They were still fond of him because he was beautiful and never vain of his beauty;--because in the midst of his recklessness there was always about him a certain kindliness which made him pleasant to those around him.

They were still fond of him because he was beautiful, yet never vain; and because he had a certain kindliness which made him pleasant.


He was soft and gracious with children, and would be very courteous to his lady cousins.

He was soft and gracious with children, and very courteous to his lady cousins.


They knew that as a man he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him. I think the secret of it was chiefly in this,--that he seemed to think so little of himself.

They knew he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him - chiefly, I think, because he seemed to think so little of himself.


But now as he walked home in the middle of the night from Cecil Street to Cavendish Square he did think much of himself.

But now as he walked home in the middle of the night he did think much of himself.


Indeed such self-thoughts come naturally to all men, be their outward conduct ever so reckless.


Every man to himself is the centre of the whole world;--the axle on which it all turns.

Every man to himself is the centre of the whole world; the axle on which it all turns.


All knowledge is but his own perception of the things around him.


All love, and care for others, and solicitude for the world's welfare, are but his own feelings as to the world's wants and the world's merits.


He had played his part as a centre of all things very badly. Of that he was very well aware.

He had played his part very badly; of that he was well aware.


He had sense enough to know that it should be a man's lot to earn his bread after some fashion, and he often told himself that never as yet had he earned so much as a penny roll.

He had sense enough to know that he should earn his bread in some way, and had never yet earned so much as a penny roll.


He had learned to comprehend that the world's progress depends on the way in which men do their duty by each other,--that the progress of one generation depends on the discharge of such duties by that which preceded it;--and he knew that he, in his generation, had done nothing to promote such progress.

He had learned that the world's progress depends on men doing their duty by each other; and he knew that he had done nothing to promote such progress.


He thoroughly despised himself,--if there might be any good in that!


But on such occasions as these, when the wine he had drunk was sufficient only to drive away from him the numbness of despair, when he was all alone with the cold night air upon his face, when the stars were bright above him and the world around him was almost quiet, he would still ask himself whether there might not yet be, even for him, some hope of a redemption, --some chance of a better life in store for him.

But when he was alone with the cold night air upon his face, when the stars were bright above him and the world was almost quiet, he would ask himself whether there might still be some hope of redemption - some chance of a better life.


He was still young,--wanting some years of thirty.


Could there be, even for him, some mode of extrication from his misery?


We know what was the mode which now, at this moment, was suggesting itself to him.


He was proposing to himself, as the best thing that he could do, to take away another man's wife and make himself happy with her!

And the way to this better life was to take away another man's wife and make himself happy with her!


What he had said to Vavasor as to disregarding Lady Glencora's money had been perfectly true.

What he had said to Vavasor about disregarding Lady Glencora's money had been perfectly true.


That in the event of her going off with him, some portion of her enormous wealth would still cling to her, he did believe.

He believed that if she went off with him, some portion of her enormous wealth would still cling to her.


Seeing that she had no children he could not understand where else it should all go.


But he thought of this as it regarded her, not as it regarded him.


When he had before made his suit to her,--a suit which was then honourable, however disadvantageous it might have seemed to be to her--he had made in his mind certain calculations as to the good things which would result to him if he were successful He would keep hounds, and have three or four horses every day for his own riding, and he would have no more interviews with Magruin, waiting in that rogue's dingy back parlour for many a weary wretched half-hour, till the rogue should be pleased to show himself.


So far he had been mercenary; but he had learned to love the girl, and to care more for her than for her money, and when the day of disappointment came upon him,--the day on which she had told him that all between them was to be over for ever,--he had, for a few hours, felt the loss of his love more than the loss of his money.

But whereas his previous advances had been mercenary, he had learned to love the girl, and to care more for her than for her money.


No such idea as that which now filled his mind had then come upon him.


The girl had gone from him and married another man, and there was an end of it.

The girl had married another man, and there was an end of it.


But by degrees tidings had reached him that she was not happy,--reaching him through the mouths of people who were glad to exaggerate all that they had heard.

But gradually reports had reached him that she was not happy - reports from people who were glad to exaggerate what they had heard.


A whole tribe of his female relatives had been anxious to promote his marriage with Lady Glencora M'Cluskie, declaring that, after all that was come and gone, Burgo would come forth from his troubles as a man of great wealth.

A whole tribe of his female relatives had been anxious to promote his marriage with Lady Glencora M'Cluskie on account of her great wealth.


So great was the wealth of the heiress that it might withstand even his propensities for spending.


That whole tribe had been bitterly disappointed; and when they heard that Mr. Palliser's marriage had given him no child, and that Lady Glencora was unhappy,--they made their remarks in triumph rather than in sorrow.

That tribe had been bitterly disappointed; and when they heard that Mr. Palliser's marriage had given him no child, and that Lady Glencora was unhappy, they triumphed.


I will not say that they looked forward approvingly to such a step as that which Burgo now wished to take,--though as regarded his aunt, Lady Monk, he himself had accused her; but they whispered that such things had been done and must be expected, when marriages were made up as had been that marriage between Mr. Palliser and his bride.

I will not say that they approved of the step which Burgo now wished to take - though he accused his aunt, Lady Monk, of wanting it; but they whispered that such things must be expected, when such marriages were made.


As he walked on, thinking of his project, he strove hard to cheat himself into a belief that he would do a good thing in carrying Lady Glencora away from her husband.

As Burgo walked on, he tried hard to cheat himself into a belief that he would do a good thing in carrying Lady Glencora away from her husband.


Bad as had been his life he had never before done aught so bad as that. The more fixed his intention became, the more thoroughly he came to perceive how great and grievous was the crime which he contemplated.

But he had never done anything so bad in his bad life; and the more he thought about it, the more thoroughly he saw how great was the crime which he contemplated.


To elope with another man's wife no longer appeared to him to be a joke at which such men as he might smile.


But he tried to think that in this case there would be special circumstances which would almost justify him, and also her.

He tried to think that there were special circumstances which would justify him.


They had loved each other and had sworn to love each other with constancy.

They had loved each other and had sworn constancy.


There had been no change in the feelings or even in the wishes of either of them. But cold people had come between them with cold calculations, and had separated them. She had been, he told himself, made to marry a man she did not love.

There had been no change in their feelings; but she had been made to marry a man she did not love.


If they two loved each other truly, would it not still be better that they should come together?

Would it not be better that they should come together?


Would not the sin be forgiven on account of the injustice which had been done to them?


Had Mr. Palliser a right to expect more from a wife who had been made to marry him without loving him?


Then he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny country, of which he had spoken to Vavasor, and he strove to nourish them.

Then he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny country.


Vavasor had laughed at him, talking of Juan and Haide.


But Vavasor, he said to himself, was a hard cold man, who had no touch of romance in his character.

But Vavasor, he said to himself, was a hard cold man, with no romance in his character.


He would not be laughed out of his plan by such as he,--nor would he be frightened by the threat of any Lambro who might come after him, whether he might come in the guise of indignant uncle or injured husband.


He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he came out by the iron gates into Oxford Street, a poor wretched girl, lightly clad in thin raiment, into whose bones the sharp freezing air was penetrating, asked him for money.

He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he came out into Oxford Street, a poor wretched girl in thin clothing asked him for money.


Would he give her something to get drink, so that for a moment she might feel the warmth of her life renewed?

Would he give her something to get drink, so that for a moment she might feel warm?


Such midnight petitions were common enough in his ears, and he was passing on without thinking of her. But she was urgent, and took hold of him.

Such midnight petitions were common, and he was passing on when she took hold of him.


"For love of God," she said, "if it's only a penny to get a glass of gin!

"For love of God," she said, "it's only a penny to get a glass of gin!


And she strove to put it up against his face.


He looked round at her and saw that she was very young,--sixteen, perhaps, at the most, and that she had once,--nay very lately,--been exquisitely pretty.

He looked round at her and saw that she was very young - sixteen, perhaps, at the most, and that she had once been exquisitely pretty.


There still lingered about her eyes some remains of that look of perfect innocency and pure faith which had been hers not more than twelve months since.

There still lingered about her eyes some remains of that look of innocence which had been hers twelve months since.


And now, at midnight, in the middle of the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as the only comfort she knew, or could expect!

And now, at midnight, in the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as the only comfort she could expect!


said he, trying to speak to her cheerily.


said she, repeating the word, and striving to wrap herself closer in her rags, as she shivered--"Oh God!

said she, striving to wrap herself closer in her rags, as she shivered. "Oh God!


if you knew what it was to be as cold as I am!


I have nothing in the world,--not one penny,--not a hole to lie in!"

I have nothing in the world - not a hole to lie in!"


"We are alike then," said Burgo, with a slight low laugh.

"We are alike then," said Burgo, with a low laugh.


"You poor!" she said. And then she looked up into his face.

"You, poor!" she said, looking up into his face.


He always laughed when any one told him of his beauty.

He always laughed when anyone told him of his beauty.


"I am a deal poorer than you, my girl," he said.


I have thirty thousand pounds worse than nothing.


But come along, and I will get you something to eat."


Then looking up at him again, she exclaimed--"Oh, you are so handsome!"


He took her to a public-house and gave her bread and meat and beer, and stood by her while she ate it.


She was shy with him then, and would fain have taken it to a corner by herself, had he allowed her. He perceived this, and turned his back to her, but still spoke to her a word or two as she ate.

She was shy with him then, so he turned his back to her, but still spoke to her a word or two as she ate.


The woman at the bar who served him looked at him wonderingly, staring into his face; and the pot-boy woke himself thoroughly that he might look at Burgo; and the waterman from the cab-stand stared at him; and women who came in for gin looked almost lovingly up into his eyes.

The woman at the bar who served him looked at him wonderingly; and the pot-boy stared at him, and so did the waterman from the cab-stand, and the women who came in for gin.


He regarded them all not at all, showing no feeling of disgrace at his position, and no desire to carry himself as a ruffler. He quietly paid what was due when the girl had finished her meal, and then walked with her out of the shop.

He was untroubled by them; he paid for the girl's meal and then walked with her out of the shop.


"And now," said he, "what must I do with you?


If I give you a shilling can you get a bed?"


She told him that she could get a bed for sixpence.


"Then keep the other sixpence for your breakfast," said he.


"But you must promise me that you will buy no gin to-night."

"But you must promise me that you will buy no gin tonight."


She promised him, and then he gave her his hand as he wished her good night;--his hand, which it had been the dearest wish of Lady Glencora to call her own. She took it and pressed it to her lips.

She promised him, and then she took his hand and pressed it to her lips.


"I wish I might once see you again," she said, "because you are so good and so beautiful."


He laughed again cheerily, and walked on, crossing the street towards Cavendish Square.

He laughed again cheerily, and walked on.


She stood looking at him till he was out of sight, and then as she moved away,--let us hope to the bed which his bounty had provided, and not to a gin-shop,--she exclaimed to herself again and again--"Gracious, how beautiful he was!"

She stood looking at him till he was out of sight, and as she moved away she exclaimed to herself again: "Gracious, how beautiful he was!"


"He's a good un," the woman at the public-house had said as soon as he left it; "but, my!


did you ever see a man's face handsome as that fellow's?"


All who had seen him since life had begun with him had loved him and striven to cherish him.

All his life, people had loved him and tried to cherish him.


And with it all, to what a state had he come!


had his eyes been less brightly blue, and his face less godlike in form, it may be that things would have gone better with him.

If his face had been less godlike, maybe things would have gone better with him.


A sweeter-tempered man than he never lived,--nor one who was of a kinder nature.


At this moment he had barely money about him to take him down to his aunt's house at Monkshade, and as he had promised to be there before Christmas Day, he was bound to start on the next morning, before help from Mr. Magruin was possible.

He had barely enough money to take him to his aunt's house at Monkshade the next morning.


Nevertheless, out of his very narrow funds he had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature who had spoken to him in the street.

Nevertheless, he had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature who had spoken to him in the street.


"This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."


On a fine evening near the end of July, Deronda was rowing himself on the Thames.

On a fine evening near the end of July, Deronda was rowing on the Thames.


It was already a year or more since he had come back to England, with the understanding that his education was finished, and that he was somehow to take his place in English society; but though, in deference to Sir Hugo's wish, and to fence off idleness, he had begun to read law, this apparent decision had been without other result than to deepen the roots of indecision.

It was over a year since he had come back to England, with the understanding that his education was finished, and that he was to take his place in English society; and he had begun to read law, though only in deference to Sir Hugo's wish, and to fence off idleness.


His old love of boating had revived with the more force now that he was in town with the Mallingers, because he could nowhere else get the same still seclusion which the river gave him. He had a boat of his own at Putney, and whenever Sir Hugo did not want him, it was his chief holiday to row till past sunset and come in again with the stars.

His old love of boating had revived; he had a boat at Putney, and it was his chief holiday to row till past sunset and come in with the stars.


Not that he was in a sentimental stage; but he was in another sort of contemplative mood perhaps more common in the young men of our day--that of questioning whether it were worth while to take part in the battle of the world: I mean, of course, the young men in whom the unproductive labor of questioning is sustained by three or five per cent, on capital which somebody else has battled for.


It puzzled Sir Hugo that one who made a splendid contrast with all that was sickly and puling should be hampered with ideas which, since they left an accomplished Whig like himself unobstructed, could be no better than spectral illusions; especially as Deronda set himself against authorship--a vocation which is understood to turn foolish thinking into funds.


Rowing in his dark-blue shirt and skull-cap, his curls closely clipped, his mouth beset with abundant soft waves of beard, he bore only disguised traces of the seraphic boy "trailing clouds of glory."

Rowing in his dark-blue shirt and skull-cap, his curls closely clipped, the bearded man with the lithe, powerful frame bore only traces of the seraphic boy.


Still, even one who had never seen him since his boyhood might have looked at him with slow recognition, due perhaps to the peculiarity of the gaze which Gwendolen chose to call "dreadful," though it had really a very mild sort of scrutiny.

Still, even one who had never seen him since his boyhood might have recognised him, due perhaps to the gaze which Gwendolen called "dreadful," though it had really a very mild sort of scrutiny.


The voice, sometimes audible in subdued snatches of song, had turned out merely a high baritone; indeed, only to look at his lithe, powerful frame and the firm gravity of his face would have been enough for an experienced guess that he had no rare and ravishing tenor such as nature reluctantly makes at some sacrifice.


Look at his hands: they are not small and dimpled, with tapering fingers that seem to have only a deprecating touch: they are long, flexible, firmly-grasping hands, such as Titian has painted in a picture where he wanted to show the combination of refinement with force.


And there is something of a likeness, too, between the faces belonging to the hands--in both the uniform pale-brown skin, the perpendicular brow, the calmly penetrating eyes. Not seraphic any longer: thoroughly terrestrial and manly; but still of a kind to raise belief in a human dignity which can afford to recognize poor relations.

With his pale-brown skin and calmly penetrating eyes, he was seraphic no longer: the firm gravity of his face was thoroughly terrestrial and manly; but still of a kind to raise belief in human dignity.


Such types meet us here and there among average conditions; in a workman, for example, whistling over a bit of measurement and lifting his eyes to answer our question about the road.


And often the grand meanings of faces as well as of written words may lie chiefly in the impressions that happen just now to be of importance in relation to Deronda, rowing on the Thames in a very ordinary equipment for a young Englishman at leisure, and passing under Kew Bridge with no thought of an adventure in which his appearance was likely to play any part.


In fact, he objected very strongly to the notion, which others had not allowed him to escape, that his appearance was of a kind to draw attention; and hints of this, intended to be complimentary, found an angry resonance in him, coming from mingled experiences, to which a clue has already been given.

Deronda objected very strongly to the notion that his appearance might draw attention.


His own face in the glass had during many years associated for him with thoughts of some one whom he must be like--one about whose character and lot he continually wondered, and never dared to ask.

His own face in the glass was associated with thoughts of some one whom he must be like - one about whom he continually wondered, and never dared to ask.


In the neighborhood of Kew Bridge, between six and seven o'clock, the river was no solitude.

Near Kew Bridge, between six and seven o'clock, the river was no solitude.


Several persons were sauntering on the towing-path, and here and there a boat was plying.

People were sauntering on the towing-path, and here and there a boat was plying.


Deronda had been rowing fast to get over this spot, when, becoming aware of a great barge advancing toward him, he guided his boat aside, and rested on his oar within a couple of yards of the river-brink.

Deronda had been rowing fast, when, becoming aware of an approaching barge, he guided his boat aside, and paused near the river-bank.


He was all the while unconsciously continuing the low-toned chant which had haunted his throat all the way up the river--the gondolier's song in the _Otello_, where Rossini has worthily set to music the immortal words of Dante,

He was unconsciously continuing the low-toned chant which he had been singing all the way up the river - the gondolier's song in Rossini's "Otello":-


"Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria":

"Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."
"There is no greater sorrow
Than to be reminded of the happy time
In misery."


[Footnote: Dante's words are best rendered by our own poet in the lines at the head of the chapter.]


and, as he rested on his oar, the pianissimo fall of the melodic wail "nella miseria" was distinctly audible on the brink of the water.

As he rested on his oar, the melodic fall of the "nella miseria" was distinctly audible on the bank.


Three or four persons had paused at various spots to watch the barge passing the bridge, and doubtless included in their notice the young gentleman in the boat; but probably it was only to one ear that the low vocal sounds came with more significance than if they had been an insect-murmur amidst the sum of current noises.

Three or four persons had paused to watch the barge passing the bridge, but probably it was only to one ear that the low singing came with any significance.


Deronda, awaiting the barge, now turning his head to the river-side, and saw at a few yards' distant from him a figure which might have been an impersonation of the misery he was unconsciously giving voice to: a girl hardly more than eighteen, of low slim figure, with most delicate little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears under a large black hat, a long woolen cloak over her shoulders.

Deronda saw a few yards away a figure which might have been an impersonation of the misery in his song: a girl hardly more than eighteen, of small, slim figure, with a most delicate little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears under a large black hat, a long woollen cloak over her shoulders.


Her hands were hanging down clasped before her, and her eyes were fixed on the river with a look of immovable, statue-like despair.

Her eyes were fixed on the river with a look of immovable, statue-like despair.


This strong arrest of his attention made him cease singing: apparently his voice had entered her inner world without her taking any note of whence it came, for when it suddenly ceased she changed her attitude slightly, and, looking round with a frightened glance, met Deronda's face.

This strong arrest of his attention made him cease singing: at which she changed her attitude, and, looking round with a frightened glance, met Deronda's face.


It was but a couple of moments, but that seemed a long while for two people to look straight at each other.


Her look was something like that of a fawn or other gentle animal before it turns to run away: no blush, no special alarm, but only some timidity which yet could not hinder her from a long look before she turned.

Her look was something like a fawn's before it turns to run away: no blush, no alarm, but only some timidity.


In fact, it seemed to Deronda that she was only half conscious of her surroundings: was she hungry, or was there some other cause of bewilderment?

In fact, Deronda thought that she was only half conscious of her surroundings: was she hungry, or was there some other cause?


He felt an outleap of interest and compassion toward her; but the next instant she had turned and walked away to a neighboring bench under a tree.

He felt an outleap of interest and compassion toward her; but the next instant she had walked away to a bench under a tree.


He had no right to linger and watch her: poorly-dressed, melancholy women are common sights; it was only the delicate beauty, picturesque lines and color of the image that was exceptional, and these conditions made it more markedly impossible that he should obtrude his interest upon her.

He had no right to linger and watch her: poorly-dressed, melancholy women are common sights; it was only the delicate beauty of the image that was exceptional.


He began to row away and was soon far up the river; but no other thoughts were busy enough quite to expel that pale image of unhappy girlhood.

He began to row away and was soon far up the river; but he could not expel that pale image of unhappy girlhood.


He fell again and again to speculating on the probable romance that lay behind that loneliness and look of desolation; then to smile at his own share in the prejudice that interesting faces must have interesting adventures; then to justify himself for feeling that sorrow was the more tragic when it befell delicate, childlike beauty.

He began speculating on the tale behind her look of desolation; then smiled at his idea that interesting faces must have interesting adventures.


"I should not have forgotten the look of misery if she had been ugly and vulgar," he said to himself.

"I should not have forgotten the look of misery even if she had been ugly and vulgar," he told himself.


But there was no denying that the attractiveness of the image made it likelier to last.


It was clear to him as an onyx cameo; the brown-black drapery, the white face with small, small features and dark, long-lashed eyes.

It was as clear to him as an onyx cameo; the brown-black drapery, the white face with small features and dark, long-lashed eyes.


His mind glanced over the girl-tragedies that are going on in the world, hidden, unheeded, as if they were but tragedies of the copse or hedgerow, where the helpless drag wounded wings forsakenly, and streak the shadowed moss with the red moment-hand of their own death.

His mind glanced over the girl-tragedies that are going on in the world, hidden, unheeded.


Deronda of late, in his solitary excursions, had been occupied chiefly with uncertainties about his own course; but those uncertainties, being much at their leisure, were wont to have such wide-sweeping connections with all life and history that the new image of helpless sorrow easily blent itself with what seemed to him the strong array of reasons why he should shrink from getting into that routine of the world which makes men apologize for all its wrong-doing, and take opinions as mere professional equipment--why he should not draw strongly at any thread in the hopelessly-entangled scheme of things.


He used his oars little, satisfied to go with the tide and be taken back by it.


It was his habit to indulge himself in that solemn passivity which easily comes with the lengthening shadows and mellow light, when thinking and desiring melt together imperceptibly, and what in other hours may have seemed argument takes the quality of passionate vision.

It was his habit to indulge himself in that solemn passivity which easily comes with the lengthening shadows and mellow light.


By the time he had come back again with the tide past Richmond Bridge the sun was near setting: and the approach of his favorite hour--with its deepening stillness and darkening masses of tree and building between the double glow of the sky and the river--disposed him to linger as if they had been an unfinished strain of music.

By the time he had come back again with the tide past Richmond Bridge the sun was near setting: and the approach of his favourite hour - with its deepening stillness and darkening masses of tree between the double glow of the sky and the river - disposed him to linger.


He looked out for a perfectly solitary spot where he could lodge his boat against the bank, and, throwing himself on his back with his head propped on the cushions, could watch out the light of sunset and the opening of that bead-roll which some oriental poet describes as God's call to the little stars, who each answer, "Here am I."

He looked for a solitary spot where he could lodge his boat against the bank to watch the sunset.


He chose a spot in the bend of the river just opposite Kew Gardens, where he had a great breadth of water before him reflecting the glory of the sky, while he himself was in shadow.

He chose a place in the bend of the river just opposite Kew Gardens, where he had a great breadth of water before him reflecting the glory of the sky, while he himself was in shadow.


He lay with his hands behind his head, propped on a level with the boat's edge, so that he could see all round him, but could not be seen by any one at a few yards' distance; and for a long while he never turned his eyes from the view right in front of him.

Lying with his hands behind his head, he could see all round him, but could not be seen by anyone at a few yards' distance.


He was forgetting everything else in a half-speculative, half-involuntary identification of himself with the objects he was looking at, thinking how far it might be possible habitually to shift his centre till his own personality would be no less outside him than the landscape--when the sense of something moving on the bank opposite him where it was bordered by a line of willow bushes, made him turn his glance thitherward.

He was forgetting everything but the view in front of him, when the sense of something moving on the opposite bank, in the willow bushes, made him glance that way.


In the first moment he had a darting presentiment about the moving figure; and now he could see the small face with the strange dying sunlight upon it.

At once he had a darting presentiment about the moving figure; and now he could see the small face with the dying sunlight upon it.


He feared to frighten her by a sudden movement, and watched her with motionless attention.

Fearing to frighten her by a sudden movement, he watched her motionlessly.


She looked round, but seemed only to gather security from the apparent solitude, hid her hat among the willows, and immediately took off her woolen cloak.

She looked round, and seeming to gather security from the solitude, hid her hat among the willows, and took off her woollen cloak.


Presently she seated herself and deliberately dipped the cloak in the water, holding it there a little while, then taking it out with effort, rising from her seat as she did so.

She seated herself and deliberately dipped the cloak in the water, holding it there, then taking it out with effort, and rising from her seat.


By this time Deronda felt sure that she meant to wrap the wet cloak round her as a drowning shroud; there was no longer time to hesitate about frightening her.


He rose and seized his oar to ply across; happily her position lay a little below him.


The poor thing, overcome with terror at this sign of discovery from the opposite bank, sank down on the brink again, holding her cloak half out of the water. She crouched and covered her face as if she kept a faint hope that she had not been seen, and that the boatman was accidentally coming toward her.

The poor thing, overcome with terror at this sign of discovery, sank down again, crouching and covering her face as if she kept a faint hope that she had not been seen.


But soon he was within brief space of her, steadying his boat against the bank, and speaking, but very gently,

But soon he was close to her, steadying his boat against the bank, and speaking very gently-


She raised her head and looked up at him.


His face now was toward the light, and she knew it again.


But she did not speak for a few moments which were a renewal of their former gaze at each other.

But she did not speak for a few moments, while they renewed their former gaze at each other.


At last she said in a low sweet voice, with an accent so distinct that it suggested foreignness and yet was not foreign, "I saw you before," and then added dreamily, after a like pause, "nella miseria."

At last she said in a low sweet voice, with an accent that suggested foreignness and yet was not foreign, "I saw you before," and then added dreamily, "nella miseria.


Deronda, not understanding the connection of her thoughts, supposed that her mind was weakened by distress and hunger.


she went on, hesitatingly--"Nessun maggior dolore."


The mere words themselves uttered in her sweet undertones seemed to give the melody to Deronda's ear.

The mere words uttered in her sweet undertones seemed to give the melody to Deronda's ear.


"Ah, yes," he said, understanding now, "I am often singing them.


But I fear you will injure yourself staying here.


Pray let me take you in my boat to some place of safety.

Pray let me carry you in my boat to some place of safety.


He would not attempt to take it without her leave, dreading lest he should scare her.


Even at his words, he fancied that she shrank and clutched the cloak more tenaciously.

He fancied that she shrank and clutched the cloak tenaciously.


But her eyes were fixed on him with a question in them as she said, "You look good.

But her eyes were fixed on him questioningly: she said, "You look good.


I will die before I will let any harm come to you."


She rose from her sitting posture, first dragging the saturated cloak and then letting it fall on the ground--it was too heavy for her tired arms.

She rose from her sitting posture, first dragging the saturated cloak and then letting it fall on the ground - it was too heavy for her tired arms.


Her little woman's figure as she laid her delicate chilled hands together one over the other against her waist, and went a step backward while she leaned her head forward as if not to lose sight of his face, was unspeakably touching.

Her little woman's figure as she laid her delicate chilled hands together one over the other against her waist, was unspeakably touching.


the words escaped Deronda in a tone so low and solemn that they seemed like a prayer become unconsciously vocal.

the words escaped Deronda like an unconscious prayer.


The agitating impression this forsaken girl was making on him stirred a fibre that lay close to his deepest interest in the fates of women--"perhaps my mother was like this one."

The agitating impression this forsaken girl was making on him stirred his deepest interest in the fates of women- "perhaps my mother was like this one," he thought.


The old thought had come now with a new impetus of mingled feeling, and urged that exclamation in which both East and West have for ages concentrated their awe in the presence of inexorable calamity.


The low-toned words seemed to have some reassurance in them for the hearer: she stepped forward close to the boat's side, and Deronda put out his hand, hoping now that she would let him help her in.

His low-toned words seemed to reassure the hearer: she stepped close to the boat's side, and Deronda held out his hand, hoping she would let him help her in.


She had already put her tiny hand into his which closed around it, when some new thought struck her, and drawing back she said,

She had already put her tiny hand into his when some new thought struck her, and drawing back she said-


"I have nowhere to go--nobody belonging to me in all this land."

"I have nowhere to go - nobody belonging to me in all this land."


"I will take you to a lady who has daughters," said Deronda, immediately.

"I will take you to a lady who has daughters," said Deronda immediately.


He felt a sort of relief in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends he imagined her to be fleeing from were not in the near background.

He felt a sort of relief in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends he imagined her to be fleeing from were not near.


Still she hesitated, and said more timidly than ever,

Still she hesitated, and said more timidly-


"No; I have nothing to do with the theatre," said Deronda, in a decided tone.

"No; I have nothing to do with the theatre," said Deronda decidedly.


Then beseechingly, "I will put you in perfect safety at once; with a lady, a good woman; I am sure she will be kind.

"I will take you to perfect safety with a good woman; I am sure she will be kind.


Let us lose no time: you will make yourself ill. Life may still become sweet to you.


There are good people--there are good women who will take care of you."

There are good people who will take care of you."


She drew backward no more, but stepped in easily, as if she were used to such action, and sat down on the cushions.

She stepped in and sat down on the cushions.


"You had a covering for your head," said Deronda.
"My hat?"


"I will find it," said Deronda, putting out his hand deprecatingly as she attempted to rise.


He jumped out, found the hat, and lifted up the saturated cloak, wringing it and throwing it into the bottom of the boat.


"We must carry the cloak away, to prevent any one who may have noticed you from thinking you have been drowned," he said, cheerfully, as he got in again and presented the old hat to her.

"We must carry the cloak away, to prevent anyone who may have noticed you from thinking you have drowned," he said, cheerfully, as he got in again.


"I wish I had any other garment than my coat to offer you.


But shall you mind throwing it over your shoulders while we are on the water?


It is quite an ordinary thing to do, when people return late and are not enough provided with wraps."

It is quite an ordinary thing to do, when people return late and are chilly."


He held out the coat toward her with a smile, and there came a faint melancholy smile in answer, as she took it and put it on very cleverly.

He held out the coat with a smile, and there came a faint melancholy smile in answer, as she put it on.


"I have some biscuits--should you like them?"

"I have some biscuits - should you like them?"


I had still some money left to buy bread."


He began to ply his oar without further remark, and they went along swiftly for many minutes without speaking.


She did not look at him, but was watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of repose, as if she were beginning to feel the comfort of returning warmth and the prospect of life instead of death.

She was watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of repose, as if she were beginning to feel the comfort of returning warmth and the prospect of life instead of death.


The twilight was deepening; the red flush was all gone and the little stars were giving their answer one after another.

The twilight was deepening; the red flush was gone and the little stars were giving their answer one after another.


The moon was rising, but was still entangled among the trees and buildings.


The light was not such that he could distinctly discern the expression of her features or her glance, but they were distinctly before him nevertheless--features and a glance which seemed to have given a fuller meaning for him to the human face.

The light was not such that he could distinctly discern her features, but they were distinctly before him nevertheless.


Among his anxieties one was dominant: his first impression about her, that her mind might be disordered, had not been quite dissipated: the project of suicide was unmistakable, and given a deeper color to every other suspicious sign.

Among his anxieties one was dominant: his first impression that her mind might be disordered, had not been quite dissipated: the project of suicide was unmistakable.


He longed to begin a conversation, but abstained, wishing to encourage the confidence that might induce her to speak first.

He longed to begin a conversation, but hoped she would speak first.


"If you had not come, I should have been dead now."


I hope you will never be sorry that I came."


"I cannot see how I shall be glad to live.


The _maggior dolore_ and the _miseria_ have lasted longer than the _tempo felice_."

The maggior dolore and the miseria have lasted longer than the tempo felice."


She paused and then went on dreamily,--"_Dolore--miseria_--I think those words are alive."


Deronda was mute: to question her seemed an unwarrantable freedom; he shrank from appearing to claim the authority of a benefactor, or to treat her with the less reverence because she was in distress.

Deronda was mute: to question her seemed an unwarrantable freedom; he shrank from appearing to treat her with less respect because she was in distress.


Death and life are one before the Eternal.


I know our fathers slew their children and then slew themselves, to keep their souls pure.


She shook her head and said mournfully, "Not my mother and brother.


You must be--speaking English so perfectly."


She did not answer immediately, but looked at Deronda again, straining to see him in the double light. Until now she had been watching the oar. It seemed as if she were half roused, and wondered which part of her impression was dreaming and which waking.

She did not answer immediately, but looked at Deronda again, with wondering timidity, as if she were unsure whether she was dreaming or awake.


Sorrowful isolation had benumbed her sense of reality, and the power of distinguishing outward and inward was continually slipping away from her.


Her look was full of wondering timidity such as the forsaken one in the desert might have lifted to the angelic vision before she knew whether his message was in anger or in pity.


she said at last, while Deronda was reddening nervously under a gaze which he felt more fully than he saw.


"I want to know nothing except what you like to tell me," he said, still uneasy in the fear that her mind was wandering.


"Perhaps it is not good for you to talk."


Deronda was silent, inwardly wondering that he had not said this to himself before, though any one who had seen delicate-faced Spanish girls might simply have guessed her to be Spanish.

Deronda was silent, thinking that he might have guessed this, although he could equally have guessed her to be Spanish.


she said presently in low tones, which had a sadness that pierced like a cry from a small dumb creature in fear.


But I should not think it fair for you to despise me because of that."


I ran away; but I cannot tell you--I cannot speak of it.


I thought I might find my mother again--God would guide me.

I thought I might find my mother again - God would guide me.


This morning when the light came, I felt as if one word kept sounding within me--Never!

This morning I felt as if one word kept sounding within me - Never!


But now--I begin--to think--" her words were broken by rising sobs--"I am commanded to live--perhaps we are going to her."

But now - I begin - to think-" her words were broken by rising sobs - "I am commanded to live - perhaps we are going to her."


With an outburst of weeping she buried her head on her knees.


He hoped that this passionate weeping might relieve her excitement.

He hoped that this passionate weeping might relieve her agitation.


Meanwhile he was inwardly picturing in much embarrassment how he should present himself with her in Park Lane--the course which he had at first unreflectingly determined on.

Meanwhile he was inwardly picturing in much embarrassment how he should present himself with her in Park Lane.


No one kinder and more gentle than Lady Mallinger; but it was hardly probable that she would be at home; and he had a shuddering sense of a lackey staring at this delicate, sorrowful image of womanhood--of glaring lights and fine staircases, and perhaps chilling suspicious manners from lady's maid and housekeeper, that might scare the mind already in a state of dangerous susceptibility.

No one kinder and more gentle than Lady Mallinger; but she might not be at home; and he had a shuddering sense of a lackey staring at this delicate, sorrowful girl, and perhaps chilling suspicion from lady's maid and housekeeper.


But to take her to any other shelter than a home already known to him was not to be contemplated: he was full of fears about the issue of the adventure which had brought on him a responsibility all the heavier for the strong and agitating impression this childlike creature had made on him.

But to take her to any other shelter than a home already known to him was not to be contemplated.


But another resource came to mind: he could venture to take her to Mrs. Meyrick's--to the small house at Chelsea--where he had been often enough since his return from abroad to feel sure that he could appeal there to generous hearts, which had a romantic readiness to believe in innocent need and to help it.

Another resource came to mind: he could take her to Mrs. Meyrick's - to the small house at Chelsea, where he felt sure that he could appeal to generous hearts.


Hans Meyrick was safe away in Italy, and Deronda felt the comfort of presenting himself with his charge at a house where he would be met by a motherly figure of quakerish neatness, and three girls who hardly knew of any evil closer to them than what lay in history-books, and dramas, and would at once associate a lovely Jewess with Rebecca in _Ivanhoe_, besides thinking that everything they did at Deronda's request would be done for their idol, Hans.

Hans Meyrick was safe away in Italy, and Deronda felt the comfort of presenting himself with his charge at a house where he would be met by a motherly figure of quakerish neatness, and three girls who hardly knew of any evil beyond what lay in history-books, and would at once associate a lovely Jewess with Rebecca in "Ivanhoe."


The vision of the Chelsea home once raised, Deronda no longer hesitated.


The rumbling thither in the cab after the stillness of the water seemed long.


Happily his charge had been quiet since her fit of weeping, and submitted like a tired child.

His charge had been quiet since her fit of weeping, and submitted like a tired child.


When they were in the cab, she laid down her hat and tried to rest her head, but the jolting movement would not let it rest. Still she dozed, and her sweet head hung helpless, first on one side, then on the other.

In the cab, she dozed, her sweet head hanging helpless, first on one side, then the other.


"They are too good to have any fear about taking her in," thought Deronda.


Her person, her voice, her exquisite utterance, were one strong appeal to belief and tenderness.


Yet what had been the history which had brought her to this desolation?

Yet what had brought her to this desolation?


He was going on a strange errand--to ask shelter for this waif.

He was going on a strange errand, to ask shelter for this waif.


Then there occurred to him the beautiful story Plutarch somewhere tells of the Delphic women: how when the Maenads, outworn with their torch-lit wanderings, lay down to sleep in the market-place, the matrons came and stood silently round them to keep guard over their slumbers; then, when they waked, ministered to them tenderly and saw them safely to their own borders.


He could trust the women he was going to for having hearts as good.


Deronda felt himself growing older this evening and entering on a new phase in finding a life to which his own had come--perhaps as a rescue; but how to make sure that snatching from death was rescue?

Deronda felt himself growing older this evening, and entering on a new phase in finding a life to which his own had come: perhaps as rescue; but how to make sure of that?


The moment of finding a fellow-creature is often as full of mingled doubt and exultation as the moment of finding an idea.


In all ages it hath been a favorite text that a potent love hath the nature of an isolated fatality, whereto the mind's opinions and wonted resolves are altogether alien; as, for example, Daphnis his frenzy, wherein it had little availed him to have been convinced of Heraclitus his doctrine; or the philtre-bred passion of Tristan, who, though he had been as deep as Duns Scotus, would have had his reasoning marred by that cup too much; or Romeo in his sudden taking for Juliet, wherein any objections he might have held against Ptolemy had made little difference to his discourse under the balcony.


Yet all love is not such, even though potent; nay, this passion hath as large scope as any for allying itself with every operation of the soul: so that it shall acknowledge an effect from the imagined light of unproven firmaments, and have its scale set to the grander orbits of what hath been and shall be.


Deronda, on his return to town, could assure Sir Hugo of his having lodged in Grandcourt's mind a distinct understanding that he could get fifty thousand pounds by giving up a prospect which was probably distant, and not absolutely certain; but he had no further sign of Grandcourt's disposition in the matter than that he was evidently inclined to keep up friendly communications.

Deronda, on his return to town, assured Sir Hugo of his having lodged in Grandcourt's mind an understanding that he could get fifty thousand pounds by giving up Diplow; and that Grandcourt appeared inclined to keep up friendly communications.


"And what did you think of the future bride on a nearer survey?"

"And what did you think of the future bride?"


"I thought better of her than I did in Leubronn.


Roulette was not a good setting for her; it brought out something of the demon.


At Diplow she seemed much more womanly and attractive--less hard and self-possessed.

At Diplow she seemed much more womanly and attractive - less hard and self-possessed."


I thought her mouth and eyes had quite a different expression."


"Don't flirt with her too much, Dan," said Sir Hugo, meaning to be agreeably playful.


"If you make Grandcourt savage when they come to the Abbey at Christmas, it will interfere with my affairs."


Lady Mallinger and the children can't do without you at Christmas.


Only don't make mischief--unless you can get up a duel, and manage to shoot Grandcourt, which might be worth a little inconvenience."

Only don't make mischief - unless you can get up a duel, and manage to shoot Grandcourt, which might be worth a little inconvenience."


"I don't think you ever saw me flirt," said Deronda, not amused.


"You are always looking tenderly at the women, and talking to them in a Jesuitical way.


You are a dangerous young fellow--a kind of Lovelace who will make the Clarissas run after you instead of you running after them."


What was the use of being exasperated at a tasteless joke?--only the exasperation comes before the reflection on utility.


Few friendly remarks are more annoying than the information that we are always seeming to do what we never mean to do.


Sir Hugo's notion of flirting, it was to be hoped, was rather peculiar; for his own part, Deronda was sure that he had never flirted.


But he was glad that the baronet had no knowledge about the repurchase of Gwendolen's necklace to feed his taste for this kind of rallying.

But he was glad that the baronet had no knowledge about the repurchase of Gwendolen's necklace to feed his taste for this kind of joking.


He would be on his guard in future; for example, in his behavior at Mrs. Meyrick's, where he was about to pay his first visit since his arrival from Leubronn.

He would be on his guard in future; for example, in his behaviour at Mrs. Meyrick's, where he was about to pay his first visit since his arrival from Leubronn.


For Mirah was certainly a creature in whom it was difficult not to show a tender kind of interest both by looks and speech.

For Mirah was certainly a creature in whom it was difficult not to show a tender interest.


Mrs. Meyrick had not failed to send Deronda a report of Mirah's well-being in her family.

Mrs. Meyrick had sent Deronda a report of Mirah's well-being.


"We are getting fonder of her every day," she had written.


"At breakfast-time we all look toward the door with expectation to see her come in; and we watch her and listen to her as if she were a native from a new country.

"At breakfast-time we all look forward to seeing her come in; and we listen to her as if she were a native from a new country.


I have not heard a word from her lips that gives me a doubt about her.


She is quite contented and full of gratitude.


My daughters are learning from her, and they hope to get her other pupils; for she is anxious not to eat the bread of idleness, but to work, like my girls.

My daughters are learning singing from her, and they hope to get her other pupils; for she is anxious to work, like my girls.


Mab says our life has become like a fairy tale, and all she is afraid of is that Mirah will turn into a nightingale again and fly away from us.

Mab says our life has become like a fairy tale, and she is afraid that Mirah will turn into a nightingale again and fly away.


Her voice is just perfect: not loud and strong, but searching and melting, like the thoughts of what has been.

Her voice is just perfect: not loud and strong, but searching and melting."


That is the way old people like me feel a beautiful voice."


But Mrs. Meyrick did not enter into particulars which would have required her to say that Amy and Mab, who had accompanied Mirah to the synagogue, found the Jewish faith less reconcilable with their wishes in her case than in that of Scott's Rebecca.

But Mrs. Meyrick did not tell him how Amy and Mab had accompanied Mirah to the synagogue, and found the Jewish faith less reconcilable with their wishes.


They kept silence out of delicacy to Mirah, with whom her religion was too tender a subject to be touched lightly; but after a while Amy, who was much of a practical reformer, could not restrain a question.

They kept silence out of delicacy to Mirah, with whom her religion was a tender subject; but after a while Amy could not restrain a question.


"Excuse me, Mirah, but _does_ it seem quite right to you that the women should sit behind rails in a gallery apart?"

"Excuse me, Mirah, but does it seem quite right to you that the women should sit behind rails in a gallery apart?"


"Yes, I never thought of anything else," said Mirah, with mild surprise.


"And you like better to see the men with their hats on?"


said Mab, cautiously proposing the smallest item of difference.


I like what I have always seen there, because it brings back to me the same feelings--the feelings I would not part with for anything else in the world."

I like what I have always seen there, because it brings back to me feelings I would not part with for anything else in the world."


After this, any criticism, whether of doctrine or practice, would have seemed to these generous little people an inhospitable cruelty.

After this, any criticism would have seemed to these generous little people an inhospitable cruelty.


Mirah's religion was of one fibre with her affections, and had never presented itself to her as a set of propositions.

Mirah's religion was of one fibre with her affections.


"She says herself she is a very bad Jewess, and does not half know her people's religion," said Amy, when Mirah was gone to bed.

"She says she is a very bad Jewess, and does not know half her people's religion," said Amy, when Mirah was gone to bed.


"Perhaps it would gradually melt away from her, and she would pass into Christianity like the rest of the world, if she got to love us very much, and never found her mother."


It is so strange to be of the Jews' religion now."


"I wish I were not such a hideous Christian.


How can an ugly Christian, who is always dropping her work, convert a beautiful Jewess, who has not a fault?"


"It may be wicked of me," said shrewd Kate, "but I cannot help wishing that her mother may not be found.


"I don't think it, my dear," said Mrs. Meyrick.


"I believe Mirah is cut out after the pattern of her mother.


And what a joy it would be to her to have such a daughter brought back again!"


But a mother's feelings are not worth reckoning, I suppose" (she shot a mischievous glance at her own daughters), "and a dead mother is worth more than a living one?"


"Well, and so she may be, little mother," said Kate; "but we would rather hold you cheaper, and have you alive."


Not only the Meyricks, whose various knowledge had been acquired by the irregular foraging to which clever girls have usually been reduced, but Deronda himself, with all his masculine instruction, had been roused by this apparition of Mirah to the consciousness of knowing hardly anything about modern Judaism or the inner Jewish history.

Not only the Meyricks, whose knowledge had been acquired by the irregular foraging to which clever girls have usually been reduced, but Deronda himself, with all his masculine instruction, had been made aware by Mirah's coming that they knew hardly anything about modern Judaism or Jewish history.


The Chosen People have been commonly treated as a people chosen for the sake of somebody else; and their thinking as something (no matter exactly what) that ought to have been entirely otherwise; and Deronda, like his neighbors, had regarded Judaism as a sort of eccentric fossilized form which an accomplished man might dispense with studying, and leave to specialists.

Deronda, like his neighbours, had regarded Judaism as a sort of eccentric fossilized form which an accomplished man might dispense with studying, and leave to specialists.


But Mirah, with her terrified flight from one parent, and her yearning after the other, had flashed on him the hitherto neglected reality that Judaism was something still throbbing in human lives, still making for them the only conceivable vesture of the world; and in the idling excursion on which he immediately afterward set out with Sir Hugo he began to look for the outsides of synagogues, and the title of books about the Jews.

But Mirah, with her terrified flight from one parent, and her yearning after the other, had flashed on him the fact that Judaism was something still central in human lives; and while travelling with Sir Hugo he began to look for synagogues and books about the Jews.


This awakening of a new interest--this passing from the supposition that we hold the right opinions on a subject we are careless about, to a sudden care for it, and a sense that our opinions were ignorance--is an effectual remedy for _ennui_, which, unhappily, cannot be secured on a physician's prescription; but Deronda had carried it with him, and endured his weeks of lounging all the better.


It was on this journey that he first entered a Jewish synagogue--at Frankfort--where his party rested on a Friday.

It was on this journey that he first entered a Jewish synagogue, at Frankfort, where his group rested one Friday.


In exploring the Juden-gasse, which he had seen long before, he remembered well enough its picturesque old houses; what his eyes chiefly dwelt on now were the human types there; and his thought, busily connecting them with the past phases of their race, stirred that fibre of historic sympathy which had helped to determine in him certain traits worth mentioning for those who are interested in his future.

In exploring the Judengasse, the Jewish ghetto, which he had seen long before, he remembered well enough its picturesque old houses; what his eyes chiefly dwelt on now were the human types there; and his thought, busily connecting them with the past of their race, stirred that fibre of historic sympathy which had grown within him.


True, when a young man has a fine person, no eccentricity of manners, the education of a gentleman, and a present income, it is not customary to feel a prying curiosity about his way of thinking, or his peculiar tastes.


He may very well be settled in life as an agreeable clever young fellow without passing a special examination on those heads.


Later, when he is getting rather slovenly and portly, his peculiarities are more distinctly discerned, and it is taken as a mercy if they are not highly objectionable.


But any one wishing to understand the effect of after-events on Deronda should know a little more of what he was at five-and-twenty than was evident in ordinary intercourse.


It happened that the very vividness of his impressions had often made him the more enigmatic to his friends, and had contributed to an apparent indefiniteness in his sentiments.


His early-wakened sensibility and reflectiveness had developed into a many-sided sympathy, which threatened to hinder any persistent course of action: as soon as he took up any antagonism, though only in thought, he seemed to himself like the Sabine warriors in the memorable story--with nothing to meet his spear but flesh of his flesh, and objects that he loved.

His early-wakened sensibility and reflectiveness had developed into a many-sided sympathy.


His imagination had so wrought itself to the habit of seeing things as they probably appeared to others, that a strong partisanship, unless it were against an immediate oppression, had become an insincerity for him.

The indefiniteness of his sentiments threatened to hinder any persistent course of action: as soon as he took up any side, he began to see things as they probably appeared to others; so that any strong partisanship, unless it were against oppression, seemed insincere to him.


His plenteous, flexible sympathy had ended by falling into one current with that reflective analysis which tends to neutralize sympathy.

He tended to fall into that reflective analysis which neutralizes sympathy.


Few men were able to keep themselves clearer of vices than he; yet he hated vices mildly, being used to think of them less in the abstract than as a part of mixed human natures having an individual history, which it was the bent of his mind to trace with understanding and pity.

Few men were able to keep themselves clearer of vices than he; yet he hated vices only mildly, thinking of them as part of human nature, which he should trace with understanding and pity.


With the same innate balance he was fervidly democratic in his feeling for the multitude, and yet, through his affections and imagination, intensely conservative; voracious of speculations on government and religion, yet loth to part with long-sanctioned forms which, for him, were quick with memories and sentiments that no argument could lay dead.

He was fervidly democratic in his feeling for the multitude, and yet, through his affections, intensely conservative, loath to part with ancient forms which, for him, were alive with memory and sentiment.


We fall on the leaning side; and Deronda suspected himself of loving too well the losing causes of the world.

He suspected himself of loving too well the losing causes of the world.


Martyrdom changes sides, and he was in danger of changing with it, having a strong repugnance to taking up that clue of success which the order of the world often forces upon us and makes it treason against the common weal to reject.


And yet his fear of falling into an unreasoning narrow hatred made a check for him: he apologized for the heirs of privilege; he shrank with dislike from the loser's bitterness and the denunciatory tone of the unaccepted innovator.

And yet his fear of falling into an unreasoning narrow hatred constrained him: he apologized for the heirs of privilege; he shrank with dislike from the loser's bitterness.


A too reflective and diffusive sympathy was in danger of paralyzing in him that indignation against wrong and that selectness of fellowship which are the conditions of moral force; and in the last few years of confirmed manhood he had become so keenly aware of this that what he most longed for was either some external event, or some inward light, that would urge him into a definite line of action, and compress his wandering energy.

His too diffusive sympathy was in danger of paralyzing the force of his indignation against wrong; and he had become so keenly aware of this that he longed for some event, or inward light, to urge him into action, and focus his energy.


He was ceasing to care for knowledge--he had no ambition for practice--unless they could both be gathered up into one current with his emotions; and he dreaded, as if it were a dwelling-place of lost souls, that dead anatomy of culture which turns the universe into a mere ceaseless answer to queries, and knows, not everything, but everything else about everything--as if one should be ignorant of nothing concerning the scent of violets except the scent itself for which one had no nostril.

He was ceasing to care for knowledge unless it spoke to his emotions; and he dreaded, as if it were a dwelling-place of lost souls, that dead anatomy of culture which turns the universe into a mere ceaseless answer to queries, and knows, not everything, but everything else about everything - as if one should know everything about the scent of violets while being unable to detect it oneself.


But how and whence was the needed event to come?--the influence that would justify partiality, and make him what he longed to be, yet was unable to make himself--an organic part of social life, instead of roaming in it like a yearning disembodied spirit, stirred with a vague social passion, but without fixed local habitation to render fellowship real?

But how and whence was the needed event to come? - the influence that would make him what he longed to be - an organic part of social life, instead of roaming in it like a yearning disembodied spirit, stirred with a vague social passion, but without a home to render fellowship real?


To make a little difference for the better was what he was not contented to live without; but how to make it?


It is one thing to see your road, another to cut it.


He found some of the fault in his birth and the way he had been brought up, which had laid no special demands on him and had given him no fixed relationship except one of a doubtful kind; but he did not attempt to hide from himself that he had fallen into a meditative numbness, and was gliding farther and farther from that life of practically energetic sentiment which he would have proclaimed (if he had been inclined to proclaim anything) to be the best of all life, and for himself the only way worth living.

He found some of the fault in the way he had been brought up, which had laid no special demands on him and had given him no fixed relationship except a doubtful one; but he also knew that he had fallen into a meditative numbness, and was gliding farther and farther from that energetic life which he would have proclaimed to be the best of all life, and the only way worth living.


He wanted some way of keeping emotion and its progeny of sentiments--which make the savors of life--substantial and strong in the face of a reflectiveness that threatened to nullify all differences.

He wanted some way of keeping emotion strong.


To pound the objects of sentiment into small dust, yet keep sentiment alive and active, was something like the famous recipe for making cannon--to first take a round hole and then enclose it with iron; whatever you do keeping fast hold of your round hole.

To pound the objects of sentiment into small dust, yet keep sentiment alive and active, was something like the famous recipe for making cannon - first take a round hole and then enclose it with iron; whatever you do holding fast to the hole.


Yet how distinguish what our will may wisely save in its completeness, from the heaping of cat-mummies and the expensive cult of enshrined putrefactions?


Something like this was the common under-current in Deronda's mind while he was reading law or imperfectly attending to polite conversation.

This was the under-current in Deronda's mind while he was reading law or imperfectly attending to polite conversation.


Meanwhile he had not set about one function in particular with zeal and steadiness.

Meanwhile he had not set about any function in particular with zeal and steadiness.


Not an admirable experience, to be proposed as an ideal; but a form of struggle before break of day which some young men since the patriarch have had to pass through, with more or less of bruising if not laming.


I have said that under his calm exterior he had a fervor which made him easily feel the presence of poetry in everyday events; and the forms of the Juden-gasse, rousing the sense of union with what is remote, set him musing on two elements of our historic life which that sense raises into the same region of poetry;--the faint beginnings of faiths and institutions, and their obscure lingering decay; the dust and withered remnants with which they are apt to be covered, only enhancing for the awakened perception the impressiveness either of a sublimely penetrating life, as in the twin green leaves that will become the sheltering tree, or of a pathetic inheritance in which all the grandeur and the glory have become a sorrowing memory.

Under his calm exterior he felt the presence of poetry in everyday events. The Judengasse set him musing on two poetic elements of our historic life: the faint beginnings of faiths and institutions; and their obscure lingering decay, the dust with which they are covered only enhancing their former grandeur and glory.


This imaginative stirring, as he turned out of the Juden-gasse, and continued to saunter in the warm evening air, meaning to find his way to the synagogue, neutralized the repellent effect of certain ugly little incidents on his way.

This imaginative stirring, as he left the Judengasse and sauntered in the warm evening air, meaning to find his way to the synagogue, neutralized the repellent effect of certain ugly little incidents on his way.


Turning into an old book-shop to ask the exact time of service at the synagogue, he was affectionately directed by a precocious Jewish youth, who entered cordially into his wanting, not the fine new building of the Reformed but the old Rabbinical school of the orthodox; and then cheated him like a pure Teuton, only with more amenity, in his charge for a book quite out of request as one "nicht so leicht zu bekommen."

Turning into an old book-shop to ask the time of service at the old orthodox synagogue, he was affectionately directed by a precocious Jewish youth, who then cheated him in charging him for a book.


Meanwhile at the opposite counter a deaf and grisly tradesman was casting a flinty look at certain cards, apparently combining advantages of business with religion, and shoutingly proposed to him in Jew-dialect by a dingy man in a tall coat hanging from neck to heel, a bag in hand, and a broad low hat surmounting his chosen nose--who had no sooner disappeared than another dingy man of the same pattern issued from the background glooms of the shop and also shouted in the same dialect.

Meanwhile at the opposite counter a deaf tradesman was conversing with a dingy man in a tall coat hanging from neck to heel, a bag in hand, who shouted at him in Jew-dialect, and who had no sooner disappeared than another dingy man of the same pattern issued from the gloom of the shop and shouted in the same dialect.


In fact, Deronda saw various queer-looking Israelites not altogether without guile, and just distinguishable from queer-looking Christians of the same mixed _morale_.

In fact, Deronda saw various queer-looking Israelites just distinguishable from queer-looking Christians of the same mixed morals.


In his anxiety about Mirah's relatives, he had lately been thinking of vulgar Jews with a sort of personal alarm.


But a little comparison will often diminish our surprise and disgust at the aberrations of Jews and other dissidents whose lives do not offer a consistent or lovely pattern of their creed; and this evening Deronda, becoming more conscious that he was falling into unfairness and ridiculous exaggeration, began to use that corrective comparison: he paid his thaler too much, without prejudice to his interests in the Hebrew destiny, or his wish to find the _Rabbinische Schule_, which he arrived at by sunset, and entered with a good congregation of men.

But this evening, conscious that he was falling into an unfair and ridiculous exaggeration, he began to correct his own prejudices. At sunset, he arrived at the Rabbinische Schule, and entered with a good congregation of men.


He happened to take his seat in a line with an elderly man from whom he was distant enough to glance at him more than once as rather a noticeable figure--his ample white beard and felt hat framing a profile of that fine contour which may as easily be Italian as Hebrew.

He happened to take his seat in a line with an elderly man, whose ample white beard and felt hat framed a fine profile which might as easily be Italian as Hebrew.


He returned Deronda's notice till at last their eyes met; an undesirable chance with unknown persons, and a reason to Deronda for not looking again; but he immediately found an open prayer-book pushed toward him and had to bow his thanks.

Their eyes met; an undesirable chance with unknown persons, and a reason to Deronda for not looking again; but he immediately found an open prayer-book pushed toward him and had to bow his thanks.


However, the congregation had mustered, the reader had mounted to the _almemor_ or platform, and the service began.

The reader had mounted to the almemor or platform, and the service began.


Deronda, having looked enough at the German translation of the Hebrew in the book before him to know that he was chiefly hearing Psalms and Old Testament passages or phrases, gave himself up to that strongest effect of chanted liturgies which is independent of detailed verbal meaning--like the effect of an Allegri's _Miserere_ or a Palestrina's _Magnificat_.

Deronda, having looked enough at the German translation of the Hebrew in the book before him to know that he was hearing Psalms and Old Testament passages, gave himself up to that strong effect of chanted liturgies which is independent of meaning - like the effect of an Allegri's Miserere or a Palestrina's Magnificat.


The most powerful movement of feeling with a liturgy is the prayer which seeks for nothing special, but is a yearning to escape from the limitations of our own weakness and an invocation of all Good to enter and abide with us; or else a self-oblivious lifting up of Gladness, a _Gloria in excelsis_ that such Good exists; both the yearning and the exaltation gathering their utmost force from the sense of communion in a form which has expressed them both, for long generations of struggling fellow-men.

The most powerful feeling with a liturgy is the prayer which yearns to escape from the limitations of our own weakness and asks Good to enter and abide with us; or else a lifting up of Gladness, a Gloria in excelsis that such Good exists; both the yearning and the exultation gathering force from the sense of communion which has lasted through long generations of struggling fellow-men.


The Hebrew liturgy, like others, has its transitions of litany, lyric, proclamation, dry statement and blessing; but this evening, all were one for Deronda: the chant of the _Chazaris_ or Reader's grand wide-ranging voice with its passage from monotony to sudden cries, the outburst of sweet boys' voices from the little choir, the devotional swaying of men's bodies backward and forward, the very commonness of the building and shabbiness of the scene where a national faith, which had penetrated the thinking of half the world, and moulded the splendid forms of that world's religion, was finding a remote, obscure echo--all were blent for him as one expression of a binding history, tragic and yet glorious.

The Hebrew liturgy, like others, has its transitions of litany, lyric, proclamation, dry statement and blessing; but this evening, all were one for Deronda: the chant of the Chazan's or Reader's grand wide-ranging voice with its passage from monotony to sudden cries, the outburst of sweet boys' voices from the little choir, the devotional swaying of men's bodies backward and forward, the very shabbiness of the building where a national faith which had penetrated the thinking of half the world was finding a remote echo: all were blended for him as one expression of a tragic, glorious history.


He wondered at the strength of his own feeling; it seemed beyond the occasion--what one might imagine to be a divine influx in the darkness, before there was any vision to interpret.

He wondered at the strength of his own feeling.


The whole scene was a coherent strain, its burden a passionate regret, which, if he had known the liturgy for the Day of Reconciliation, he might have clad in its autithetic burden; "Happy the eye which saw all these things; but verily to hear only of them afflicts our soul.

The service embodied a passionate regret, which, if he had known the liturgy for the Day of Reconciliation, he might have understood as; "Happy the eye which saw all these things; but verily to hear only of them afflicts our soul.


Happy the eye that saw our temple and the joy of our congregation; but verily to hear only of them afflicts our soul.


Happy the eye that saw the fingers when tuning every kind of song; but verily to hear only of them afflicts our soul."


But with the cessation of the devotional sounds and the movement of many indifferent faces and vulgar figures before him there darted into his mind the frigid idea that he had probably been alone in his feeling, and perhaps the only person in the congregation for whom the service was more than a dull routine.

But with the end of the service and the movement of many indifferent faces there darted into his mind the frigid idea that he had probably been alone in his feeling, and perhaps the only person in the congregation for whom the service was more than a dull routine.


There was just time for this chilling thought before he had bowed to his civil neighbor and was moving away with the rest--when he felt a hand on his arm, and turning with the rather unpleasant sensation which this abrupt sort of claim is apt to bring, he saw close to him the white-bearded face of that neighbor, who said to him in German, "Excuse me, young gentleman--allow me--what is your parentage--your mother's family--her maiden name?"

He was moving away with the rest, when he felt a hand on his arm, and turning saw the white-bearded face of his neighbour, who said to him in German, "Excuse me, young gentleman - what is your parentage - your mother's family - her maiden name?"


Deronda had a strongly resistant feeling: he was inclined to shake off hastily the touch on his arm; but he managed to slip it away and said coldly, "I am an Englishman."

Deronda felt resistant, and inclined to shake off the touch on his arm. He said coldly, "I am an Englishman."


The questioner looked at him dubiously still for an instant, then just lifted his hat and turned away; whether under a sense of having made a mistake or of having been repulsed, Deronda was uncertain.

The questioner looked at him dubiously for an instant, and then lifted his hat and turned away; whether under a sense of having made a mistake or of having been repulsed, Deronda was uncertain.


In his walk back to the hotel he tried to still any uneasiness on the subject by reflecting that he could not have acted differently.

In his walk back to the hotel he reflected that he could not have acted differently.


How could he say that he did not know the name of his mother's family to that total stranger?--who indeed had taken an unwarrantable liberty in the abruptness of his question, dictated probably by some fancy of likeness such as often occurs without real significance.

How could he say that he did not know the name of his mother's family to that total stranger?- who indeed had taken a liberty in asking the abrupt question, probably thinking he saw some likeness.


The incident, he said to himself, was trivial; but whatever import it might have, his inward shrinking on the occasion was too strong for him to be sorry that he had cut it short. It was a reason, however, for his not mentioning the synagogue to the Mallingers--in addition to his usual inclination to reticence on anything that the baronet would have been likely to call Quixotic enthusiasm.

The incident, he told himself, was trivial; but it was a reason, however, for his not mentioning the synagogue to the Mallingers.


Hardly any man could be more good-natured than Sir Hugo; indeed in his kindliness especially to women, he did actions which others would have called romantic; but he never took a romantic view of them, and in general smiled at the introduction of motives on a grand scale, or of reasons that lay very far off.


This was the point of strongest difference between him and Deronda, who rarely ate at breakfast without some silent discursive flight after grounds for filling up his day according to the practice of his contemporaries.


This halt at Frankfort was taken on their way home, and its impressions were kept the more actively vibrating in him by the duty of caring for Mirah's welfare.

This halt at Frankfort was taken on their way home, and its impressions were kept alive in him by the duty of caring for Mirah's welfare.


That question about his parentage, which if he had not both inwardly and outwardly shaken it off as trivial, would have seemed a threat rather than a promise of revelation, and reinforced his anxiety as to the effect of finding Mirah's relatives and his resolve to proceed with caution.

That question about his parentage, though trivial, reinforced his anxiety as to the effect of finding Mirah's relatives, and his resolve to proceed with caution.


If he made any unpleasant discovery, was he bound to a disclosure that might cast a new net of trouble around her?

If he made any unpleasant discovery, was he bound to tell her and perhaps cast a new net of trouble around her?


He had written to Mrs. Meyrick to announce his visit at four o'clock, and he found Mirah seated at work with only Mrs. Meyrick and Mab, the open piano, and all the glorious company of engravings.

When he visited the Meyricks at four o'clock, he found Mirah seated with Mrs. Meyrick and Mab by the open piano, with all the glorious company of engravings.


The dainty neatness of her hair and dress, the glow of tranquil happiness in a face where a painter need have changed nothing if he had wanted to put it in front of the host singing "peace on earth and good will to men," made a contrast to his first vision of her that was delightful to Deronda's eyes.

The dainty neatness of her hair and dress, and the glow of tranquil happiness in her face, made a contrast to his first vision of her that was delightful to Deronda's eyes.


Mirah herself was thinking of it, and immediately on their greeting said,

Mirah herself was thinking of it, and on their greeting said-


"See how different I am from the miserable creature by the river!


all because you found me and brought me to the very best."

All because you found me and brought me to the very best."


"It was my good chance to find you," said Deronda.


"Any other man would have been glad to do what I did."


"That is not the right way to be thinking about it," said Mirah, shaking her head with decisive gravity, "I think of what really was. It was you, and not another, who found me and were good to me."

"That is not the right way to think about it," said Mirah, shaking her head with decisive gravity, "It was you, and not another, who found me and were good to me."


"I agree with Mirah," said Mrs. Meyrick.


"Saint Anybody is a bad saint to pray to."


"Besides, Anybody could not have brought me to you," said Mirah, smiling at Mrs. Meyrick.


"And I would rather be with you than with any one else in the world except my mother.

"And I would rather be with you than with anyone in the world except my mother.


I wonder if ever a poor little bird, that was lost and could not fly, was taken and put into a warm nest where was a mother and sisters who took to it so that everything came naturally, as if it had been always there.

I feel like a lost bird put into a warm nest.


I hardly thought before that the world could ever be as happy and without fear as it is to me now."


She looked meditative a moment, and then said, "sometimes I am a _little_ afraid."
"What is it you are afraid of?" said Deronda with anxiety.
"That when I am turning at the corner of a street I may meet my father.

She looked meditative a moment, and then said plaintively, "Sometimes I am a little afraid that I may meet my father in the street.


It seems dreadful that I should be afraid of meeting him.


That is my only sorrow," said Mirah, plaintively.


"It is surely not very probable," said Deronda, wishing that it were less so; then, not to let the opportunity escape--"Would it be a great grief to you now if you were never to meet your mother?"

"It is not very probable," said Deronda, wishing that it were less so; then, not to let the opportunity escape- "Would it be a great grief to you if you were never to meet your mother?"


She did not answer immediately, but meditated again, with her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.


Then she turned them on Deronda and said firmly, as if she had arrived at the exact truth, "I want her to know that I have always loved her, and if she is alive I want to comfort her.

Then she said firmly, "I want her to know that I have always loved her, and if she is alive I want to comfort her.


If she were I should long to know where she was buried; and to know whether my brother lives, to say Kaddish in memory of her.

If she were, I should long to know where she was buried; and to know whether my brother lives, so that we can remember her together.


I have thought much for so many years of her being dead.


And I shall have her with me in my mind, as I have always had.


I think I have never sinned against her.


I have always tried not to do what would hurt her.


Only, she might be sorry that I was not a good Jewess."


"In what way are you not a good Jewess?"


"I am ignorant, and we never observed the laws, but lived among Christians just as they did.


But I have heard my father laugh at the strictness of the Jews about their food and all customs, and their not liking Christians.

I have heard my father laugh at the strictness of the Jews about their food and customs, and not liking Christians.


I think my mother was strict; but she could never want me not to like those who are better to me than any of my own people I have ever known.

I think my mother was strict; but she could never want me not to like people who have been so good to me.


I think I could obey in other things that she wished but not in that.


It is so much easier to me to share in love than in hatred.


I remember a play I read in German--since I have been here it has come into my mind--where the heroine says something like that."


But I do not believe that my mother would wish me not to love my best friends.


Here Mirah had turned to Mrs. Meyrick, and with a sudden lighting up of her whole countenance, she said, "Oh, if we ever do meet and know each other as we are now, so that I could tell what would comfort her--I should be so full of blessedness my soul would know no want but to love her!"

Here Mirah turned to Mrs. Meyrick, and with a sudden lighting up of her face, said, "Oh, if we ever do meet, I should be so full of blessedness my soul would know no want but to love her!"


said Mrs. Meyrick, the words escaping involuntarily from her motherly heart.


But to relieve the strain of feeling she looked at Deronda and said, "It is curious that Mirah, who remembers her mother so well it is as if she saw her, cannot recall her brother the least bit--except the feeling of having been carried by him when she was tired, and of his being near her when she was in her mother's lap.

Looking at Deronda, she said, "It is curious that Mirah, who remembers her mother so well, cannot recall her brother the least bit - except the feeling of having been carried by him when she was tired, and of his being near when she was in her mother's lap.


It is a pity her brother should be quite a stranger to her."


"He is good; I feel sure Ezra is good," said Mirah, eagerly.


"He loved my mother--he would take care of her.


I remember my mother's voice once calling, 'Ezra!'


and then his answering from a distance 'Mother!'"


--Mirah had changed her voice a little in each of these words and had given them a loving intonation--"and then he came close to us.


It was impossible to answer this either with agreement or doubt.


Mrs. Meyrick and Deronda exchanged a quick glance: about this brother she felt as painfully dubious as he did.


But Mirah went on, absorbed in her memories,

But Mirah went on, absorbed in her memories-


"Is it not wonderful how I remember the voices better than anything else?

"Is it not wonderful how I remember voices better than anything else?


I think they must go deeper into us than other things.


I have often fancied heaven might be made of voices."


"Like your singing--yes," said Mab, who had hitherto kept a modest silence, and now spoke bashfully, as was her wont in the presence of Prince Camaralzaman--"Ma, do ask Mirah to sing.

"Like your singing - yes," said Mab, who spoke bashfully, as was her wont in the presence of Prince Camaralzaman. "Ma, do ask Mirah to sing.


"Would it be disagreeable to you to sing now?"


said Deronda, with a more deferential gentleness than he had ever been conscious of before.


"My voice has come back a little with rest."


Perhaps her ease of manner was due to something more than the simplicity of her nature.


The circumstances of her life made her think of everything she did as work demanded from her, in which affectation had nothing to do; and she had begun her work before self-consciousness was born.

The circumstances of her life made her think of it as work, which she had begun before self-consciousness was born.


She immediately rose and went to the piano--a somewhat worn instrument that seemed to get the better of its infirmities under the firm touch of her small fingers as she preluded.

She immediately rose and went to the piano.


Deronda placed himself where he could see her while she sang; and she took everything as quietly as if she had been a child going to breakfast.


Imagine her--it is always good to imagine a human creature in whom bodily loveliness seems as properly one with the entire being as the bodily loveliness of those wondrous transparent orbs of life that we find in the sea--imagine her with her dark hair brushed from her temples, but yet showing certain tiny rings there which had cunningly found their own way back, the mass of it hanging behind just to the nape of the little neck in curly fibres, such as renew themselves at their own will after being bathed into straightness like that of water-grasses.

Imagine her with her dark hair brushed from her temples, yet showing tiny ringlets which had cunningly found their own way back.


Then see the perfect cameo her profile makes, cut in a duskish shell, where by some happy fortune there pierced a gem-like darkness for the eye and eyebrow; the delicate nostrils defined enough to be ready for sensitive movements, the finished ear, the firm curves of the chin and neck, entering into the expression of a refinement which was not feebleness.

Then see the perfect cameo of her profile, cut in a dusky shell; the dark eye, delicate nostrils, the finished ear, the firm curves of the chin and neck, all the expression of a refinement which was not feebleness.


She sang Beethoven's "Per piet non dirmi addio" with a subdued but searching pathos which had that essential of perfect singing, the making one oblivious of art or manner, and only possessing one with the song.

She sang Beethoven's "Per piet non dirmi addio," with a subdued but searching pathos which, like all perfect singing, made one oblivious of art or manner, and only possessed one with the song.


It was the sort of voice that gives the impression of being meant like a bird's wooing for an audience near and beloved.


Deronda began by looking at her, but felt himself presently covering his eyes with his hand, wanting to seclude the melody in darkness; then he refrained from what might seem oddity, and was ready to meet the look of mute appeal which she turned toward him at the end.

Deronda began by looking at her, but felt himself presently covering his eyes with his hand, wanting to seclude the melody in darkness; but he was ready to meet the look of appeal which she turned toward him at the end.


"I think I never enjoyed a song more than that," he said, gratefully.

"I think I never enjoyed a song more than that," he said gratefully.


I am so glad," she said, with a smile of delight.


"It has been a great pain to me, because it failed in what it was wanted for.

"It has been painful to me that it failed in what it was wanted for.


But now we think I can use it to get my bread.


And now I have two pupils, that Miss Meyrick found for me.

And I have two pupils, that Miss Meyrick found for me.


They pay me nearly two crowns for their two lessons."

They pay me nearly two crowns for their lessons."


"I think I know some ladies who would find you many pupils after Christmas," said Deronda.


"You would not mind singing before any one who wished to hear you?"

"You would not mind singing before anyone who wished to hear you?"


"Oh no, I want to do something to get money. I could teach reading and speaking, Mrs. Meyrick thinks. But if no one would learn of me, that is difficult." Mirah smiled with a touch of merriment he had not seen in her before. "I dare say I should find her poor--I mean my mother. I should want to get money for her.

"Oh no, I want to do something to get money for my mother.


And I can not always live on charity; though"--here she turned so as to take all three of her companions in one glance--"it is the sweetest charity in all the world."

And I can not always live on charity; though" - here she glanced at her companions - "it is the sweetest charity in all the world."


"I should think you can get rich," said Deronda, smiling. "Great ladies will perhaps like you to teach their daughters.

"I should think you can get rich by teaching," said Deronda, smiling.


She went on willingly, singing with ready memory various things by Gordigiani and Schubert; then, when she had left the piano, Mab said, entreatingly, "Oh, Mirah, if you would not mind singing the little hymn."
"It is too childish," said Mirah. "It is like lisping."
"What is the hymn?" said Deronda.
"It is the Hebrew hymn she remembers her mother singing over her when she lay in her cot," said Mrs. Meyrick.

She went on willingly, singing with ready memory various things by Gordigiani and Schubert; and then Mab said entreatingly, "Oh, Mirah, if you would not mind singing the little hymn - the Hebrew hymn you remember your mother singing."


"I should like very much to hear it," said Deronda, "if you think I am worthy to hear what is so sacred."

"I should like very much to hear that," said Deronda, "if you think I am worthy to hear what is so sacred."


"I will sing it if you like," said Mirah, "but I don't sing real words--only here and there a syllable like hers--the rest is lisping.

"I will sing it if you like," said Mirah, "but I don't sing real words - only here and there - the rest is childish lisping.


because if you do, my singing will seem childish nonsense."

because if you do, it will seem childish nonsense."


Mirah crossed her little feet and hands in her easiest attitude, and then lifted up her head at an angle which seemed to be directed to some invisible face bent over her, while she sang a little hymn of quaint melancholy intervals, with syllables that really seemed childish lisping to her audience; the voice in which she gave it forth had gathered even a sweeter, more cooing tenderness than was heard in her other songs.

Mirah crossed her little feet and hands, and then lifted up her head at an angle which seemed to be directed to some invisible face bent over her, while she sang a little hymn of quaint melancholy intervals, with lisping syllables; her voice held an even sweeter tenderness than in her other songs.


"If I were ever to know the real words, I should still go on in my old way with them," said Mirah, when she had repeated the hymn several times.


"Why not?" said Deronda. "The lisped syllables are very full of meaning."

"It is very full of meaning," said Deronda.


"A mother hears something of a lisp in her children's talk to the very last.


Their words are not just what everybody else says, though they may be spelled the same.


If I were to live till my Hans got old, I should still see the boy in him.


A mother's love, I often say, is like a tree that has got all the wood in it, from the very first it made."


"Is not that the way with friendship, too?"


"We must not let the mothers be too arrogant."


The little woman shook her head over her darning.


"It is easier to find an old mother than an old friend.


Friendships begin with liking or gratitude--roots that can be pulled up.


"Like what you were saying about the influence of voices," said Deronda, looking at Mirah.


"I don't think your hymn would have had more expression for me if I had known the words.

"Even if I had known the words, I don't think it would have had more expression for me.


I went to the synagogue at Frankfort before I came home, and the service impressed me just as much as if I had followed the words--perhaps more."

I went to the synagogue at Frankfort, and the service impressed me just as much as if I had followed the words."