Mr. Stelling felt like a kind-hearted man; he foresaw
a probable money loss for himself, but this had no
appreciable share in his feeling, while he looked
with grave pity at the brother and sister for whom
youth and sorrow had begun together. When he knew
how Maggie had come, and how eager she was to get
home again, he hurried their departure, only whispering
something to Mrs. Stelling, who had followed him, and
who immediately left the room.
Tom and Maggie were standing on the door-step, ready
to set out, when Mrs. Stelling came with a little
basket, which she hung on Maggie’s arm, saying:
“Do remember to eat something on the way, dear.”
Maggie’s heart went out toward this woman whom
she had never liked, and she kissed her silently.
It was the first sign within the poor child of that
new sense which is the gift of sorrow,—that
susceptibility to the bare offices of humanity which
raises them into a bond of loving fellowship, as to
haggard men among the ice-bergs the mere presence of
an ordinary comrade stirs the deep fountains of affection.
Mr. Stelling put his hand on Tom’s shoulder
and said: “God bless you, my boy; let me
know how you get on.” Then he pressed Maggie’s
hand; but there were no audible good-byes. Tom
had so often thought how joyful he should be the day
he left school “for good”! And now
his school years seemed like a holiday that had come
to an end.
The two slight youthful figures soon grew indistinct
on the distant road,—were soon lost behind
the projecting hedgerow.
They had gone forth together into their life of sorrow,
and they would never more see the sunshine undimmed
by remembered cares. They had entered the thorny
wilderness, and the golden gates of their childhood
had forever closed behind them.
Book III
The Downfall
Chapter I
What Had Happened at Home
When Mr. Tulliver first knew the fact that the law-suit
was decided against him, and that Pivart and Wakem
were triumphant, every one who happened to observe
him at the time thought that, for so confident and
hot-tempered a man, he bore the blow remarkably well.
He thought so himself; he thought he was going to
show that if Wakem or anybody else considered him
crushed, they would find themselves mistaken.
He could not refuse to see that the costs of this
protracted suit would take more than he possessed
to pay them; but he appeared to himself to be full
of expedients by which he could ward off any results
but such as were tolerable, and could avoid the appearance
of breaking down in the world. All the obstinacy
and defiance of his nature, driven out of their old
channel, found a vent for themselves in the immediate
formation of plans by which he would meet his difficulties,
and remain Mr. Tulliver of Dorlcote Mill in spite
of them. There was such a rush of projects in
