Felix Holt, The Radical — chapter 43 part 2 and chapter 44

"No, pray," said Harold, with that kind of entreaty which is really a decision.

"Let Mrs. Holt have time to rest.

We shall have returned, and you can see her before she goes.

We will say good-by for the present, Mrs. Holt."

The poor woman was not sorry to have the prospect of rest and food, especially for "the orphin child," of whom she was tenderly careful.

Like many women who appear to others to have a masculine decisiveness of tone, and to themselves to have a masculine force of mind, and who come into severe collision with sons arrived at the masterful stage, she had the maternal cord vibrating strongly within her toward all tiny children.

And when she saw Dominic pick up Job and hoist him on his arm for a little while, by way of making acquaintance, she regarded him with an approval which she had not thought it possible to extend to a foreigner.

Since Dominic was going, Harry and old Mr. Transome chose to follow.

Uncle Lingon shook hands and turned off across the grass, and thus Esther was left alone with Harold.

But there was a new consciousness between them.

Harold's quick perception was least likely to be slow in seizing indications of anything that might affect his position with regard to Esther.

Some time before, his jealousy had been awakened to the possibility that before she had known him she had been deeply interested in some one else.

Jealousy of all sorts--whether for our fortune or our love--is ready at combinations, and likely even to outstrip the fact.

And Esther's renewed confusion, united with her silence about Felix, which now first seemed noteworthy, and with Mrs. Holt's graphic details as to her walking with him and letting him sit by her before all the town were grounds not merely for a suspicion, but for a conclusion in Harold's mind.

The effect of this which he at once regarded as a discovery, was rather different from what Esther had anticipated.

It seemed to him that Felix was the least formidable person that he could have found as an object of interest antecedent to himself.

A young workman who had got himself thrown into prison, whatever recommendations he might have had for a girl at a romantic age in the dreariness of Dissenting society at Treby, could hardly be considered by Harold in the light of a rival.

Esther was too clever and tasteful a woman to make a ballad heroine of herself, by bestowing her beauty and her lands on this lowly lover.

Besides, Harold cherished the belief that, at the present time, Esther was more wisely disposed to bestow these things on another lover in every way eligible.

But in two directions this discovery had a determining effect on him;

his curiosity was stirred to know exactly what the relation with Felix had been, and he was solicitous that his behavior with regard to this young man should be such as to enhance his own merit in Esther's eyes.

At the same time he was not inclined to any euphemisms that would seem to bring Felix into the lists with himself.

Naturally when they were left alone, it was Harold who spoke first.

"I should think there's a good deal of worth in this young fellow--this Holt, notwithstanding the mistakes he has made.

A little queer and conceited, perhaps; but that is usually the case with men of his class when they are at all superior to their fellows."

"Felix Holt is a highly cultivated man; he is not at all conceited," said Esther.

The different kinds of pride within her were coalescing now.

She was aware that there had been a betrayal.

"Ah?"

said Harold, not quite liking the tone of this answer.

"This eccentricity is a sort of fanaticism, then?

--this giving up being a doctor on horseback, as the old woman calls it, and taking to--let me see--watchmaking, isn't it?"

"If it is eccentricity to be very much better than other men, he is certainly eccentric; and fanatical too, if it is fanatical to renounce all small selfish motives for the sake of a great and unselfish one.

I

never knew what nobleness of character really was before I knew Felix Holt."

It seemed to Esther as if in the excitement of this moment, her own words were bringing her a clearer revelation.

"God bless me!"

said Harold, in a tone of surprised yet thorough belief, and looking in Esther's face.

"I wish you had talked to me about this before."

Esther at that moment looked perfectly beautiful, with an expression which Harold had never hitherto seen.

All the confusion which had depended on personal feeling had given way before the sense that she had to speak the truth about the man whom she felt to be admirable.

"I think I didn't see the meaning of anything fine--I didn't even see the value of my father's character, until I had been taught a little by hearing what Felix Holt said, and seeing that his life was like his words."

Harold looked and listened, and felt his slight jealousy allayed rather than heightened.

"This is not like love," he said to himself, with some satisfaction.

With all due regard to Harold Transome, he was one of those men who are liable to make the greater mistakes about a particular woman's feelings, because they pique themselves on a power of interpretation derived from much experience.

Experience is enlightening, but with a difference.

Experiments on live animals may go on for a long period, and yet the fauna on which they are made may be limited.

There may be a passion in the mind of a woman which precipitates her, not along the path of easy beguilement, but into a great leap away from it.

Harold's experience had not taught him this; and Esther's enthusiasm about Felix Holt did not seem to him to be dangerous.

"He's quite an apostolic sort of fellow, then," was the self-quieting answer he gave to her last words.

"He didn't look like that; but I had only a short interview with him, and I was given to understand that he refused to see me in prison.

I believe he's not very well inclined toward me.

But you saw a great deal of him, I suppose, and your testimony to any one is enough for me," said Harold, lowering his voice rather tenderly.

"Now I know what your opinion is, I shall spare no effort on behalf of such a young man.

In fact, I had come to the same resolution before, but your wish would make difficult things easy."

After that energetic speech of Esther's, as often happens, the tears had just suffused her eyes.

It was nothing more than might have been expected in a tender-hearted woman, considering Felix Holt's circumstances, and the tears only made more lovely the look with which she met Harold's when he spoke so kindly.

She felt pleased with him; she was open to the fallacious delight of being assured that she had power over him to make him do what she liked, and quite forgot the many impressions which had convinced her that Harold had a padded yoke ready for the neck of every man, woman, and child that depended on him.

After a short silence, they were getting near the stone gateway, and Harold said, with an air of intimate consultation-- "What could we do for this young man, supposing he were let off?

I shall send a letter with fifty pounds to the old woman to-morrow.

I ought to have done it before, but it really slipped my memory, amongst the many things that have occupied me lately.

But this young man--what do you think would be the best thing we could do for him, if he gets at large again.

He should be put in a position where his qualities could be more telling."

Esther was recovering her liveliness a little, and was disposed to encourage it for the sake of veiling other feelings, about which she felt renewed reticence, now that the overpowering influence of her enthusiasm was past.

She was rather wickedly amused and scornful at Harold's misconceptions and ill-placed intentions of patronage.

"You are hopelessly in the dark," she said, with a light laugh and toss of her head.

"What would you offer Felix Holt?

a place in the Excise?

You might as well think of offering it to John the Baptist.

Felix has chosen his lot.

He means always to be a poor man."

"Means?

Yes," said Harold, slightly piqued, "but what a man means usually depends on what happens.

I mean to be a commoner; but a peerage might present itself under acceptable circumstances."

"Oh, there is no sum in proportion to be done there," said Esther, again gaily.

"As you are to a peerage so is not Felix Holt to any offer of advantage that you could imagine for him."

"You must think him fit for any position--the first in the county."

"No, I don't," said Esther, shaking her head mischievously.

"I think him too high for it."

"I see you can be ardent in your admiration."

"Yes, it is my champagne; you know I don't like the other kind."

"That would be satisfactory if one were sure of getting your admiration," said Harold, leading her up to the terrace, and amongst the crocuses, from whence they had a fine view of the park and river.

They stood still near the east parapet, and saw the dash of light on the water, and the pencilled shadows of the trees on the grassy lawn.

"Would it do as well to admire you, instead of being worthy to be admired?"

said Harold, turning his eyes from that landscape to Esther's face.

"It would be a thing to be put up with," said Esther, smiling at him rather roguishly.

"But you are not in that state of self-despair."

"Well, I am conscious of not having those severe virtues that you have been praising."

"That is true.

You are quite in another _genre_."

"A woman would not find me a tragic hero."

"Oh, no!

She must dress for general comedy--such as your mother once described to me--where the most thrilling event is the drawing of a handsome check."

"You are a naughty fairy," said Harold, daring to press Esther's hand a little more closely to him, and drawing her down the eastern steps into the pleasure-ground, as if he were unwilling to give up the conversation.

"Confess that you are disgusted with my want of romance."

"I shall not confess to being disgusted.

I shall ask you to confess that you are not a romantic figure."

"I am a little too stout."

"For romance--yes.

At least you must find security for not getting stouter."

"And I don't look languishing enough?"

"Oh, yes--rather too much so--at a fine cigar."

"And I am not in danger of committing suicide?"

"No; you are a widower."

Harold did not reply immediately to this last thrust of Esther's. She had uttered it with innocent thoughtlessness from the playful suggestions of the moment; but it was a fact that Harold's previous married life had entered strongly in her impressions about him.

The presence of Harry made it inevitable.

Harold took this allusion of Esther's as an indication that his quality of widower was a point that made against him; and after a brief silence he said, in an altered, more serious tone-- "You don't suppose, I hope, that any other woman has ever held the place that you could hold in my life?"

Esther began to tremble a little, as she always did when the love-talk between them seemed getting serious.

She only gave the rather stumbling answer, "How so?"

"Harry's mother had been a slave--was bought, in fact."

It was impossible for Harold to preconceive the effect this had on Esther.

His natural disqualification for judging of a girl's feelings was heightened by the blinding effect of an exclusive object--which was to assure her that her own place was peculiar and supreme.

Hitherto Esther's acquaintance with oriental love was derived chiefly from Byronic poems, and this had not sufficed to adjust her mind to a new story, where the Giaour concerned was giving her his arm.

She was unable to speak; and Harold went on-- "Though I am close on thirty-five, I never met with a woman at all like you before.

There are new eras in one's life that are equivalent to youth--are something better than youth.

I was never an aspirant till I knew you."

Esther was still silent.

"Not that I dare to call myself that.

I am not so confident a personage as you imagine.

I am necessarily in a painful position for a man who has any feeling."

Here at last Harold had stirred the right fibre.

Esther's generosity seized at once the whole meaning implied in that last sentence.

She had a fine sensibility to the line at which flirtation must cease; and she was now pale and shaken with feelings she had not yet defined for herself.

"Do not let us speak of difficult things any more now," she said, with gentle seriousness.

"I am come into a new world of late, and have to learn life all over again.

Let us go in.

I must see poor Mrs. Holt again, and my little friend Job."

She paused at the glass door that opened on the terrace, and entered there, while Harold went round to the stables.

When Esther had been up-stairs and descended again into the large entrance-hall, she found its stony capaciousness made lively by human figures extremely unlike the statues.

Since Harry insisted on playing with Job again, Mrs. Holt and her orphan, after dining, had just been brought to this delightful scene for a game at hide-and-seek, and for exhibiting the climbing powers of the two pet squirrels.

Mrs. Holt sat on a stool, in singular relief against the pedestal of the Apollo, while Dominic and Denner (otherwise Mrs. Hickes) bore her company; Harry, in his bright red and purple, flitted about like a great tropic bird after the sparrow-tailed Job, who hid himself with much intelligence behind the scagliola pillars and the pedestals; while one of the squirrels perched itself on the head of the tallest statue, and the other was already peeping down from among the heavy stuccoed angels on the ceiling, near the summit of a pillar.

Mrs. Holt held on her lap a basket filled with good things for Job, and seemed much soothed by pleasant company and excellent treatment.

As Esther, descending softly and unobserved, leaned over the stone banisters and looked at the scene for a minute or two, she saw that Mrs. Holt's attention, having been directed to the squirrel which had scampered on to the head of the Silenus carrying the infant Bacchus, had been drawn downward to the tiny babe looked at with so much affection by the rather ugly and hairy gentleman, of whom she nevertheless spoke with reserve as of one who possibly belonged to the Transome family.

"It's most pretty to see its little limbs, and the gentleman holding it.

I should think he was amiable by his look; but it was odd he should have his likeness took without any clothes.

Was he Transome by name?"

(Mrs. Holt suspected that there might be a mild madness in the family.

) Denner, peering and smiling quietly, was about to reply, when she was prevented by the appearance of old Mr. Transome, who since his walk had been having "forty winks" on the sofa in the library, and now came out to look for Harry.

He had doffed his fur cap and cloak, but in lying down to sleep he had thrown over his shoulders a soft Oriental scarf which Harold had given him, and this still hung over his scanty white hair and down to his knees, held fast by his wooden-looking arms and laxly-clasped hands, which fell in front of him.

This singular appearance of an undoubted Transome fitted exactly into Mrs. Holt's thought at the moment.

It lay in the probabilities of things that gentry's intellects should be peculiar: since they had not to get their own living, the good Lord might have economized in their case that common-sense which others were so much more in need of; and in the shuffling figure before her she saw a descendant of the gentleman who had chosen to be represented without his clothes--all the more eccentric where there were the means of buying the best.

But these oddities "said nothing" in great folks, who were powerful in high quarters all the same.

And Mrs. Holt rose and courtesied with a proud respect, precisely as she would have done if Mr. Transome had looked as wise as Lord Burleigh.

"I hope I'm in no way taking a liberty, sir," she began, while the old gentleman looked at her with bland feebleness; "I'm not that woman to sit anywhere out of my own home without inviting and pressing to.

But I was brought here to wait, because the little gentleman wanted to play with the orphin child."

"Very glad, my good woman--sit down--sit down," said Mr. Transome, nodding and smiling between his clauses.

"Nice little boy.

Your grandchild?"

"Indeed, sir, no," said Mrs. Holt, continuing to stand.

Quite apart from any awe of Mr. Transome--sitting down, she felt, would be a too great familiarity with her own pathetic importance on this extra and unlooked-for occasion.

"It's not me has any grandchild, nor ever shall have, though most fit.

But with my only son saying he'll never be married, and in prison besides, and some saying he'll be transported, you may see yourself--though a gentleman--as there isn't much chance of my having grandchildren of my own.

And this is old Master Tudge's grandchild, as my own Felix took to for pity because he was sickly and clemm'd, and I was noways against it, being of a tender heart.

For I'm a widow myself, and my son Felix, though big, is fatherless, and I know my duty in consequence.

And it's to be wished, sir, as others should know it as are more in power and live in great houses, and can ride in a carriage where they will.

And if you're the gentleman as is the head of everything--and it's not to be thought you'd give up to your son as a poor widow's been forced to do--it behooves you to take the part of them as are deserving; for the Bible says gray hairs should speak."

"Yes, yes--poor woman--what shall I say?"

said old Mr. Transome, feeling himself scolded, and, as usual, desirous of mollifying displeasure.

"Sir, I can tell you what to say fast enough; for it's what I should say myself if I could get to speak to the king.

For I've asked them that know, and they say it's the truth, both out of the Bible, and in, as the king can pardon anything and anybody.

And judging by his countenance on the new signs, and the talk there was a while ago about his being the people's friend, as the minister once said it from the very pulpit--if there's any meaning in words, he'll do the right thing by me and my son, if he's asked proper."

"Yes--a very good man--he'll do anything right," said Mr. Transome, whose own ideas about the king just then were somewhat misty, consisting chiefly in broken reminiscences of George III.

"I'll ask him anything you like," he added, with a pressing desire to satisfy Mrs. Holt, who alarmed him slightly.

"Then, sir, if you'll go in your carriage and say, this young man, Felix Holt by name, as his father was known the country round, and his mother most respectable--he never meant harm to anybody, and so far from bloody murder and fighting, would part with his victual to them that needed it more--and if you'd get other gentlemen to say the same, and if they're not satisfied to enquire--I'll not believe but what the king 'ud let my son out of prison.

Or if it's true he must stand his trial, the king 'ud take care no mischief happened to him.

I've got my senses, and I'll never believe as in a country where there's a God above and a king below, the right thing can't be done if great people was willing to do it."

Mrs. Holt, like all orators, had waxed louder and more energetic, ceasing to propel her arguments, and being propelled by them.

Poor old Mr. Transome, getting more and more frightened at this severe-spoken woman, who had the horrible possibility to his mind of being a novelty that was to become permanent, seemed to be fascinated by fear, and stood helplessly forgetful that if he liked he might turn round and walk away.

Little Harry, alive to anything that had relation to "Gappa," had paused in his game, and discerning what he thought a hostile aspect in this naughty black old woman, rushed toward her and proceeded first to beat her with his mimic jockey's whip, and then, suspecting that her bombazine was not sensitive, to set his teeth in her arm.

While Dominic rebuked him and pulled him off, Nimrod began to bark anxiously, and the scene was become alarming even to the squirrels, which scrambled as far off as possible.

Esther, who had been waiting for an opportunity of intervention, now came up to Mrs. Holt to speak some soothing words; and old Mr. Transome, seeing a sufficient screen between himself and his formidable suppliant, at last gathered courage to turn round and shuffle away with unusual swiftness into the library.

"Dear Mrs. Holt," said Esther, "do rest comforted.

I assure you, you have done the utmost that can be done by your words.

Your visit has not been thrown away.

See how the children have enjoyed it!

I saw little Job actually laughing.

I think I never saw him do more than smile before."

Then turning round to Dominic, she said, "Will the buggy come round to this door?"

This hint was sufficient.

Dominic went to see if the vehicle was ready, and Denner, remarking that Mrs. Holt would like to mount it in the inner court, invited her to go back into the housekeeper's room.

But there was a fresh resistance raised in Harry by the threatened departure of Job, who had seemed an invaluable addition to the menagerie of tamed creatures; and it was barely in time that Esther had the relief of seeing the entrance hall cleared so as to prevent any further encounter of Mrs. Holt with Harold, who was now coming up the flight of steps at the entrance.

CHAPTER XLIV.

I'm sick at heart.

The eye of day, The insistent summer noon, seems pitiless, Shining in all the barren crevices Of weary life, leaving no shade, no dark, Where I may dream that hidden waters lie.

Shortly after Mrs. Holt's striking presentation of herself at Transome Court, Esther went on a second visit to her father.

The Loamford Assizes were approaching; it was expected that in about ten days Felix Holt's trial would come on, and some hints in her father's letters had given Esther the impression that he was taking a melancholy view of the result.

Harold Transome had once or twice mentioned the subject with a facile hopefulness as to "the young fellow's coming off easily," which, in her anxious mind, was not a counterpoise to disquieting suggestions, and she had not chosen to introduce another conversation about Felix Holt, by questioning Harold concerning the probabilities he relied on.

Since those moments on the terrace, Harold had daily become more of the solicitous and indirectly beseeching lover; and Esther, from the very fact that she was weighed on by thoughts that were painfully bewildering to her--by thoughts which, in their newness to her young mind, seemed to shake her belief that life could be anything else than a compromise with things repugnant to the moral taste--had become more passive to his attentions at the very time that she had begun to feel more profoundly that in accepting Harold Transome she left the high mountain air, the passionate serenity of perfect love forever behind her, and must adjust her wishes to a life of middling delights, overhung with the languorous haziness of motiveless ease, where poetry was only literature, and the fine ideas had to be taken down from the shelves of the library when her husband's back was turned.

But it seemed as if all outward conditions concurred, along with her generous sympathy for the Transomes, and with those native tendencies against which she had once begun to struggle, to make this middling lot the best she could attain to.

She was in this half-sad, half-satisfied resignation to something like what is called worldly wisdom, when she went to see her father, and learn what she could from him about Felix.

The little minister was much depressed, unable to resign himself to the dread which had begun to haunt him, that Felix might have to endure the odious penalty of transportation for the manslaughter, which was the offence that no evidence in his favor could disprove.

"I had been encouraged by the assurances of men instructed in this regard," said Mr. Lyon, while Esther sat on the stool near him, and listened anxiously, "that though he were pronounced guilty in regard to this deed whereunto he hath calamitously fallen, yet that a judge mildly disposed, and with a due sense of that invisible activity of the soul whereby the deeds which are the same in outward appearance and effect, yet differ as the knife-stroke of the surgeon, even though it kill, differs from the knife-stroke of a wanton mutilater, might use his discretion in tempering the punishment, so that it would not be very evil to bear.

But now it is said that the judge who cometh is a severe man, and one nourishing a prejudice against the bolder spirits who stand not in the old paths."

"I am going to be present at the trial, father," said Esther, who was preparing the way to express a wish, which she was timid about even with her father.

"I mentioned to Mrs. Transome that I should like to do so, and she said that she used in old days always to attend the assizes, and that she would take me.

You will be there, father?"

"Assuredly I shall be there, having been summoned to bear witness to Felix's character, and to his having uttered remonstrances and warnings long beforehand whereby he proved himself an enemy to riot.

In our ears, who know him, it sounds strangely that aught else should be credible;

but he hath few to speak for him, though I trust that Mr. Harold Transome's testimony will go far, if, as you say, he is disposed to set aside minor regards, and not to speak the truth grudgingly and reluctantly.

For the very truth hath a color from the disposition of the utterer."

"He is kind; he is capable of being generous," said Esther.

"It is well.

For I verily believe that evil-minded men have been at work against Felix.

The _Duffield Watchman_ hath written continually in allusion to him as one of those mischievous men who seek to elevate themselves through the dishonor of their party; and as one of those who go not heart and soul with the needs of the people, but seek only to get a hearing for themselves by raising their voices in crotchety discord.

It is these things that cause me heaviness of spirit: the dark secret of this young man's lot is a cross I carry daily."

"Father," said Esther, timidly, while the eyes of both were filling with tears, "I should like to see him again before his trial.

Might I?

Will you ask him?

Will you take me?"

The minister raised his suffused eyes to hers, and did not speak for a moment or two.

A new thought had visited him.

But his delicate tenderness shrank even from an inward enquiry that was too curious--that seemed like an effort to peep at sacred secrets.

"I see naught against it, my dear child, if you arrived early enough, and would take the elderly lady into your confidence, so that you might descend from the carriage at some suitable place--the house of the Independent minister, for example--where I could meet and accompany you.

I would forewarn Felix, who would doubtless delight to see your face again; seeing that he may go away, and be, as it were, buried from you, even though it may be only in prison, and not----" This was too much for Esther.

She threw her arms round her father's neck and sobbed like a child.

It was an unspeakable relief to her after all the pent-up, stifling experience, all the inward incommunicable debate of the last few weeks.

The old man was deeply moved, too, and held his arm close round the dear child, praying silently.

No word was spoken for some minutes, till Esther raised herself, dried her eyes, and, with an action that seemed playful, though there was no smile on her face, pressed her handkerchief against her father's cheeks.

Then, when she had put her hand in his, he said, solemnly-- "'Tis a great and mysterious gift, this clinging of the heart, my Esther, whereby it hath often seemed to me that even in the very moment of suffering our souls have the keenest foretaste of heaven.

I speak not lightly, but as one who hath endured.

And 'tis a strange truth that only in the agony of parting we look into the depths of love."

So the interview ended, without any question from Mr. Lyon concerning what Esther contemplated as the ultimate arrangement between herself and the Transomes.

After this conversation, which showed him that what happened to Felix touched Esther more closely than he had supposed, the minister felt no impulse to raise the images of a future so unlike anything that Felix would share.

And Esther would have been unable to answer any such questions.

The successive weeks, instead of bringing her nearer to clearness and decision, had only brought that state of disenchantment belonging to the actual presence of things which have long dwelt in the imagination with all the factitious charms of arbitrary arrangement.

Her imaginary mansion had not been inhabited just as Transome Court was; her imaginary fortune had not been attended with circumstances which she was unable to sweep away.

She, herself, in her Utopia, had never been what she was now--a woman whose heart was divided and oppressed.

The first spontaneous offering of her woman's devotion, the first great inspiration of her life, was a sort of vanished ecstasy which had left its wounds.

It seemed to her a cruel misfortune of her young life that her best feeling, her most precious dependence, had been called forth just where the conditions were hardest, and that all the easy invitations of circumstance were toward something which that previous consecration of her longing had made a moral descent for her.

It was characteristic of her that she scarcely at all entertained the alternative of such a compromise as would have given her the larger portion of the fortune to which she had a legal claim, and yet have satisfied her sympathy by leaving the Transomes in possession of their old home.

Her domestication with this family had brought them into the foreground of her imagination; the gradual wooing of Harold had acted on her with a constant immediate influence that predominated over all indefinite prospects; and a solitary elevation to wealth, which out of Utopia she had no notion how she should manage, looked as chill and dreary as the offer of dignities in an unknown country.

In the ages since Adam's marriage, it has been good for some men to be alone, and for some women also.

But Esther was not one of these women: she was intensely of the feminine type, verging neither toward the saint nor the angel.

She was "a fair divided excellence, whose fullness of perfection" must be in marriage.

And, like all youthful creatures, she felt as if the present conditions of choice were final.

It belonged to the freshness of her heart that, having had her emotions strongly stirred by real objects, she never speculated on possible relations yet to come.

It seemed to her that she stood at the first and last parting of the ways.

And, in one sense she was under no illusion.

It is only in that freshness of our time that the choice is possible which gives unity to life, and makes the memory a temple where all relics and all votive offerings, all worship and all grateful joy, are an unbroken history sanctified by one religion.