Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was filled with her project of going toRosamond, and with the many thoughts, both of the past and theprobable future, which gathered round the idea of that visit. Untilyesterday when Lydgate had opened to her a glimpse of some trouble inhis married life, the image of Mrs. Lydgate had always been associatedfor her with that of Will Ladislaw. Even in her most uneasy moments—even when she had been agitated by Mrs. Cadwallader's painfully graphicreport of gossip—her effort, nay, her strongest impulsive prompting, hadbeen towards the vindication of Will from any sullying surmises; andwhen, in her meeting with him afterwards, she had at first interpretedhis words as a probable allusion to a feeling towards Mrs. Lydgate whichhe was determined to cut himself off from indulging, she had had aquick, sad, excusing vision of the charm there might be in his constantopportunities of companionship with that fair creature, who most likelyshared his other tastes as she evidently did his delight in music. Butthere had followed his parting words—the few passionate words inwhich he had implied that she herself was the object of whom his loveheld him in dread, that it was his love for her only which he wasresolved not to declare but to carry away into banishment. From the timeof that parting, Dorothea, believing in Will's love for her, believing with aproud delight in his delicate sense of honor and his determination thatno one should impeach him justly, felt her heart quite at rest as to theregard he might have for Mrs. Lydgate. She was sure that the regard wasblameless.
There are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious ofhaving a sort of baptism and consecration: they bind us over to rectitudeand purity by their pure belief about us; and our sins become that worstkind of sacrilege which tears down the invisible altar of trust. "If you arenot good, none is good"—those little words may give a terrific meaning toresponsibility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for remorse.
Dorothea's nature was of that kind: her own passionate faults layalong the easily counted open channels of her ardent character; andwhile she was full of pity for the visible mistakes of others, she had notyet any material within her experience for subtle constructions andsuspicions of hidden wrong. But that simplicity of hers, holding up anideal for others in her believing conception of them, was one of the greatpowers of her womanhood. And it had from the first acted strongly onWill Ladislaw. He felt, when he parted from her, that the brief words bywhich he had tried to convey to her his feeling about herself and thedivision which her fortune made between them, would only profit bytheir brevity when Dorothea had to interpret them: he felt that in hermind he had found his highest estimate.
And he was right there. In the months since their parting Dorotheahad felt a delicious though sad repose in their relation to each other, asone which was inwardly whole and without blemish. She had an activeforce of antagonism within her, when the antagonism turned on thedefence either of plans or persons that she believed in; and the wrongswhich she felt that Will had received from her husband, and the externalconditions which to others were grounds for slighting him, only gave themore tenacity to her affection and admiring judgment. And now with thedisclosures about Bulstrode had come another fact affecting Will's socialposition, which roused afresh Dorothea's inward resistance to what wassaid about him in that part of her world which lay within park palings.
"Young Ladislaw the grandson of a thieving Jew pawnbroker" was aphrase which had entered emphatically into the dialogues about theBulstrode business, at Lowick, Tipton, and Freshitt, and was a worsekind of placard on poor Will's back than the "Italian with white mice."Upright Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own satisfaction wasrighteous when he thought with some complacency that here was anadded league to that mountainous distance between Ladislaw andDorothea, which enabled him to dismiss any anxiety in that direction astoo absurd. And perhaps there had been some pleasure in pointing Mr.Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of Ladislaw's genealogy, as a freshcandle for him to see his own folly by. Dorothea had observed theanimus with which Will's part in the painful story had been recalled morethan once; but she had uttered no word, being checked now, as she hadnot been formerly in speaking of Will, by the consciousness of a deeperrelation between them which must always remain in consecrated secrecy.But her silence shrouded her resistant emotion into a more thoroughglow; and this misfortune in Will's lot which, it seemed, others werewishing to fling at his back as an opprobrium, only gave something moreof enthusiasm to her clinging thought.
She entertained no visions of their ever coming into nearer union,and yet she had taken no posture of renunciation. She had accepted herwhole relation to Will very simply as part of her marriage sorrows, andwould have thought it very sinful in her to keep up an inward wailbecause she was not completely happy, being rather disposed to dwell onthe superfluities of her lot. She could bear that the chief pleasures of hertenderness should lie in memory, and the idea of marriage came to hersolely as a repulsive proposition from some suitor of whom she atpresent knew nothing, but whose merits, as seen by her friends, wouldbe a source of torment to her:—"somebody who will manage yourproperty for you, my dear," was Mr. Brooke's attractive suggestion ofsuitable characteristics. "I should like to manage it myself, if I knew whatto do with it," said Dorothea. No—she adhered to her declaration thatshe would never be married again, and in the long valley of her lifewhich looked so flat and empty of waymarks, guidance would come asshe walked along the road, and saw her fellow-passengers by the way.
This habitual state of feeling about Will Ladislaw had been strong inall her waking hours since she had proposed to pay a visit to Mrs.Lydgate, making a sort of background against which she saw Rosamond'sfigure presented to her without hindrances to her interest andcompassion. There was evidently some mental separation, some barrierto complete confidence which had arisen between this wife and thehusband who had yet made her happiness a law to him. That was atrouble which no third person must directly touch. But Dorothea thoughtwith deep pity of the loneliness which must have come upon Rosamondfrom the suspicions cast on her husband; and there would surely be helpin the manifestation of respect for Lydgate and sympathy with her. "I shall talk to her about her husband," thought Dorothea, as she wasbeing driven towards the town. The clear spring morning, the scent ofthe moist earth, the fresh leaves just showing their creased-up wealth ofgreenery from out their half-opened sheaths, seemed part of thecheerfulness she was feeling from a long conversation with Mr.Farebrother, who had joyfully accepted the justifying explanation ofLydgate's conduct. "I shall take Mrs. Lydgate good news, and perhapsshe will like to talk to me and make a friend of me."
Dorothea had another errand in Lowick Gate: it was about a newfine-toned bell for the school-house, and as she had to get out of hercarriage very near to Lydgate's, she walked thither across the street,having told the coachman to wait for some packages. The street door wasopen, and the servant was taking the opportunity of looking out at thecarriage which was pausing within sight when it became apparent to herthat the lady who "belonged to it" was coming towards her.
"Is Mrs. Lydgate at home?" said Dorothea.
"I'm not sure, my lady; I'll see, if you'll please to walk in," saidMartha, a little confused on the score of her kitchen apron, but collectedenough to be sure that "mum" was not the right title for this queenlyyoung widow with a carriage and pair. "Will you please to walk in, andI'll go and see."
"Say that I am Mrs. Casaubon," said Dorothea, as Martha movedforward intending to show her into the drawing-room and then to go up-stairs to see if Rosamond had returned from her walk.
They crossed the broader part of the entrance-hall, and turned up thepassage which led to the garden. The drawing-room door was unlatched,and Martha, pushing it without looking into the room, waited for Mrs.Casaubon to enter and then turned away, the door having swung openand swung back again without noise.
Dorothea had less of outward vision than usual this morning, beingfilled with images of things as they had been and were going to be. Shefound herself on the other side of the door without seeing anythingremarkable, but immediately she heard a voice speaking in low toneswhich startled her as with a sense of dreaming in daylight, andadvancing unconsciously a step or two beyond the projecting slab of abookcase, she saw, in the terrible illumination of a certainty which filledup all outlines, something which made her pause, motionless, withoutself-possession enough to speak.
Seated with his back towards her on a sofa which stood against thewall on a line with the door by which she had entered, she saw WillLadislaw: close by him and turned towards him with a flushedtearfulness which gave a new brilliancy to her face sat Rosamond, herbonnet hanging back, while Will leaning towards her clasped both herupraised hands in his and spoke with low-toned fervor.
Rosamond in her agitated absorption had not noticed the silentlyadvancing figure; but when Dorothea, after the first immeasurableinstant of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herselfimpeded by some piece of furniture, Rosamond was suddenly aware ofher presence, and with a spasmodic movement snatched away her handsand rose, looking at Dorothea who was necessarily arrested. WillLadislaw, starting up, looked round also, and meeting Dorothea's eyeswith a new lightning in them, seemed changing to marble: But sheimmediately turned them away from him to Rosamond and said in a firmvoice—
"Excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate, the servant did not know that you werehere. I called to deliver an important letter for Mr. Lydgate, which Iwished to put into your own hands."
She laid down the letter on the small table which had checked herretreat, and then including Rosamond and Will in one distant glance andbow, she went quickly out of the room, meeting in the passage thesurprised Martha, who said she was sorry the mistress was not at home,and then showed the strange lady out with an inward reflection thatgrand people were probably more impatient than others.
Dorothea walked across the street with her most elastic step and wasquickly in her carriage again.
"Drive on to Freshitt Hall," she said to the coachman, and any onelooking at her might have thought that though she was paler than usualshe was never animated by a more self-possessed energy. And that wasreally her experience. It was as if she had drunk a great draught of scornthat stimulated her beyond the susceptibility to other feelings. She hadseen something so far below her belief, that her emotions rushed backfrom it and made an excited throng without an object. She neededsomething active to turn her excitement out upon. She felt power to walkand work for a day, without meat or drink. And she would carry out thepurpose with which she had started in the morning, of going to Freshittand Tipton to tell Sir James and her uncle all that she wished them toknow about Lydgate, whose married loneliness under his trial nowpresented itself to her with new significance, and made her more ardentin readiness to be his champion. She had never felt anything like thistriumphant power of indignation in the struggle of her married life, inwhich there had always been a quickly subduing pang; and she took it asa sign of new strength.
"Dodo, how very bright your eyes are!" said Celia, when Sir Jameswas gone out of the room. "And you don't see anything you look at,Arthur or anything. You are going to do something uncomfortable, Iknow. Is it all about Mr. Lydgate, or has something else happened?"Celia had been used to watch her sister with expectation.
"Yes, dear, a great many things have happened," said Dodo, in herfull tones.
"I wonder what," said Celia, folding her arms cozily and leaningforward upon them.
"Oh, all the troubles of all people on the face of the earth," saidDorothea, lifting her arms to the back of her head.
"Dear me, Dodo, are you going to have a scheme for them?" saidCelia, a little uneasy at this Hamlet-like raving.
But Sir James came in again, ready to accompany Dorothea to theGrange, and she finished her expedition well, not swerving in herresolution until she descended at her own door.
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
"Would it were yesterday and I i' the grave,
With her sweet faith above for monument"
Rosamond and Will stood motionless—they did not know how long—he looking towards the spot where Dorothea had stood, and she lookingtowards him with doubt. It seemed an endless time to Rosamond, inwhose inmost soul there was hardly so much annoyance as gratificationfrom what had just happened. Shallow natures dream of an easy swayover the emotions of others, trusting implicitly in their own petty magicto turn the deepest streams, and confident, by pretty gestures andremarks, of making the thing that is not as though it were. She knewthat Will had received a severe blow, but she had been little used toimagining other people's states of mind except as a material cut intoshape by her own wishes; and she believed in her own power to sootheor subdue. Even Tertius, that most perverse of men, was always subduedin the long-run: events had been obstinate, but still Rosamond wouldhave said now, as she did before her marriage, that she never gave upwhat she had set her mind on.
She put out her arm and laid the tips of her fingers on Will's coat-sleeve.
"Don't touch me!" he said, with an utterance like the cut of a lash,darting from her, and changing from pink to white and back again, as ifhis whole frame were tingling with the pain of the sting. He wheeledround to the other side of the room and stood opposite to her, with thetips of his fingers in his pockets and his head thrown back, lookingfiercely not at Rosamond but at a point a few inches away from her.
She was keenly offended, but the Signs she made of this were suchas only Lydgate was used to interpret. She became suddenly quiet andseated herself, untying her hanging bonnet and laying it down with hershawl. Her little hands which she folded before her were very cold.
It would have been safer for Will in the first instance to have takenup his hat and gone away; but he had felt no impulse to do this; on thecontrary, he had a horrible inclination to stay and shatter Rosamondwith his anger. It seemed as impossible to bear the fatality she haddrawn down on him without venting his fury as it would be to a pantherto bear the javelin-wound without springing and biting. And yet—howcould he tell a woman that he was ready to curse her? He was fumingunder a repressive law which he was forced to acknowledge: he wasdangerously poised, and Rosamond's voice now brought the decisivevibration. In flute-like tones of sarcasm she said—
