Her gentle looks shot arrows, piercing him
As gods are pierced, with poison of sweet pity.
The evening of the market-day had passed, and Felix had not looked in at
Malthouse Yard to talk over the public events with Mr. Lyon. When Esther
was dressing the next morning, she had reached a point of irritated
anxiety to see Felix, at which she found herself devising little schemes
for attaining that end in some way that would be so elaborate as to seem
perfectly natural. Her watch had a long-standing ailment of losing;
possibly it wanted cleaning; Felix would tell her if it merely wanted
regulating, whereas Mr. Prowd might detain it unnecessarily, and cause
her useless inconvenience. Or could she not get a valuable hint from
Mrs. Holt about the home-made bread, which was something as "sad" as
Lyddy herself? Or, if she came home that way at twelve o'clock, Felix
might be going out, she might meet him, and not be obliged to call.
Or--but it would be very much beneath her to take any steps of this
sort. Her watch had been losing for the last two months--why should it
not go on losing a little longer? She could think of no devices that
were not so transparent as to be undignified. All the more undignified
because Felix chose to live in a way that would prevent any one from
classing him according to his education and mental refinement--"which
certainly are very high," said Esther, inwardly, coloring, as if in
answer to some contrary allegation, "else I should not think his opinion
of any consequence." But she came to the conclusion that she could not
possibly call at Mrs. Holt's.
It followed that, up to a few minutes past twelve, when she reached the
turning toward Mrs. Holt's, she believed that she should go home the
other way; but at the last moment there is always a reason not existing
before--namely, the impossibility of further vacillation. Esther turned
the corner without any visible pause, and in another minute was knocking
at Mrs. Holt's door, not without an inward flutter, which she was bent
on disguising.
"It's never you, Miss Lyon! who'd have thought of seeing you at this
time? Is the minister ill? I thought he looked creechy. If you want
help, I'll put my bonnet on."
"Don't keep Miss Lyon at the door, mother; ask her to come in," said the
ringing voice of Felix, surmounting various small shufflings and
babbling voices within.
"It's my wish for her to come in, I'm sure," said Mrs. Holt, making way;
"but what is there for her to come in to? a floor worse than any public.
But step in, pray, if you're so inclined. When I've been forced to take
my bit of carpet up, and have benches, I don't see why I need mind
nothing no more."
"I only came to ask Mr. Holt if he would look at my watch for me," said
Esther, entering, and blushing a general rose-color.
"He'll do that fast enough," said Mrs. Holt, with emphasis; "that's one
of the things he _will_ do."
"Excuse my rising, Miss Lyon," said Felix; "I'm binding up Job's
finger."
Job was a small fellow about five, with a germinal nose, large round
blue eyes, and red hair that curled close to his head like the wool on
the back of an infantine lamb. He had evidently been crying, and the
corners of his mouth were still dolorous. Felix held him on his knee as
he bound and tied up very cleverly a tiny forefinger. There was a table
in front of Felix and against the window, covered with his watchmaking
implements and some open books. Two benches stood at right angles on the
sanded floor, and six or seven boys of various ages up to twelve were
getting their caps and preparing to go home. They huddled themselves
together and stood still when Esther entered. Felix could not look up
till he had finished his surgery, but he went on speaking.
"This is a hero, Miss Lyon. This is Job Tudge, a bold Briton whose
finger hurts him, but who doesn't mean to cry. Good-morning, boys. Don't
lose your time. Get out into the air."
Esther seated herself on the end of the bench near Felix, much relieved
that Job was the immediate object of attention; and the other boys
rushed out behind her with a brief chant of "Good-morning!"
"Did you ever see," said Mrs. Holt, standing to look on, "how wonderful
Felix is at that small work with his large fingers? And that's because
he learned doctoring. It isn't for want of cleverness he looks like a
poor man, Miss Lyon. I've left off speaking, else I should say it's a
sin and a shame."
[Illustration: FELIX HOLT AND JOB TUDGE.]
"Mother," said Felix, who often amused himself and kept good-humored by
giving his mother answers that were unintelligible to her, "you have an
astonishing readiness in the Ciceronian antiphrasis, considering you
have never studied oratory. There, Job--thou patient man--sit still if
thou wilt; and now we can look at Miss Lyon."
Esther had taken off her watch and was holding it in her hand. But he
looked at her face, or rather at her eyes, as he said, "You want me to
doctor your watch?"
Esther's expression was appealing and timid, as it had never been before
in Felix's presence; but when she saw the perfect calmness, which to her
seemed coldness, of his clear gray eyes, as if he saw no reason for
attaching any emphasis to this first meeting, a pang swift as an
electric shock darted through her. She had been very foolish to think so
much of it. It seemed to her as if her inferiority to Felix made a gulf
between them. She could not at once rally her pride and self-command,
but let her glance fall on her watch, and said, rather tremulously, "It
loses. It is very troublesome. It has been losing a long while."
Felix took the watch from her hand; then, looking round and seeing that
his mother was gone out of the room, he said, very gently--
"You look distressed, Miss Lyon. I hope there is no trouble at home"
(Felix was thinking of the minister's agitation on the previous Sunday).
"But I ought perhaps to beg your pardon for saying so much."
Poor Esther was quite helpless. The mortification which had come like a
bruise to all the sensibilities that had been in keen activity, insisted
on some relief. Her eyes filled instantly, and a great tear rolled down
while she said in a loud sort of whisper, as involuntary as her tears--
"I wanted to tell you that I was not offended--that I am not
ungenerous--I thought you might think--but you have not thought of it."
Was there ever more awkward speaking?--or any behavior less like that of
the graceful, self-possessed Miss Lyon, whose phrases were usually so
well turned, and whose repartees were so ready?
For a moment there was silence. Esther had her two little
delicately-gloved hands clasped on the table. The next moment she felt
one hand of Felix covering them both and pressing them firmly; but he
did not speak. The tears were both on her cheeks now, and she could look
up at him. His eyes had an expression of sadness in them, quite new to
her. Suddenly little Job, who had his mental exercises on the occasion,
called out, impatiently--
"She's tut her finger!"
Felix and Esther laughed, and drew their hands away; and as Esther took
her handkerchief to wipe the tears from her cheeks she said--
"You see, Job, I am a naughty coward. I can't help crying when I've hurt
myself."
"Zoo soodn't kuy," said Job energetically, being much impressed with a
moral doctrine which had come to him after a sufficient transgression of
it.
"Job is like me," said Felix, "fonder of preaching than of practice. But
let us look at this same watch," he went on, opening and examining it.
"These little Geneva toys are cleverly constructed to go always a little
wrong. But if you wind them up and set them regularly every night, you
may know at least that it's not noon when the hand points there."
Felix chatted, that Esther might recover herself; but now Mrs. Holt came
back and apologized.
"You'll excuse my going away, I know, Miss Lyon. But there were the
dumplings to see to, and what little I've got left on my hands now I
like to do well. Not but what I've more cleaning to do than ever I had
in my life before, as you may tell soon enough if you look at this
floor. But when you've been used to doing things, and they've been taken
away from you, it's as if your hands had been cut off, and you felt the
fingers as are of no use to you."
"That's a great image, mother," said Felix, as he snapped the watch
together and handed it to Esther; "I never heard you use such an image
before."
"Yes, I know you've always some fault to find with what your mother
says. But if ever there was a woman could talk with the open Bible
before her, and not be afraid, it's me. I never did tell stories, and I
never will--though I know it's done, Miss Lyon, and by church members
too, when they have candles to sell, as I could bring you to the proof.
But I never was one of 'em, let Felix say what he will about the
printing on the tickets. His father believed it was gospel truth, and
it's presumptuous to say it wasn't. For as for curing, how can anybody
know? There's no physic'll cure without a blessing, and _with_ a
blessing I know I've seen a mustard plaister work when there was no more
smell nor strength in the mustard than so much flour. And reason
good--for the mustard had lain in paper nobody knows how long--so I'll
leave you to guess."
Mrs. Holt looked hard out of the window and gave a slight, inarticulate
sound of scorn.
Felix had leaned back in his chair with a resigned smile, and was
pinching Job's ears.
Esther said, "I think I had better go now," not knowing what else to
say, yet not wishing to go immediately, lest she should seem to be
running away from Mrs. Holt. She felt keenly how much endurance there
must be for Felix. And she had often been discontented with her father,
and called him tiresome!
"Where does Job Tudge live?" she said, still sitting and looking at the
droll little figure, set off by a ragged jacket with a tail about two
inches deep sticking out above the funniest of corduroys.
"Job has two mansions," said Felix. "He lives here chiefly; but he has
another home, where his grandfather, Mr. Tudge, the stone-breaker,
lives. My mother is very good to Job, Miss Lyon. She has made him a
little bed in a cupboard, and she gives him sweetened porridge."
The exquisite goodness implied in these words of Felix impressed Esther
the more, because in her hearing his talk had usually been pungent and
denunciatory. Looking at Mrs. Holt, she saw that her eyes had lost their
bleak north-easterly expression, and were shining with some mildness on
little Job, who had turned round toward her, propping his head against
Felix.
"Well, why shouldn't I be motherly to the child, Miss Lyon?" said Mrs.
Holt, whose strong powers of argument required the file of an imagined
contradiction, if there were no real one at hand. "I never was
hard-hearted, and I never will be. It was Felix picked the child up and
took to him, you may be sure, for there's nobody else master where he
is; but I wasn't going to beat the orphan child and abuse him because of
that, and him as straight as an arrow when he's stripped, and me so fond
of children, and only had one of my own to live. I'd three babies, Miss
Lyon, but the blessed Lord only spared Felix, and him the masterfulest
and brownest of 'em all. But I did my duty by him, and I said, he'll
have more schooling than his father, and he'll grow up a doctor, and
marry a woman with money to furnish--as I was myself, spoons and
everything--and I shall have the grandchildren to look up to me, and be
drove out in the gig sometimes, like old Mrs. Lukyn. And you see what
it's all come to, Miss Lyon: here's Felix made a common man of himself,
and says he'll never be married--which is the most unreasonable thing,
and him never easy but when he's got the child on his lap, or when----"
"Stop, stop, mother," Felix burst in; "pray don't use that limping
argument again--that a man should marry because he's fond of children.
That's a reason for not marrying. A bachelor's children are always
young: they're immortal children--always lisping, waddling, helpless,
and with a chance of turning out good."
"The Lord above may know what you mean! And haven't other folks's
children a chance of turning out good?"
"Oh, they grow out of it very fast. Here's Job Tudge now," said Felix,
turning the little one round on his knee, and holding his head by the
back--"Job's limbs will get lanky; this little fist that looks like a
puff-ball and can hide nothing bigger than a gooseberry, will get large
and bony, and perhaps want to clutch more than its share; these wide
blue eyes that tell me more truth than Job knows, will narrow and narrow
and try to hide truth that Job would be better without knowing; this
little negative nose will become long and self-asserting; and this
little tongue--put out thy tongue, Job"--Job, awe-struck under this
ceremony, put out a little red tongue very timidly--"this tongue, hardly
bigger than a rose-leaf, will get large and thick, wag out of season, do
mischief, brag and cant for gain or vanity, and cut as cruelly, for all
its clumsiness, as if it were a sharp-edged blade. Big Job will perhaps
be naughty--" As Felix, speaking with the loud emphatic distinctness
habitual to him, brought out this terribly familiar word, Job's sense of
mystification became too painful: he hung his lip and began to cry.
"See here," said Mrs. Holt, "you're frightening the innocent child with
such talk--and it's enough to frighten them that think themselves the
safest."
"Look here, Job, my man," said Felix, setting the boy down and turning
him toward Esther; "go to Miss Lyon, ask her to smile at you, and that
will dry up your tears like the sunshine."
Job put his two brown fists on Esther's lap, and she stooped to kiss
him. Then holding his face between her hands she said, "Tell Mr. Holt we
don't mean to be naughty, Job. He should believe in us more. But now I
must really go home."
Esther rose and held out her hand to Mrs. Holt, who kept it while she
said, a little to Esther's confusion--
"I'm very glad it's took your fancy to come here sometimes, Miss Lyon. I
know you're thought to hold your head high, but I speak of people as I
find 'em. And I'm sure anybody had need be humble that comes where
there's a floor like this--for I've put by my best tea-trays, they're so
out of all character--I must look Above for comfort now; but I don't say
I'm not worthy to be called on for all that."
Felix had risen and moved toward the door that he might open it and
shield Esther from more last words on his mother's part.
"Good-bye, Mr. Holt."
"Will Mr. Lyon like for me to sit with him an hour this evening, do you
think?"
"Why not? He always likes to see you."
"Then I will come. Good-bye."
"She's a very straight figure," said Mrs. Holt. "How she carries
herself! But I doubt there's some truth in what our people say. If she
won't look at young Muscat, it's the better for _him_. He'd need have a
big fortune that marries her."
"That's true, mother," said Felix, sitting down, snatching up little
Job, and finding a vent for some unspeakable feeling in the pretence of
worrying him.
Esther was rather melancholy as she went home, yet happier withal than
she had been for many days before. She thought, "I need not mind having
shown so much anxiety about his opinion. He is too clear-sighted to
mistake our mutual position; he is quite above putting a false
interpretation on what I have done. Besides, he had not thought of me at
all--I saw that plainly enough. Yet he was very kind. There is something
greater and better in him than I had imagined. His behavior to-day--to
his mother and me too--I should call it the highest gentlemanliness,
only it seems in him to be something deeper. But he has chosen an
intolerable life; though I suppose, if I had a mind equal to his, and if
he loved me very dearly, I should choose the same life."
Esther felt that she had prefixed an impossible "if" to that result. But
now she had known Felix her conception of what a happy love must be had
become like a dissolving view, in which the once-dear images were
gradually melting into new forms and new colors. The favorite Byronic
heroes were beginning to look like last night's decorations seen in the
sober dawn. So fast does a little leaven spread within us--so
incalculable is one personality on another. Behind all Esther's
thoughts, like an unacknowledged yet constraining presence, there was
the sense, that if Felix Holt were to love her, her life would be
exalted into something quite new--into a sort of difficult blessedness,
such as one may imagine in beings who are conscious of painfully growing
into possession of higher powers.
It was quite true that Felix had not thought the more of Esther because
of that Sunday afternoon's interview which had shaken her mind to the
very roots. He had avoided intruding on Mr. Lyon without special reason,
because he believed the minister to be preoccupied with some private
care. He had thought a great deal of Esther with a mixture of strong
disapproval and strong liking, which both together made a feeling the
reverse of indifference; but he was not going to let her have any
influence on his life. Even if his determination had not been fixed, he
would have believed that she would utterly scorn him in any other light
than that of an acquaintance, and the emotion she had shown to-day did
not change that belief. But he was deeply touched by this manifestation
of her better qualities, and felt that there was a new tie of friendship
between them. That was the brief history Felix would have given of his
relation to Esther. And he was accustomed to observe himself. But very
close and diligent looking at living creatures, even through the best
microscope, will leave room for new and contradictory discoveries.
Felix found Mr. Lyon particularly glad to talk to him. The minister had
never yet disburdened himself about his letter to Mr. Philip Debarry
concerning the public conference; and as by this time he had all the
heads of his discussion thoroughly in his mind, it was agreeable to
recite them, as well as to express his regret that time had been lost by
Mr. Debarry's absence from the Manor, which had prevented the immediate
fulfillment of his pledge.
"I don't see how he can fulfill it if the rector refuses," said Felix,
thinking it well to moderate the little man's confidence.
"The rector is of a spirit that will not incur earthly impeachment, and
he cannot refuse what is necessary to his nephew's honorable discharge
of an obligation," said Mr. Lyon. "My young friend, it is a case wherein
the prearranged conditions tend by such a beautiful fitness to the issue
I have sought, that I should have forever held myself a traitor to my
charge had I neglected the indication."