The Mill on the Floss George Eliot (ereader android .txt) đ
- Author: George Eliot
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âWe shall not be together; we shall have parted.â
The blood rushed to Stephenâs face.
âWe shall not,â he said. âIâll die first.â
It was as he had dreadedâ âthere was a struggle coming. But neither of them dared to say another word till the boat was let down, and they were taken to the landing-place. Here there was a cluster of gazers and passengers awaiting the departure of the steamboat to St. Oggâs. Maggie had a dim sense, when she had landed, and Stephen was hurrying her along on his arm, that someone had advanced toward her from that cluster as if he were coming to speak to her. But she was hurried along, and was indifferent to everything but the coming trial.
A porter guided them to the nearest inn and posting-house, and Stephen gave the order for the chaise as they passed through the yard. Maggie took no notice of this, and only said, âAsk them to show us into a room where we can sit down.â
When they entered, Maggie did not sit down, and Stephen, whose face had a desperate determination in it, was about to ring the bell, when she said, in a firm voiceâ â
âIâm not going; we must part here.â
âMaggie,â he said, turning round toward her, and speaking in the tones of a man who feels a process of torture beginning, âdo you mean to kill me? What is the use of it now? The whole thing is done.â
âNo, it is not done,â said Maggie. âToo much is doneâ âmore than we can ever remove the trace of. But I will go no farther. Donât try to prevail with me again. I couldnât choose yesterday.â
What was he to do? He dared not go near her; her anger might leap out, and make a new barrier. He walked backward and forward in maddening perplexity.
âMaggie,â he said at last, pausing before her, and speaking in a tone of imploring wretchedness, âhave some pityâ âhear meâ âforgive me for what I did yesterday. I will obey you now; I will do nothing without your full consent. But donât blight our lives forever by a rash perversity that can answer no good purpose to anyone, that can only create new evils. Sit down, dearest; waitâ âthink what you are going to do. Donât treat me as if you couldnât trust me.â
He had chosen the most effective appeal; but Maggieâs will was fixed unswervingly on the coming wrench. She had made up her mind to suffer.
âWe must not wait,â she said, in a low but distinct voice; âwe must part at once.â
âWe canât part, Maggie,â said Stephen, more impetuously. âI canât bear it. What is the use of inflicting that misery on me? The blowâ âwhatever it may have beenâ âhas been struck now. Will it help anyone else that you should drive me mad?â
âI will not begin any future, even for you,â said Maggie, tremulously, âwith a deliberate consent to what ought not to have been. What I told you at Basset I feel now; I would rather have died than fall into this temptation. It would have been better if we had parted forever then. But we must part now.â
âWe will not part,â Stephen burst out, instinctively placing his back against the door, forgetting everything he had said a few moments before; âI will not endure it. Youâll make me desperate; I shanât know what I do.â
Maggie trembled. She felt that the parting could not be effected suddenly. She must rely on a slower appeal to Stephenâs better self; she must be prepared for a harder task than that of rushing away while resolution was fresh. She sat down. Stephen, watching her with that look of desperation which had come over him like a lurid light, approached slowly from the door, seated himself close beside her, and grasped her hand. Her heart beat like the heart of a frightened bird; but this direct opposition helped her. She felt her determination growing stronger.
âRemember what you felt weeks ago,â she began, with beseeching earnestness; âremember what we both feltâ âthat we owed ourselves to others, and must conquer every inclination which could make us false to that debt. We have failed to keep our resolutions; but the wrong remains the same.â
âNo, it does not remain the same,â said Stephen. âWe have proved that it was impossible to keep our resolutions. We have proved that the feeling which draws us toward each other is too strong to be overcome. That natural law surmounts every other; we canât help what it clashes with.â
âIt is not so, Stephen; Iâm quite sure that is wrong. I have tried to think it again and again; but I see, if we judged in that way, there would be a warrant for all treachery and cruelty; we should justify breaking the most sacred ties that can ever be formed on earth. If the past is not to bind us, where can duty lie? We should have no law but the inclination of the moment.â
âBut there are ties that canât be kept by mere resolution,â said Stephen, starting up and walking about again. âWhat is outward faithfulness? Would they have thanked us for anything so hollow as constancy without love?â
Maggie did not answer immediately. She was undergoing an inward as well as an outward contest. At last she said, with a passionate assertion of her conviction, as much against herself as against himâ â
âThat seems rightâ âat first; but when I look further, Iâm sure it is not right. Faithfulness and constancy mean something else besides doing what is easiest and pleasantest to ourselves. They mean renouncing whatever is opposed to the reliance others have in usâ âwhatever would cause misery to those whom the course of our lives has made dependent on us. If weâ âif I had been better, nobler, those claims would have been so strongly present with meâ âI should have felt them pressing on my heart so continually,
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