The quick vision that his life was after all a failure, that he was adishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towardswhom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that Godhad disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphantscorn of those who were glad to have their hatred justified—the sense ofutter futility in that equivocation with his conscience in dealing with thelife of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomouslyupon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie:—all this rushedthrough him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves theears still open to the returning wave of execration. The sudden sense ofexposure after the re-established sense of safety came—not to the coarseorganization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whoseintensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditionsof his life had shaped for him.
But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction. Through all hisbodily infirmity there ran a tenacious nerve of ambitious self-preservingwill, which had continually leaped out like a flame, scattering alldoctrinal fears, and which, even while he sat an object of compassion forthe merciful, was beginning to stir and glow under his ashy paleness.Before the last words were out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode feltthat he should answer, and that his answer would be a retort. He darednot get up and say, "I am not guilty, the whole story is false"—even if hehad dared this, it would have seemed to him, under his present keensense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frailrag which would rend at every little strain.
For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in theroom was looking at Bulstrode. He sat perfectly still, leaning hard againstthe back of his chair; he could not venture to rise, and when he began tospeak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. But hisvoice was perfectly audible, though hoarser than usual, and his wordswere distinctly pronounced, though he paused between sentence as ifshort of breath. He said, turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, and thenlooking at Mr. Hawley—
"I protest before you, sir, as a Christian minister, against thesanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulenthatred. Those who are hostile to me are glad to believe any libel utteredby a loose tongue against me. And their consciences become strictagainst me. Say that the evil-speaking of which I am to be made thevictim accuses me of malpractices—" here Bulstrode's voice rose and tookon a more biting accent, till it seemed a low cry—"who shall be myaccuser? Not men whose own lives are unchristian, nay, scandalous—notmen who themselves use low instruments to carry out their ends—whoseprofession is a tissue of chicanery—who have been spending their incomeon their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine toadvance the best objects with regard to this life and the next."
After the word chicanery there was a growing noise, half of murmursand half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley,Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Hawley's outburstwas instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence.
"If you mean me, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspectionof my professional life. As to Christian or unchristian, I repudiate yourcanting palavering Christianity; and as to the way in which I spend myincome, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and cheat offspring oftheir due inheritance in order to support religion and set myself up as asaintly Killjoy. I affect no niceness of conscience—I have not found anynice standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir. And I againcall upon you to enter into satisfactory explanations concerning thescandals against you, or else to withdraw from posts in which we at anyrate decline you as a colleague. I say, sir, we decline to co-operate with aman whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it,not only by reports but by recent actions."
"Allow me, Mr. Hawley," said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley, stillfuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrustdeep in his pockets.
"Mr. Bulstrode, it is not desirable, I think, to prolong the presentdiscussion," said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; "Imust so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expressionof a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession thatyou should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions. I for mypart should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing. But Imust say that your present attitude is painfully inconsistent with thoseprinciples which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for thehonor of which I am bound to care. I recommend you at present, as yourclergyman, and one who hopes for your reinstatement in respect, to quitthe room, and avoid further hindrance to business."
Bulstrode, after a moment's hesitation, took his hat from the floorand slowly rose, but he grasped the corner of the chair so totteringly thatLydgate felt sure there was not strength enough in him to walk awaywithout support. What could he do? He could not see a man sink close tohim for want of help. He rose and gave his arm to Bulstrode, and in thatway led him out of the room; yet this act, which might have been one ofgentle duty and pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably bitterto him. It seemed as if he were putting his sign-manual to thatassociation of himself with Bulstrode, of which he now saw the fullmeaning as it must have presented itself to other minds. He now felt theconviction that this man who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, hadgiven him the thousand pounds as a bribe, and that somehow thetreatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil motive. Theinferences were closely linked enough; the town knew of the loan,believed it to be a bribe, and believed that he took it as a bribe.
Poor Lydgate, his mind struggling under the terrible clutch of thisrevelation, was all the while morally forced to take Mr. Bulstrode to theBank, send a man off for his carriage, and wait to accompany him home.
Meanwhile the business of the meeting was despatched, and fringedoff into eager discussion among various groups concerning this affair ofBulstrode—and Lydgate.
Mr. Brooke, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, andwas very uneasy that he had "gone a little too far" in countenancingBulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolentsadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in whichLydgate had come to be regarded. Mr. Farebrother was going to walkback to Lowick.
"Step into my carriage," said Mr. Brooke. "I am going round to seeMrs. Casaubon. She was to come back from Yorkshire last night. She willlike to see me, you know."
So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-natured hopethat there had not really been anything black in Lydgate's behavior—ayoung fellow whom he had seen to be quite above the common mark,when he brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. Mr. Farebrothersaid little: he was deeply mournful: with a keen perception of humanweakness, he could not be confident that under the pressure ofhumiliating needs Lydgate had not fallen below himself.
When the carriage drove up to the gate of the Manor, Dorothea wasout on the gravel, and came to greet them.
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have just come from ameeting—a sanitary meeting, you know."
"Was Mr. Lydgate there?" said Dorothea, who looked full of healthand animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming Aprillights. "I want to see him and have a great consultation with him aboutthe Hospital. I have engaged with Mr. Bulstrode to do so."
"Oh, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, "we have been hearing bad news—bad news, you know."
They walked through the garden towards the churchyard gate, Mr.Farebrother wanting to go on to the parsonage; and Dorothea heard thewhole sad story.
She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear twice over thefacts and impressions concerning Lydgate. After a short silence, pausingat the churchyard gate, and addressing Mr. Farebrother, she saidenergetically—
"You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of anything base? I willnot believe it. Let us find out the truth and clear him!"
BOOK VIII. SUNSET AND SUNRISE.
CHAPTER LXXII.
Full souls are double mirrors, making still
An endless vista of fair things before,
Repeating things behind.
Dorothea's impetuous generosity, which would have leaped at onceto the vindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of having acceptedmoney as a bribe, underwent a melancholy check when she came toconsider all the circumstances of the case by the light of Mr.Farebrother's experience.
"It is a delicate matter to touch," he said. "How can we begin toinquire into it? It must be either publicly by setting the magistrate andcoroner to work, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As to the firstproceeding there is no solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would haveadopted it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess I shouldshrink from it. He would probably take it as a deadly insult. I have morethan once experienced the difficulty of speaking to him on personalmatters. And—one should know the truth about his conduct beforehand,to feel very confident of a good result."
"I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty: I believe thatpeople are almost always better than their neighbors think they are," saidDorothea. Some of her intensest experience in the last two years had sether mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction ofothers; and for the first time she felt rather discontented with Mr.Farebrother. She disliked this cautious weighing of consequences, insteadof an ardent faith in efforts of justice and mercy, which would conquerby their emotional force. Two days afterwards, he was dining at theManor with her uncle and the Chettams, and when the dessert wasstanding uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mr. Brookewas nodding in a nap, she returned to the subject with renewed vivacity.
"Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a calumnyabout him their first wish must be to justify him. What do we live for, ifit is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be indifferentto the troubles of a man who advised me in my trouble, and attended mein my illness."
Dorothea's tone and manner were not more energetic than they hadbeen when she was at the head of her uncle's table nearly three yearsbefore, and her experience since had given her more right to express adecided opinion. But Sir James Chettam was no longer the diffident andacquiescent suitor: he was the anxious brother-in-law, with a devoutadmiration for his sister, but with a constant alarm lest she should fallunder some new illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. He smiledmuch less; when he said "Exactly" it was more often an introduction to adissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelor days; andDorothea found to her surprise that she had to resolve not to be afraid ofhim—all the more because he was really her best friend. He disagreedwith her now.
"But, Dorothea," he said, remonstrantly, "you can't undertake tomanage a man's life for him in that way. Lydgate must know—at least hewill soon come to know how he stands. If he can clear himself, he will.He must act for himself."
"I think his friends must wait till they find an opportunity," addedMr. Farebrother. "It is possible—I have often felt so much weakness inmyself that I can conceive even a man of honorable disposition, such as Ihave always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a temptation asthat of accepting money which was offered more or less indirectly as abribe to insure his silence about scandalous facts long gone by. I say, Ican conceive this, if he were under the pressure of hard circumstances—if he had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has been. I would notbelieve anything worse of him except under stringent proof. But there isthe terrible Nemesis following on some errors, that it is always possiblefor those who like it to interpret them into a crime: there is no proof infavor of the man outside his own consciousness and assertion."
"Oh, how cruel!" said Dorothea, clasping her hands. "And would younot like to be the one person who believed in that man's innocence, if therest of the world belied him? Besides, there is a man's characterbeforehand to speak for him."
"But, my dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling gentlyat her ardor, "character is not cut in marble—it is not something solidand unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may becomediseased as our bodies do."
"Then it may be rescued and healed," said Dorothea "I should not beafraid of asking Mr. Lydgate to tell me the truth, that I might help him.Why should I be afraid? Now that I am not to have the land, James, Imight do as Mr. Bulstrode proposed, and take his place in providing forthe Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to know thoroughlywhat are the prospects of doing good by keeping up the present plans.There is the best opportunity in the world for me to ask for hisconfidence; and he would be able to tell me things which might make allthe circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by him and bring himout of his trouble. People glorify all sorts of bravery except the braverythey might show on behalf of their nearest neighbors." Dorothea's eyeshad a moist brightness in them, and the changed tones of her voiceroused her uncle, who began to listen.
"It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of sympathywhich would hardly succeed if we men undertook them," said Mr.Farebrother, almost converted by Dorothea's ardor.
"Surely, a woman is bound to be cautious and listen to those whoknow the world better than she does." said Sir James, with his littlefrown. "Whatever you do in the end, Dorothea, you should really keepback at present, and not volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrodebusiness. We don't know yet what may turn up. You must agree withme?" he ended, looking at Mr. Farebrother.
"I do think it would be better to wait," said the latter.
"Yes, yes, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, not quite knowing at whatpoint the discussion had arrived, but coming up to it with a contributionwhich was generally appropriate. "It is easy to go too far, you know. Youmust not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in a hurry toput money into schemes—it won't do, you know. Garth has drawn me inuncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing: I'm uncommonlyout of pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up. As for you,Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak fences round yourdemesne."
