Daniel Deronda George Eliot (best book clubs TXT) đ
- Author: George Eliot
Book online «Daniel Deronda George Eliot (best book clubs TXT) đ». Author George Eliot
This sort of passion had nested in the sweet-natured, strong Rex, and he had made up his mind to its companionship, as if it had been an object supremely dear, stricken dumb and helpless, and turning all the future of tenderness into a shadow of the past. But he had also made up his mind that his life was not to be pauperized because he had had to renounce one sort of joy; rather, he had begun life again with a new counting-up of the treasures that remained to him, and he had even felt a release of power such as may come from ceasing to be afraid of your own neck.
And now, here he was pacing the shrubbery, angry with himself that the sense of irrevocableness in his lot, which ought in reason to have been as strong as ever, had been shaken by a change of circumstances that could make no change in relation to him. He told himself the truth quite roughly,
âShe would never love me; and that is not the questionâ âI could never approach her as a lover in her present position. I am exactly of no consequence at all, and am not likely to be of much consequence till my head is turning gray. But what has that to do with it? She would not have me on any terms, and I would not ask her. It is a meanness to be thinking about it nowâ âno better than lurking about the battlefield to strip the dead; but there never was more gratuitous sinning. I have nothing to gain thereâ âabsolutely nothing. Then why canât I face the facts, and behave as they demand, instead of leaving my father to suppose that there are matters he canât speak to me about, though I might be useful in them?â
The last thought made one wave with the impulse that sent Rex walking firmly into the house and through the open door of the study, where he saw his father packing a traveling-desk.
âCan I be of any use, sir?â said Rex, with rallied courage, as his father looked up at him.
âYes, my boy; when Iâm gone, just see to my letters, and answer where necessary, and send me word of everything. Dymock will manage the parish very well, and you will stay with your mother, or, at least, go up and down again, till I come back, whenever that may be.â
âYou will hardly be very long, sir, I suppose,â said Rex, beginning to strap a railway rug. âYou will perhaps bring my cousin back to England?â He forced himself to speak of Gwendolen for the first time, and the rector noticed the epoch with satisfaction.
âThat depends,â he answered, taking the subject as a matter-of-course between them. âPerhaps her mother may stay there with her, and I may come back very soon. This telegram leaves us in ignorance which is rather anxious. But no doubt the arrangements of the will lately made are satisfactory, and there may possibly be an heir yet to be born. In any case, I feel confident that Gwendolen will be liberallyâ âI should expect, splendidlyâ âprovided for.â
âIt must have been a great shock for her,â said Rex, getting more resolute after the first twinge had been borne. âI suppose he was a devoted husband.â
âNo doubt of it,â said the rector, in his most decided manner. âFew men of his position would have come forward as he did under the circumstances.â
Rex had never seen Grandcourt, had never been spoken to about him by anyone of the family, and knew nothing of Gwendolenâs flight from her suitor to Leubronn. He only knew that Grandcourt, being very much in love with her, had made her an offer in the first weeks of her sudden poverty, and had behaved very handsomely in providing for her mother and sisters. That was all very natural and what Rex himself would have liked to do. Grandcourt had been a lucky fellow, and had had some happiness before he got drowned. Yet Rex wondered much whether Gwendolen had been in love with the successful suitor, or had only forborne to tell him that she hated being made love to.
LIXI count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends.
Sir Hugo Mallinger was not so prompt in starting for Genoa as Mr. Gascoigne had been, and Deronda on all accounts would not take his departure until he had seen the baronet. There was not only Grandcourtâs death, but also the late crisis in his own life to make reasons why his oldest friend would desire to have the unrestrained communication of speech with him, for in writing he had not felt able to give any details concerning the mother who had come and gone like an apparition. It was not till the fifth evening that Deronda, according to telegram, waited for Sir Hugo at the station, where he was to arrive between eight and nine; and while he was looking forward to the sight of the kind, familiar face, which was part of his earliest memories, something like a smile, in spite of his late tragic experience, might have been detected in his eyes and the curve of his lips at the
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