“Why, now the mill and the land’s all
Wakem’s, and he’s got everything in his
hands, what’s the use o’ setting your face
against him, when he says you may stay here, and speaks
as fair as can be, and says you may manage the business,
and have thirty shillings a-week, and a horse to ride
about to market? And where have we got to put
our heads? We must go into one o’ the cottages
in the village,—and me and my children
brought down to that,—and all because you
must set your mind against folks till there’s
no turning you.”
Mr. Tulliver had sunk back in his chair trembling.
“You may do as you like wi’ me, Bessy,”
he said, in a low voice; “I’ve been the
bringing of you to poverty—this world’s
too many for me—I’m nought but a
bankrupt; it’s no use standing up for anything
now.”
“Father,” said Tom, “I don’t
agree with my mother or my uncles, and I don’t
think you ought to submit to be under Wakem. I
get a pound a-week now, and you can find something
else to do when you get well.”
“Say no more, Tom, say no more; I’ve had
enough for this day. Give me a kiss, Bessy, and
let us bear one another no ill-will; we shall never
be young again—this world’s been too
many for me.”
An Item Added to the Family Register
That first moment of renunciation and submission was
followed by days of violent struggle in the miller’s
mind, as the gradual access of bodily strength brought
with it increasing ability to embrace in one view
all the conflicting conditions under which he found
himself. Feeble limbs easily resign themselves
to be tethered, and when we are subdued by sickness
it seems possible to us to fulfil pledges which the
old vigor comes back and breaks. There were times
when poor Tulliver thought the fulfilment of his promise
to Bessy was something quite too hard for human nature;
he had promised her without knowing what she was going
to say,—she might as well have asked him
to carry a ton weight on his back. But again,
there were many feelings arguing on her side, besides
the sense that life had been made hard to her by having
married him. He saw a possibility, by much pinching,
of saving money out of his salary toward paying a
second dividend to his creditors, and it would not
be easy elsewhere to get a situation such as he could
fill.
He had led an easy life, ordering much and working
little, and had no aptitude for any new business.
He must perhaps take to day-labor, and his wife must
have help from her sisters,—a prospect doubly
bitter to him, now they had let all Bessy’s
precious things be sold, probably because they liked
to set her against him, by making her feel that he
had brought her to that pass. He listened to their
admonitory talk, when they came to urge on him what
he was bound to do for poor Bessy’s sake, with
averted eyes, that every now and then flashed on them
furtively when their backs were turned. Nothing
but the dread of needing their help could have made
it an easier alternative to take their advice.
