"No; she died by an accident--a fall--four years ago. It is curious
that my mother, too, ran away from her family, but not for the sake of
her husband. She never would tell me anything about her family, except
that she forsook them to get her own living--went on the stage, in
fact. She was a dark-eyed creature, with crisp ringlets, and never
seemed to be getting old. You see I come of rebellious blood on both
sides," Will ended, smiling brightly at Dorothea, while she was still
looking with serious intentness before her, like a child seeing a drama
for the first time.
But her face, too, broke into a smile as she said, "That is your
apology, I suppose, for having yourself been rather rebellious; I mean,
to Mr. Casaubon's wishes. You must remember that you have not done
what he thought best for you. And if he dislikes you--you were
speaking of dislike a little while ago--but I should rather say, if he
has shown any painful feelings towards you, you must consider how
sensitive he has become from the wearing effect of study. Perhaps,"
she continued, getting into a pleading tone, "my uncle has not told you
how serious Mr. Casaubon's illness was. It would be very petty of us
who are well and can bear things, to think much of small offences from
those who carry a weight of trial."
"You teach me better," said Will. "I will never grumble on that
subject again." There was a gentleness in his tone which came from the
unutterable contentment of perceiving--what Dorothea was hardly
conscious of--that she was travelling into the remoteness of pure pity
and loyalty towards her husband. Will was ready to adore her pity and
loyalty, if she would associate himself with her in manifesting them.
"I have really sometimes been a perverse fellow," he went on, "but I
will never again, if I can help it, do or say what you would
disapprove."
"That is very good of you," said Dorothea, with another open smile. "I
shall have a little kingdom then, where I shall give laws. But you
will soon go away, out of my rule, I imagine. You will soon be tired
of staying at the Grange."
"That is a point I wanted to mention to you--one of the reasons why I
wished to speak to you alone. Mr. Brooke proposes that I should stay
in this neighborhood. He has bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers,
and he wishes me to conduct that, and also to help him in other ways."
"Would not that be a sacrifice of higher prospects for you?" said
Dorothea.