytherly, +dressed in the height of fashion, with the tightest skirts and the +shortest waists, and gazed at by Miss Ladbrook (of the Old Pastures) +with a shyness not unsustained by inward criticism. Partly, Miss +Ladbrook felt that her own skirt must be regarded as unduly lax by the +Miss Gunns, and partly, that it was a pity the Miss Gunns did not show +that judgment which she herself would show if she were in their place, +by stopping a little on this side of the fashion. On the other hand, +Mrs. Ladbrook was standing in skull-cap and front, with her turban in +her hand, curtsying and smiling blandly and saying, "After you, ma'am," +to another lady in similar circumstances, who had politely offered the +precedence at the looking-glass. + +But Miss Nancy had no sooner made her curtsy than an elderly lady came +forward, whose full white muslin kerchief, and mob-cap round her curls +of smooth grey hair, were in daring contrast with the puffed yellow +satins and top-knotted caps of her neighbours. She approached Miss +Nancy with much primness, and said, with a slow, treble suavity-- + +"Niece, I hope I see you well in health." Miss Nancy kissed her aunt's +cheek dutifully, and answered, with the same sort of amiable primness, +"Quite well, I thank you, aunt; and I hope I see you the same." + +"Thank you, niece; I keep my health for the present. And how is my +brother-in-law?" + +These dutiful questions and answers were continued until it was +ascertained in detail that the Lammeters were all as well as usual, and +the Osgoods likewise, also that niece Priscilla must certainly arrive +shortly, and that travelling on pillions in snowy weather was +unpleasant, though a joseph was a great protection. Then Nancy was +formally introduced to her aunt's visitors, the Miss Gunns, as being +the daughters of a mother known to _their_ mother, though now for the +first time induced to make a journey into these parts; and these ladies +were so taken by surprise at finding such a lovely face and figure in +an out-of-the-way country place, that they began to feel some curiosity +about the dress she would put on when she took off her joseph. Miss +Nancy, whose thoughts were always conducted with the propriety and +moderation conspicuous in her manners, remarked to herself that the +Miss Gunns were rather hard-featured than otherwise, and that such very +low dresses as they wore might have been attributed to vanity if their +shoulders had been pretty, but that, being as they were, it was not +reasonable to suppose that they showed their necks from a love of +display, but rather from some obligation not inconsistent with sense +and modesty. She felt convinced, as she opened her box, that this must +be her aunt Osgood's opinion, for Miss Nancy's mind resembled her +aunt's to a degree that everybody said was surprising, considering the +kinship was on Mr. Osgood's side; and though you might not have +supposed it from the formality of their greeting, there was a devoted +attachment and mutual admiration between aunt and niece. Even Miss +Nancy's refusal of her cousin Gilbert Osgood (on the ground solely that +he was her cousin), though it had grieved her aunt greatly, had not in +the least cooled the preference which had determined her to leave Nancy +several of her hereditary ornaments, let Gilbert's future wife be whom +she might. + +Three of the ladies quickly retired, but the Miss Gunns were quite +content that Mrs. Osgood's inclination to remain with her niece gave +them also a reason for staying to see the rustic beauty's toilette. And +it was really a pleasure--from the first opening of the bandbox, where +everything smelt of lavender and rose-leaves, to the clasping of the +small coral necklace that fitted closely round her little white neck. +Everything belonging to Miss Nancy was of delicate purity and +nattiness: not a crease was where it had no business to be, not a bit +of her linen professed whiteness without fulfilling its profession; the +very pins on her pincushion were stuck in after a pattern from which +she was careful to allow no aberration; and as for her own person, it +gave the same idea of perfect unvarying neatness as the body of a +little bird. It is true that her light-brown hair was cropped behind +like a boy's, and was dressed in front in a number of flat rings, that +lay quite away from her face; but there was no sort of coiffure that +could make Miss Nancy's cheek and neck look otherwise than pretty; and +when at last she stood complete in her silvery twilled silk, her lace +tucker, her coral necklace, and coral ear-drops, the Miss Gunns could +see nothing to criticise except her hands, which bore the traces of +butter-making, cheese-crushing, and even still coarser work. But Miss +Nancy was not ashamed of that, for even while she was dressing she +narrated to her aunt how she and Priscilla had packed their boxes +yesterday, because this morning was baking morning, and since they were +leaving home, it was desirable to make a good supply of meat-pies for +the kitchen; and as she concluded this judicious remark, she turned to +the Miss Gunns that she might not commit the rudeness of not including +them in the conversation. The Miss Gunns smiled stiffly, and thought +what a pity it was that these rich country people, who could afford to +buy such good clothes (really Miss Nancy's lace and silk were very +costly), should be brought up in utter ignorance and vulgarity. She +actually said "mate" for "meat", "'appen" for "perhaps", and "oss" for +"horse", which, to young ladies living in good Lytherly society, who +habitually said 'orse, even in domestic privacy, and only said 'appen +on the right occasions, was necessarily shocking. Miss Nancy, indeed, +had never been to any school higher than Dame Tedman's: her +acquaintance with profane literature hardly went beyond the rhymes she +had worked in her large sampler under the lamb and the shepherdess; and +in order to balance an account, she was obliged to effect her +subtraction by removing visible metallic shillings and sixpences from a +visible metallic total. There is hardly a servant-maid in these days +who is not better informed than Miss Nancy; yet she had the essential +attributes of a lady--high veracity, delicate honour in her dealings, +deference to others, and refined personal habits,--and lest these +should not suffice to convince grammatical fair ones that her feelings +can at all resemble theirs, I will add that she was slightly proud and +exacting, and as constant in her affection towards a baseless opinion +as towards an erring lover. + +The anxiety about sister Priscilla, which had grown rather active by +the time the coral necklace was clasped, was happily ended by the +entrance of that cheerful-looking lady herself, with a face made blowsy +by cold and damp. After the first questions and greetings, she turned +to Nancy, and surveyed her from head to foot--then wheeled her round, +to ascertain that the back view was equally faultless. + +"What do you think o' _these_ gowns, aunt Osgood?" said Priscilla, +while Nancy helped her to unrobe. + +"Very handsome indeed, niece," said Mrs. Osgood, with a slight increase +of formality. She always thought niece Priscilla too rough. + +"I'm obliged to have the same as Nancy, you know, for all I'm five +years older, and it makes me look yallow; for she never _will_ have +anything without I have mine just like it, because she wants us to look +like sisters. And I tell her, folks 'ull think it's my weakness makes +me fancy as I shall look pretty in what she looks pretty in. For I +_am_ ugly--there's no denying that: I feature my father's family. But, +law! I don't mind, do you?" Priscilla here turned to the Miss Gunns, +rattling on in too much preoccupation with the delight of talking, to +notice that her candour was not appreciated. "The pretty uns do for +fly-catchers--they keep the men off us. I've no opinion o' the men, +Miss Gunn--I don't know what _you_ have. And as for fretting and +stewing about what _they_'ll think of you from morning till night, and +making your life uneasy about what they're doing when they're out o' +your sight--as I tell Nancy, it's a folly no woman need be guilty of, +if she's got a good father and a good home: let her leave it to them as +have got no fortin, and can't help themselves. As I say, Mr. +Have-your-own-way is the best husband, and the only one I'd ever +promise to obey. I know it isn't pleasant, when you've been used to +living in a big way, and managing hogsheads and all that, to go and put +your nose in by somebody else's fireside, or to sit down by yourself to +a scrag or a knuckle; but, thank God! my father's a sober man and +likely to live; and if you've got a man by the chimney-corner, it +doesn't matter if he's childish--the business needn't be broke up." + +The delicate process of getting her narrow gown over her head without +injury to her smooth curls, obliged Miss Priscilla to pause in this +rapid survey of life, and Mrs. Osgood seized the opportunity of rising +and saying-- + +"Well, niece, you'll follow us. The Miss Gunns will like to go down." + +"Sister," said Nancy, when they were alone, "you've offended the Miss +Gunns, I'm sure." + +"What have I done, child?" said Priscilla, in some alarm. + +"Why, you asked them if they minded about being ugly--you're so very +blunt." + +"Law, did I? Well, it popped out: it's a mercy I said no more, for I'm +a bad un to live with folks when they don't like the truth. But as for +being ugly, look at me, child, in this silver-coloured silk--I told you +how it 'ud be--I look as yallow as a daffadil. Anybody 'ud say you +wanted to make a mawkin of me." + +"No, Priscy, don't say so. I begged and prayed of you not to let us +have this silk if you'd like another better. I was willing to have +_your_ choice, you know I was," said Nancy, in anxious self-vindication. + +"Nonsense, child! you know you'd set your heart on this; and reason +good, for you're the colour o' cream. It 'ud be fine doings for you to +dress yourself to suit _my_ skin. What I find fault with, is that +notion o' yours as I must dress myself just like you. But you do as you +like with me--you always did, from when first you begun to walk. If +you wanted to go the field's length, the field's length you'd go; and +there was no whipping you, for you looked as prim and innicent as a +daisy all the while." + +"Priscy," said Nancy, gently, as she fastened a coral necklace, exactly +like her own, round Priscilla's neck, which was very far from being +like her own, "I'm sure I'm willing to give way as far as is right, but +who shouldn't dress alike if it isn't sisters? Would you have us go +about looking as if we were no kin to one another--us that have got no +mother and not another sister in the world? I'd do what was right, if +I dressed in a gown dyed with cheese-colouring; and I'd rather you'd +choose, and let me wear what pleases you." + +"There you go again! You'd come round to the same thing if one talked +to you from Saturday night till Saturday morning. It'll be fine fun to +see how you'll master your husband and never raise your voice above the +singing o' the kettle all the while. I like to see the men mastered!" + +"Don't talk _so_, Priscy," said Nancy, blushing. "You know I don't +mean ever to be married." + +"Oh, you never mean a fiddlestick's end!" said Priscilla, as she +arranged her discarded dress, and closed her bandbox. "Who shall _I_ +have to work for when father's gone, if you are to go and take notions +in your head and be an old maid, because some folks are no better than +they should be? I haven't a bit o' patience with you--sitting on an +addled egg for ever, as if there was never a fresh un in the world. +One old maid's enough out o' two sisters; and I shall do credit to a +single life, for God A'mighty meant me for it. Come, we can go down +now. I'm as ready as a mawkin _can_ be--there's nothing awanting to +frighten the crows, now I've got my ear-droppers in." + +As the two Miss Lammeters walked into the large parlour together, any +one who did not know the character of both might certainly have +supposed that the reason why the square-shouldered, clumsy, +high-featured Priscilla wore a dress the facsimile of her pretty +sister's, was either the mistaken vanity of the one, or the malicious +contrivance of the other in order to set off her own rare beauty. But +the good-natured self-forgetful cheeriness and common-sense of +Priscilla would soon have dissipated the one suspicion; and the modest +calm of Nancy's speech and manners told clearly of a mind free from all +disavowed devices. + +Places of honour had been kept for the Miss Lammeters near the head of +the principal tea-table in the wainscoted parlour, now looking fresh +and pleasant with handsome branches of holly, yew, and laurel, from the +abundant growths of the old garden; and Nancy felt an inward flutter, +that no firmness of purpose could prevent, when she saw Mr. Godfrey +Cass advancing to lead her to a seat between himself and Mr. +Crackenthorp, while Priscilla was called to the opposite side between +her father and the Squire. It certainly did make some difference to +Nancy that the lover she had given up was the young man of quite the +highest consequence in the parish--at home in a venerable and unique +parlour, which was the extremity of grandeur in her experience, a +parlour where _she_ might one day have been mistress, with the +consciousness that she was spoken of as "Madam Cass", the Squire's +wife. These circumstances exalted her inward drama in her own eyes, +and deepened the emphasis with which she declared to herself that not +the most dazzling rank should induce her to marry a man whose conduct +showed him careless of his character, but that, "love once, love +always", was the motto of a true and pure woman, and no man should ever +have any right over her which would be a call on her to destroy the +dried flowers that she treasured, and always would treasure, for +Godfrey Cass's sake. And Nancy was capable of keeping her word to +herself under very trying conditions. Nothing but a becoming blush +betrayed the moving thoughts that urged themselves upon her as she +accepted the seat next to Mr. Crackenthorp; for she was so +instinctively neat and adroit in all her actions, and her pretty lips +met each other with such quiet firmness, that it would have been +difficult for her to appear agitated. + +It was not the rector's practice to let a charming blush pass without +an appropriate compliment. He was not in the least lofty or +aristocratic, but simply a merry-eyed, small-featured, grey-haired man, +with his chin propped by an ample, many-creased white neckcloth which +seemed to predominate over every other point in his person, and somehow +to impress its peculiar character on his remarks; so that to have +considered his amenities apart from his cravat would have been a +severe, and perhaps a dangerous, effort of abstraction. + +"Ha, Miss Nancy," he said, turning his head within his cravat and +smiling down pleasantly upon her, "when anybody pretends this has been +a severe winter, I shall tell them I saw the roses blooming on New +Year's Eve--eh, Godfrey, what do _you_ say?" + +Godfrey made no reply, and avoided looking at Nancy very markedly; for +though these complimentary personalities were held to be in excellent +taste in old-fashioned Raveloe society, reverent love has a politeness +of its own which it teaches to men otherwise of small schooling. But +the Squire was rather impatient at Godfrey's showing himself a dull +spark in this way. By this advanced hour of the day, the Squire was +always in higher spirits than we have seen him in at the +breakfast-table, and felt it quite pleasant to fulfil the hereditary +duty of being noisily jovial and patronizing: the large silver +snuff-box was in active service and was offered without fail to all +neighbours from time to time, however often they might have declined +the favour. At present, the Squire had only given an express welcome +to the heads of families as they appeared; but always as the evening +deepened, his hospitality rayed out more widely, till he had tapped the +youngest guests on the back and shown a peculiar fondness for their +presence, in the full belief that they must feel their lives made happy +by their belonging to a parish where there was such a hearty man as +Squire Cass to invite them and wish them well. Even in this early +stage of the jovial mood, it was natural that he should wish to supply +his son's deficiencies by looking and speaking for him. + +"Aye, aye," he began, offering his snuff-box to Mr. Lammeter, who for +the second time bowed his head and waved his hand in stiff rejection of +the offer, "us old fellows may wish ourselves young to-night, when we +see the mistletoe-bough in the White Parlour. It's true, most things +are gone back'ard in these last thirty years--the country's going down +since the old king fell ill. But when I look at Miss Nancy here, I +begin to think the lasses keep up their quality;--ding me if I remember +a sample to match her, not when I was a fine young fellow, and thought +a deal about my pigtail. No offence to you, madam," he added, bending +to Mrs. Crackenthorp, who sat by him, "I didn't know _you_ when you +were as young as Miss Nancy here." + +Mrs. Crackenthorp--a small blinking woman, who fidgeted incessantly +with her lace, ribbons, and gold chain, turning her head about and +making subdued noises, very much like a guinea-pig that twitches its +nose and soliloquizes in all company indiscriminately--now blinked and +fidgeted towards the Squire, and said, "Oh, no--no offence." + +This emphatic compliment of the Squire's to Nancy was felt by others +besides Godfrey to have a diplomatic significance; and her father gave +a slight additional erectness to his back, as he looked across the +table at her with complacent gravity. That grave and orderly senior +was not going to bate a jot of his dignity by seeming elated at the +notion of a match between his family and the Squire's: he was gratified +by any honour paid to his daughter; but he must see an alteration in +several ways before his consent would be vouchsafed. His spare but +healthy person, and high-featured firm face, that looked as if it had +never been flushed by excess, was in strong contrast, not only with the +Squire's, but with the appearance of the Raveloe farmers generally--in +accordance with a favourite saying of his own, that "breed was stronger +than pasture". + +"Miss Nancy's wonderful like what her mother was, though; isn't she, +Kimble?" said the stout lady of that name, looking round for her +husband. + +But Doctor Kimble (country apothecaries in old days enjoyed that title +without authority of diploma), being a thin and agile man, was flitting +about the room with his hands in his pockets, making himself agreeable +to his feminine patients, with medical impartiality, and being welcomed +everywhere as a doctor by hereditary right--not one of those miserable +apothecaries who canvass for practice in strange neighbourhoods, and +spend all their income in starving their one horse, but a man of +substance, able to keep an extravagant table like the best of his +patients. Time out of mind the Raveloe doctor had been a Kimble; +Kimble was inherently a doctor's name; and it was difficult to +contemplate firmly the melancholy fact that the actual Kimble had no +son, so that his practice might one day be handed over to a successor +with the incongruous name of Taylor or Johnson. But in that case the +wiser people in Raveloe would employ Dr. Blick of Flitton--as less +unnatural. + +"Did you speak to me, my dear?" said the authentic doctor, coming +quickly to his wife's side; but, as if foreseeing that she would be too +much out of breath to repeat her remark, he went on immediately--"Ha, +Miss Priscilla, the sight of you revives the taste of that +super-excellent pork-pie. I hope the batch isn't near an end." + +"Yes, indeed, it is, doctor," said Priscilla; "but I'll answer for it +the next shall be as good. My pork-pies don't turn out well by chance." + +"Not as your doctoring does, eh, Kimble?--because folks forget to take +your physic, eh?" said the Squire, who regarded physic and doctors as +many loyal churchmen regard the church and the clergy--tasting a joke +against them when he was in health, but impatiently eager for their aid +when anything was the matter with him. He tapped his box, and looked +round with a triumphant laugh. + +"Ah, she has a quick wit, my friend Priscilla has," said the doctor, +choosing to attribute the epigram to a lady rather than allow a +brother-in-law that advantage over him. "She saves a little pepper to +sprinkle over her talk--that's the reason why she never puts too much +into her pies. There's my wife now, she never has an answer at her +tongue's end; but if I offend her, she's sure to scarify my throat with +black pepper the next day, or else give me the colic with watery +greens. That's an awful tit-for-tat." Here the vivacious doctor made +a pathetic grimace. + +"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Kimble, laughing above her +double chin with much good-humour, aside to Mrs. Crackenthorp, who +blinked and nodded, and seemed to intend a smile, which, by the +correlation of forces, went off in small twitchings and noises. + +"I suppose that's the sort of tit-for-tat adopted in your profession, +Kimble, if you've a grudge against a patient," said the rector. + +"Never do have a grudge against our patients," said Mr. Kimble, "except +when they leave us: and then, you see, we haven't the chance of +prescribing for 'em. Ha, Miss Nancy," he continued, suddenly skipping +to Nancy's side, "you won't forget your promise? You're to save a dance +for me, you know." + +"Come, come, Kimble, don't you be too for'ard," said the Squire. "Give +the young uns fair-play. There's my son Godfrey'll be wanting to have +a round with you if you run off with Miss Nancy. He's bespoke her for +the first dance, I'll be bound. Eh, sir! what do you say?" he +continued, throwing himself backward, and looking at Godfrey. "Haven't +you asked Miss Nancy to open the dance with you?" + +Godfrey, sorely uncomfortable under this significant insistence about +Nancy, and afraid to think where it would end by the time his father +had set his usual hospitable example of drinking before and after +supper, saw no course open but to turn to Nancy and say, with as little +awkwardness as possible-- + +"No; I've not asked her yet, but I hope she'll consent--if somebody +else hasn't been before me." + +"No, I've not engaged myself," said Nancy, quietly, though blushingly. +(If Mr. Godfrey founded any hopes on her consenting to dance with him, +he would soon be undeceived; but there was no need for her to be +uncivil.) + +"Then I hope you've no objections to dancing with me," said Godfrey, +beginning to lose the sense that there was anything uncomfortable in +this arrangement. + +"No, no objections," said Nancy, in a cold tone. + +"Ah, well, you're a lucky fellow, Godfrey," said uncle Kimble; "but +you're my godson, so I won't stand in your way. Else I'm not so very +old, eh, my dear?" he went on, skipping to his wife's side again. +"You wouldn't mind my having a second after you were gone--not if I +cried a good deal first?" + +"Come, come, take a cup o' tea and stop your tongue, do," said +good-humoured Mrs. Kimble, feeling some pride in a husband who must be +regarded as so clever and amusing by the company generally. If he had +only not been irritable at cards! + +While safe, well-tested personalities were enlivening the tea in this +way, the sound of the fiddle approaching within a distance at which it +could be heard distinctly, made the young people look at each other +with sympathetic impatience for the end of the meal. + +"Why, there's Solomon in the hall," said the Squire, "and playing my +fav'rite tune, _I_ believe--"The flaxen-headed ploughboy"--he's for +giving us a hint as we aren't enough in a hurry to hear him play. +Bob," he called out to his third long-legged son, who was at the other +end of the room, "open the door, and tell Solomon to come in. He shall +give us a tune here." + +Bob obeyed, and Solomon walked in, fiddling as he walked, for he would +on no account break off in the middle of a tune. + +"Here, Solomon," said the Squire, with loud patronage. "Round here, my +man. Ah, I knew it was "The flaxen-headed ploughboy": there's no finer +tune." + +Solomon Macey, a small hale old man with an abundant crop of long white +hair reaching nearly to his shoulders, advanced to the indicated spot, +bowing reverently while he fiddled, as much as to say that he respected +the company, though he respected the key-note more. As soon as he had +repeated the tune and lowered his fiddle, he bowed again to the Squire +and the rector, and said, "I hope I see your honour and your reverence +well, and wishing you health and long life and a happy New Year. And +wishing the same to you, Mr. Lammeter, sir; and to the other gentlemen, +and the madams, and the young lasses." + +As Solomon uttered the last words, he bowed in all directions +solicitously, lest he should be wanting in due respect. But thereupon +he immediately began to prelude, and fell into the tune which he knew +would be taken as a special compliment by Mr. Lammeter. + +"Thank ye, Solomon, thank ye," said Mr. Lammeter when the fiddle paused +again. "That's "Over the hills and far away", that is. My father used +to say to me, whenever we heard that tune, "Ah, lad, _I_ come from over +the hills and far away." There's a many tunes I don't make head or +tail of; but that speaks to me like the blackbird's whistle. I suppose +it's the name: there's a deal in the name of a tune." + +But Solomon was already impatient to prelude again, and presently broke +with much spirit into "Sir Roger de Coverley", at which there was a +sound of chairs pushed back, and laughing voices. + +"Aye, aye, Solomon, we know what that means," said the Squire, rising. +"It's time to begin the dance, eh? Lead the way, then, and we'll all +follow you." + +So Solomon, holding his white head on one side, and playing vigorously, +marched forward at the head of the gay procession into the White +Parlour, where the mistletoe-bough was hung, and multitudinous tallow +candles made rather a brilliant effect, gleaming from among the berried +holly-boughs, and reflected in the old-fashioned oval mirrors fastened +in the panels of the white wainscot. A quaint procession! Old +Solomon, in his seedy clothes and long white locks, seemed to be luring +that decent company by the magic scream of his fiddle--luring discreet +matrons in turban-shaped caps, nay, Mrs. Crackenthorp herself, the +summit of whose perpendicular feather was on a level with the Squire's +shoulder--luring fair lasses complacently conscious of very short +waists and skirts blameless of front-folds--luring burly fathers in +large variegated waistcoats, and ruddy sons, for the most part shy and +sheepish, in short nether garments and very long coat-tails. + +Already Mr. Macey and a few other privileged villagers, who were +allowed to be spectators on these great occasions, were seated on +benches placed for them near the door; and great was the admiration and +satisfaction in that quarter when the couples had formed themselves for +the dance, and the Squire led off with Mrs. Crackenthorp, joining hands +with the rector and Mrs. Osgood. That was as it should be--that was +what everybody had been used to--and the charter of Raveloe seemed to +be renewed by the ceremony. It was not thought of as an unbecoming +levity for the old and middle-aged people to dance a little before +sitting down to cards, but rather as part of their social duties. For +what were these if not to be merry at appropriate times, interchanging +visits and poultry with due frequency, paying each other +old-established compliments in sound traditional phrases, passing +well-tried personal jokes, urging your guests to eat and drink too much +out of hospitality, and eating and drinking too much in your +neighbour's house to show that you liked your cheer? And the parson +naturally set an example in these social duties. For it would not have +been possible for the Raveloe mind, without a peculiar revelation, to +know that a clergyman should be a pale-faced memento of solemnities, +instead of a reasonably faulty man whose exclusive authority to read +prayers and preach, to christen, marry, and bury you, necessarily +coexisted with the right to sell you the ground to be buried in and to +take tithe in kind; on which last point, of course, there was a little +grumbling, but not to the extent of irreligion--not of deeper +significance than the grumbling at the rain, which was by no means +accompanied with a spirit of impious defiance, but with a desire that +the prayer for fine weather might be read forthwith. + +There was no reason, then, why the rector's dancing should not be +received as part of the fitness of things quite as much as the +Squire's, or why, on the other hand, Mr. Macey's official respect +should restrain him from subjecting the parson's performance to that +criticism with which minds of extraordinary acuteness must necessarily +contemplate the doings of their fallible fellow-men. + +"The Squire's pretty springe, considering his weight," said Mr. Macey, +"and he stamps uncommon well. But Mr. Lammeter beats 'em all for +shapes: you see he holds his head like a sodger, and he isn't so +cushiony as most o' the oldish gentlefolks--they run fat in general; +and he's got a fine leg. The parson's nimble enough, but he hasn't got +much of a leg: it's a bit too thick down'ard, and his knees might be a +bit nearer wi'out damage; but he might do worse, he might do worse. +Though he hasn't that grand way o' waving his hand as the Squire has." + +"Talk o' nimbleness, look at Mrs. Osgood," said Ben Winthrop, who was +holding his son Aaron between his knees. "She trips along with her +little steps, so as nobody can see how she goes--it's like as if she +had little wheels to her feet. She doesn't look a day older nor last +year: she's the finest-made woman as is, let the next be where she +will." + +"I don't heed how the women are made," said Mr. Macey, with some +contempt. "They wear nayther coat nor breeches: you can't make much +out o' their shapes." + +"Fayder," said Aaron, whose feet were busy beating out the tune, "how +does that big cock's-feather stick in Mrs. Crackenthorp's yead? Is +there a little hole for it, like in my shuttle-cock?" + +"Hush, lad, hush; that's the way the ladies dress theirselves, that +is," said the father, adding, however, in an undertone to Mr. Macey, +"It does make her look funny, though--partly like a short-necked bottle +wi' a long quill in it. Hey, by jingo, there's the young Squire +leading off now, wi' Miss Nancy for partners! There's a lass for +you!--like a pink-and-white posy--there's nobody 'ud think as anybody +could be so pritty. I shouldn't wonder if she's Madam Cass some day, +arter all--and nobody more rightfuller, for they'd make a fine match. +You can find nothing against Master Godfrey's shapes, Macey, _I_'ll bet +a penny." + +Mr. Macey screwed up his mouth, leaned his head further on one side, +and twirled his thumbs with a presto movement as his eyes followed +Godfrey up the dance. At last he summed up his opinion. + +"Pretty well down'ard, but a bit too round i' the shoulder-blades. And +as for them coats as he gets from the Flitton tailor, they're a poor +cut to pay double money for." + +"Ah, Mr. Macey, you and me are two folks," said Ben, slightly indignant +at this carping. "When I've got a pot o' good ale, I like to swaller +it, and do my inside good, i'stead o' smelling and staring at it to see +if I can't find faut wi' the brewing. I should like you to pick me out +a finer-limbed young fellow nor Master Godfrey--one as 'ud knock you +down easier, or 's more pleasanter-looksed when he's piert and merry." + +"Tchuh!" said Mr. Macey, provoked to increased severity, "he isn't +come to his right colour yet: he's partly like a slack-baked pie. And +I doubt he's got a soft place in his head, else why should he be turned +round the finger by that offal Dunsey as nobody's seen o' late, and let +him kill that fine hunting hoss as was the talk o' the country? And +one while he was allays after Miss Nancy, and then it all went off +again, like a smell o' hot porridge, as I may say. That wasn't my way +when _I_ went a-coorting." + +"Ah, but mayhap Miss Nancy hung off, like, and your lass didn't," said +Ben. + +"I should say she didn't," said Mr. Macey, significantly. "Before I +said "sniff", I took care to know as she'd say "snaff", and pretty +quick too. I wasn't a-going to open _my_ mouth, like a dog at a fly, +and snap it to again, wi' nothing to swaller." + +"Well, I think Miss Nancy's a-coming round again," said Ben, "for +Master Godfrey doesn't look so down-hearted to-night. And I see he's +for taking her away to sit down, now they're at the end o' the dance: +that looks like sweethearting, that does." + +The reason why Godfrey and Nancy had left the dance was not so tender +as Ben imagined. In the close press of couples a slight accident had +happened to Nancy's dress, which, while it was short enough to show her +neat ankle in front, was long enough behind to be caught under the +stately stamp of the Squire's foot, so as to rend certain stitches at +the waist, and cause much sisterly agitation in Priscilla's mind, as +well as serious concern in Nancy's. One's thoughts may be much +occupied with love-struggles, but hardly so as to be insensible to a +disorder in the general framework of things. Nancy had no sooner +completed her duty in the figure they were dancing than she said to +Godfrey, with a deep blush, that she must go and sit down till +Priscilla could come to her; for the sisters had already exchanged a +short whisper and an open-eyed glance full of meaning. No reason less +urgent than this could have prevailed on Nancy to give Godfrey this +opportunity of sitting apart with her. As for Godfrey, he was feeling +so happy and oblivious under the long charm of the country-dance with +Nancy, that he got rather bold on the strength of her confusion, and +was capable of leading her straight away, without leave asked, into the +adjoining small parlour, where the card-tables were set. + +"Oh no, thank you," said Nancy, coldly, as soon as she perceived where +he was going, "not in there. I'll wait here till Priscilla's ready to +come to me. I'm sorry to bring you out of the dance and make myself +troublesome." + +"Why, you'll be more comfortable here by yourself," said the artful +Godfrey: "I'll leave you here till your sister can come." He spoke in +an indifferent tone. + +That was an agreeable proposition, and just what Nancy desired; why, +then, was she a little hurt that Mr. Godfrey should make it? They +entered, and she seated herself on a chair against one of the +card-tables, as the stiffest and most unapproachable position she could +choose. + +"Thank you, sir," she said immediately. "I needn't give you any more +trouble. I'm sorry you've had such an unlucky partner." + +"That's very ill-natured of you," said Godfrey, standing by her without +any sign of intended departure, "to be sorry you've danced with me." + +"Oh, no, sir, I don't mean to say what's ill-natured at all," said +Nancy, looking distractingly prim and pretty. "When gentlemen have so +many pleasures, one dance can matter but very little." + +"You know that isn't true. You know one dance with you matters more to +me than all the other pleasures in the world." + +It was a long, long while since Godfrey had said anything so direct as +that, and Nancy was startled. But her instinctive dignity and +repugnance to any show of emotion made her sit perfectly still, and +only throw a little more decision into her voice, as she said-- + +"No, indeed, Mr. Godfrey, that's not known to me, and I have very good +reasons for thinking different. But if it's true, I don't wish to hear +it." + +"Would you never forgive me, then, Nancy--never think well of me, let +what would happen--would you never think the present made amends for +the past? Not if I turned a good fellow, and gave up everything you +didn't like?" + +Godfrey was half conscious that this sudden opportunity of speaking to +Nancy alone had driven him beside himself; but blind feeling had got +the mastery of his tongue. Nancy really felt much agitated by the +possibility Godfrey's words suggested, but this very pressure of +emotion that she was in danger of finding too strong for her roused all +her power of self-command. + +"I should be glad to see a good change in anybody, Mr. Godfrey," she +answered, with the slightest discernible difference of tone, "but it +'ud be better if no change was wanted." + +"You're very hard-hearted, Nancy," said Godfrey, pettishly. "You might +encourage me to be a better fellow. I'm very miserable--but you've no +feeling." + +"I think those have the least feeling that act wrong to begin with," +said Nancy, sending out a flash in spite of herself. Godfrey was +delighted with that little flash, and would have liked to go on and +make her quarrel with him; Nancy was so exasperatingly quiet and firm. +But she was not indifferent to him _yet_, though-- + +The entrance of Priscilla, bustling forward and saying, "Dear heart +alive, child, let us look at this gown," cut off Godfrey's hopes of a +quarrel. + +"I suppose I must go now," he said to Priscilla. + +"It's no matter to me whether you go or stay," said that frank lady, +searching for something in her pocket, with a preoccupied brow. + +"Do _you_ want me to go?" said Godfrey, looking at Nancy, who was now +standing up by Priscilla's order. + +"As you like," said Nancy, trying to recover all her former coldness, +and looking down carefully at the hem of her gown. + +"Then I like to stay," said Godfrey, with a reckless determination to +get as much of this joy as he could to-night, and think nothing of the +morrow. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +While Godfrey Cass was taking draughts of forgetfulness from the sweet +presence of Nancy, willingly losing all sense of that hidden bond which +at other moments galled and fretted him so as to mingle irritation with +the very sunshine, Godfrey's wife was walking with slow uncertain steps +through the snow-covered Raveloe lanes, carrying her child in her arms. + +This journey on New Year's Eve was a premeditated act of vengeance +which she had kept in her heart ever since Godfrey, in a fit of +passion, had told her he would sooner die than acknowledge her as his +wife. There would be a great party at the Red House on New Year's Eve, +she knew: her husband would be smiling and smiled upon, hiding _her_ +existence in the darkest corner of his heart. But she would mar his +pleasure: she would go in her dingy rags, with her faded face, once as +handsome as the best, with her little child that had its father's hair +and eyes, and disclose herself to the Squire as his eldest son's wife. +It is seldom that the miserable can help regarding their misery as a +wrong inflicted by those who are less miserable. Molly knew that the +cause of her dingy rags was not her husband's neglect, but the demon +Opium to whom she was enslaved, body and soul, except in the lingering +mother's tenderness that refused to give him her hungry child. She +knew this well; and yet, in the moments of wretched unbenumbed +consciousness, the sense of her want and degradation transformed itself +continually into bitterness towards Godfrey. _He_ was well off; and if +she had her rights she would be well off too. The belief that he +repented his marriage, and suffered from it, only aggravated her +vindictiveness. Just and self-reproving thoughts do not come to us too +thickly, even in the purest air, and with the best lessons of heaven +and earth; how should those white-winged delicate messengers make their +way to Molly's poisoned chamber, inhabited by no higher memories than +those of a barmaid's paradise of pink ribbons and gentlemen's jokes? + +She had set out at an early hour, but had lingered on the road, +inclined by her indolence to believe that if she waited under a warm +shed the snow would cease to fall. She had waited longer than she +knew, and now that she found herself belated in the snow-hidden +ruggedness of the long lanes, even the animation of a vindictive +purpose could not keep her spirit from failing. It was seven o'clock, +and by this time she was not very far from Raveloe, but she was not +familiar enough with those monotonous lanes to know how near she was to +her journey's end. She needed comfort, and she knew but one +comforter--the familiar demon in her bosom; but she hesitated a moment, +after drawing out the black remnant, before she raised it to her lips. +In that moment the mother's love pleaded for painful consciousness +rather than oblivion--pleaded to be left in aching weariness, rather +than to have the encircling arms benumbed so that they could not feel +the dear burden. In another moment Molly had flung something away, but +it was not the black remnant--it was an empty phial. And she walked on +again under the breaking cloud, from which there came now and then the +light of a quickly veiled star, for a freezing wind had sprung up since +the snowing had ceased. But she walked always more and more drowsily, +and clutched more and more automatically the sleeping child at her +bosom. + +Slowly the demon was working his will, and cold and weariness were his +helpers. Soon she felt nothing but a supreme immediate longing that +curtained off all futurity--the longing to lie down and sleep. She had +arrived at a spot where her footsteps were no longer checked by a +hedgerow, and she had wandered vaguely, unable to distinguish any +objects, notwithstanding the wide whiteness around her, and the growing +starlight. She sank down against a straggling furze bush, an easy +pillow enough; and the bed of snow, too, was soft. She did not feel +that the bed was cold, and did not heed whether the child would wake +and cry for her. But her arms had not yet relaxed their instinctive +clutch; and the little one slumbered on as gently as if it had been +rocked in a lace-trimmed cradle. + +But the complete torpor came at last: the fingers lost their tension, +the arms unbent; then the little head fell away from the bosom, and the +blue eyes opened wide on the cold starlight. At first there was a +little peevish cry of "mammy", and an effort to regain the pillowing +arm and bosom; but mammy's ear was deaf, and the pillow seemed to be +slipping away backward. Suddenly, as the child rolled downward on its +mother's knees, all wet with snow, its eyes were caught by a bright +glancing light on the white ground, and, with the ready transition of +infancy, it was immediately absorbed in watching the bright living +thing running towards it, yet never arriving. That bright living thing +must be caught; and in an instant the child had slipped on all-fours, +and held out one little hand to catch the gleam. But the gleam would +not be caught in that way, and now the head was held up to see where +the cunning gleam came from. It came from a very bright place; and the +little one, rising on its legs, toddled through the snow, the old grimy +shawl in which it was wrapped trailing behind it, and the queer little +bonnet dangling at its back--toddled on to the open door of Silas +Marner's cottage, and right up to the warm hearth, where there was a +bright fire of logs and sticks, which had thoroughly warmed the old +sack (Silas's greatcoat) spread out on the bricks to dry. The little +one, accustomed to be left to itself for long hours without notice from +its mother, squatted down on the sack, and spread its tiny hands +towards the blaze, in perfect contentment, gurgling and making many +inarticulate communications to the cheerful fire, like a new-hatched +gosling beginning to find itself comfortable. But presently the warmth +had a lulling effect, and the little golden head sank down on the old +sack, and the blue eyes were veiled by their delicate half-transparent +lids. + +But where was Silas Marner while this strange visitor had come to his +hearth? He was in the cottage, but he did not see the child. During +the last few weeks, since he had lost his money, he had contracted the +habit of opening his door and looking out from time to time, as if he +thought that his money might be somehow coming back to him, or that +some trace, some news of it, might be mysteriously on the road, and be +caught by the listening ear or the straining eye. It was chiefly at +night, when he was not occupied in his loom, that he fell into this +repetition of an act for which he could have assigned no definite +purpose, and which can hardly be understood except by those who have +undergone a bewildering separation from a supremely loved object. In +the evening twilight, and later whenever the night was not dark, Silas +looked out on that narrow prospect round the Stone-pits, listening and +gazing, not with hope, but with mere yearning and unrest. + +This morning he had been told by some of his neighbours that it was New +Year's Eve, and that he must sit up and hear the old year rung out and +the new rung in, because that was good luck, and might bring his money +back again. This was only a friendly Raveloe-way of jesting with the +half-crazy oddities of a miser, but it had perhaps helped to throw +Silas into a more than usually excited state. Since the on-coming of +twilight he had opened his door again and again, though only to shut it +immediately at seeing all distance veiled by the falling snow. But the +last time he opened it the snow had ceased, and the clouds were parting +here and there. He stood and listened, and gazed for a long +while--there was really something on the road coming towards him then, +but he caught no sign of it; and the stillness and the wide trackless +snow seemed to narrow his solitude, and touched his yearning with the +chill of despair. He went in again, and put his right hand on the +latch of the door to close it--but he did not close it: he was +arrested, as he had been already since his loss, by the invisible wand +of catalepsy, and stood like a graven image, with wide but sightless +eyes, holding open his door, powerless to resist either the good or the +evil that might enter there. + +When Marner's sensibility returned, he continued the action which had +been arrested, and closed his door, unaware of the chasm in his +consciousness, unaware of any intermediate change, except that the +light had grown dim, and that he was chilled and faint. He thought he +had been too long standing at the door and looking out. Turning +towards the hearth, where the two logs had fallen apart, and sent forth +only a red uncertain glimmer, he seated himself on his fireside chair, +and was stooping to push his logs together, when, to his blurred +vision, it seemed as if there were gold on the floor in front of the +hearth. Gold!--his own gold--brought back to him as mysteriously as it +had been taken away! He felt his heart begin to beat violently, and +for a few moments he was unable to stretch out his hand and grasp the +restored treasure. The heap of gold seemed to glow and get larger +beneath his agitated gaze. He leaned forward at last, and stretched +forth his hand; but instead of the hard coin with the familiar +resisting outline, his fingers encountered soft warm curls. In utter +amazement, Silas fell on his knees and bent his head low to examine the +marvel: it was a sleeping child--a round, fair thing, with soft yellow +rings all over its head. Could this be his little sister come back to +him in a dream--his little sister whom he had carried about in his arms +for a year before she died, when he was a small boy without shoes or +stockings? That was the first thought that darted across Silas's blank +wonderment. _Was_ it a dream? He rose to his feet again, pushed his +logs together, and, throwing on some dried leaves and sticks, raised a +flame; but the flame did not disperse the vision--it only lit up more +distinctly the little round form of the child, and its shabby clothing. +It was very much like his little sister. Silas sank into his chair +powerless, under the double presence of an inexplicable surprise and a +hurrying influx of memories. How and when had the child come in +without his knowledge? He had never been beyond the door. But along +with that question, and almost thrusting it away, there was a vision of +the old home and the old streets leading to Lantern Yard--and within +that vision another, of the thoughts which had been present with him in +those far-off scenes. The thoughts were strange to him now, like old +friendships impossible to revive; and yet he had a dreamy feeling that +this child was somehow a message come to him from that far-off life: it +stirred fibres that had never been moved in Raveloe--old quiverings of +tenderness--old impressions of awe at the presentiment of some Power +presiding over his life; for his imagination had not yet extricated +itself from the sense of mystery in the child's sudden presence, and +had formed no conjectures of ordinary natural means by which the event +could have been brought about. + +But there was a cry on the hearth: the child had awaked, and Marner +stooped to lift it on his knee. It clung round his neck, and burst +louder and louder into that mingling of inarticulate cries with "mammy" +by which little children express the bewilderment of waking. Silas +pressed it to him, and almost unconsciously uttered sounds of hushing +tenderness, while he bethought himself that some of his porridge, which +had got cool by the dying fire, would do to feed the child with if it +were only warmed up a little. + +He had plenty to do through the next hour. The porridge, sweetened +with some dry brown sugar from an old store which he had refrained from +using for himself, stopped the cries of the little one, and made her +lift her blue eyes with a wide quiet gaze at Silas, as he put the spoon +into her mouth. Presently she slipped from his knee and began to +toddle about, but with a pretty stagger that made Silas jump up and +follow her lest she should fall against anything that would hurt her. +But she only fell in a sitting posture on the ground, and began to pull +at her boots, looking up at him with a crying face as if the boots hurt +her. He took her on his knee again, but it was some time before it +occurred to Silas's dull bachelor mind that the wet boots were the +grievance, pressing on her warm ankles. He got them off with +difficulty, and baby was at once happily occupied with the primary +mystery of her own toes, inviting Silas, with much chuckling, to +consider the mystery too. But the wet boots had at last suggested to +Silas that the child had been walking on the snow, and this roused him +from his entire oblivion of any ordinary means by which it could have +entered or been brought into his house. Under the prompting of this +new idea, and without waiting to form conjectures, he raised the child +in his arms, and went to the door. As soon as he had opened it, there +was the cry of "mammy" again, which Silas had not heard since the +child's first hungry waking. Bending forward, he could just discern +the marks made by the little feet on the virgin snow, and he followed +their track to the furze bushes. "Mammy!" the little one cried again +and again, stretching itself forward so as almost to escape from +Silas's arms, before he himself was aware that there was something more +than the bush before him--that there was a human body, with the head +sunk low in the furze, and half-covered with the shaken snow. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +It was after the early supper-time at the Red House, and the +entertainment was in that stage when bashfulness itself had passed into +easy jollity, when gentlemen, conscious of unusual accomplishments, +could at length be prevailed on to dance a hornpipe, and when the +Squire preferred talking loudly, scattering snuff, and patting his +visitors' backs, to sitting longer at the whist-table--a choice +exasperating to uncle Kimble, who, being always volatile in sober +business hours, became intense and bitter over cards and brandy, +shuffled before his adversary's deal with a glare of suspicion, and +turned up a mean trump-card with an air of inexpressible disgust, as if +in a world where such things could happen one might as well enter on a +course of reckless profligacy. When the evening had advanced to this +pitch of freedom and enjoyment, it was usual for the servants, the +heavy duties of supper being well over, to get their share of amusement +by coming to look on at the dancing; so that the back regions of the +house were left in solitude. + +There were two doors by which the White Parlour was entered from the +hall, and they were both standing open for the sake of air; but the +lower one was crowded with the servants and villagers, and only the +upper doorway was left free. Bob Cass was figuring in a hornpipe, and +his father, very proud of this lithe son, whom he repeatedly declared +to be just like himself in his young days in a tone that implied this +to be the very highest stamp of juvenile merit, was the centre of a +group who had placed themselves opposite the performer, not far from +the upper door. Godfrey was standing a little way off, not to admire +his brother's dancing, but to keep sight of Nancy, who was seated in +the group, near her father. He stood aloof, because he wished to avoid +suggesting himself as a subject for the Squire's fatherly jokes in +connection with matrimony and Miss Nancy Lammeter's beauty, which were +likely to become more and more explicit. But he had the prospect of +dancing with her again when the hornpipe was concluded, and in the +meanwhile it was very pleasant to get long glances at her quite +unobserved. + +But when Godfrey was lifting his eyes from one of those long glances, +they encountered an object as startling to him at that moment as if it +had been an apparition from the dead. It _was_ an apparition from that +hidden life which lies, like a dark by-street, behind the goodly +ornamented facade that meets the sunlight and the gaze of respectable +admirers. It was his own child, carried in Silas Marner's arms. That +was his instantaneous impression, unaccompanied by doubt, though he had +not seen the child for months past; and when the hope was rising that +he might possibly be mistaken, Mr. Crackenthorp and Mr. Lammeter had +already advanced to Silas, in astonishment at this strange advent. +Godfrey joined them immediately, unable to rest without hearing every +word--trying to control himself, but conscious that if any one noticed +him, they must see that he was white-lipped and trembling. + +But now all eyes at that end of the room were bent on Silas Marner; the +Squire himself had risen, and asked angrily, "How's this?--what's +this?--what do you do coming in here in this way?" + +"I'm come for the doctor--I want the doctor," Silas had said, in the +first moment, to Mr. Crackenthorp. + +"Why, what's the matter, Marner?" said the rector. "The doctor's +here; but say quietly what you want him for." + +"It's a woman," said Silas, speaking low, and half-breathlessly, just +as Godfrey came up. "She's dead, I think--dead in the snow at the +Stone-pits--not far from my door." + +Godfrey felt a great throb: there was one terror in his mind at that +moment: it was, that the woman might _not_ be dead. That was an evil +terror--an ugly inmate to have found a nestling-place in Godfrey's +kindly disposition; but no disposition is a security from evil wishes +to a man whose happiness hangs on duplicity. + +"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Crackenthorp. "Go out into the hall there. +I'll fetch the doctor to you. Found a woman in the snow--and thinks +she's dead," he added, speaking low to the Squire. "Better say as +little about it as possible: it will shock the ladies. Just tell them +a poor woman is ill from cold and hunger. I'll go and fetch Kimble." + +By this time, however, the ladies had pressed forward, curious to know +what could have brought the solitary linen-weaver there under such +strange circumstances, and interested in the pretty child, who, half +alarmed and half attracted by the brightness and the numerous company, +now frowned and hid her face, now lifted up her head again and looked +round placably, until a touch or a coaxing word brought back the frown, +and made her bury her face with new determination. + +"What child is it?" said several ladies at once, and, among the rest, +Nancy Lammeter, addressing Godfrey. + +"I don't know--some poor woman's who has been found in the snow, I +believe," was the answer Godfrey wrung from himself with a terrible +effort. ("After all, _am_ I certain?" he hastened to add, silently, +in anticipation of his own conscience.) + +"Why, you'd better leave the child here, then, Master Marner," said +good-natured Mrs. Kimble, hesitating, however, to take those dingy +clothes into contact with her own ornamented satin bodice. "I'll tell +one o' the girls to fetch it." + +"No--no--I can't part with it, I can't let it go," said Silas, +abruptly. "It's come to me--I've a right to keep it." + +The proposition to take the child from him had come to Silas quite +unexpectedly, and his speech, uttered under a strong sudden impulse, +was almost like a revelation to himself: a minute before, he had no +distinct intention about the child. + +"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Kimble, in mild surprise, to +her neighbour. + +"Now, ladies, I must trouble you to stand aside," said Mr. Kimble, +coming from the card-room, in some bitterness at the interruption, but +drilled by the long habit of his profession into obedience to +unpleasant calls, even when he was hardly sober. + +"It's a nasty business turning out now, eh, Kimble?" said the Squire. +"He might ha' gone for your young fellow--the 'prentice, there--what's +his name?" + +"Might? aye--what's the use of talking about might?" growled uncle +Kimble, hastening out with Marner, and followed by Mr. Crackenthorp and +Godfrey. "Get me a pair of thick boots, Godfrey, will you? And stay, +let somebody run to Winthrop's and fetch Dolly--she's the best woman to +get. Ben was here himself before supper; is he gone?" + +"Yes, sir, I met him," said Marner; "but I couldn't stop to tell him +anything, only I said I was going for the doctor, and he said the +doctor was at the Squire's. And I made haste and ran, and there was +nobody to be seen at the back o' the house, and so I went in to where +the company was." + +The child, no longer distracted by the bright light and the smiling +women's faces, began to cry and call for "mammy", though always +clinging to Marner, who had apparently won her thorough confidence. +Godfrey had come back with the boots, and felt the cry as if some fibre +were drawn tight within him. + +"I'll go," he said, hastily, eager for some movement; "I'll go and +fetch the woman--Mrs. Winthrop." + +"Oh, pooh--send somebody else," said uncle Kimble, hurrying away with +Marner. + +"You'll let me know if I can be of any use, Kimble," said Mr. +Crackenthorp. But the doctor was out of hearing. + +Godfrey, too, had disappeared: he was gone to snatch his hat and coat, +having just reflection enough to remember that he must not look like a +madman; but he rushed out of the house into the snow without heeding +his thin shoes. + +In a few minutes he was on his rapid way to the Stone-pits by the side +of Dolly, who, though feeling that she was entirely in her place in +encountering cold and snow on an errand of mercy, was much concerned at +a young gentleman's getting his feet wet under a like impulse. + +"You'd a deal better go back, sir," said Dolly, with respectful +compassion. "You've no call to catch cold; and I'd ask you if you'd be +so good as tell my husband to come, on your way back--he's at the +Rainbow, I doubt--if you found him anyway sober enough to be o' use. +Or else, there's Mrs. Snell 'ud happen send the boy up to fetch and +carry, for there may be things wanted from the doctor's." + +"No, I'll stay, now I'm once out--I'll stay outside here," said +Godfrey, when they came opposite Marner's cottage. "You can come and +tell me if I can do anything." + +"Well, sir, you're very good: you've a tender heart," said Dolly, going +to the door. + +Godfrey was too painfully preoccupied to feel a twinge of self-reproach +at this undeserved praise. He walked up and down, unconscious that he +was plunging ankle-deep in snow, unconscious of everything but +trembling suspense about what was going on in the cottage, and the +effect of each alternative on his future lot. No, not quite +unconscious of everything else. Deeper down, and half-smothered by +passionate desire and dread, there was the sense that he ought not to +be waiting on these alternatives; that he ought to accept the +consequences of his deeds, own the miserable wife, and fulfil the +claims of the helpless child. But he had not moral courage enough to +contemplate that active renunciation of Nancy as possible for him: he +had only conscience and heart enough to make him for ever uneasy under +the weakness that forbade the renunciation. And at this moment his +mind leaped away from all restraint toward the sudden prospect of +deliverance from his long bondage. + +"Is she dead?" said the voice that predominated over every other +within him. "If she is, I may marry Nancy; and then I shall be a good +fellow in future, and have no secrets, and the child--shall be taken +care of somehow." But across that vision came the other +possibility--"She may live, and then it's all up with me." + +Godfrey never knew how long it was before the door of the cottage +opened and Mr. Kimble came out. He went forward to meet his uncle, +prepared to suppress the agitation he must feel, whatever news he was +to hear. + +"I waited for you, as I'd come so far," he said, speaking first. + +"Pooh, it was nonsense for you to come out: why didn't you send one of +the men? There's nothing to be done. She's dead--has been dead for +hours, I should say." + +"What sort of woman is she?" said Godfrey, feeling the blood rush to +his face. + +"A young woman, but emaciated, with long black hair. Some +vagrant--quite in rags. She's got a wedding-ring on, however. They +must fetch her away to the workhouse to-morrow. Come, come along." + +"I want to look at her," said Godfrey. "I think I saw such a woman +yesterday. I'll overtake you in a minute or two." + +Mr. Kimble went on, and Godfrey turned back to the cottage. He cast +only one glance at the dead face on the pillow, which Dolly had +smoothed with decent care; but he remembered that last look at his +unhappy hated wife so well, that at the end of sixteen years every line +in the worn face was present to him when he told the full story of this +night. + +He turned immediately towards the hearth, where Silas Marner sat +lulling the child. She was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep--only +soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which +makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain +awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some +quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky--before a steady glowing +planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a +silent pathway. The wide-open blue eyes looked up at Godfrey's without +any uneasiness or sign of recognition: the child could make no visible +audible claim on its father; and the father felt a strange mixture of +feelings, a conflict of regret and joy, that the pulse of that little +heart had no response for the half-jealous yearning in his own, when +the blue eyes turned away from him slowly, and fixed themselves on the +weaver's queer face, which was bent low down to look at them, while the +small hand began to pull Marner's withered cheek with loving +disfiguration. + +"You'll take the child to the parish to-morrow?" asked Godfrey, +speaking as indifferently as he could. + +"Who says so?" said Marner, sharply. "Will they make me take her?" + +"Why, you wouldn't like to keep her, should you--an old bachelor like +you?" + +"Till anybody shows they've a right to take her away from me," said +Marner. "The mother's dead, and I reckon it's got no father: it's a +lone thing--and I'm a lone thing. My money's gone, I don't know +where--and this is come from I don't know where. I know nothing--I'm +partly mazed." + +"Poor little thing!" said Godfrey. "Let me give something towards +finding it clothes." + +He had put his hand in his pocket and found half-a-guinea, and, +thrusting it into Silas's hand, he hurried out of the cottage to +overtake Mr. Kimble. + +"Ah, I see it's not the same woman I saw," he said, as he came up. +"It's a pretty little child: the old fellow seems to want to keep it; +that's strange for a miser like him. But I gave him a trifle to help +him out: the parish isn't likely to quarrel with him for the right to +keep the child." + +"No; but I've seen the time when I might have quarrelled with him for +it myself. It's too late now, though. If the child ran into the fire, +your aunt's too fat to overtake it: she could only sit and grunt like +an alarmed sow. But what a fool you are, Godfrey, to come out in your +dancing shoes and stockings in this way--and you one of the beaux of +the evening, and at your own house! What do you mean by such freaks, +young fellow? Has Miss Nancy been cruel, and do you want to spite her +by spoiling your pumps?" + +"Oh, everything has been disagreeable to-night. I was tired to death +of jigging and gallanting, and that bother about the hornpipes. And +I'd got to dance with the other Miss Gunn," said Godfrey, glad of the +subterfuge his uncle had suggested to him. + +The prevarication and white lies which a mind that keeps itself +ambitiously pure is as uneasy under as a great artist under the false +touches that no eye detects but his own, are worn as lightly as mere +trimmings when once the actions have become a lie. + +Godfrey reappeared in the White Parlour with dry feet, and, since the +truth must be told, with a sense of relief and gladness that was too +strong for painful thoughts to struggle with. For could he not venture +now, whenever opportunity offered, to say the tenderest things to Nancy +Lammeter--to promise her and himself that he would always be just what +she would desire to see him? There was no danger that his dead wife +would be recognized: those were not days of active inquiry and wide +report; and as for the registry of their marriage, that was a long way +off, buried in unturned pages, away from every one's interest but his +own. Dunsey might betray him if he came back; but Dunsey might be won +to silence. + +And when events turn out so much better for a man than he has had +reason to dread, is it not a proof that his conduct has been less +foolish and blameworthy than it might otherwise have appeared? When we +are treated well, we naturally begin to think that we are not +altogether unmeritorious, and that it is only just we should treat +ourselves well, and not mar our own good fortune. Where, after all, +would be the use of his confessing the past to Nancy Lammeter, and +throwing away his happiness?--nay, hers? for he felt some confidence +that she loved him. As for the child, he would see that it was cared +for: he would never forsake it; he would do everything but own it. +Perhaps it would be just as happy in life without being owned by its +father, seeing that nobody could tell how things would turn out, and +that--is there any other reason wanted?--well, then, that the father +would be much happier without owning the child. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +There was a pauper's burial that week in Raveloe, and up Kench Yard at +Batherley it was known that the dark-haired woman with the fair child, +who had lately come to lodge there, was gone away again. That was all +the express note taken that Molly had disappeared from the eyes of men. +But the unwept death which, to the general lot, seemed as trivial as +the summer-shed leaf, was charged with the force of destiny to certain +human lives that we know of, shaping their joys and sorrows even to the +end. + +Silas Marner's determination to keep the "tramp's child" was matter of +hardly less surprise and iterated talk in the village than the robbery +of his money. That softening of feeling towards him which dated from +his misfortune, that merging of suspicion and dislike in a rather +contemptuous pity for him as lone and crazy, was now accompanied with a +more active sympathy, especially amongst the women. Notable mothers, +who knew what it was to keep children "whole and sweet"; lazy mothers, +who knew what it was to be interrupted in folding their arms and +scratching their elbows by the mischievous propensities of children +just firm on their legs, were equally interested in conjecturing how a +lone man would manage with a two-year-old child on his hands, and were +equally ready with their suggestions: the notable chiefly telling him +what he had better do, and the lazy ones being emphatic in telling him +what he would never be able to do. + +Among the notable mothers, Dolly Winthrop was the one whose neighbourly +offices were the most acceptable to Marner, for they were rendered +without any show of bustling instruction. Silas had shown her the +half-guinea given to him by Godfrey, and had asked her what he should +do about getting some clothes for the child. + +"Eh, Master Marner," said Dolly, "there's no call to buy, no more nor a +pair o' shoes; for I've got the little petticoats as Aaron wore five +years ago, and it's ill spending the money on them baby-clothes, for +the child 'ull grow like grass i' May, bless it--that it will." + +And the same day Dolly brought her bundle, and displayed to Marner, one +by one, the tiny garments in their due order of succession, most of +them patched and darned, but clean and neat as fresh-sprung herbs. +This was the introduction to a great ceremony with soap and water, from +which Baby came out in new beauty, and sat on Dolly's knee, handling +her toes and chuckling and patting her palms together with an air of +having made several discoveries about herself, which she communicated +by alternate sounds of "gug-gug-gug", and "mammy". The "mammy" was not +a cry of need or uneasiness: Baby had been used to utter it without +expecting either tender sound or touch to follow. + +"Anybody 'ud think the angils in heaven couldn't be prettier," said +Dolly, rubbing the golden curls and kissing them. "And to think of its +being covered wi' them dirty rags--and the poor mother--froze to death; +but there's Them as took care of it, and brought it to your door, +Master Marner. The door was open, and it walked in over the snow, like +as if it had been a little starved robin. Didn't you say the door was +open?" + +"Yes," said Silas, meditatively. "Yes--the door was open. The money's +gone I don't know where, and this is come from I don't know where." + +He had not mentioned to any one his unconsciousness of the child's +entrance, shrinking from questions which might lead to the fact he +himself suspected--namely, that he had been in one of his trances. + +"Ah," said Dolly, with soothing gravity, "it's like the night and the +morning, and the sleeping and the waking, and the rain and the +harvest--one goes and the other comes, and we know nothing how nor +where. We may strive and scrat and fend, but it's little we can do +arter all--the big things come and go wi' no striving o' our'n--they +do, that they do; and I think you're in the right on it to keep the +little un, Master Marner, seeing as it's been sent to you, though +there's folks as thinks different. You'll happen be a bit moithered +with it while it's so little; but I'll come, and welcome, and see to it +for you: I've a bit o' time to spare most days, for when one gets up +betimes i' the morning, the clock seems to stan' still tow'rt ten, +afore it's time to go about the victual. So, as I say, I'll come and +see to the child for you, and welcome." + +"Thank you... kindly," said Silas, hesitating a little. "I'll be glad +if you'll tell me things. But," he added, uneasily, leaning forward to +look at Baby with some jealousy, as she was resting her head backward +against Dolly's arm, and eyeing him contentedly from a distance--"But I +want to do things for it myself, else it may get fond o' somebody else, +and not fond o' me. I've been used to fending for myself in the +house--I can learn, I can learn." + +"Eh, to be sure," said Dolly, gently. "I've seen men as are wonderful +handy wi' children. The men are awk'ard and contrairy mostly, God help +'em--but when the drink's out of 'em, they aren't unsensible, though +they're bad for leeching and bandaging--so fiery and unpatient. You +see this goes first, next the skin," proceeded Dolly, taking up the +little shirt, and putting it on. + +"Yes," said Marner, docilely, bringing his eyes very close, that they +might be initiated in the mysteries; whereupon Baby seized his head +with both her small arms, and put her lips against his face with +purring noises. + +"See there," said Dolly, with a woman's tender tact, "she's fondest o' +you. She wants to go o' your lap, I'll be bound. Go, then: take her, +Master Marner; you can put the things on, and then you can say as +you've done for her from the first of her coming to you." + +Marner took her on his lap, trembling with an emotion mysterious to +himself, at something unknown dawning on his life. Thought and feeling +were so confused within him, that if he had tried to give them +utterance, he could only have said that the child was come instead of +the gold--that the gold had turned into the child. He took the +garments from Dolly, and put them on under her teaching; interrupted, +of course, by Baby's gymnastics. + +"There, then! why, you take to it quite easy, Master Marner," said +Dolly; "but what shall you do when you're forced to sit in your loom? +For she'll get busier and mischievouser every day--she will, bless her. +It's lucky as you've got that high hearth i'stead of a grate, for that +keeps the fire more out of her reach: but if you've got anything as can +be spilt or broke, or as is fit to cut her fingers off, she'll be at +it--and it is but right you should know." + +Silas meditated a little while in some perplexity. "I'll tie her to +the leg o' the loom," he said at last--"tie her with a good long strip +o' something." + +"Well, mayhap that'll do, as it's a little gell, for they're easier +persuaded to sit i' one place nor the lads. I know what the lads are; +for I've had four--four I've had, God knows--and if you was to take and +tie 'em up, they'd make a fighting and a crying as if you was ringing +the pigs. But I'll bring you my little chair, and some bits o' red rag +and things for her to play wi'; an' she'll sit and chatter to 'em as if +they was alive. Eh, if it wasn't a sin to the lads to wish 'em made +different, bless 'em, I should ha' been glad for one of 'em to be a +little gell; and to think as I could ha' taught her to scour, and mend, +and the knitting, and everything. But I can teach 'em this little un, +Master Marner, when she gets old enough." + +"But she'll be _my_ little un," said Marner, rather hastily. "She'll be +nobody else's." + +"No, to be sure; you'll have a right to her, if you're a father to her, +and bring her up according. But," added Dolly, coming to a point which +she had determined beforehand to touch upon, "you must bring her up +like christened folks's children, and take her to church, and let her +learn her catechise, as my little Aaron can say off--the "I believe", +and everything, and "hurt nobody by word or deed",--as well as if he +was the clerk. That's what you must do, Master Marner, if you'd do the +right thing by the orphin child." + +Marner's pale face flushed suddenly under a new anxiety. His mind was +too busy trying to give some definite bearing to Dolly's words for him +to think of answering her. + +"And it's my belief," she went on, "as the poor little creatur has +never been christened, and it's nothing but right as the parson should +be spoke to; and if you was noways unwilling, I'd talk to Mr. Macey +about it this very day. For if the child ever went anyways wrong, and +you hadn't done your part by it, Master Marner--'noculation, and +everything to save it from harm--it 'ud be a thorn i' your bed for ever +o' this side the grave; and I can't think as it 'ud be easy lying down +for anybody when they'd got to another world, if they hadn't done their +part by the helpless children as come wi'out their own asking." + +Dolly herself was disposed to be silent for some time now, for she had +spoken from the depths of her own simple belief, and was much concerned +to know whether her words would produce the desired effect on Silas. +He was puzzled and anxious, for Dolly's word "christened" conveyed no +distinct meaning to him. He had only heard of baptism, and had only +seen the baptism of grown-up men and women. + +"What is it as you mean by "christened"?" he said at last, timidly. +"Won't folks be good to her without it?" + +"Dear, dear! Master Marner," said Dolly, with gentle distress and +compassion. "Had you never no father nor mother as taught you to say +your prayers, and as there's good words and good things to keep us from +harm?" + +"Yes," said Silas, in a low voice; "I know a deal about that--used to, +used to. But your ways are different: my country was a good way off." +He paused a few moments, and then added, more decidedly, "But I want to +do everything as can be done for the child. And whatever's right for +it i' this country, and you think 'ull do it good, I'll act according, +if you'll tell me." + +"Well, then, Master Marner," said Dolly, inwardly rejoiced, "I'll ask +Mr. Macey to speak to the parson about it; and you must fix on a name +for it, because it must have a name giv' it when it's christened." + +"My mother's name was Hephzibah," said Silas, "and my little sister was +named after her." + +"Eh, that's a hard name," said Dolly. "I partly think it isn't a +christened name." + +"It's a Bible name," said Silas, old ideas recurring. + +"Then I've no call to speak again' it," said Dolly, rather startled by +Silas's knowledge on this head; "but you see I'm no scholard, and I'm +slow at catching the words. My husband says I'm allays like as if I +was putting the haft for the handle--that's what he says--for he's very +sharp, God help him. But it was awk'ard calling your little sister by +such a hard name, when you'd got nothing big to say, like--wasn't it, +Master Marner?" + +"We called her Eppie," said Silas. + +"Well, if it was noways wrong to shorten the name, it 'ud be a deal +handier. And so I'll go now, Master Marner, and I'll speak about the +christening afore dark; and I wish you the best o' luck, and it's my +belief as it'll come to you, if you do what's right by the orphin +child;--and there's the 'noculation to be seen to; and as to washing +its bits o' things, you need look to nobody but me, for I can do 'em +wi' one hand when I've got my suds about. Eh, the blessed angil! +You'll let me bring my Aaron one o' these days, and he'll show her his +little cart as his father's made for him, and the black-and-white pup +as he's got a-rearing." + +Baby _was_ christened, the rector deciding that a double baptism was +the lesser risk to incur; and on this occasion Silas, making himself as +clean and tidy as he could, appeared for the first time within the +church, and shared in the observances held sacred by his neighbours. +He was quite unable, by means of anything he heard or saw, to identify +the Raveloe religion with his old faith; if he could at any time in his +previous life have done so, it must have been by the aid of a strong +feeling ready to vibrate with sympathy, rather than by a comparison of +phrases and ideas: and now for long years that feeling had been +dormant. He had no distinct idea about the baptism and the +church-going, except that Dolly had said it was for the good of the +child; and in this way, as the weeks grew to months, the child created +fresh and fresh links between his life and the lives from which he had +hitherto shrunk continually into narrower isolation. Unlike the gold +which needed nothing, and must be worshipped in close-locked +solitude--which was hidden away from the daylight, was deaf to the song +of birds, and started to no human tones--Eppie was a creature of +endless claims and ever-growing desires, seeking and loving sunshine, +and living sounds, and living movements; making trial of everything, +with trust in new joy, and stirring the human kindness in all eyes that +looked on her. The gold had kept his thoughts in an ever-repeated +circle, leading to nothing beyond itself; but Eppie was an object +compacted of changes and hopes that forced his thoughts onward, and +carried them far away from their old eager pacing towards the same +blank limit--carried them away to the new things that would come with +the coming years, when Eppie would have learned to understand how her +father Silas cared for her; and made him look for images of that time +in the ties and charities that bound together the families of his +neighbours. The gold had asked that he should sit weaving longer and +longer, deafened and blinded more and more to all things except the +monotony of his loom and the repetition of his web; but Eppie called +him away from his weaving, and made him think all its pauses a holiday, +reawakening his senses with her fresh life, even to the old +winter-flies that came crawling forth in the early spring sunshine, and +warming him into joy because _she_ had joy. + +And when the sunshine grew strong and lasting, so that the buttercups +were thick in the meadows, Silas might be seen in the sunny midday, or +in the late afternoon when the shadows were lengthening under the +hedgerows, strolling out with uncovered head to carry Eppie beyond the +Stone-pits to where the flowers grew, till they reached some favourite +bank where he could sit down, while Eppie toddled to pluck the flowers, +and make remarks to the winged things that murmured happily above the +bright petals, calling "Dad-dad's" attention continually by bringing +him the flowers. Then she would turn her ear to some sudden bird-note, +and Silas learned to please her by making signs of hushed stillness, +that they might listen for the note to come again: so that when it +came, she set up her small back and laughed with gurgling triumph. +Sitting on the banks in this way, Silas began to look for the once +familiar herbs again; and as the leaves, with their unchanged outline +and markings, lay on his palm, there was a sense of crowding +remembrances from which he turned away timidly, taking refuge in +Eppie's little world, that lay lightly on his enfeebled spirit. + +As the child's mind was growing into knowledge, his mind was growing +into memory: as her life unfolded, his soul, long stupefied in a cold +narrow prison, was unfolding too, and trembling gradually into full +consciousness. + +It was an influence which must gather force with every new year: the +tones that stirred Silas's heart grew articulate, and called for more +distinct answers; shapes and sounds grew clearer for Eppie's eyes and +ears, and there was more that "Dad-dad" was imperatively required to +notice and account for. Also, by the time Eppie was three years old, +she developed a fine capacity for mischief, and for devising ingenious +ways of being troublesome, which found much exercise, not only for +Silas's patience, but for his watchfulness and penetration. Sorely was +poor Silas puzzled on such occasions by the incompatible demands of +love. Dolly Winthrop told him that punishment was good for Eppie, and +that, as for rearing a child without making it tingle a little in soft +and safe places now and then, it was not to be done. + +"To be sure, there's another thing you might do, Master Marner," added +Dolly, meditatively: "you might shut her up once i' the coal-hole. +That was what I did wi' Aaron; for I was that silly wi' the youngest +lad, as I could never bear to smack him. Not as I could find i' my +heart to let him stay i' the coal-hole more nor a minute, but it was +enough to colly him all over, so as he must be new washed and dressed, +and it was as good as a rod to him--that was. But I put it upo' your +conscience, Master Marner, as there's one of 'em you must +choose--ayther smacking or the coal-hole--else she'll get so masterful, +there'll be no holding her." + +Silas was impressed with the melancholy truth of this last remark; but +his force of mind failed before the only two penal methods open to him, +not only because it was painful to him to hurt Eppie, but because he +trembled at a moment's contention with her, lest she should love him +the less for it. Let even an affectionate Goliath get himself tied to +a small tender thing, dreading to hurt it by pulling, and dreading +still more to snap the cord, and which of the two, pray, will be +master? It was clear that Eppie, with her short toddling steps, must +lead father Silas a pretty dance on any fine morning when circumstances +favoured mischief. + +For example. He had wisely chosen a broad strip of linen as a means of +fastening her to his loom when he was busy: it made a broad belt round +her waist, and was long enough to allow of her reaching the truckle-bed +and sitting down on it, but not long enough for her to attempt any +dangerous climbing. One bright summer's morning Silas had been more +engrossed than usual in "setting up" a new piece of work, an occasion +on which his scissors were in requisition. These scissors, owing to an +especial warning of Dolly's, had been kept carefully out of Eppie's +reach; but the click of them had had a peculiar attraction for her ear, +and watching the results of that click, she had derived the philosophic +lesson that the same cause would produce the same effect. Silas had +seated himself in his loom, and the noise of weaving had begun; but he +had left his scissors on a ledge which Eppie's arm was long enough to +reach; and now, like a small mouse, watching her opportunity, she stole +quietly from her corner, secured the scissors, and toddled to the bed +again, setting up her back as a mode of concealing the fact. She had a +distinct intention as to the use of the scissors; and having cut the +linen strip in a jagged but effectual manner, in two moments she had +run out at the open door where the sunshine was inviting her, while +poor Silas believed her to be a better child than usual. It was not +until he happened to need his scissors that the terrible fact burst +upon him: Eppie had run out by herself--had perhaps fallen into the +Stone-pit. Silas, shaken by the worst fear that could have befallen +him, rushed out, calling "Eppie!" and ran eagerly about the unenclosed +space, exploring the dry cavities into which she might have fallen, and +then gazing with questioning dread at the smooth red surface of the +water. The cold drops stood on his brow. How long had she been out? +There was one hope--that she had crept through the stile and got into +the fields, where he habitually took her to stroll. But the grass was +high in the meadow, and there was no descrying her, if she were there, +except by a close search that would be a trespass on Mr. Osgood's crop. +Still, that misdemeanour must be committed; and poor Silas, after +peering all round the hedgerows, traversed the grass, beginning with +perturbed vision to see Eppie behind every group of red sorrel, and to +see her moving always farther off as he approached. The meadow was +searched in vain; and he got over the stile into the next field, +looking with dying hope towards a small pond which was now reduced to +its summer shallowness, so as to leave a wide margin of good adhesive +mud. Here, however, sat Eppie, discoursing cheerfully to her own small +boot, which she was using as a bucket to convey the water into a deep +hoof-mark, while her little naked foot was planted comfortably on a +cushion of olive-green mud. A red-headed calf was observing her with +alarmed doubt through the opposite hedge. + +Here was clearly a case of aberration in a christened child which +demanded severe treatment; but Silas, overcome with convulsive joy at +finding his treasure again, could do nothing but snatch her up, and +cover her with half-sobbing kisses. It was not until he had carried +her home, and had begun to think of the necessary washing, that he +recollected the need that he should punish Eppie, and "make her +remember". The idea that she might run away again and come to harm, +gave him unusual resolution, and for the first time he determined to +try the coal-hole--a small closet near the hearth. + +"Naughty, naughty Eppie," he suddenly began, holding her on his knee, +and pointing to her muddy feet and clothes--"naughty to cut with the +scissors and run away. Eppie must go into the coal-hole for being +naughty. Daddy must put her in the coal-hole." + +He half-expected that this would be shock enough, and that Eppie would +begin to cry. But instead of that, she began to shake herself on his +knee, as if the proposition opened a pleasing novelty. Seeing that he +must proceed to extremities, he put her into the coal-hole, and held +the door closed, with a trembling sense that he was using a strong +measure. For a moment there was silence, but then came a little cry, +"Opy, opy!" and Silas let her out again, saying, "Now Eppie 'ull never +be naughty again, else she must go in the coal-hole--a black naughty +place." + +The weaving must stand still a long while this morning, for now Eppie +must be washed, and have clean clothes on; but it was to be hoped that +this punishment would have a lasting effect, and save time in +future--though, perhaps, it would have been better if Eppie had cried +more. + +In half an hour she was clean again, and Silas having turned his back +to see what he could do with the linen band, threw it down again, with +the reflection that Eppie would be good without fastening for the rest +of the morning. He turned round again, and was going to place her in +her little chair near the loom, when she peeped out at him with black +face and hands again, and said, "Eppie in de toal-hole!" + +This total failure of the coal-hole discipline shook Silas's belief in +the efficacy of punishment. "She'd take it all for fun," he observed +to Dolly, "if I didn't hurt her, and that I can't do, Mrs. Winthrop. +If she makes me a bit o' trouble, I can bear it. And she's got no +tricks but what she'll grow out of." + +"Well, that's partly true, Master Marner," said Dolly, sympathetically; +"and if you can't bring your mind to frighten her off touching things, +you must do what you can to keep 'em out of her way. That's what I do +wi' the pups as the lads are allays a-rearing. They _will_ worry and +gnaw--worry and gnaw they will, if it was one's Sunday cap as hung +anywhere so as they could drag it. They know no difference, God help +'em: it's the pushing o' the teeth as sets 'em on, that's what it is." + +So Eppie was reared without punishment, the burden of her misdeeds +being borne vicariously by father Silas. The stone hut was made a soft +nest for her, lined with downy patience: and also in the world that lay +beyond the stone hut she knew nothing of frowns and denials. + +Notwithstanding the difficulty of carrying her and his yarn or linen at +the same time, Silas took her with him in most of his journeys to the +farmhouses, unwilling to leave her behind at Dolly Winthrop's, who was +always ready to take care of her; and little curly-headed Eppie, the +weaver's child, became an object of interest at several outlying +homesteads, as well as in the village. Hitherto he had been treated +very much as if he had been a useful gnome or brownie--a queer and +unaccountable creature, who must necessarily be looked at with +wondering curiosity and repulsion, and with whom one would be glad to +make all greetings and bargains as brief as possible, but who must be +dealt with in a propitiatory way, and occasionally have a present of +pork or garden stuff to carry home with him, seeing that without him +there was no getting the yarn woven. But now Silas met with open +smiling faces and cheerful questioning, as a person whose satisfactions +and difficulties could be understood. Everywhere he must sit a little +and talk about the child, and words of interest were always ready for +him: "Ah, Master Marner, you'll be lucky if she takes the measles soon +and easy!"--or, "Why, there isn't many lone men 'ud ha' been wishing to +take up with a little un like that: but I reckon the weaving makes you +handier than men as do out-door work--you're partly as handy as a +woman, for weaving comes next to spinning." Elderly masters and +mistresses, seated observantly in large kitchen arm-chairs, shook their +heads over the difficulties attendant on rearing children, felt Eppie's +round arms and legs, and pronounced them remarkably firm, and told +Silas that, if she turned out well (which, however, there was no +telling), it would be a fine thing for him to have a steady lass to do +for him when he got helpless. Servant maidens were fond of carrying +her out to look at the hens and chickens, or to see if any cherries +could be shaken down in the orchard; and the small boys and girls +approached her slowly, with cautious movement and steady gaze, like +little dogs face to face with one of their own kind, till attraction +had reached the point at which the soft lips were put out for a kiss. +No child was afraid of approaching Silas when Eppie was near him: there +was no repulsion around him now, either for young or old; for the +little child had come to link him once more with the whole world. +There was love between him and the child that blent them into one, and +there was love between the child and the world--from men and women with +parental looks and tones, to the red lady-birds and the round pebbles. + +Silas began now to think of Raveloe life entirely in relation to Eppie: +she must have everything that was a good in Raveloe; and he listened +docilely, that he might come to understand better what this life was, +from which, for fifteen years, he had stood aloof as from a strange +thing, with which he could have no communion: as some man who has a +precious plant to which he would give a nurturing home in a new soil, +thinks of the rain, and the sunshine, and all influences, in relation +to his nursling, and asks industriously for all knowledge that will +help him to satisfy the wants of the searching roots, or to guard leaf +and bud from invading harm. The disposition to hoard had been utterly +crushed at the very first by the loss of his long-stored gold: the +coins he earned afterwards seemed as irrelevant as stones brought to +complete a house suddenly buried by an earthquake; the sense of +bereavement was too heavy upon him for the old thrill of satisfaction +to arise again at the touch of the newly-earned coin. And now +something had come to replace his hoard which gave a growing purpose to +the earnings, drawing his hope and joy continually onward beyond the +money. + +In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led +them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels +now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is +put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and +bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a +little child's. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +There was one person, as you will believe, who watched with keener +though more hidden interest than any other, the prosperous growth of +Eppie under the weaver's care. He dared not do anything that would +imply a stronger interest in a poor man's adopted child than could be +expected from the kindliness of the young Squire, when a chance meeting +suggested a little present to a simple old fellow whom others noticed +with goodwill; but he told himself that the time would come when he +might do something towards furthering the welfare of his daughter +without incurring suspicion. Was he very uneasy in the meantime at his +inability to give his daughter her birthright? I cannot say that he +was. The child was being taken care of, and would very likely be +happy, as people in humble stations often were--happier, perhaps, than +those brought up in luxury. + +That famous ring that pricked its owner when he forgot duty and +followed desire--I wonder if it pricked very hard when he set out on +the chase, or whether it pricked but lightly then, and only pierced to +the quick when the chase had long been ended, and hope, folding her +wings, looked backward and became regret? + +Godfrey Cass's cheek and eye were brighter than ever now. He was so +undivided in his aims, that he seemed like a man of firmness. No +Dunsey had come back: people had made up their minds that he was gone +for a soldier, or gone "out of the country", and no one cared to be +specific in their inquiries on a subject delicate to a respectable +family. Godfrey had ceased to see the shadow of Dunsey across his +path; and the path now lay straight forward to the accomplishment of +his best, longest-cherished wishes. Everybody said Mr. Godfrey had +taken the right turn; and it was pretty clear what would be the end of +things, for there were not many days in the week that he was not seen +riding to the Warrens. Godfrey himself, when he was asked jocosely if +the day had been fixed, smiled with the pleasant consciousness of a +lover who could say "yes", if he liked. He felt a reformed man, +delivered from temptation; and the vision of his future life seemed to +him as a promised land for which he had no cause to fight. He saw +himself with all his happiness centred on his own hearth, while Nancy +would smile on him as he played with the children. + +And that other child--not on the hearth--he would not forget it; he +would see that it was well provided for. That was a father's duty. + + + + +PART TWO + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +It was a bright autumn Sunday, sixteen years after Silas Marner had +found his new treasure on the hearth. The bells of the old Raveloe +church were ringing the cheerful peal which told that the morning +service was ended; and out of the arched doorway in the tower came +slowly, retarded by friendly greetings and questions, the richer +parishioners who had chosen this bright Sunday morning as eligible for +church-going. It was the rural fashion of that time for the more +important members of the congregation to depart first, while their +humbler neighbours waited and looked on, stroking their bent heads or +dropping their curtsies to any large ratepayer who turned to notice +them. + +Foremost among these advancing groups of well-clad people, there are +some whom we shall recognize, in spite of Time, who has laid his hand +on them all. The tall blond man of forty is not much changed in +feature from the Godfrey Cass of six-and-twenty: he is only fuller in +flesh, and has only lost the indefinable look of youth--a loss which is +marked even when the eye is undulled and the wrinkles are not yet come. +Perhaps the pretty woman, not much younger than he, who is leaning on +his arm, is more changed than her husband: the lovely bloom that used +to be always on her cheek now comes but fitfully, with the fresh +morning air or with some strong surprise; yet to all who love human +faces best for what they tell of human experience, Nancy's beauty has a +heightened interest. Often the soul is ripened into fuller goodness +while age has spread an ugly film, so that mere glances can never +divine the preciousness of the fruit. But the years have not been so +cruel to Nancy. The firm yet placid mouth, the clear veracious glance +of the brown eyes, speak now of a nature that has been tested and has +kept its highest qualities; and even the costume, with its dainty +neatness and purity, has more significance now the coquetries of youth +can have nothing to do with it. + +Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Cass (any higher title has died away from Raveloe +lips since the old Squire was gathered to his fathers and his +inheritance was divided) have turned round to look for the tall aged +man and the plainly dressed woman who are a little behind--Nancy having +observed that they must wait for "father and Priscilla"--and now they +all turn into a narrower path leading across the churchyard to a small +gate opposite the Red House. We will not follow them now; for may +there not be some others in this departing congregation whom we should +like to see again--some of those who are not likely to be handsomely +clad, and whom we may not recognize so easily as the master and +mistress of the Red House? + +But it is impossible to mistake Silas Marner. His large brown eyes +seem to have gathered a longer vision, as is the way with eyes that +have been short-sighted in early life, and they have a less vague, a +more answering gaze; but in everything else one sees signs of a frame +much enfeebled by the lapse of the sixteen years. The weaver's bent +shoulders and white hair give him almost the look of advanced age, +though he is not more than five-and-fifty; but there is the freshest +blossom of youth close by his side--a blonde dimpled girl of eighteen, +who has vainly tried to chastise her curly auburn hair into smoothness +under her brown bonnet: the hair ripples as obstinately as a brooklet +under the March breeze, and the little ringlets burst away from the +restraining comb behind and show themselves below the bonnet-crown. +Eppie cannot help being rather vexed about her hair, for there is no +other girl in Raveloe who has hair at all like it, and she thinks hair +ought to be smooth. She does not like to be blameworthy even in small +things: you see how neatly her prayer-book is folded in her spotted +handkerchief. + +That good-looking young fellow, in a new fustian suit, who walks behind +her, is not quite sure upon the question of hair in the abstract, when +Eppie puts it to him, and thinks that perhaps straight hair is the best +in general, but he doesn't want Eppie's hair to be different. She +surely divines that there is some one behind her who is thinking about +her very particularly, and mustering courage to come to her side as +soon as they are out in the lane, else why should she look rather shy, +and take care not to turn away her head from her father Silas, to whom +she keeps murmuring little sentences as to who was at church and who +was not at church, and how pretty the red mountain-ash is over the +Rectory wall? + +"I wish _we_ had a little garden, father, with double daisies in, like +Mrs. Winthrop's," said Eppie, when they were out in the lane; "only +they say it 'ud take a deal of digging and bringing fresh soil--and you +couldn't do that, could you, father? Anyhow, I shouldn't like you to +do it, for it 'ud be too hard work for you." + +"Yes, I could do it, child, if you want a bit o' garden: these long +evenings, I could work at taking in a little bit o' the waste, just +enough for a root or two o' flowers for you; and again, i' the morning, +I could have a turn wi' the spade before I sat down to the loom. Why +didn't you tell me before as you wanted a bit o' garden?" + +"_I_ can dig it for you, Master Marner," said the young man in fustian, +who was now by Eppie's side, entering into the conversation without the +trouble of formalities. "It'll be play to me after I've done my day's +work, or any odd bits o' time when the work's slack. And I'll bring +you some soil from Mr. Cass's garden--he'll let me, and willing." + +"Eh, Aaron, my lad, are you there?" said Silas; "I wasn't aware of +you; for when Eppie's talking o' things, I see nothing but what she's +a-saying. Well, if you could help me with the digging, we might get +her a bit o' garden all the sooner." + +"Then, if you think well and good," said Aaron, "I'll come to the +Stone-pits this afternoon, and we'll settle what land's to be taken in, +and I'll get up an hour earlier i' the morning, and begin on it." + +"But not if you don't promise me not to work at the hard digging, +father," said Eppie. "For I shouldn't ha' said anything about it," she +added, half-bashfully, half-roguishly, "only Mrs. Winthrop said as +Aaron 'ud be so good, and--" + +"And you might ha' known it without mother telling you," said Aaron. +"And Master Marner knows too, I hope, as I'm able and willing to do a +turn o' work for him, and he won't do me the unkindness to anyways take +it out o' my hands." + +"There, now, father, you won't work in it till it's all easy," said +Eppie, "and you and me can mark out the beds, and make holes and plant +the roots. It'll be a deal livelier at the Stone-pits when we've got +some flowers, for I always think the flowers can see us and know what +we're talking about. And I'll have a bit o' rosemary, and bergamot, +and thyme, because they're so sweet-smelling; but there's no lavender +only in the gentlefolks' gardens, I think." + +"That's no reason why you shouldn't have some," said Aaron, "for I can +bring you slips of anything; I'm forced to cut no end of 'em when I'm +gardening, and throw 'em away mostly. There's a big bed o' lavender at +the Red House: the missis is very fond of it." + +"Well," said Silas, gravely, "so as you don't make free for us, or ask +for anything as is worth much at the Red House: for Mr. Cass's been so +good to us, and built us up the new end o' the cottage, and given us +beds and things, as I couldn't abide to be imposin' for garden-stuff or +anything else." + +"No, no, there's no imposin'," said Aaron; "there's never a garden in +all the parish but what there's endless waste in it for want o' +somebody as could use everything up. It's what I think to myself +sometimes, as there need nobody run short o' victuals if the land was +made the most on, and there was never a morsel but what could find its +way to a mouth. It sets one thinking o' that--gardening does. But I +must go back now, else mother 'ull be in trouble as I aren't there." + +"Bring her with you this afternoon, Aaron," said Eppie; "I shouldn't +like to fix about the garden, and her not know everything from the +first--should _you_, father?" + +"Aye, bring her if you can, Aaron," said Silas; "she's sure to have a +word to say as'll help us to set things on their right end." + +Aaron turned back up the village, while Silas and Eppie went on up the +lonely sheltered lane. + +"O daddy!" she began, when they were in privacy, clasping and +squeezing Silas's arm, and skipping round to give him an energetic +kiss. "My little old daddy! I'm so glad. I don't think I shall want +anything else when we've got a little garden; and I knew Aaron would +dig it for us," she went on with roguish triumph--"I knew that very +well." + +"You're a deep little puss, you are," said Silas, with the mild passive +happiness of love-crowned age in his face; "but you'll make yourself +fine and beholden to Aaron." + +"Oh, no, I shan't," said Eppie, laughing and frisking; "he likes it." + +"Come, come, let me carry your prayer-book, else you'll be dropping it, +jumping i' that way." + +Eppie was now aware that her behaviour was under observation, but it +was only the observation of a friendly donkey, browsing with a log +fastened to his foot--a meek donkey, not scornfully critical of human +trivialities, but thankful to share in them, if possible, by getting +his nose scratched; and Eppie did not fail to gratify him with her +usual notice, though it was attended with the inconvenience of his +following them, painfully, up to the very door of their home. + +But the sound of a sharp bark inside, as Eppie put the key in the door, +modified the donkey's views, and he limped away again without bidding. +The sharp bark was the sign of an excited welcome that was awaiting +them from a knowing brown terrier, who, after dancing at their legs in +a hysterical manner, rushed with a worrying noise at a tortoise-shell +kitten under the loom, and then rushed back with a sharp bark again, as +much as to say, "I have done my duty by this feeble creature, you +perceive"; while the lady-mother of the kitten sat sunning her white +bosom in the window, and looked round with a sleepy air of expecting +caresses, though she was not going to take any trouble for them. + +The presence of this happy animal life was not the only change which +had come over the interior of the stone cottage. There was no bed now +in the living-room, and the small space was well filled with decent +furniture, all bright and clean enough to satisfy Dolly Winthrop's eye. +The oaken table and three-cornered oaken chair were hardly what was +likely to be seen in so poor a cottage: they had come, with the beds +and other things, from the Red House; for Mr. Godfrey Cass, as every +one said in the village, did very kindly by the weaver; and it was +nothing but right a man should be looked on and helped by those who +could afford it, when he had brought up an orphan child, and been +father and mother to her--and had lost his money too, so as he had +nothing but what he worked for week by week, and when the weaving was +going down too--for there was less and less flax spun--and Master +Marner was none so young. Nobody was jealous of the weaver, for he was +regarded as an exceptional person, whose claims on neighbourly help +were not to be matched in Raveloe. Any superstition that remained +concerning him had taken an entirely new colour; and Mr. Macey, now a +very feeble old man of fourscore and six, never seen except in his +chimney-corner or sitting in the sunshine at his door-sill, was of +opinion that when a man had done what Silas had done by an orphan +child, it was a sign that his money would come to light again, or +leastwise that the robber would be made to answer for it--for, as Mr. +Macey observed of himself, his faculties were as strong as ever. + +Silas sat down now and watched Eppie with a satisfied gaze as she +spread the clean cloth, and set on it the potato-pie, warmed up slowly +in a safe Sunday fashion, by being put into a dry pot over a +slowly-dying fire, as the best substitute for an oven. For Silas would +not consent to have a grate and oven added to his conveniences: he +loved the old brick hearth as he had loved his brown pot--and was it +not there when he had found Eppie? The gods of the hearth exist for us +still; and let all new faith be tolerant of that fetishism, lest it +bruise its own roots. + +Silas ate his dinner more silently than usual, soon laying down his +knife and fork, and watching half-abstractedly Eppie's play with Snap +and the cat, by which her own dining was made rather a lengthy +business. Yet it was a sight that might well arrest wandering +thoughts: Eppie, with the rippling radiance of her hair and the +whiteness of her rounded chin and throat set off by the dark-blue +cotton gown, laughing merrily as the kitten held on with her four claws +to one shoulder, like a design for a jug-handle, while Snap on the +right hand and Puss on the other put up their paws towards a morsel +which she held out of the reach of both--Snap occasionally desisting in +order to remonstrate with the cat by a cogent worrying growl on the +greediness and futility of her conduct; till Eppie relented, caressed +them both, and divided the morsel between them. + +But at last Eppie, glancing at the clock, checked the play, and said, +"O daddy, you're wanting to go into the sunshine to smoke your pipe. +But I must clear away first, so as the house may be tidy when godmother +comes. I'll make haste--I won't be long." + +Silas had taken to smoking a pipe daily during the last two years, +having been strongly urged to it by the sages of Raveloe, as a practice +"good for the fits"; and this advice was sanctioned by Dr. Kimble, on +the ground that it was as well to try what could do no harm--a +principle which was made to answer for a great deal of work in that +gentleman's medical practice. Silas did not highly enjoy smoking, and +often wondered how his neighbours could be so fond of it; but a humble +sort of acquiescence in what was held to be good, had become a strong +habit of that new self which had been developed in him since he had +found Eppie on his hearth: it had been the only clew his bewildered +mind could hold by in cherishing this young life that had been sent to +him out of the darkness into which his gold had departed. By seeking +what was needful for Eppie, by sharing the effect that everything +produced on her, he had himself come to appropriate the forms of custom +and belief which were the mould of Raveloe life; and as, with +reawakening sensibilities, memory also reawakened, he had begun to +ponder over the elements of his old faith, and blend them with his new +impressions, till he recovered a consciousness of unity between his +past and present. The sense of presiding goodness and the human trust +which come with all pure peace and joy, had given him a dim impression +that there had been some error, some mistake, which had thrown that +dark shadow over the days of his best years; and as it grew more and +more easy to him to open his mind to Dolly Winthrop, he gradually +communicated to her all he could describe of his early life. The +communication was necessarily a slow and difficult process, for Silas's +meagre power of explanation was not aided by any readiness of +interpretation in Dolly, whose narrow outward experience gave her no +key to strange customs, and made every novelty a source of wonder that +arrested them at every step of the narrative. It was only by +fragments, and at intervals which left Dolly time to revolve what she +had heard till it acquired some familiarity for her, that Silas at last +arrived at the climax of the sad story--the drawing of lots, and its +false testimony concerning him; and this had to be repeated in several +interviews, under new questions on her part as to the nature of this +plan for detecting the guilty and clearing the innocent. + +"And yourn's the same Bible, you're sure o' that, Master Marner--the +Bible as you brought wi' you from that country--it's the same as what +they've got at church, and what Eppie's a-learning to read in?" + +"Yes," said Silas, "every bit the same; and there's drawing o' lots in +the Bible, mind you," he added in a lower tone. + +"Oh, dear, dear," said Dolly in a grieved voice, as if she were hearing +an unfavourable report of a sick man's case. She was silent for some +minutes; at last she said-- + +"There's wise folks, happen, as know how it all is; the parson knows, +I'll be bound; but it takes big words to tell them things, and such as +poor folks can't make much out on. I can never rightly know the +meaning o' what I hear at church, only a bit here and there, but I know +it's good words--I do. But what lies upo' your mind--it's this, Master +Marner: as, if Them above had done the right thing by you, They'd never +ha' let you be turned out for a wicked thief when you was innicent." + +"Ah!" said Silas, who had now come to understand Dolly's phraseology, +"that was what fell on me like as if it had been red-hot iron; because, +you see, there was nobody as cared for me or clave to me above nor +below. And him as I'd gone out and in wi' for ten year and more, since +when we was lads and went halves--mine own familiar friend in whom I +trusted, had lifted up his heel again' me, and worked to ruin me." + +"Eh, but he was a bad un--I can't think as there's another such," said +Dolly. "But I'm o'ercome, Master Marner; I'm like as if I'd waked and +didn't know whether it was night or morning. I feel somehow as sure as +I do when I've laid something up though I can't justly put my hand on +it, as there was a rights in what happened to you, if one could but +make it out; and you'd no call to lose heart as you did. But we'll +talk on it again; for sometimes things come into my head when I'm +leeching or poulticing, or such, as I could never think on when I was +sitting still." + +Dolly was too useful a woman not to have many opportunities of +illumination of the kind she alluded to, and she was not long before +she recurred to the subject. + +"Master Marner," she said, one day that she came to bring home Eppie's +washing, "I've been sore puzzled for a good bit wi' that trouble o' +yourn and the drawing o' lots; and it got twisted back'ards and +for'ards, as I didn't know which end to lay hold on. But it come to me +all clear like, that night when I was sitting up wi' poor Bessy Fawkes, +as is dead and left her children behind, God help 'em--it come to me as +clear as daylight; but whether I've got hold on it now, or can anyways +bring it to my tongue's end, that I don't know. For I've often a deal +inside me as'll never come out; and for what you talk o' your folks in +your old country niver saying prayers by heart nor saying 'em out of a +book, they must be wonderful cliver; for if I didn't know "Our Father", +and little bits o' good words as I can carry out o' church wi' me, I +might down o' my knees every night, but nothing could I say." + +"But you can mostly say something as I can make sense on, Mrs. +Winthrop," said Silas. + +"Well, then, Master Marner, it come to me summat like this: I can make +nothing o' the drawing o' lots and the answer coming wrong; it 'ud +mayhap take the parson to tell that, and he could only tell us i' big +words. But what come to me as clear as the daylight, it was when I was +troubling over poor Bessy Fawkes, and it allays comes into my head when +I'm sorry for folks, and feel as I can't do a power to help 'em, not if +I was to get up i' the middle o' the night--it comes into my head as +Them above has got a deal tenderer heart nor what I've got--for I can't +be anyways better nor Them as made me; and if anything looks hard to +me, it's because there's things I don't know on; and for the matter o' +that, there may be plenty o' things I don't know on, for it's little as +I know--that it is. And so, while I was thinking o' that, you come into +my mind, Master Marner, and it all come pouring in:--if _I_ felt i' my +inside what was the right and just thing by you, and them as prayed and +drawed the lots, all but that wicked un, if _they_'d ha' done the right +thing by you if they could, isn't there Them as was at the making on +us, and knows better and has a better will? And that's all as ever I +can be sure on, and everything else is a big puzzle to me when I think +on it. For there was the fever come and took off them as were +full-growed, and left the helpless children; and there's the breaking +o' limbs; and them as 'ud do right and be sober have to suffer by them +as are contrairy--eh, there's trouble i' this world, and there's things +as we can niver make out the rights on. And all as we've got to do is +to trusten, Master Marner--to do the right thing as fur as we know, and +to trusten. For if us as knows so little can see a bit o' good and +rights, we may be sure as there's a good and a rights bigger nor what +we can know--I feel it i' my own inside as it must be so. And if you +could but ha' gone on trustening, Master Marner, you wouldn't ha' run +away from your fellow-creaturs and been so lone." + +"Ah, but that 'ud ha' been hard," said Silas, in an under-tone; "it 'ud +ha' been hard to trusten then." + +"And so it would," said Dolly, almost with compunction; "them things +are easier said nor done; and I'm partly ashamed o' talking." + +"Nay, nay," said Silas, "you're i' the right, Mrs. Winthrop--you're i' +the right. There's good i' this world--I've a feeling o' that now; and +it makes a man feel as there's a good more nor he can see, i' spite o' +the trouble and the wickedness. That drawing o' the lots is dark; but +the child was sent to me: there's dealings with us--there's dealings." + +This dialogue took place in Eppie's earlier years, when Silas had to +part with her for two hours every day, that she might learn to read at +the dame school, after he had vainly tried himself to guide her in that +first step to learning. Now that she was grown up, Silas had often +been led, in those moments of quiet outpouring which come to people who +live together in perfect love, to talk with _her_ too of the past, and +how and why he had lived a lonely man until she had been sent to him. +For it would have been impossible for him to hide from Eppie that she +was not his own child: even if the most delicate reticence on the point +could have been expected from Raveloe gossips in her presence, her own +questions about her mother could not have been parried, as she grew up, +without that complete shrouding of the past which would have made a +painful barrier between their minds. So Eppie had long known how her +mother had died on the snowy ground, and how she herself had been found +on the hearth by father Silas, who had taken her golden curls for his +lost guineas brought back to him. The tender and peculiar love with +which Silas had reared her in almost inseparable companionship with +himself, aided by the seclusion of their dwelling, had preserved her +from the lowering influences of the village talk and habits, and had +kept her mind in that freshness which is sometimes falsely supposed to +be an invariable attribute of rusticity. Perfect love has a breath of +poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human +beings; and this breath of poetry had surrounded Eppie from the time +when she had followed the bright gleam that beckoned her to Silas's +hearth; so that it is not surprising if, in other things besides her +delicate prettiness, she was not quite a common village maiden, but had +a touch of refinement and fervour which came from no other teaching +than that of tenderly-nurtured unvitiated feeling. She was too +childish and simple for her imagination to rove into questions about +her unknown father; for a long while it did not even occur to her that +she must have had a father; and the first time that the idea of her +mother having had a husband presented itself to her, was when Silas +showed her the wedding-ring which had been taken from the wasted +finger, and had been carefully preserved by him in a little lackered +box shaped like a shoe. He delivered this box into Eppie's charge when +she had grown up, and she often opened it to look at the ring: but +still she thought hardly at all about the father of whom it was the +symbol. Had she not a father very close to her, who loved her better +than any real fathers in the village seemed to love their daughters? +On the contrary, who her mother was, and how she came to die in that +forlornness, were questions that often pressed on Eppie's mind. Her +knowledge of Mrs. Winthrop, who was her nearest friend next to Silas, +made her feel that a mother must be very precious; and she had again +and again asked Silas to tell her how her mother looked, whom she was +like, and how he had found her against the furze bush, led towards it +by the little footsteps and the outstretched arms. The furze bush was +there still; and this afternoon, when Eppie came out with Silas into +the sunshine, it was the first object that arrested her eyes and +thoughts. + +"Father," she said, in a tone of gentle gravity, which sometimes came +like a sadder, slower cadence across her playfulness, "we shall take +the furze bush into the garden; it'll come into the corner, and just +against it I'll put snowdrops and crocuses, 'cause Aaron says they +won't die out, but'll always get more and more." + +"Ah, child," said Silas, always ready to talk when he had his pipe in +his hand, apparently enjoying the pauses more than the puffs, "it +wouldn't do to leave out the furze bush; and there's nothing prettier, +to my thinking, when it's yallow with flowers. But it's just come into +my head what we're to do for a fence--mayhap Aaron can help us to a +thought; but a fence we must have, else the donkeys and things 'ull +come and trample everything down. And fencing's hard to be got at, by +what I can make out." + +"Oh, I'll tell you, daddy," said Eppie, clasping her hands suddenly, +after a minute's thought. "There's lots o' loose stones about, some of +'em not big, and we might lay 'em atop of one another, and make a wall. +You and me could carry the smallest, and Aaron 'ud carry the rest--I +know he would." + +"Eh, my precious un," said Silas, "there isn't enough stones to go all +round; and as for you carrying, why, wi' your little arms you couldn't +carry a stone no bigger than a turnip. You're dillicate made, my +dear," he added, with a tender intonation--"that's what Mrs. Winthrop +says." + +"Oh, I'm stronger than you think, daddy," said Eppie; "and if there +wasn't stones enough to go all round, why they'll go part o' the way, +and then it'll be easier to get sticks and things for the rest. See +here, round the big pit, what a many stones!" + +She skipped forward to the pit, meaning to lift one of the stones and +exhibit her strength, but she started back in surprise. + +"Oh, father, just come and look here," she exclaimed--"come and see how +the water's gone down since yesterday. Why, yesterday the pit was ever +so full!" + +"Well, to be sure," said Silas, coming to her side. "Why, that's the +draining they've begun on, since harvest, i' Mr. Osgood's fields, I +reckon. The foreman said to me the other day, when I passed by 'em, +"Master Marner," he said, "I shouldn't wonder if we lay your bit o' +waste as dry as a bone." It was Mr. Godfrey Cass, he said, had gone +into the draining: he'd been taking these fields o' Mr. Osgood." + +"How odd it'll seem to have the old pit dried up!" said Eppie, turning +away, and stooping to lift rather a large stone. "See, daddy, I can +carry this quite well," she said, going along with much energy for a +few steps, but presently letting it fall. + +"Ah, you're fine and strong, aren't you?" said Silas, while Eppie +shook her aching arms and laughed. "Come, come, let us go and sit down +on the bank against the stile there, and have no more lifting. You +might hurt yourself, child. You'd need have somebody to work for +you--and my arm isn't over strong." + +Silas uttered the last sentence slowly, as if it implied more than met +the ear; and Eppie, when they sat down on the bank, nestled close to +his side, and, taking hold caressingly of the arm that was not over +strong, held it on her lap, while Silas puffed again dutifully at the +pipe, which occupied his other arm. An ash in the hedgerow behind made +a fretted screen from the sun, and threw happy playful shadows all +about them. + +"Father," said Eppie, very gently, after they had been sitting in +silence a little while, "if I was to be married, ought I to be married +with my mother's ring?" + +Silas gave an almost imperceptible start, though the question fell in +with the under-current of thought in his own mind, and then said, in a +subdued tone, "Why, Eppie, have you been a-thinking on it?" + +"Only this last week, father," said Eppie, ingenuously, "since Aaron +talked to me about it." + +"And what did he say?" said Silas, still in the same subdued way, as +if he were anxious lest he should fall into the slightest tone that was +not for Eppie's good. + +"He said he should like to be married, because he was a-going in +four-and-twenty, and had got a deal of gardening work, now Mr. Mott's +given up; and he goes twice a-week regular to Mr. Cass's, and once to +Mr. Osgood's, and they're going to take him on at the Rectory." + +"And who is it as he's wanting to marry?" said Silas, with rather a +sad smile. + +"Why, me, to be sure, daddy," said Eppie, with dimpling laughter, +kissing her father's cheek; "as if he'd want to marry anybody else!" + +"And you mean to have him, do you?" said Silas. + +"Yes, some time," said Eppie, "I don't know when. Everybody's married +some time, Aaron says. But I told him that wasn't true: for, I said, +look at father--he's never been married." + +"No, child," said Silas, "your father was a lone man till you was sent +to him." + +"But you'll never be lone again, father," said Eppie, tenderly. "That +was what Aaron said--"I could never think o' taking you away from +Master Marner, Eppie." And I said, "It 'ud be no use if you did, +Aaron." And he wants us all to live together, so as you needn't work a +bit, father, only what's for your own pleasure; and he'd be as good as +a son to you--that was what he said." + +"And should you like that, Eppie?" said Silas, looking at her. + +"I shouldn't mind it, father," said Eppie, quite simply. "And I should +like things to be so as you needn't work much. But if it wasn't for +that, I'd sooner things didn't change. I'm very happy: I like Aaron to +be fond of me, and come and see us often, and behave pretty to you--he +always _does_ behave pretty to you, doesn't he, father?" + +"Yes, child, nobody could behave better," said Silas, emphatically. +"He's his mother's lad." + +"But I don't want any change," said Eppie. "I should like to go on a +long, long while, just as we are. Only Aaron does want a change; and +he made me cry a bit--only a bit--because he said I didn't care for +him, for if I cared for him I should want us to be married, as he did." + +"Eh, my blessed child," said Silas, laying down his pipe as if it were +useless to pretend to smoke any longer, "you're o'er young to be +married. We'll ask Mrs. Winthrop--we'll ask Aaron's mother what _she_ +thinks: if there's a right thing to do, she'll come at it. But there's +this to be thought on, Eppie: things _will_ change, whether we like it +or no; things won't go on for a long while just as they are and no +difference. I shall get older and helplesser, and be a burden on you, +belike, if I don't go away from you altogether. Not as I mean you'd +think me a burden--I know you wouldn't--but it 'ud be hard upon you; +and when I look for'ard to that, I like to think as you'd have somebody +else besides me--somebody young and strong, as'll outlast your own +life, and take care on you to the end." Silas paused, and, resting his +wrists on his knees, lifted his hands up and down meditatively as he +looked on the ground. + +"Then, would you like me to be married, father?" said Eppie, with a +little trembling in her voice. + +"I'll not be the man to say no, Eppie," said Silas, emphatically; "but +we'll ask your godmother. She'll wish the right thing by you and her +son too." + +"There they come, then," said Eppie. "Let us go and meet 'em. Oh, the +pipe! won't you have it lit again, father?" said Eppie, lifting that +medicinal appliance from the ground. + +"Nay, child," said Silas, "I've done enough for to-day. I think, +mayhap, a little of it does me more good than so much at once." + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +While Silas and Eppie were seated on the bank discoursing in the +fleckered shade of the ash tree, Miss Priscilla Lammeter was resisting +her sister's arguments, that it would be better to take tea at the Red +House, and let her father have a long nap, than drive home to the +Warrens so soon after dinner. The family party (of four only) were +seated round the table in the dark wainscoted parlour, with the Sunday +dessert before them, of fresh filberts, apples, and pears, duly +ornamented with leaves by Nancy's own hand before the bells had rung +for church. + +A great change has come over the dark wainscoted parlour since we saw +it in Godfrey's bachelor days, and under the wifeless reign of the old +Squire. Now all is polish, on which no yesterday's dust is ever +allowed to rest, from the yard's width of oaken boards round the +carpet, to the old Squire's gun and whips and walking-sticks, ranged on +the stag's antlers above the mantelpiece. All other signs of sporting +and outdoor occupation Nancy has removed to another room; but she has +brought into the Red House the habit of filial reverence, and preserves +sacredly in a place of honour these relics of her husband's departed +father. The tankards are on the side-table still, but the bossed +silver is undimmed by handling, and there are no dregs to send forth +unpleasant suggestions: the only prevailing scent is of the lavender +and rose-leaves that fill the vases of Derbyshire spar. All is purity +and order in this once dreary room, for, fifteen years ago, it was +entered by a new presiding spirit. + +"Now, father," said Nancy, "_is_ there any call for you to go home to +tea? Mayn't you just as well stay with us?--such a beautiful evening +as it's likely to be." + +The old gentleman had been talking with Godfrey about the increasing +poor-rate and the ruinous times, and had not heard the dialogue between +his daughters. + +"My dear, you must ask Priscilla," he said, in the once firm voice, now +become rather broken. "She manages me and the farm too." + +"And reason good as I should manage you, father," said Priscilla, "else +you'd be giving yourself your death with rheumatism. And as for the +farm, if anything turns out wrong, as it can't but do in these times, +there's nothing kills a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with +but himself. It's a deal the best way o' being master, to let somebody +else do the ordering, and keep the blaming in your own hands. It 'ud +save many a man a stroke, _I_ believe." + +"Well, well, my dear," said her father, with a quiet laugh, "I didn't +say you don't manage for everybody's good." + +"Then manage so as you may stay tea, Priscilla," said Nancy, putting +her hand on her sister's arm affectionately. "Come now; and we'll go +round the garden while father has his nap." + +"My dear child, he'll have a beautiful nap in the gig, for I shall +drive. And as for staying tea, I can't hear of it; for there's this +dairymaid, now she knows she's to be married, turned Michaelmas, she'd +as lief pour the new milk into the pig-trough as into the pans. That's +the way with 'em all: it's as if they thought the world 'ud be new-made +because they're to be married. So come and let me put my bonnet on, +and there'll be time for us to walk round the garden while the horse is +being put in." + +When the sisters were treading the neatly-swept garden-walks, between +the bright turf that contrasted pleasantly with the dark cones and +arches and wall-like hedges of yew, Priscilla said-- + +"I'm as glad as anything at your husband's making that exchange o' land +with cousin Osgood, and beginning the dairying. It's a thousand pities +you didn't do it before; for it'll give you something to fill your +mind. There's nothing like a dairy if folks want a bit o' worrit to +make the days pass. For as for rubbing furniture, when you can once +see your face in a table there's nothing else to look for; but there's +always something fresh with the dairy; for even in the depths o' winter +there's some pleasure in conquering the butter, and making it come +whether or no. My dear," added Priscilla, pressing her sister's hand +affectionately as they walked side by side, "you'll never be low when +you've got a dairy." + +"Ah, Priscilla," said Nancy, returning the pressure with a grateful +glance of her clear eyes, "but it won't make up to Godfrey: a dairy's +not so much to a man. And it's only what he cares for that ever makes +me low. I'm contented with the blessings we have, if he could be +contented." + +"It drives me past patience," said Priscilla, impetuously, "that way o' +the men--always wanting and wanting, and never easy with what they've +got: they can't sit comfortable in their chairs when they've neither +ache nor pain, but either they must stick a pipe in their mouths, to +make 'em better than well, or else they must be swallowing something +strong, though they're forced to make haste before the next meal comes +in. But joyful be it spoken, our father was never that sort o' man. +And if it had pleased God to make you ugly, like me, so as the men +wouldn't ha' run after you, we might have kept to our own family, and +had nothing to do with folks as have got uneasy blood in their veins." + +"Oh, don't say so, Priscilla," said Nancy, repenting that she had +called forth this outburst; "nobody has any occasion to find fault with +Godfrey. It's natural he should be disappointed at not having any +children: every man likes to have somebody to work for and lay by for, +and he always counted so on making a fuss with 'em when they were +little. There's many another man 'ud hanker more than he does. He's +the best of husbands." + +"Oh, I know," said Priscilla, smiling sarcastically, "I know the way o' +wives; they set one on to abuse their husbands, and then they turn +round on one and praise 'em as if they wanted to sell 'em. But +father'll be waiting for me; we must turn now." + +The large gig with the steady old grey was at the front door, and Mr. +Lammeter was already on the stone steps, passing the time in recalling +to Godfrey what very fine points Speckle had when his master used to +ride him. + +"I always _would_ have a good horse, you know," said the old gentleman, +not liking that spirited time to be quite effaced from the memory of +his juniors. + +"Mind you bring Nancy to the Warrens before the week's out, Mr. Cass," +was Priscilla's parting injunction, as she took the reins, and shook +them gently, by way of friendly incitement to Speckle. + +"I shall just take a turn to the fields against the Stone-pits, Nancy, +and look at the draining," said Godfrey. + +"You'll be in again by tea-time, dear?" + +"Oh, yes, I shall be back in an hour." + +It was Godfrey's custom on a Sunday afternoon to do a little +contemplative farming in a leisurely walk. Nancy seldom accompanied +him; for the women of her generation--unless, like Priscilla, they took +to outdoor management--were not given to much walking beyond their own +house and garden, finding sufficient exercise in domestic duties. So, +when Priscilla was not with her, she usually sat with Mant's Bible +before her, and after following the text with her eyes for a little +while, she would gradually permit them to wander as her thoughts had +already insisted on wandering. + +But Nancy's Sunday thoughts were rarely quite out of keeping with the +devout and reverential intention implied by the book spread open before +her. She was not theologically instructed enough to discern very +clearly the relation between the sacred documents of the past which she +opened without method, and her own obscure, simple life; but the spirit +of rectitude, and the sense of responsibility for the effect of her +conduct on others, which were strong elements in Nancy's character, had +made it a habit with her to scrutinize her past feelings and actions +with self-questioning solicitude. Her mind not being courted by a +great variety of subjects, she filled the vacant moments by living +inwardly, again and again, through all her remembered experience, +especially through the fifteen years of her married time, in which her +life and its significance had been doubled. She recalled the small +details, the words, tones, and looks, in the critical scenes which had +opened a new epoch for her by giving her a deeper insight into the +relations and trials of life, or which had called on her for some +little effort of forbearance, or of painful adherence to an imagined or +real duty--asking herself continually whether she had been in any +respect blamable. This excessive rumination and self-questioning is +perhaps a morbid habit inevitable to a mind of much moral sensibility +when shut out from its due share of outward activity and of practical +claims on its affections--inevitable to a noble-hearted, childless +woman, when her lot is narrow. "I can do so little--have I done it all +well?" is the perpetually recurring thought; and there are no voices +calling her away from that soliloquy, no peremptory demands to divert +energy from vain regret or superfluous scruple. + +There was one main thread of painful experience in Nancy's married +life, and on it hung certain deeply-felt scenes, which were the +oftenest revived in retrospect. The short dialogue with Priscilla in +the garden had determined the current of retrospect in that frequent +direction this particular Sunday afternoon. The first wandering of her +thought from the text, which she still attempted dutifully to follow +with her eyes and silent lips, was into an imaginary enlargement of the +defence she had set up for her husband against Priscilla's implied +blame. The vindication of the loved object is the best balm affection +can find for its wounds:--"A man must have so much on his mind," is the +belief by which a wife often supports a cheerful face under rough +answers and unfeeling words. And Nancy's deepest wounds had all come +from the perception that the absence of children from their hearth was +dwelt on in her husband's mind as a privation to which he could not +reconcile himself. + +Yet sweet Nancy might have been expected to feel still more keenly the +denial of a blessing to which she had looked forward with all the +varied expectations and preparations, solemn and prettily trivial, +which fill the mind of a loving woman when she expects to become a +mother. Was there not a drawer filled with the neat work of her hands, +all unworn and untouched, just as she had arranged it there fourteen +years ago--just, but for one little dress, which had been made the +burial-dress? But under this immediate personal trial Nancy was so +firmly unmurmuring, that years ago she had suddenly renounced the habit +of visiting this drawer, lest she should in this way be cherishing a +longing for what was not given. + +Perhaps it was this very severity towards any indulgence of what she +held to be sinful regret in herself, that made her shrink from applying +her own standard to her husband. "It is very different--it is much +worse for a man to be disappointed in that way: a woman can always be +satisfied with devoting herself to her husband, but a man wants +something that will make him look forward more--and sitting by the fire +is so much duller to him than to a woman." And always, when Nancy +reached this point in her meditations--trying, with predetermined +sympathy, to see everything as Godfrey saw it--there came a renewal of +self-questioning. _Had_ she done everything in her power to lighten +Godfrey's privation? Had she really been right in the resistance which +had cost her so much pain six years ago, and again four years ago--the +resistance to her husband's wish that they should adopt a child? +Adoption was more remote from the ideas and habits of that time than of +our own; still Nancy had her opinion on it. It was as necessary to her +mind to have an opinion on all topics, not exclusively masculine, that +had come under her notice, as for her to have a precisely marked place +for every article of her personal property: and her opinions were +always principles to be unwaveringly acted on. They were firm, not +because of their basis, but because she held them with a tenacity +inseparable from her mental action. On all the duties and proprieties +of life, from filial behaviour to the arrangements of the evening +toilette, pretty Nancy Lammeter, by the time she was three-and-twenty, +had her unalterable little code, and had formed every one of her habits +in strict accordance with that code. She carried these decided +judgments within her in the most unobtrusive way: they rooted +themselves in her mind, and grew there as quietly as grass. Years ago, +we know, she insisted on dressing like Priscilla, because "it was right +for sisters to dress alike", and because "she would do what was right +if she wore a gown dyed with cheese-colouring". That was a trivial but +typical instance of the mode in which Nancy's life was regulated. + +It was one of those rigid principles, and no petty egoistic feeling, +which had been the ground of Nancy's difficult resistance to her +husband's wish. To adopt a child, because children of your own had +been denied you, was to try and choose your lot in spite of Providence: +the adopted child, she was convinced, would never turn out well, and +would be a curse to those who had wilfully and rebelliously sought what +it was clear that, for some high reason, they were better without. +When you saw a thing was not meant to be, said Nancy, it was a bounden +duty to leave off so much as wishing for it. And so far, perhaps, the +wisest of men could scarcely make more than a verbal improvement in her +principle. But the conditions under which she held it apparent that a +thing was not meant to be, depended on a more peculiar mode of +thinking. She would have given up making a purchase at a particular +place if, on three successive times, rain, or some other cause of +Heaven's sending, had formed an obstacle; and she would have +anticipated a broken limb or other heavy misfortune to any one who +persisted in spite of such indications. + +"But why should you think the child would turn out ill?" said Godfrey, +in his remonstrances. "She has thriven as well as child can do with +the weaver; and _he_ adopted her. There isn't such a pretty little +girl anywhere else in the parish, or one fitter for the station we +could give her. Where can be the likelihood of her being a curse to +anybody?" + +"Yes, my dear Godfrey," said Nancy, who was sitting with her hands +tightly clasped together, and with yearning, regretful affection in her +eyes. "The child may not turn out ill with the weaver. But, then, he +didn't go to seek her, as we should be doing. It will be wrong: I feel +sure it will. Don't you remember what that lady we met at the Royston +Baths told us about the child her sister adopted? That was the only +adopting I ever heard of: and the child was transported when it was +twenty-three. Dear Godfrey, don't ask me to do what I know is wrong: I +should never be happy again. I know it's very hard for _you_--it's +easier for me--but it's the will of Providence." + +It might seem singular that Nancy--with her religious theory pieced +together out of narrow social traditions, fragments of church doctrine +imperfectly understood, and girlish reasonings on her small +experience--should have arrived by herself at a way of thinking so +nearly akin to that of many devout people, whose beliefs are held in +the shape of a system quite remote from her knowledge--singular, if we +did not know that human beliefs, like all other natural growths, elude +the barriers of system. + +Godfrey had from the first specified Eppie, then about twelve years +old, as a child suitable for them to adopt. It had never occurred to +him that Silas would rather part with his life than with Eppie. Surely +the weaver would wish the best to the child he had taken so much +trouble with, and would be glad that such good fortune should happen to +her: she would always be very grateful to him, and he would be well +provided for to the end of his life--provided for as the excellent part +he had done by the child deserved. Was it not an appropriate thing for +people in a higher station to take a charge off the hands of a man in a +lower? It seemed an eminently appropriate thing to Godfrey, for +reasons that were known only to himself; and by a common fallacy, he +imagined the measure would be easy because he had private motives for +desiring it. This was rather a coarse mode of estimating Silas's +relation to Eppie; but we must remember that many of the impressions +which Godfrey was likely to gather concerning the labouring people +around him would favour the idea that deep affections can hardly go +along with callous palms and scant means; and he had not had the +opportunity, even if he had had the power, of entering intimately into +all that was exceptional in the weaver's experience. It was only the +want of adequate knowledge that could have made it possible for Godfrey +deliberately to entertain an unfeeling project: his natural kindness +had outlived that blighting time of cruel wishes, and Nancy's praise of +him as a husband was not founded entirely on a wilful illusion. + +"I was right," she said to herself, when she had recalled all their +scenes of discussion--"I feel I was right to say him nay, though it +hurt me more than anything; but how good Godfrey has been about it! +Many men would have been very angry with me for standing out against +their wishes; and they might have thrown out that they'd had ill-luck +in marrying me; but Godfrey has never been the man to say me an unkind +word. It's only what he can't hide: everything seems so blank to him, +I know; and the land--what a difference it 'ud make to him, when he +goes to see after things, if he'd children growing up that he was doing +it all for! But I won't murmur; and perhaps if he'd married a woman +who'd have had children, she'd have vexed him in other ways." + +This possibility was Nancy's chief comfort; and to give it greater +strength, she laboured to make it impossible that any other wife should +have had more perfect tenderness. She had been _forced_ to vex him by +that one denial. Godfrey was not insensible to her loving effort, and +did Nancy no injustice as to the motives of her obstinacy. It was +impossible to have lived with her fifteen years and not be aware that +an unselfish clinging to the right, and a sincerity clear as the +flower-born dew, were her main characteristics; indeed, Godfrey felt +this so strongly, that his own more wavering nature, too averse to +facing difficulty to be unvaryingly simple and truthful, was kept in a +certain awe of this gentle wife who watched his looks with a yearning +to obey them. It seemed to him impossible that he should ever confess +to her the truth about Eppie: she would never recover from the +repulsion the story of his earlier marriage would create, told to her +now, after that long concealment. And the child, too, he thought, must +become an object of repulsion: the very sight of her would be painful. +The shock to Nancy's mingled pride and ignorance of the world's evil +might even be too much for her delicate frame. Since he had married +her with that secret on his heart, he must keep it there to the last. +Whatever else he did, he could not make an irreparable breach between +himself and this long-loved wife. + +Meanwhile, why could he not make up his mind to the absence of children +from a hearth brightened by such a wife? Why did his mind fly uneasily +to that void, as if it were the sole reason why life was not thoroughly +joyous to him? I suppose it is the way with all men and women who +reach middle age without the clear perception that life never _can_ be +thoroughly joyous: under the vague dullness of the grey hours, +dissatisfaction seeks a definite object, and finds it in the privation +of an untried good. Dissatisfaction seated musingly on a childless +hearth, thinks with envy of the father whose return is greeted by young +voices--seated at the meal where the little heads rise one above +another like nursery plants, it sees a black care hovering behind every +one of them, and thinks the impulses by which men abandon freedom, and +seek for ties, are surely nothing but a brief madness. In Godfrey's +case there were further reasons why his thoughts should be continually +solicited by this one point in his lot: his conscience, never +thoroughly easy about Eppie, now gave his childless home the aspect of +a retribution; and as the time passed on, under Nancy's refusal to +adopt her, any retrieval of his error became more and more difficult. + +On this Sunday afternoon it was already four years since there had been +any allusion to the subject between them, and Nancy supposed that it +was for ever buried. + +"I wonder if he'll mind it less or more as he gets older," she thought; +"I'm afraid more. Aged people feel the miss of children: what would +father do without Priscilla? And if I die, Godfrey will be very +lonely--not holding together with his brothers much. But I won't be +over-anxious, and trying to make things out beforehand: I must do my +best for the present." + +With that last thought Nancy roused herself from her reverie, and +turned her eyes again towards the forsaken page. It had been forsaken +longer than she imagined, for she was presently surprised by the +appearance of the servant with the tea-things. It was, in fact, a +little before the usual time for tea; but Jane had her reasons. + +"Is your master come into the yard, Jane?" + +"No 'm, he isn't," said Jane, with a slight emphasis, of which, +however, her mistress took no notice. + +"I don't know whether you've seen 'em, 'm," continued Jane, after a +pause, "but there's folks making haste all one way, afore the front +window. I doubt something's happened. There's niver a man to be seen +i' the yard, else I'd send and see. I've been up into the top attic, +but there's no seeing anything for trees. I hope nobody's hurt, that's +all." + +"Oh, no, I daresay there's nothing much the matter," said Nancy. "It's +perhaps Mr. Snell's bull got out again, as he did before." + +"I wish he mayn't gore anybody then, that's all," said Jane, not +altogether despising a hypothesis which covered a few imaginary +calamities. + +"That girl is always terrifying me," thought Nancy; "I wish Godfrey +would come in." + +She went to the front window and looked as far as she could see along +the road, with an uneasiness which she felt to be childish, for there +were now no such signs of excitement as Jane had spoken of, and Godfrey +would not be likely to return by the village road, but by the fields. +She continued to stand, however, looking at the placid churchyard with +the long shadows of the gravestones across the bright green hillocks, +and at the glowing autumn colours of the Rectory trees beyond. Before +such calm external beauty the presence of a vague fear is more +distinctly felt--like a raven flapping its slow wing across the sunny +air. Nancy wished more and more that Godfrey would come in. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Some one opened the door at the other end of the room, and Nancy felt +that it was her husband. She turned from the window with gladness in +her eyes, for the wife's chief dread was stilled. + +"Dear, I'm so thankful you're come," she said, going towards him. "I +began to get--" + +She paused abruptly, for Godfrey was laying down his hat with trembling +hands, and turned towards her with a pale face and a strange +unanswering glance, as if he saw her indeed, but saw her as part of a +scene invisible to herself. She laid her hand on his arm, not daring +to speak again; but he left the touch unnoticed, and threw himself into +his chair. + +Jane was already at the door with the hissing urn. "Tell her to keep +away, will you?" said Godfrey; and when the door was closed again he +exerted himself to speak more distinctly. + +"Sit down, Nancy--there," he said, pointing to a chair opposite him. +"I came back as soon as I could, to hinder anybody's telling you but +me. I've had a great shock--but I care most about the shock it'll be +to you." + +"It isn't father and Priscilla?" said Nancy, with quivering lips, +clasping her hands together tightly on her lap. + +"No, it's nobody living," said Godfrey, unequal to the considerate +skill with which he would have wished to make his revelation. "It's +Dunstan--my brother Dunstan, that we lost sight of sixteen years ago. +We've found him--found his body--his skeleton." + +The deep dread Godfrey's look had created in Nancy made her feel these +words a relief. She sat in comparative calmness to hear what else he +had to tell. He went on: + +"The Stone-pit has gone dry suddenly--from the draining, I suppose; and +there he lies--has lain for sixteen years, wedged between two great +stones. There's his watch and seals, and there's my gold-handled +hunting-whip, with my name on: he took it away, without my knowing, the +day he went hunting on Wildfire, the last time he was seen." + +Godfrey paused: it was not so easy to say what came next. "Do you +think he drowned himself?" said Nancy, almost wondering that her +husband should be so deeply shaken by what had happened all those years +ago to an unloved brother, of whom worse things had been augured. + +"No, he fell in," said Godfrey, in a low but distinct voice, as if he +felt some deep meaning in the fact. Presently he added: "Dunstan was +the man that robbed Silas Marner." + +The blood rushed to Nancy's face and neck at this surprise and shame, +for she had been bred up to regard even a distant kinship with crime as +a dishonour. + +"O Godfrey!" she said, with compassion in her tone, for she had +immediately reflected that the dishonour must be felt still more keenly +by her husband. + +"There was the money in the pit," he continued--"all the weaver's +money. Everything's been gathered up, and they're taking the skeleton +to the Rainbow. But I came back to tell you: there was no hindering +it; you must know." + +He was silent, looking on the ground for two long minutes. Nancy would +have said some words of comfort under this disgrace, but she refrained, +from an instinctive sense that there was something behind--that Godfrey +had something else to tell her. Presently he lifted his eyes to her +face, and kept them fixed on her, as he said-- + +"Everything comes to light, Nancy, sooner or later. When God Almighty +wills it, our secrets are found out. I've lived with a secret on my +mind, but I'll keep it from you no longer. I wouldn't have you know it +by somebody else, and not by me--I wouldn't have you find it out after +I'm dead. I'll tell you now. It's been "I will" and "I won't" with me +all my life--I'll make sure of myself now." + +Nancy's utmost dread had returned. The eyes of the husband and wife +met with awe in them, as at a crisis which suspended affection. + +"Nancy," said Godfrey, slowly, "when I married you, I hid something +from you--something I ought to have told you. That woman Marner found +dead in the snow--Eppie's mother--that wretched woman--was my wife: +Eppie is my child." + +He paused, dreading the effect of his confession. But Nancy sat quite +still, only that her eyes dropped and ceased to meet his. She was pale +and quiet as a meditative statue, clasping her hands on her lap. + +"You'll never think the same of me again," said Godfrey, after a little +while, with some tremor in his voice. + +She was silent. + +"I oughtn't to have left the child unowned: I oughtn't to have kept it +from you. But I couldn't bear to give you up, Nancy. I was led away +into marrying her--I suffered for it." + +Still Nancy was silent, looking down; and he almost expected that she +would presently get up and say she would go to her father's. How could +she have any mercy for faults that must seem so black to her, with her +simple, severe notions? + +But at last she lifted up her eyes to his again and spoke. There was +no indignation in her voice--only deep regret. + +"Godfrey, if you had but told me this six years ago, we could have done +some of our duty by the child. Do you think I'd have refused to take +her in, if I'd known she was yours?" + +At that moment Godfrey felt all the bitterness of an error that was not +simply futile, but had defeated its own end. He had not measured this +wife with whom he had lived so long. But she spoke again, with more +agitation. + +"And--Oh, Godfrey--if we'd had her from the first, if you'd taken to +her as you ought, she'd have loved me for her mother--and you'd have +been happier with me: I could better have bore my little baby dying, +and our life might have been more like what we used to think it 'ud be." + +The tears fell, and Nancy ceased to speak. + +"But you wouldn't have married me then, Nancy, if I'd told you," said +Godfrey, urged, in the bitterness of his self-reproach, to prove to +himself that his conduct had not been utter folly. "You may think you +would now, but you wouldn't then. With your pride and your father's, +you'd have hated having anything to do with me after the talk there'd +have been." + +"I can't say what I should have done about that, Godfrey. I should +never have married anybody else. But I wasn't worth doing wrong +for--nothing is in this world. Nothing is so good as it seems +beforehand--not even our marrying wasn't, you see." There was a faint +sad smile on Nancy's face as she said the last words. + +"I'm a worse man than you thought I was, Nancy," said Godfrey, rather +tremulously. "Can you forgive me ever?" + +"The wrong to me is but little, Godfrey: you've made it up to +me--you've been good to me for fifteen years. It's another you did the +wrong to; and I doubt it can never be all made up for." + +"But we can take Eppie now," said Godfrey. "I won't mind the world +knowing at last. I'll be plain and open for the rest o' my life." + +"It'll be different coming to us, now she's grown up," said Nancy, +shaking her head sadly. "But it's your duty to acknowledge her and +provide for her; and I'll do my part by her, and pray to God Almighty +to make her love me." + +"Then we'll go together to Silas Marner's this very night, as soon as +everything's quiet at the Stone-pits." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Between eight and nine o'clock that evening, Eppie and Silas were +seated alone in the cottage. After the great excitement the weaver had +undergone from the events of the afternoon, he had felt a longing for +this quietude, and had even begged Mrs. Winthrop and Aaron, who had +naturally lingered behind every one else, to leave him alone with his +child. The excitement had not passed away: it had only reached that +stage when the keenness of the susceptibility makes external stimulus +intolerable--when there is no sense of weariness, but rather an +intensity of inward life, under which sleep is an impossibility. Any +one who has watched such moments in other men remembers the brightness +of the eyes and the strange definiteness that comes over coarse +features from that transient influence. It is as if a new fineness of +ear for all spiritual voices had sent wonder-working vibrations through +the heavy mortal frame--as if "beauty born of murmuring sound" had +passed into the face of the listener. + +Silas's face showed that sort of transfiguration, as he sat in his +arm-chair and looked at Eppie. She had drawn her own chair towards his +knees, and leaned forward, holding both his hands, while she looked up +at him. On the table near them, lit by a candle, lay the recovered +gold--the old long-loved gold, ranged in orderly heaps, as Silas used +to range it in the days when it was his only joy. He had been telling +her how he used to count it every night, and how his soul was utterly +desolate till she was sent to him. + +"At first, I'd a sort o' feeling come across me now and then," he was +saying in a subdued tone, "as if you might be changed into the gold +again; for sometimes, turn my head which way I would, I seemed to see +the gold; and I thought I should be glad if I could feel it, and find +it was come back. But that didn't last long. After a bit, I should +have thought it was a curse come again, if it had drove you from me, +for I'd got to feel the need o' your looks and your voice and the touch +o' your little fingers. You didn't know then, Eppie, when you were +such a little un--you didn't know what your old father Silas felt for +you." + +"But I know now, father," said Eppie. "If it hadn't been for you, +they'd have taken me to the workhouse, and there'd have been nobody to +love me." + +"Eh, my precious child, the blessing was mine. If you hadn't been sent +to save me, I should ha' gone to the grave in my misery. The money was +taken away from me in time; and you see it's been kept--kept till it +was wanted for you. It's wonderful--our life is wonderful." + +Silas sat in silence a few minutes, looking at the money. "It takes no +hold of me now," he said, ponderingly--"the money doesn't. I wonder if +it ever could again--I doubt it might, if I lost you, Eppie. I might +come to think I was forsaken again, and lose the feeling that God was +good to me." + +At that moment there was a knocking at the door; and Eppie was obliged +to rise without answering Silas. Beautiful she looked, with the +tenderness of gathering tears in her eyes and a slight flush on her +cheeks, as she stepped to open the door. The flush deepened when she +saw Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Cass. She made her little rustic curtsy, and +held the door wide for them to enter. + +"We're disturbing you very late, my dear," said Mrs. Cass, taking +Eppie's hand, and looking in her face with an expression of anxious +interest and admiration. Nancy herself was pale and tremulous. + +Eppie, after placing chairs for Mr. and Mrs. Cass, went to stand +against Silas, opposite to them. + +"Well, Marner," said Godfrey, trying to speak with perfect firmness, +"it's a great comfort to me to see you with your money again, that +you've been deprived of so many years. It was one of my family did you +the wrong--the more grief to me--and I feel bound to make up to you for +it in every way. Whatever I can do for you will be nothing but paying +a debt, even if I looked no further than the robbery. But there are +other things I'm beholden--shall be beholden to you for, Marner." + +Godfrey checked himself. It had been agreed between him and his wife +that the subject of his fatherhood should be approached very carefully, +and that, if possible, the disclosure should be reserved for the +future, so that it might be made to Eppie gradually. Nancy had urged +this, because she felt strongly the painful light in which Eppie must +inevitably see the relation between her father and mother. + +Silas, always ill at ease when he was being spoken to by "betters", +such as Mr. Cass--tall, powerful, florid men, seen chiefly on +horseback--answered with some constraint-- + +"Sir, I've a deal to thank you for a'ready. As for the robbery, I +count it no loss to me. And if I did, you couldn't help it: you aren't +answerable for it." + +"You may look at it in that way, Marner, but I never can; and I hope +you'll let me act according to my own feeling of what's just. I know +you're easily contented: you've been a hard-working man all your life." + +"Yes, sir, yes," said Marner, meditatively. "I should ha' been bad off +without my work: it was what I held by when everything else was gone +from me." + +"Ah," said Godfrey, applying Marner's words simply to his bodily wants, +"it was a good trade for you in this country, because there's been a +great deal of linen-weaving to be done. But you're getting rather past +such close work, Marner: it's time you laid by and had some rest. You +look a good deal pulled down, though you're not an old man, _are_ you?" + +"Fifty-five, as near as I can say, sir," said Silas. + +"Oh, why, you may live thirty years longer--look at old Macey! And that +money on the table, after all, is but little. It won't go far either +way--whether it's put out to interest, or you were to live on it as +long as it would last: it wouldn't go far if you'd nobody to keep but +yourself, and you've had two to keep for a good many years now." + +"Eh, sir," said Silas, unaffected by anything Godfrey was saying, "I'm +in no fear o' want. We shall do very well--Eppie and me 'ull do well +enough. There's few working-folks have got so much laid by as that. I +don't know what it is to gentlefolks, but I look upon it as a +deal--almost too much. And as for us, it's little we want." + +"Only the garden, father," said Eppie, blushing up to the ears the +moment after. + +"You love a garden, do you, my dear?" said Nancy, thinking that this +turn in the point of view might help her husband. "We should agree in +that: I give a deal of time to the garden." + +"Ah, there's plenty of gardening at the Red House," said Godfrey, +surprised at the difficulty he found in approaching a proposition which +had seemed so easy to him in the distance. "You've done a good part by +Eppie, Marner, for sixteen years. It 'ud be a great comfort to you to +see her well provided for, wouldn't it? She looks blooming and +healthy, but not fit for any hardships: she doesn't look like a +strapping girl come of working parents. You'd like to see her taken +care of by those who can leave her well off, and make a lady of her; +she's more fit for it than for a rough life, such as she might come to +have in a few years' time." + +A slight flush came over Marner's face, and disappeared, like a passing +gleam. Eppie was simply wondering Mr. Cass should talk so about things +that seemed to have nothing to do with reality; but Silas was hurt and +uneasy. + +"I don't take your meaning, sir," he answered, not having words at +command to express the mingled feelings with which he had heard Mr. +Cass's words. + +"Well, my meaning is this, Marner," said Godfrey, determined to come to +the point. "Mrs. Cass and I, you know, have no children--nobody to +benefit by our good home and everything else we have--more than enough +for ourselves. And we should like to have somebody in the place of a +daughter to us--we should like to have Eppie, and treat her in every +way as our own child. It 'ud be a great comfort to you in your old +age, I hope, to see her fortune made in that way, after you've been at +the trouble of bringing her up so well. And it's right you should have +every reward for that. And Eppie, I'm sure, will always love you and +be grateful to you: she'd come and see you very often, and we should +all be on the look-out to do everything we could towards making you +comfortable." + +A plain man like Godfrey Cass, speaking under some embarrassment, +necessarily blunders on words that are coarser than his intentions, and +that are likely to fall gratingly on susceptible feelings. While he had +been speaking, Eppie had quietly passed her arm behind Silas's head, +and let her hand rest against it caressingly: she felt him trembling +violently. He was silent for some moments when Mr. Cass had +ended--powerless under the conflict of emotions, all alike painful. +Eppie's heart was swelling at the sense that her father was in +distress; and she was just going to lean down and speak to him, when +one struggling dread at last gained the mastery over every other in +Silas, and he said, faintly-- + +"Eppie, my child, speak. I won't stand in your way. Thank Mr. and +Mrs. Cass." + +Eppie took her hand from her father's head, and came forward a step. +Her cheeks were flushed, but not with shyness this time: the sense that +her father was in doubt and suffering banished that sort of +self-consciousness. She dropped a low curtsy, first to Mrs. Cass and +then to Mr. Cass, and said-- + +"Thank you, ma'am--thank you, sir. But I can't leave my father, nor +own anybody nearer than him. And I don't want to be a lady--thank you +all the same" (here Eppie dropped another curtsy). "I couldn't give up +the folks I've been used to." + +Eppie's lips began to tremble a little at the last words. She +retreated to her father's chair again, and held him round the neck: +while Silas, with a subdued sob, put up his hand to grasp hers. + +The tears were in Nancy's eyes, but her sympathy with Eppie was, +naturally, divided with distress on her husband's account. She dared +not speak, wondering what was going on in her husband's mind. + +Godfrey felt an irritation inevitable to almost all of us when we +encounter an unexpected obstacle. He had been full of his own +penitence and resolution to retrieve his error as far as the time was +left to him; he was possessed with all-important feelings, that were to +lead to a predetermined course of action which he had fixed on as the +right, and he was not prepared to enter with lively appreciation into +other people's feelings counteracting his virtuous resolves. The +agitation with which he spoke again was not quite unmixed with anger. + +"But I've a claim on you, Eppie--the strongest of all claims. It's my +duty, Marner, to own Eppie as my child, and provide for her. She is my +own child--her mother was my wife. I've a natural claim on her that +must stand before every other." + +Eppie had given a violent start, and turned quite pale. Silas, on the +contrary, who had been relieved, by Eppie's answer, from the dread lest +his mind should be in opposition to hers, felt the spirit of resistance +in him set free, not without a touch of parental fierceness. "Then, +sir," he answered, with an accent of bitterness that had been silent in +him since the memorable day when his youthful hope had perished--"then, +sir, why didn't you say so sixteen year ago, and claim her before I'd +come to love her, i'stead o' coming to take her from me now, when you +might as well take the heart out o' my body? God gave her to me +because you turned your back upon her, and He looks upon her as mine: +you've no right to her! When a man turns a blessing from his door, it +falls to them as take it in." + +"I know that, Marner. I was wrong. I've repented of my conduct in +that matter," said Godfrey, who could not help feeling the edge of +Silas's words. + +"I'm glad to hear it, sir," said Marner, with gathering excitement; +"but repentance doesn't alter what's been going on for sixteen year. +Your coming now and saying "I'm her father" doesn't alter the feelings +inside us. It's me she's been calling her father ever since she could +say the word." + +"But I think you might look at the thing more reasonably, Marner," said +Godfrey, unexpectedly awed by the weaver's direct truth-speaking. "It +isn't as if she was to be taken quite away from you, so that you'd +never see her again. She'll be very near you, and come to see you very +often. She'll feel just the same towards you." + +"Just the same?" said Marner, more bitterly than ever. "How'll she +feel just the same for me as she does now, when we eat o' the same bit, +and drink o' the same cup, and think o' the same things from one day's +end to another? Just the same? that's idle talk. You'd cut us i' two." + +Godfrey, unqualified by experience to discern the pregnancy of Marner's +simple words, felt rather angry again. It seemed to him that the +weaver was very selfish (a judgment readily passed by those who have +never tested their own power of sacrifice) to oppose what was +undoubtedly for Eppie's welfare; and he felt himself called upon, for +her sake, to assert his authority. + +"I should have thought, Marner," he said, severely--"I should have +thought your affection for Eppie would make you rejoice in what was for +her good, even if it did call upon you to give up something. You ought +to remember your own life's uncertain, and she's at an age now when her +lot may soon be fixed in a way very different from what it would be in +her father's home: she may marry some low working-man, and then, +whatever I might do for her, I couldn't make her well-off. You're +putting yourself in the way of her welfare; and though I'm sorry to +hurt you after what you've done, and what I've left undone, I feel now +it's my duty to insist on taking care of my own daughter. I want to do +my duty." + +It would be difficult to say whether it were Silas or Eppie that was +more deeply stirred by this last speech of Godfrey's. Thought had been +very busy in Eppie as she listened to the contest between her old +long-loved father and this new unfamiliar father who had suddenly come +to fill the place of that black featureless shadow which had held the +ring and placed it on her mother's finger. Her imagination had darted +backward in conjectures, and forward in previsions, of what this +revealed fatherhood implied; and there were words in Godfrey's last +speech which helped to make the previsions especially definite. Not +that these thoughts, either of past or future, determined her +resolution--_that_ was determined by the feelings which vibrated to +every word Silas had uttered; but they raised, even apart from these +feelings, a repulsion towards the offered lot and the newly-revealed +father. + +Silas, on the other hand, was again stricken in conscience, and alarmed +lest Godfrey's accusation should be true--lest he should be raising his +own will as an obstacle to Eppie's good. For many moments he was mute, +struggling for the self-conquest necessary to the uttering of the +difficult words. They came out tremulously. + +"I'll say no more. Let it be as you will. Speak to the child. I'll +hinder nothing." + +Even Nancy, with all the acute sensibility of her own affections, +shared her husband's view, that Marner was not justifiable in his wish +to retain Eppie, after her real father had avowed himself. She felt +that it was a very hard trial for the poor weaver, but her code allowed +no question that a father by blood must have a claim above that of any +foster-father. Besides, Nancy, used all her life to plenteous +circumstances and the privileges of "respectability", could not enter +into the pleasures which early nurture and habit connect with all the +little aims and efforts of the poor who are born poor: to her mind, +Eppie, in being restored to her birthright, was entering on a too long +withheld but unquestionable good. Hence she heard Silas's last words +with relief, and thought, as Godfrey did, that their wish was achieved. + +"Eppie, my dear," said Godfrey, looking at his daughter, not without +some embarrassment, under the sense that she was old enough to judge +him, "it'll always be our wish that you should show your love and +gratitude to one who's been a father to you so many years, and we shall +want to help you to make him comfortable in every way. But we hope +you'll come to love us as well; and though I haven't been what a father +should ha' been to you all these years, I wish to do the utmost in my +power for you for the rest of my life, and provide for you as my only +child. And you'll have the best of mothers in my wife--that'll be a +blessing you haven't known since you were old enough to know it." + +"My dear, you'll be a treasure to me," said Nancy, in her gentle voice. +"We shall want for nothing when we have our daughter." + +Eppie did not come forward and curtsy, as she had done before. She +held Silas's hand in hers, and grasped it firmly--it was a weaver's +hand, with a palm and finger-tips that were sensitive to such +pressure--while she spoke with colder decision than before. + +"Thank you, ma'am--thank you, sir, for your offers--they're very great, +and far above my wish. For I should have no delight i' life any more +if I was forced to go away from my father, and knew he was sitting at +home, a-thinking of me and feeling lone. We've been used to be happy +together every day, and I can't think o' no happiness without him. And +he says he'd nobody i' the world till I was sent to him, and he'd have +nothing when I was gone. And he's took care of me and loved me from +the first, and I'll cleave to him as long as he lives, and nobody shall +ever come between him and me." + +"But you must make sure, Eppie," said Silas, in a low voice--"you must +make sure as you won't ever be sorry, because you've made your choice +to stay among poor folks, and with poor clothes and things, when you +might ha' had everything o' the best." + +His sensitiveness on this point had increased as he listened to Eppie's +words of faithful affection. + +"I can never be sorry, father," said Eppie. "I shouldn't know what to +think on or to wish for with fine things about me, as I haven't been +used to. And it 'ud be poor work for me to put on things, and ride in +a gig, and sit in a place at church, as 'ud make them as I'm fond of +think me unfitting company for 'em. What could _I_ care for then?" + +Nancy looked at Godfrey with a pained questioning glance. But his eyes +were fixed on the floor, where he was moving the end of his stick, as +if he were pondering on something absently. She thought there was a +word which might perhaps come better from her lips than from his. + +"What you say is natural, my dear child--it's natural you should cling +to those who've brought you up," she said, mildly; "but there's a duty +you owe to your lawful father. There's perhaps something to be given +up on more sides than one. When your father opens his home to you, I +think it's right you shouldn't turn your back on it." + +"I can't feel as I've got any father but one," said Eppie, impetuously, +while the tears gathered. "I've always thought of a little home where +he'd sit i' the corner, and I should fend and do everything for him: I +can't think o' no other home. I wasn't brought up to be a lady, and I +can't turn my mind to it. I like the working-folks, and their +victuals, and their ways. And," she ended passionately, while the +tears fell, "I'm promised to marry a working-man, as'll live with +father, and help me to take care of him." + +Godfrey looked up at Nancy with a flushed face and smarting dilated +eyes. This frustration of a purpose towards which he had set out under +the exalted consciousness that he was about to compensate in some +degree for the greatest demerit of his life, made him feel the air of +the room stifling. + +"Let us go," he said, in an under-tone. + +"We won't talk of this any longer now," said Nancy, rising. "We're your +well-wishers, my dear--and yours too, Marner. We shall come and see +you again. It's getting late now." + +In this way she covered her husband's abrupt departure, for Godfrey had +gone straight to the door, unable to say more. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Nancy and Godfrey walked home under the starlight in silence. When +they entered the oaken parlour, Godfrey threw himself into his chair, +while Nancy laid down her bonnet and shawl, and stood on the hearth +near her husband, unwilling to leave him even for a few minutes, and +yet fearing to utter any word lest it might jar on his feeling. At +last Godfrey turned his head towards her, and their eyes met, dwelling +in that meeting without any movement on either side. That quiet mutual +gaze of a trusting husband and wife is like the first moment of rest or +refuge from a great weariness or a great danger--not to be interfered +with by speech or action which would distract the sensations from the +fresh enjoyment of repose. + +But presently he put out his hand, and as Nancy placed hers within it, +he drew her towards him, and said-- + +"That's ended!" + +She bent to kiss him, and then said, as she stood by his side, "Yes, +I'm afraid we must give up the hope of having her for a daughter. It +wouldn't be right to want to force her to come to us against her will. +We can't alter her bringing up and what's come of it." + +"No," said Godfrey, with a keen decisiveness of tone, in contrast with +his usually careless and unemphatic speech--"there's debts we can't pay +like money debts, by paying extra for the years that have slipped by. +While I've been putting off and putting off, the trees have been +growing--it's too late now. Marner was in the right in what he said +about a man's turning away a blessing from his door: it falls to +somebody else. I wanted to pass for childless once, Nancy--I shall +pass for childless now against my wish." + +Nancy did not speak immediately, but after a little while she +asked--"You won't make it known, then, about Eppie's being your +daughter?" + +"No: where would be the good to anybody?--only harm. I must do what I +can for her in the state of life she chooses. I must see who it is +she's thinking of marrying." + +"If it won't do any good to make the thing known," said Nancy, who +thought she might now allow herself the relief of entertaining a +feeling which she had tried to silence before, "I should be very +thankful for father and Priscilla never to be troubled with knowing +what was done in the past, more than about Dunsey: it can't be helped, +their knowing that." + +"I shall put it in my will--I think I shall put it in my will. I +shouldn't like to leave anything to be found out, like this of Dunsey," +said Godfrey, meditatively. "But I can't see anything but difficulties +that 'ud come from telling it now. I must do what I can to make her +happy in her own way. I've a notion," he added, after a moment's +pause, "it's Aaron Winthrop she meant she was engaged to. I remember +seeing him with her and Marner going away from church." + +"Well, he's very sober and industrious," said Nancy, trying to view the +matter as cheerfully as possible. + +Godfrey fell into thoughtfulness again. Presently he looked up at +Nancy sorrowfully, and said-- + +"She's a very pretty, nice girl, isn't she, Nancy?" + +"Yes, dear; and with just your hair and eyes: I wondered it had never +struck me before." + +"I think she took a dislike to me at the thought of my being her +father: I could see a change in her manner after that." + +"She couldn't bear to think of not looking on Marner as her father," +said Nancy, not wishing to confirm her husband's painful impression. + +"She thinks I did wrong by her mother as well as by her. She thinks me +worse than I am. But she _must_ think it: she can never know all. +It's part of my punishment, Nancy, for my daughter to dislike me. I +should never have got into that trouble if I'd been true to you--if I +hadn't been a fool. I'd no right to expect anything but evil could +come of that marriage--and when I shirked doing a father's part too." + +Nancy was silent: her spirit of rectitude would not let her try to +soften the edge of what she felt to be a just compunction. He spoke +again after a little while, but the tone was rather changed: there was +tenderness mingled with the previous self-reproach. + +"And I got _you_, Nancy, in spite of all; and yet I've been grumbling +and uneasy because I hadn't something else--as if I deserved it." + +"You've never been wanting to me, Godfrey," said Nancy, with quiet +sincerity. "My only trouble would be gone if you resigned yourself to +the lot that's been given us." + +"Well, perhaps it isn't too late to mend a bit there. Though it _is_ +too late to mend some things, say what they will." + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +The next morning, when Silas and Eppie were seated at their breakfast, +he said to her-- + +"Eppie, there's a thing I've had on my mind to do this two year, and +now the money's been brought back to us, we can do it. I've been +turning it over and over in the night, and I think we'll set out +to-morrow, while the fine days last. We'll leave the house and +everything for your godmother to take care on, and we'll make a little +bundle o' things and set out." + +"Where to go, daddy?" said Eppie, in much surprise. + +"To my old country--to the town where I was born--up Lantern Yard. I +want to see Mr. Paston, the minister: something may ha' come out to +make 'em know I was innicent o' the robbery. And Mr. Paston was a man +with a deal o' light--I want to speak to him about the drawing o' the +lots. And I should like to talk to him about the religion o' this +country-side, for I partly think he doesn't know on it." + +Eppie was very joyful, for there was the prospect not only of wonder +and delight at seeing a strange country, but also of coming back to +tell Aaron all about it. Aaron was so much wiser than she was about +most things--it would be rather pleasant to have this little advantage +over him. Mrs. Winthrop, though possessed with a dim fear of dangers +attendant on so long a journey, and requiring many assurances that it +would not take them out of the region of carriers' carts and slow +waggons, was nevertheless well pleased that Silas should revisit his +own country, and find out if he had been cleared from that false +accusation. + +"You'd be easier in your mind for the rest o' your life, Master +Marner," said Dolly--"that you would. And if there's any light to be +got up the yard as you talk on, we've need of it i' this world, and I'd +be glad on it myself, if you could bring it back." + +So on the fourth day from that time, Silas and Eppie, in their Sunday +clothes, with a small bundle tied in a blue linen handkerchief, were +making their way through the streets of a great manufacturing town. +Silas, bewildered by the changes thirty years had brought over his +native place, had stopped several persons in succession to ask them the +name of this town, that he might be sure he was not under a mistake +about it. + +"Ask for Lantern Yard, father--ask this gentleman with the tassels on +his shoulders a-standing at the shop door; he isn't in a hurry like the +rest," said Eppie, in some distress at her father's bewilderment, and +ill at ease, besides, amidst the noise, the movement, and the multitude +of strange indifferent faces. + +"Eh, my child, he won't know anything about it," said Silas; +"gentlefolks didn't ever go up the Yard. But happen somebody can tell +me which is the way to Prison Street, where the jail is. I know the way +out o' that as if I'd seen it yesterday." + +With some difficulty, after many turnings and new inquiries, they +reached Prison Street; and the grim walls of the jail, the first object +that answered to any image in Silas's memory, cheered him with the +certitude, which no assurance of the town's name had hitherto given +him, that he was in his native place. + +"Ah," he said, drawing a long breath, "there's the jail, Eppie; that's +just the same: I aren't afraid now. It's the third turning on the left +hand from the jail doors--that's the way we must go." + +"Oh, what a dark ugly place!" said Eppie. "How it hides the sky! +It's worse than the Workhouse. I'm glad you don't live in this town +now, father. Is Lantern Yard like this street?" + +"My precious child," said Silas, smiling, "it isn't a big street like +this. I never was easy i' this street myself, but I was fond o' +Lantern Yard. The shops here are all altered, I think--I can't make +'em out; but I shall know the turning, because it's the third." + +"Here it is," he said, in a tone of satisfaction, as they came to a +narrow alley. "And then we must go to the left again, and then +straight for'ard for a bit, up Shoe Lane: and then we shall be at the +entry next to the o'erhanging window, where there's the nick in the +road for the water to run. Eh, I can see it all." + +"O father, I'm like as if I was stifled," said Eppie. "I couldn't ha' +thought as any folks lived i' this way, so close together. How pretty +the Stone-pits 'ull look when we get back!" + +"It looks comical to _me_, child, now--and smells bad. I can't think +as it usened to smell so." + +Here and there a sallow, begrimed face looked out from a gloomy doorway +at the strangers, and increased Eppie's uneasiness, so that it was a +longed-for relief when they issued from the alleys into Shoe Lane, +where there was a broader strip of sky. + +"Dear heart!" said Silas, "why, there's people coming out o' the Yard +as if they'd been to chapel at this time o' day--a weekday noon!" + +Suddenly he started and stood still with a look of distressed +amazement, that alarmed Eppie. They were before an opening in front of +a large factory, from which men and women were streaming for their +midday meal. + +"Father," said Eppie, clasping his arm, "what's the matter?" + +But she had to speak again and again before Silas could answer her. + +"It's gone, child," he said, at last, in strong agitation--"Lantern +Yard's gone. It must ha' been here, because here's the house with the +o'erhanging window--I know that--it's just the same; but they've made +this new opening; and see that big factory! It's all gone--chapel and +all." + +"Come into that little brush-shop and sit down, father--they'll let you +sit down," said Eppie, always on the watch lest one of her father's +strange attacks should come on. "Perhaps the people can tell you all +about it." + +But neither from the brush-maker, who had come to Shoe Lane only ten +years ago, when the factory was already built, nor from any other +source within his reach, could Silas learn anything of the old Lantern +Yard friends, or of Mr. Paston the minister. + +"The old place is all swep' away," Silas said to Dolly Winthrop on the +night of his return--"the little graveyard and everything. The old +home's gone; I've no home but this now. I shall never know whether +they got at the truth o' the robbery, nor whether Mr. Paston could ha' +given me any light about the drawing o' the lots. It's dark to me, +Mrs. Winthrop, that is; I doubt it'll be dark to the last." + +"Well, yes, Master Marner," said Dolly, who sat with a placid listening +face, now bordered by grey hairs; "I doubt it may. It's the will o' +Them above as a many things should be dark to us; but there's some +things as I've never felt i' the dark about, and they're mostly what +comes i' the day's work. You were hard done by that once, Master +Marner, and it seems as you'll never know the rights of it; but that +doesn't hinder there _being_ a rights, Master Marner, for all it's dark +to you and me." + +"No," said Silas, "no; that doesn't hinder. Since the time the child +was sent to me and I've come to love her as myself, I've had light +enough to trusten by; and now she says she'll never leave me, I think I +shall trusten till I die." + + + +CONCLUSION. + +There was one time of the year which was held in Raveloe to be +especially suitable for a wedding. It was when the great lilacs and +laburnums in the old-fashioned gardens showed their golden and purple +wealth above the lichen-tinted walls, and when there were calves still +young enough to want bucketfuls of fragrant milk. People were not so +busy then as they must become when the full cheese-making and the +mowing had set in; and besides, it was a time when a light bridal dress +could be worn with comfort and seen to advantage. + +Happily the sunshine fell more warmly than usual on the lilac tufts the +morning that Eppie was married, for her dress was a very light one. +She had often thought, though with a feeling of renunciation, that the +perfection of a wedding-dress would be a white cotton, with the tiniest +pink sprig at wide intervals; so that when Mrs. Godfrey Cass begged to +provide one, and asked Eppie to choose what it should be, previous +meditation had enabled her to give a decided answer at once. + +Seen at a little distance as she walked across the churchyard and down +the village, she seemed to be attired in pure white, and her hair +looked like the dash of gold on a lily. One hand was on her husband's +arm, and with the other she clasped the hand of her father Silas. + +"You won't be giving me away, father," she had said before they went to +church; "you'll only be taking Aaron to be a son to you." + +Dolly Winthrop walked behind with her husband; and there ended the +little bridal procession. + +There were many eyes to look at it, and Miss Priscilla Lammeter was +glad that she and her father had happened to drive up to the door of +the Red House just in time to see this pretty sight. They had come to +keep Nancy company to-day, because Mr. Cass had had to go away to +Lytherley, for special reasons. That seemed to be a pity, for +otherwise he might have gone, as Mr. Crackenthorp and Mr. Osgood +certainly would, to look on at the wedding-feast which he had ordered +at the Rainbow, naturally feeling a great interest in the weaver who +had been wronged by one of his own family. + +"I could ha' wished Nancy had had the luck to find a child like that +and bring her up," said Priscilla to her father, as they sat in the +gig; "I should ha' had something young to think of then, besides the +lambs and the calves." + +"Yes, my dear, yes," said Mr. Lammeter; "one feels that as one gets +older. Things look dim to old folks: they'd need have some young eyes +about 'em, to let 'em know the world's the same as it used to be." + +Nancy came out now to welcome her father and sister; and the wedding +group had passed on beyond the Red House to the humbler part of the +village. + +Dolly Winthrop was the first to divine that old Mr. Macey, who had been +set in his arm-chair outside his own door, would expect some special +notice as they passed, since he was too old to be at the wedding-feast. + +"Mr. Macey's looking for a word from us," said Dolly; "he'll be hurt if +we pass him and say nothing--and him so racked with rheumatiz." + +So they turned aside to shake hands with the old man. He had looked +forward to the occasion, and had his premeditated speech. + +"Well, Master Marner," he said, in a voice that quavered a good deal, +"I've lived to see my words come true. I was the first to say there +was no harm in you, though your looks might be again' you; and I was +the first to say you'd get your money back. And it's nothing but +rightful as you should. And I'd ha' said the "Amens", and willing, at +the holy matrimony; but Tookey's done it a good while now, and I hope +you'll have none the worse luck." + +In the open yard before the Rainbow the party of guests were already +assembled, though it was still nearly an hour before the appointed +feast time. But by this means they could not only enjoy the slow +advent of their pleasure; they had also ample leisure to talk of Silas +Marner's strange history, and arrive by due degrees at the conclusion +that he had brought a blessing on himself by acting like a father to a +lone motherless child. Even the farrier did not negative this +sentiment: on the contrary, he took it up as peculiarly his own, and +invited any hardy person present to contradict him. But he met with no +contradiction; and all differences among the company were merged in a +general agreement with Mr. Snell's sentiment, that when a man had +deserved his good luck, it was the part of his neighbours to wish him +joy. + +As the bridal group approached, a hearty cheer was raised in the +Rainbow yard; and Ben Winthrop, whose jokes had retained their +acceptable flavour, found it agreeable to turn in there and receive +congratulations; not requiring the proposed interval of quiet at the +Stone-pits before joining the company. + +Eppie had a larger garden than she had ever expected there now; and in +other ways there had been alterations at the expense of Mr. Cass, the +landlord, to suit Silas's larger family. For he and Eppie had declared +that they would rather stay at the Stone-pits than go to any new home. +The garden was fenced with stones on two sides, but in front there was +an open fence, through which the flowers shone with answering gladness, +as the four united people came within sight of them. + +"O father," said Eppie, "what a pretty home ours is! I think nobody +could be happier than we are." -- 2.34.1