George Eliot's Daniel Deronda: Abridged
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“She’s just a pearl; the mud has only washed her,” was her closing comment to Deronda that evening, after she had related Mirah’s story with much vividness.
“What is your feeling about a search for this mother?” said Deronda. “Have you no fears? I have, I confess.”
“Oh, I believe the mother’s good,” said Mrs. Meyrick decisively; “or was good. She may be dead – that’s my fear. You may know she was good by the scoundrel the father is. Where did the child get her goodness from?”
Deronda was disappointed at this answer, for he had wanted a confirmation of his own judgment; but Mrs. Meyrick admitted that the brother might be an ugly likeness of the father. Then, as to advertising, if the name was Cohen, you might as well advertise for two undescribed terriers. The idea of an advertisement, already mentioned to Mirah, had roused the poor child’s terror; she was convinced that her father would see it. Men might be set to work whose business it was to find missing persons; but Deronda wished to wait before seeking a dubious result; especially as he was soon to go abroad for a couple of months. If a search were made, he would like to be at hand, to help Mrs. Meyrick in meeting any consequences – supposing that she would generously continue to watch over Mirah.
“Of course she will stay here,” said Mrs. Meyrick; “there is Hans’s old room for her.”
“Will she be content to wait?”
“Yes; it is her nature to submit. See how she submitted to that father! It was a wonder to herself how she found the will to run away from him. As to finding her mother, since you were sent to save her, she trusts that her mother will be found in the same unsought way.”
Deronda gave her some money for Mirah’s wants; but she expressed her hope that after a little while Mirah would perhaps like to work as the other girls did, and make herself independent. “We will hurry nothing,” she said. “We will take tender care of her. I will write to let you know how we get on.”
They joined the girls in the other room, where Mirah was seated placidly while the others were telling her about Mr. Deronda’s goodness to Hans.
“Amy says the multiplication-table in his name,” said Mab. “We must all do something in his honour, now he has brought you to us.”
“He is perhaps very high in the world?” asked Mirah.
“He is very much above us in rank,” said Amy.
“I am glad,” said Mirah quietly, “because I have always disliked men of high rank before.”
“Oh, Mr. Deronda is not so very high,” said Kate. “He need not hinder us from thinking ill of the whole peerage if we like.”
When he entered, Mirah rose with a look of grateful reverence, free from either embarrassment or boldness. Her theatrical training had left no trace; she had grown up in her simplicity and truthfulness like a flower. Deronda felt that she was a form of womanhood quite new to him. For Mirah was not childlike from ignorance: her experience of trouble was deeper and stranger than his own.
But he made his visit brief, shrinking from what might seem like curiosity or the assumption of a right to know as much as he pleased about her. He would have liked to hear her sing, but felt it would be rude to ask, since she could not refuse. He wished to show her due reverence.
So Deronda soon took his farewell, and in a few days he was on his way with Sir Hugo and Lady Mallinger to Leubronn. He had told them about Mirah; and the baronet felt decidedly that the search for the mother and brother had better be let alone.
This was the history of Deronda up to that visit to Leubronn in which he saw Gwendolen Harleth at the gaming-table.