Mr. Tulliver was getting excited, and an alarming
flush was on his face. Mr. Glegg wanted to say
something soothing, but he was prevented by Mr. Tulliver’s
speaking again to his wife. “They’ll
make a shift to pay everything, Bessy,” he said,
“and yet leave you your furniture; and your
sisters’ll do something for you—and
Tom’ll grow up—though what he’s
to be I don’t know—I’ve done
what I could—I’ve given him a eddication—and
there’s the little wench, she’ll get married—but
it’s a poor tale——”
The sanative effect of the strong vibration was exhausted,
and with the last words the poor man fell again, rigid
and insensible. Though this was only a recurrence
of what had happened before, it struck all present
as if it had been death, not only from its contrast
with the completeness of the revival, but because
his words had all had reference to the possibility
that his death was near. But with poor Tulliver
death was not to be a leap; it was to be a long descent
under thickening shadows.
Mr. Turnbull was sent for; but when he heard what
had passed, he said this complete restoration, though
only temporary, was a hopeful sign, proving that there
was no permanent lesion to prevent ultimate recovery.
Among the threads of the past which the stricken man
had gathered up, he had omitted the bill of sale;
the flash of memory had only lit up prominent ideas,
and he sank into forgetfulness again with half his
humiliation unlearned.
But Tom was clear upon two points,—that
his uncle Moss’s note must be destroyed; and
that Luke’s money must be paid, if in no other
way, out of his own and Maggie’s money now in
the savings bank. There were subjects, you perceive,
on which Tom was much quicker than on the niceties
of classical construction, or the relations of a mathematical
demonstration.
Tom Applies His Knife to the Oyster
The next day, at ten o’clock, Tom was on his
way to St. Ogg’s, to see his uncle Deane, who
was to come home last night, his aunt had said; and
Tom had made up his mind that his uncle Deane was the
right person to ask for advice about getting some
employment. He was in a great way of business;
he had not the narrow notions of uncle Glegg; and he
had risen in the world on a scale of advancement which
accorded with Tom’s ambition.
It was a dark, chill, misty morning, likely to end
in rain,—one of those mornings when even
happy people take refuge in their hopes. And
Tom was very unhappy; he felt the humiliation as well
as the prospective hardships of his lot with all the
keenness of a proud nature; and with all his resolute
dutifulness toward his father there mingled an irrepressible
indignation against him which gave misfortune the
less endurable aspect of a wrong. Since these
were the consequences of going to law, his father
was really blamable, as his aunts and uncles had always
said he was; and it was a significant indication of
