Lydgate, relieved from anxiety about her, relapsed into what she

inwardly called his moodiness--a name which to her covered his

thoughtful preoccupation with other subjects than herself, as well as

that uneasy look of the brow and distaste for all ordinary things as if

they were mixed with bitter herbs, which really made a sort of

weather-glass to his vexation and foreboding. These latter states of

mind had one cause amongst others, which he had generously but

mistakenly avoided mentioning to Rosamond, lest it should affect her

health and spirits. Between him and her indeed there was that total

missing of each other's mental track, which is too evidently possible

even between persons who are continually thinking of each other. To

Lydgate it seemed that he had been spending month after month in

sacrificing more than half of his best intent and best power to his

tenderness for Rosamond; bearing her little claims and interruptions

without impatience, and, above all, bearing without betrayal of

bitterness to look through less and less of interfering illusion at the

blank unreflecting surface her mind presented to his ardor for the more

impersonal ends of his profession and his scientific study, an ardor

which he had fancied that the ideal wife must somehow worship as

sublime, though not in the least knowing why. But his endurance was

mingled with a self-discontent which, if we know how to be candid, we

shall confess to make more than half our bitterness under grievances,

wife or husband included. It always remains true that if we had been

greater, circumstance would have been less strong against us. Lydgate

was aware that his concessions to Rosamond were often little more than

the lapse of slackening resolution, the creeping paralysis apt to seize

an enthusiasm which is out of adjustment to a constant portion of our

lives. And on Lydgate's enthusiasm there was constantly pressing not a

simple weight of sorrow, but the biting presence of a petty degrading

care, such as casts the blight of irony over all higher effort.

This was the care which he had hitherto abstained from mentioning to

Rosamond; and he believed, with some wonder, that it had never entered

her mind, though certainly no difficulty could be less mysterious. It

was an inference with a conspicuous handle to it, and had been easily

drawn by indifferent observers, that Lydgate was in debt; and he could

not succeed in keeping out of his mind for long together that he was

every day getting deeper into that swamp, which tempts men towards it

with such a pretty covering of flowers and verdure. It is wonderful

how soon a man gets up to his chin there--in a condition in which,

spite of himself, he is forced to think chiefly of release, though he

had a scheme of the universe in his soul.




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