Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  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 once to thevindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of having accepted money as abribe, underwent a melancholy check when she came to consider all thecircumstances 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 magistrateand coroner to work, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As to thefirst proceeding there is no solid ground to go upon, else Hawley wouldhave adopted it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confessI should shrink from it. He would probably take it as a deadly insult.I have more than once experienced the difficulty of speaking to him onpersonal matters. And--one should know the truth about his conductbeforehand, 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,"said Dorothea. Some of her intensest experience in the last two yearshad set her mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable constructionof others; and for the first time she felt rather discontented with Mr.Farebrother. She disliked this cautious weighing of consequences,instead of an ardent faith in efforts of justice and mercy, which wouldconquer by their emotional force. Two days afterwards, he was diningat the Manor with her uncle and the Chettams, and when the dessert wasstanding uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mr. Brooke wasnodding in a nap, she returned to the subject with renewed vivacity.

  "Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a calumny abouthim 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 beindifferent to the troubles of a man who advised me in _my_ trouble,and attended me in my illness."

  Dorothea's tone and manner were not more energetic than they had beenwhen 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 shouldfall under some new illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. Hesmiled much less; when he said "Exactly" it was more often anintroduction to a dissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelordays; and Dorothea found to her surprise that she had to resolve not tobe afraid of him--all the more because he was really her best friend.He disagreed with her now.

  "But, Dorothea," he said, remonstrantly, "you can't undertake to managea man's life for him in that way. Lydgate must know--at least he willsoon come to know how he stands. If he can clear himself, he will. Hemust 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 weaknessin myself that I can conceive even a man of honorable disposition, suchas I have always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such atemptation as that of accepting money which was offered more or lessindirectly as a bribe to insure his silence about scandalous facts longgone by. I say, I can conceive this, if he were under the pressure ofhard circumstances--if he had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate hasbeen. I would not believe anything worse of him except under stringentproof. But there is the terrible Nemesis following on some errors,that it is always possible for those who like it to interpret them intoa crime: there is no proof in favor of the man outside his ownconsciousness and assertion."

  "Oh, how cruel!" said Dorothea, clasping her hands. "And would you notlike 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 gently ather 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 helphim. Why should I be afraid? Now that I am not to have the land,James, I might do as Mr. Bulstrode proposed, and take his place inproviding for the Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to knowthoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping up thepresent plans. There is the best opportunity in the world for me toask for his confidence; and he would be able to tell me things whichmight make all the circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by himand bring him out of his trouble. People glorify all sorts of braveryexcept the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearestneighbors." Dorothea's eyes had a moist brightness in them, and thechanged tones of her voice roused her uncle, who began to listen.

  "It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of sympathy whichwould 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 who knowthe 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 what pointthe discussion had arrived, but coming up to it with a contributionwhich was generally appropriate. "It is easy to go too far, you know.You must not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in ahurry to put money into schemes--it won't do, you know. Garth hasdrawn me in uncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing: I'muncommonly out of pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up.As for you, Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak fencesround your demesne."

  Dorothea, submitting uneasily to this discouragement, went with Celiainto the library, which was her usual drawing-room.

  "Now, Dodo, do listen to what James says," said Celia, "else you willbe getting into a scrape. You always did, and you always will, whenyou set about doing as you please. And I think it is a mercy now afterall that you have got James to think for you. He lets you have yourplans, only he hinders you from being taken in. And that is the goodof having a brother instead of a husband. A husband would not let youhave your plans."

  "As if I wanted a husband!" said Dorothea. "I only want not to have myfeelings checked at every turn." Mrs. Casaubon was still undisciplinedenough to burst into angry tears.

  "Now, really, Dodo," said Celia, with rather a deeper guttural thanusual, "you _are_ contradictory: first one thing and then another. Youused to submit to Mr. Casaubon quite shamefully: I think you would havegiven up ever coming to see me if he had asked you."

  "Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty; it was myfeeling for him," said Dorothea, looking through the prism of her tears.

  "Then why can't you think it your duty to submit a little to what Jameswishes?" said Celia, with a sense of stringency in her argument."Because he only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, menknow best about everything, except what women know better." Dorothealaughed and forgot her tears.

  "Well, I mean about babies and those things," explained Celia. "Ishould not give up to James when I knew he was wrong, as you used to doto Mr. Casaubon."