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 the vindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of
having accepted money as a bribe, underwent a melancholy
check when she came to consider all the circumstances of the
ease by the light of Mr. Farebrother's experience.
"It is a delicate matter to touch," he said. "How can
we begin to inquire into it? It must be either publicly by
setting the magistrate and coroner to work, or privately by
questioning Lydgate. As to the first proceeding there is no
solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would have adopted it;
and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess I
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 on personal matters. And — one
should know the truth about his conduct beforehand, to feel
very confident of a good result."
"I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty:
I believe that people are almost always better than their
neighbors think they are," said Dorothea. Some of her
intensest experience in the last two years had set her mind
strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction of
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 would conquer by their emotional
force. Two days afterwards, he was dining at the Manor with
her uncle and the Chettams, and when the dessert was
standing uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mr.
Brooke was nodding in a nap, she returned to the subject
with renewed vivacity.
"Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a
calumny about him their first wish must be to justify him.
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less
difficult to each other? I cannot be indifferent 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 been when. she was at the head of her uncle's
table nearly three years before, and her experience since
had given her more right to express a decided opinion. But
Sir James Chettam was no longer the diffident and
acquiescent suitor: he was the anxious brother-in-law, with
a devout admiration for his sister, but with a constant
alarm lest she should fall under some new illusion almost as
bad as marrying Casaubon. He smiled much less; when he said
"Exactly " it was more often an introduction to a
dissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelor days;
and Dorothea found to her surprise that she had to resolve
not to be 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 manage a man's life for him in that way.
Lydgate must know — at least he will soon come to know how he
stands. If he can clear himself, he will. He must act for
himself."
"I think his friends must wait till they find an
opportunity," added Mr. Farebrother. "It is possible — I
have often felt so much weakness in myself that I can
conceive even a man of honorable disposition, such as I have
always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a
temptation as that of accepting money which was offered more
or less indirectly as a bribe to
insure his silence
about scandalous facts long gone by. I say, I can conceive
this, if he were under the pressure of hard circumstances —
if he had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has been. I
would not believe anything worse of him except under
stringent proof. But there is the terrible Nemesis
following on some errors, that it is always possible for
those who like it to interpret them into a crime: there is
no proof in favor of the man outside his own consciousness
and assertion."
"Oh, how cruel!" said Dorothea, clasping her hands.
"And would you not like to be the one person who believed in
that man's innocence, if the rest of the world belied him?
Besides, there is a man's character beforehand to speak for
him."
"But, my dear Mrs. Casaubon," said Mr. Farebrother,
smiling gently at her ardor, " character is not cut in
marble — it is not something solid and unalterable. It is
something living and changing, and may become diseased as
our bodies do."
"Then it may be rescued and healed," said Dorothea " I
should not be afraid of asking Mr. Lydgate to tell me the
truth, that I might help him. 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 in providing for the
Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to know
thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping
up the present plans. There is the best opportunity in the
world for me to ask for his confidence ; and he would be
able to tell me things which might make all the
circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by him and
bring him out of his trouble. People glorify all sorts of
bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of
their nearest neighbors." Dorothea's eyes had a moist
brightness in them, and the changed tones of her voice
roused her uncle, who began to listen.
"It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of
sympathy which would 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 know the world better than she does." said Sir
James, with his little frown. "Whatever you do in the end,
Dorothea,
you should really keep back at present, and
not volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrode business. We
don't know yet what may turn up. You must agree with me?"
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 point the discussion had arrived, but coming up to
it with a contribution which 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 a hurry to put
money into schemes — it won't do, you know. Garth has drawn
me in uncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing:
I'm uncommonly out of pocket with one thing or another. I
must pull up. As for you, Chettam, you are spending a
fortune on those oak fences round your demesne."
Dorothea, submitting uneasily to this discouragement,
went with Celia into the library, which was her usual
drawing-room.
"Now, Dodo, do listen to what James says," said Celia, "
else you will be getting into a serape. You always did, and
you always will, when you set about doing as you please.
And I think it is a mercy now after all that you have got
James to think for you. He lets you have your plans, only
he hinders you from being taken in. And that is the good of
having a brother instead of a husband. A husband would not
let you have your plans."
"As if I wanted a husband!" said Dorothea. "I only want
not to have my feelings checked at every turn." Mrs.
Casaubon was still undisciplined enough to burst into angry
tears.
"Now, really, Dodo," said Celia, with rather a deeper
guttural than usual, " you are contradictory: first one
thing and then another. You used to submit to Mr. Casaubon
quite shamefully: I think you would have given up ever
coming to see me if he had asked you."
"Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty;
it was my feeling 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 James wishes?" said Celia, with a sense
of stringency in her argument. "Because he only wishes what
is for your own good. And, of course, men know best about
everything, except what women know better."
Dorothea laughed and forgot her tears.
"Well, I mean about babies and those things,"explained
Celia. "I should not give up to James when I knew he was
wrong, as you used to do to Mr. Casaubon."