were too young to know its meaning. I would not have accepted
the position if I had not meant to make it useful and honorable.
I am not bound to regard family
dignity in any other light."
Dorothea felt
wretched. She thought her husband altogether
in the wrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned.
"It is better for us not to speak on the subject," she said,
with a tremulousness not common in her voice, "since you and
Mr. Casaubon
disagree. You intend to remain?" She was looking
out on the lawn, with
melancholy meditation.
"Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now," said Will, in a tone
of almost
boyish complaint.
"No," said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, "hardly ever.
But I shall hear of you. I shall know what you are doing for
my uncle."
"I shall know hardly anything about you," said Will. "No one
will tell me anything."
"Oh, my life is very simple," said Dorothea, her lips curling
with an
exquisite smile, which irradiated her
melancholy.
"I am always at Lowick."
"That is a
dreadful imprisonment," said Will, impetuously.
"No, don't think that," said Dorothea. "I have no longings."
He did not speak, but she replied to some change in his expression.
"I mean, for myself. Except that I should like not to have so much
more than my share without doing anything for others. But I have
a
belief of my own, and it comforts me."
"What is that?" said Will, rather
jealous of the
belief.
"That by desiring what is
perfectly good, even when we don't
quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part
of the
divine power against evil--widening the skirts of light
and making the struggle with darkness narrower."
"That is a beautiful mysticism--it is a--"
"Please not to call it by any name," said Dorothea, putting out
her hands entreatingly. "You will say it is Persian, or something
else
geographical. It is my life. I have found it out, and cannot
part with it. I have always been
finding out my religion since I
was a little girl. I used to pray so much--now I hardly ever pray.
I try not to have desires merely for myself, because they may not
be good for others, and I have too much already. I only told you,
that you might know quite well how my days go at Lowick."
"God bless you for telling me!" said Will,
ardently, and rather
wondering at himself. They were looking at each other like two
fond children who were talking
confidentially of birds.
"What is YOUR religion?" said Dorothea. "I mean--not what you
know about religion, but the
belief that helps you most?"
"To love what is good and beautiful when I see it," said Will.
"But I am a rebel: I don't feel bound, as you do, to
submit to what I
don't like."
"But if you like what is good, that comes to the same thing,"
said Dorothea, smiling.
"Now you are subtle," said Will.
"Yes; Mr. Casaubon often says I am too subtle. I don't feel as if I
were subtle," said Dorothea, playfully. "But how long my uncle is!
I must go and look for him. I must really go on to the Hall.
Celia is expecting me."
Will offered to tell Mr. Brooke, who
presently came and said
that he would step into the
carriage and go with Dorothea as far
as Dagley's, to speak about the small delinquent who had been caught
with the Ieveret. Dorothea renewed the subject of the estate
as they drove along, but Mr. Brooke, not being taken unawares,
got the talk under his own control.
"Chettam, now," he replied; "he finds fault with me, my dear;
but I should not
preserve my game if it were not for Chettam,
and he can't say that that expense is for the sake of the tenants,
you know. It's a little against my feeling:--poaching, now, if you
come to look into it--I have often thought of getting up the subject.
Not long ago, Flavell, the Methodist
preacher, was brought up for
knocking down a hare that came across his path when he and his wife
were walking out together. He was pretty quick, and knocked it on
the neck."
"That was very
brutal, I think," said Dorothea
"Well, now, it seemed rather black to me, I
confess, in a