And now, since her conversation with Will, many fresh images hadgathered round that Aunt Julia who was Will's grandmother; the presenceof that delicate miniature, so like a living face that she knew, helping toconcentrate her feelings. What a wrong, to cut off the girl from thefamily protection and inheritance only because she had chosen a manwho was poor! Dorothea, early troubling her elders with questions aboutthe facts around her, had wrought herself into some independentclearness as to the historical, political reasons why eldest sons hadsuperior rights, and why land should be entailed: those reasons,impressing her with a certain awe, might be weightier than she knew,but here was a question of ties which left them uninfringed. Here was adaughter whose child—even according to the ordinary aping ofaristocratic institutions by people who are no more aristocratic thanretired grocers, and who have no more land to "keep together" than alawn and a paddock—would have a prior claim. Was inheritance aquestion of liking or of responsibility? All the energy of Dorothea'snature went on the side of responsibility—the fulfilment of claimsfounded on our own deeds, such as marriage and parentage.
It was true, she said to herself, that Mr. Casaubon had a debt to theLadislaws—that he had to pay back what the Ladislaws had beenwronged of. And now she began to think of her husband's will, whichhad been made at the time of their marriage, leaving the bulk of hisproperty to her, with proviso in case of her having children. That oughtto be altered; and no time ought to be lost. This very question which hadjust arisen about Will Ladislaw's occupation, was the occasion for placingthings on a new, right footing. Her husband, she felt sure, according toall his previous conduct, would be ready to take the just view, if sheproposed it—she, in whose interest an unfair concentration of theproperty had been urged. His sense of right had surmounted and wouldcontinue to surmount anything that might be called antipathy. Shesuspected that her uncle's scheme was disapproved by Mr. Casaubon,and this made it seem all the more opportune that a fresh understandingshould be begun, so that instead of Will's starting penniless andaccepting the first function that offered itself, he should find himself inpossession of a rightful income which should be paid by her husbandduring his life, and, by an immediate alteration of the will, should besecured at his death. The vision of all this as what ought to be doneseemed to Dorothea like a sudden letting in of daylight, waking her fromher previous stupidity and incurious self-absorbed ignorance about herhusband's relation to others. Will Ladislaw had refused Mr. Casaubon'sfuture aid on a ground that no longer appeared right to her; and Mr.Casaubon had never himself seen fully what was the claim upon him."But he will!" said Dorothea. "The great strength of his character lieshere. And what are we doing with our money? We make no use of half ofour income. My own money buys me nothing but an uneasy conscience."
There was a peculiar fascination for Dorothea in this division ofproperty intended for herself, and always regarded by her as excessive.She was blind, you see, to many things obvious to others—likely to treadin the wrong places, as Celia had warned her; yet her blindness towhatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried her safely by theside of precipices where vision would have been perilous with fear.
The thoughts which had gathered vividness in the solitude of herboudoir occupied her incessantly through the day on which Mr.Casaubon had sent his letter to Will. Everything seemed hindrance to hertill she could find an opportunity of opening her heart to her husband.To his preoccupied mind all subjects were to be approached gently, andshe had never since his illness lost from her consciousness the dread ofagitating him. Bat when young ardor is set brooding over the conceptionof a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with independentlife, mastering ideal obstacles. The day passed in a sombre fashion, notunusual, though Mr. Casaubon was perhaps unusually silent; but therewere hours of the night which might be counted on as opportunities ofconversation; for Dorothea, when aware of her husband's sleeplessness,had established a habit of rising, lighting a candle, and reading him tosleep again. And this night she was from the beginning sleepless, excitedby resolves. He slept as usual for a few hours, but she had risen softlyand had sat in the darkness for nearly an hour before he said—
"Dorothea, since you are up, will you light a candle?"
"Do you feel ill, dear?" was her first question, as she obeyed him.
"No, not at all; but I shall be obliged, since you are up, if you willread me a few pages of Lowth."
"May I talk to you a little instead?" said Dorothea.
"Certainly."
"I have been thinking about money all day—that I have always hadtoo much, and especially the prospect of too much."
"These, my dear Dorothea, are providential arrangements."
"But if one has too much in consequence of others being wronged, itseems to me that the divine voice which tells us to set that wrong rightmust be obeyed."
"What, my love, is the bearing of your remark?"
"That you have been too liberal in arrangements for me—I mean,with regard to property; and that makes me unhappy."
"How so? I have none but comparatively distant connections."
"I have been led to think about your aunt Julia, and how she was leftin poverty only because she married a poor man, an act which was notdisgraceful, since he was not unworthy. It was on that ground, I know,that you educated Mr. Ladislaw and provided for his mother."
Dorothea waited a few moments for some answer that would helpher onward. None came, and her next words seemed the more forcible toher, falling clear upon the dark silence.
"But surely we should regard his claim as a much greater one, evento the half of that property which I know that you have destined for me.And I think he ought at once to be provided for on that understanding. Itis not right that he should be in the dependence of poverty while we arerich. And if there is any objection to the proposal he mentioned, thegiving him his true place and his true share would set aside any motivefor his accepting it."
"Mr. Ladislaw has probably been speaking to you on this subject?"said Mr. Casaubon, with a certain biting quickness not habitual to him.
"Indeed, no!" said Dorothea, earnestly. "How can you imagine it,since he has so lately declined everything from you? I fear you think toohardly of him, dear. He only told me a little about his parents andgrandparents, and almost all in answer to my questions. You are sogood, so just—you have done everything you thought to be right. But itseems to me clear that more than that is right; and I must speak about it,since I am the person who would get what is called benefit by that 'more'not being done."
There was a perceptible pause before Mr. Casaubon replied, notquickly as before, but with a still more biting emphasis.
"Dorothea, my love, this is not the first occasion, but it were wellthat it should be the last, on which you have assumed a judgment onsubjects beyond your scope. Into the question how far conduct,especially in the matter of alliances, constitutes a forfeiture of familyclaims, I do not now enter. Suffice it, that you are not here qualified todiscriminate. What I now wish you to understand is, that I accept norevision, still less dictation within that range of affairs which I havedeliberated upon as distinctly and properly mine. It is not for you tointerfere between me and Mr. Ladislaw, and still less to encouragecommunications from him to you which constitute a criticism on myprocedure."
Poor Dorothea, shrouded in the darkness, was in a tumult ofconflicting emotions. Alarm at the possible effect on himself of herhusband's strongly manifested anger, would have checked any expressionof her own resentment, even if she had been quite free from doubt andcompunction under the consciousness that there might be some justice inhis last insinuation. Hearing him breathe quickly after he had spoken,she sat listening, frightened, wretched—with a dumb inward cry for helpto bear this nightmare of a life in which every energy was arrested bydread. But nothing else happened, except that they both remained a longwhile sleepless, without speaking again.
The next day, Mr. Casaubon received the following answer from WillLadislaw:—
"DEAR MR. CASAUBON,—I have given all due consideration to
your letter of yesterday, but I am unable to take precisely your view of
our mutual position. With the fullest acknowledgment of your generous
conduct to me in the past, I must still maintain that an obligation of
this kind cannot fairly fetter me as you appear to expect that it should.
Granted that a benefactor's wishes may constitute a claim; there must
always be a reservation as to the quality of those wishes. They may
possibly clash with more imperative considerations. Or a benefactor's
veto might impose such a negation on a man's life that the consequent
blank might be more cruel than the benefaction was generous. I am
merely using strong illustrations. In the present case I am unable to
take your view of the bearing which my acceptance of occupation—not
enriching certainly, but not dishonorable—will have on your own
position which seems to me too substantial to be affected in that
shadowy manner. And though I do not believe that any change in our
relations will occur (certainly none has yet occurred) which can nullify
the obligations imposed on me by the past, pardon me for not seeing
that those obligations should restrain me from using the ordinary
freedom of living where I choose, and maintaining myself by any
lawful occupation I may choose. Regretting that there exists this
difference between us as to a relation in which the conferring of
benefits has been entirely on your side—
I remain, yours with persistent obligation,
WILL LADISLAW."
Poor Mr. Casaubon felt (and must not we, being impartial, feel withhim a little?) that no man had juster cause for disgust and suspicion thanhe. Young Ladislaw, he was sure, meant to defy and annoy him, meantto win Dorothea's confidence and sow her mind with disrespect, andperhaps aversion, towards her husband. Some motive beneath thesurface had been needed to account for Will's sudden change of inrejecting Mr. Casaubon's aid and quitting his travels; and this defiantdetermination to fix himself in the neighborhood by taking up somethingso much at variance with his former choice as Mr. Brooke's Middlemarchprojects, revealed clearly enough that the undeclared motive had relationto Dorothea. Not for one moment did Mr. Casaubon suspect Dorothea ofany doubleness: he had no suspicions of her, but he had (what was littleless uncomfortable) the positive knowledge that her tendency to formopinions about her husband's conduct was accompanied with adisposition to regard Will Ladislaw favorably and be influenced by whathe said. His own proud reticence had prevented him from ever beingundeceived in the supposition that Dorothea had originally asked heruncle to invite Will to his house.
And now, on receiving Will's letter, Mr. Casaubon had to considerhis duty. He would never have been easy to call his action anything elsethan duty; but in this case, contending motives thrust him back intonegations.
Should he apply directly to Mr. Brooke, and demand of thattroublesome gentleman to revoke his proposal? Or should he consult SirJames Chettam, and get him to concur in remonstrance against a stepwhich touched the whole family? In either case Mr. Casaubon was awarethat failure was just as probable as success. It was impossible for him tomention Dorothea's name in the matter, and without some alarmingurgency Mr. Brooke was as likely as not, after meeting allrepresentations with apparent assent, to wind up by saying, "Never fear,Casaubon! Depend upon it, young Ladislaw will do you credit. Dependupon it, I have put my finger on the right thing." And Mr. Casaubonshrank nervously from communicating on the subject with Sir JamesChettam, between whom and himself there had never been anycordiality, and who would immediately think of Dorothea without anymention of her.
Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybody's feeling towardshim, especially as a husband. To let any one suppose that he was jealouswould be to admit their (suspected) view of his disadvantages: to letthem know that he did not find marriage particularly blissful wouldimply his conversion to their (probably) earlier disapproval. It would beas bad as letting Carp, and Brasenose generally, know how backward hewas in organizing the matter for his "Key to all Mythologies." All throughhis life Mr. Casaubon had been trying not to admit even to himself theinward sores of self-doubt and jealousy. And on the most delicate of allpersonal subjects, the habit of proud suspicious reticence told doubly.
Thus Mr. Casaubon remained proudly, bitterly silent. But he hadforbidden Will to come to Lowick Manor, and he was mentally preparingother measures of frustration.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
"C'est beaucoup que le jugement des hommes sur les actions humaines;
tot ou tard il devient efficace."—GUIZOT.
Sir James Chettam could not look with any satisfaction on Mr.Brooke's new courses; but it was easier to object than to hinder. SirJames accounted for his having come in alone one day to lunch with theCadwalladers by saying—
"I can't talk to you as I want, before Celia: it might hurt her. Indeed,it would not be right."
"I know what you mean—the 'Pioneer' at the Grange!" darted in Mrs.Cadwallader, almost before the last word was off her friend's tongue. "Itis frightful—this taking to buying whistles and blowing them ineverybody's hearing. Lying in bed all day and playing at dominoes, likepoor Lord Plessy, would be more private and bearable."
"I see they are beginning to attack our friend Brooke in the'Trumpet,'" said the Rector, lounging back and smiling easily, as hewould have done if he had been attacked himself. "There are tremendoussarcasms against a landlord not a hundred miles from Middlemarch, whoreceives his own rents, and makes no returns."
