The arrangements made by Mr. Casaubon on his marriage left strong

measures open to him, but in ruminating on them his mind inevitably

dwelt so much on the probabilities of his own life that the longing to

get the nearest possible calculation had at last overcome his proud

reticence, and had determined him to ask Lydgate's opinion as to the

nature of his illness.

He had mentioned to Dorothea that Lydgate was coming by appointment at

half-past three, and in answer to her anxious question, whether he had

felt ill, replied,--"No, I merely wish to have his opinion concerning

some habitual symptoms. You need not see him, my dear. I shall give

orders that he may be sent to me in the Yew-tree Walk, where I shall be

taking my usual exercise."

When Lydgate entered the Yew-tree Walk he saw Mr. Casaubon slowly

receding with his hands behind him according to his habit, and his head

bent forward. It was a lovely afternoon; the leaves from the lofty

limes were falling silently across the sombre evergreens, while the

lights and shadows slept side by side: there was no sound but the

cawing of the rooks, which to the accustomed ear is a lullaby, or that

last solemn lullaby, a dirge. Lydgate, conscious of an energetic frame

in its prime, felt some compassion when the figure which he was likely

soon to overtake turned round, and in advancing towards him showed more

markedly than ever the signs of premature age--the student's bent

shoulders, the emaciated limbs, and the melancholy lines of the mouth.

"Poor fellow," he thought, "some men with his years are like lions; one

can tell nothing of their age except that they are full grown."

"Mr. Lydgate," said Mr. Casaubon, with his invariably polite air, "I am

exceedingly obliged to you for your punctuality. We will, if you

please, carry on our conversation in walking to and fro."

"I hope your wish to see me is not due to the return of unpleasant

symptoms," said Lydgate, filling up a pause.

"Not immediately--no. In order to account for that wish I must

mention--what it were otherwise needless to refer to--that my life, on

all collateral accounts insignificant, derives a possible importance

from the incompleteness of labors which have extended through all its

best years. In short, I have long had on hand a work which I would

fain leave behind me in such a state, at least, that it might be

committed to the press by--others. Were I assured that this is the

utmost I can reasonably expect, that assurance would be a useful

circumscription of my attempts, and a guide in both the positive and

negative determination of my course."




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