It seemed a long while--she did not know how long--before she heard

Celia saying, "That will do, nurse; he will be quiet on my lap now.

You can go to lunch, and let Garratt stay in the next room." "What I

think, Dodo," Celia went on, observing nothing more than that Dorothea

was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be passive, "is that Mr.

Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like him, and James never did. I

think the corners of his mouth were dreadfully spiteful. And now he

has behaved in this way, I am sure religion does not require you to

make yourself uncomfortable about him. If he has been taken away, that

is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful. We should not grieve, should

we, baby?" said Celia confidentially to that unconscious centre and

poise of the world, who had the most remarkable fists all complete even

to the nails, and hair enough, really, when you took his cap off, to

make--you didn't know what:--in short, he was Bouddha in a Western

form.

At this crisis Lydgate was announced, and one of the first things he

said was, "I fear you are not so well as you were, Mrs. Casaubon; have

you been agitated? allow me to feel your pulse." Dorothea's hand was

of a marble coldness.

"She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers," said Celia. "She

ought not, ought she?"

Lydgate did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, looking at

Dorothea. "I hardly know. In my opinion Mrs. Casaubon should do what

would give her the most repose of mind. That repose will not always

come from being forbidden to act."

"Thank you," said Dorothea, exerting herself, "I am sure that is wise.

There are so many things which I ought to attend to. Why should I sit

here idle?" Then, with an effort to recall subjects not connected with

her agitation, she added, abruptly, "You know every one in Middlemarch,

I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell me a great deal. I have

serious things to do now. I have a living to give away. You know Mr.

Tyke and all the--" But Dorothea's effort was too much for her; she

broke off and burst into sobs. Lydgate made her drink a dose of sal

volatile.

"Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes," he said to Sir James, whom he

asked to see before quitting the house. "She wants perfect freedom, I

think, more than any other prescription."

His attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had enabled him

to form some true conclusions concerning the trials of her life. He

felt sure that she had been suffering from the strain and conflict of

self-repression; and that she was likely now to feel herself only in

another sort of pinfold than that from which she had been released.




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