Felix Holt, the Radical

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life. I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before Without the sense of that which I forbore-- Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

  --MRS. BROWNING.

  Felix Holt, seated at his work without his pupils, who had asked for aholiday with a notion that the wooden booths promised some sort of show,noticed about eleven o'clock that the noises which reached him from themain street were getting more and more tumultuous. He had long seen badauguries for this election, but, like all people who dread the propheticwisdom that ends in desiring the fulfillment of its own evilforebodings, he had checked himself with remembering that, though manyconditions were possible which might bring on violence, there were justas many which might avert it. There would, perhaps, be no other mischiefthan what he was already certain of. With these thoughts he sat downquietly to his work, meaning not to vex his soul by going to look on atthings he would fain have made different if he could. But he was of afiber that vibrated too strongly to the life around him to shut himselfaway in quiet, even from suffering and irremediable wrong. As the noisesgrew louder, and wrought more and more strongly on his imagination, hewas obliged to lay down his delicate wheel-work. His mother came fromher turnip-paring, in the kitchen, where little Job was her companion,to observe that they must be killing everybody in the High Street, andthat the election, which had never been before at Treby, must have comefor a judgment; that there were mercies where you didn't look for them,and that she thanked God in His wisdom for making her live up a backstreet.

  Felix snatched his cap and rushed out. But when he got to the turninginto the market-place the magistrates were already on horseback there,the constables were moving about, and Felix observed that there was nostrong spirit of resistance to them. He stayed long enough to see thepartial dispersion of the crowd and the restoration of tolerable quiet,and then went back to Mrs. Holt to tell her that there was nothing tofear now; he was going out again, and she must not be in any anxiety athis absence. She might set by his dinner for him.

  Felix had been thinking of Esther and her probable alarm at the noisesthat must have reached her more distinctly than they had reached him,for Malthouse Yard was removed but a little way from the main street.Mr. Lyon was away from home, having been called to preach charitysermons and attend meetings in a distant town; and Esther, with theplaintive Lyddy for her sole companion, was not cheerfullycircumstanced. Felix had not been to see her yet since her father'sdeparture, but to-day he gave way to new reasons.

  "Miss Esther was in the garret," Lyddy said, trying to see what wasgoing on. But before she was fetched she came running down the stairs,drawn by the knock at the door, which had shaken the small dwelling.

  "I am so thankful to see you," she said, eagerly. "Pray come in."

  When she had shut the parlor door behind them, Felix said, "I suspectedthat you might have been made anxious by the noises. I came to tell youthat things are quiet now. Though, indeed, you can hear that they are."

  "I _was_ frightened," said Esther. "The shouting and roaring of rude menis so hideous. It is a relief to me that my father is not at home--thathe is out of the reach of any danger he might have fallen into if he hadbeen here. But I gave you credit for being in the midst of the danger,"she added, smiling, with a determination not to show much feeling. "Sitdown and tell me what has happened."

  They sat down at the extremities of the old black sofa, and Felix said--

  "To tell you the truth, I had shut myself up, and tried to be asindifferent to the election as if I'd been one of the fishes in theLapp, till the noises got too strong for me. But I only saw the tail endof the disturbance. The poor noisy simpletons seemed to give way beforethe magistrates and the constables. I hope nobody has been much hurt.The fear is that they may turn out again by-and-by; their giving way sosoon may not be altogether a good sign. There's a great number of heavyfellows in the town. If they go and drink more, the last end may beworse than the first. However----"

  Felix broke off, as if this talk was futile, clasped his hands behindhis head, and, leaning backward, looked at Esther, who was looking athim.

  "May I stay here a little while?" he said, after a moment, which seemedlong.

  "Pray do," said Esther, coloring. To relieve herself she took some workand bowed her head over her stitching. It was in reality a little heavento her that Felix was there, but she saw beyond it--saw that by-and-byhe would be gone, and that they should be farther on their way, nottoward meeting, but parting. His will was impregnable. He was a rock,and she was no more to him than the white clinging mist-cloud.

  "I wish I could be sure that you see things just as I do," he saidabruptly, after a minute's silence.

  "I am sure you see them much more wisely than I do!" said Esther, almostbitterly, without looking up.

  "There are some people one must wish to judge truly. Not to wish itwould be mere hardness. I know you think I am a man without feeling--atleast, without strong affections. You think I love nothing but my ownresolutions."

  "Suppose I reply in the same sort of strain?" said Esther, with a littletoss of the head.

  "How?"

  "Why, that you think me a shallow woman, incapable of believing what isbest in you, setting down everything that is too high for me as adeficiency."

  "Don't parry what I say. Answer me." There was an expression of painfulbeseeching in the tone with which Felix said this. Esther let her workfall on her lap and looked at him, but she was unable to speak.

  "I want you to tell me--once--that you know it would be easier to me togive myself up to loving and being loved, as other men do, when theycan, than to----"

  This breaking-off in speech was something quite new in Felix. For thefirst time he had lost his self-possession, and turned his eyes away. Hewas at variance with himself. He had begun what he felt he ought not tofinish.

  Esther, like a woman as she was--a woman waiting for love, never ableto ask for it--had her joy in these signs of her power; but they madeher generous, not chary, as they might have done if she had had apettier disposition. She said, with deep yet timid earnestness--

  "What you have chosen to do has only convinced me that your love wouldbe the better worth having."

  All the finest part of Esther's nature trembled in those words. To beright in great memorable moments is perhaps the thing we need mostdesire for ourselves.

  Felix as quick as lightning turned his look upon her again, and, leaningforward, took her sweet hand and held it to his lips some moments beforehe let it fall again and raised his head.

  "We shall always be the better for thinking of each other," he said,leaning his elbow on the back of the sofa, and supporting his head as helooked at her with calm sadness. "This thing can never come to me twiceover. It is my knighthood. That was always a business of great cost."

  He smiled at her, but she sat biting her inner lip and pressing herhands together. She desired to be worthy of what she reverenced inFelix, but the inevitable renunciation was too difficult. She sawherself wandering through the future weak and forsaken. The charmingsauciness was all gone from her face, but the memory of it made thischildlike dependent sorrow all the more touching.

  "Tell me what you would----" Felix burst out, leaning nearer to her; butthe next instant he started up, went to the table, took his cap in hishand and came in front of her.

  "Good-bye," he said, very gently, not daring to put out his hand. ButEsther put up hers instead of speaking. He just pressed it and then wentaway.

  She heard the doors close beh
ind him, and felt free to be miserable. Shecried bitterly. If she might have married Felix Holt, she could havebeen a good woman. She felt no trust that she could ever be good withouthim.

  Felix reproached himself. He would have done better not to speak in thatway. But the prompting to which he had chiefly listened had been thedesire to prove to Esther that he set a high value on her feelings. Hecould not help seeing that he was very important to her; and he was toosimple and sincere a man to ape a sort of humility which would not havemade him any the better if he had possessed it. Such pretences turn ourlives into sorry dramas. And Felix wished Esther to know that her lovewas dear to him as the beloved dead are dear. He felt that they mustnot marry--that they would ruin each other's lives. But he had longedfor her to know fully that his will to be always apart from her wasrenunciation, not an easy preference. In this he was thoroughlygenerous; and yet, now some subtle, mysterious conjuncture ofimpressions and circumstances had made him speak, he questioned thewisdom of what he had done. Express confessions give definiteness tomemories that might more easily melt away without; and Felix felt forEsther's pain as the strong soldier, who can march on hungering withoutfear that he shall faint, feels for the young brother--themaiden-cheeked conscript whose load is too heavy for him.