equal truth to those who blame an action and those
who admire it,—partly, it was that disinclination
to confidence which is seen between near kindred,
that family repulsion which spoils the most sacred
relations of our lives; partly, it was the desire to
surprise his father with a great joy. He did
not see that it would have been better to soothe the
interval with a new hope, and prevent the delirium
of a too sudden elation.
At the time of Maggie’s first meeting with Philip,
Tom had already nearly a hundred and fifty pounds
of his own capital; and while they were walking by
the evening light in the Red Deeps, he, by the same
evening light, was riding into Laceham, proud of being
on his first journey on behalf of Guest & Co., and
revolving in his mind all the chances that by the
end of another year he should have doubled his gains,
lifted off the obloquy of debt from his father’s
name, and perhaps—for he should be twenty-one—have
got a new start for himself, on a higher platform
of employment. Did he not desire it? He
was quite sure that he did.
The Wavering Balance
I said that Maggie went home that evening from the
Red Deeps with a mental conflict already begun.
You have seen clearly enough, in her interview with
Philip, what that conflict was. Here suddenly
was an opening in the rocky wall which shut in the
narrow valley of humiliation, where all her prospect
was the remote, unfathomed sky; and some of the memory-haunting
earthly delights were no longer out of her reach.
She might have books, converse, affection; she might
hear tidings of the world from which her mind had
not yet lost its sense of exile; and it would be a
kindness to Philip too, who was pitiable,—clearly
not happy. And perhaps here was an opportunity
indicated for making her mind more worthy of its highest
service; perhaps the noblest, completest devoutness
could hardly exist without some width of knowledge;
must she always live in this resigned imprisonment?
It was so blameless, so good a thing that there should
be friendship between her and Philip; the motives that
forbade it were so unreasonable, so unchristian!
But the severe monotonous warning came again and again,—that
she was losing the simplicity and clearness of her
life by admitting a ground of concealment; and that,
by forsaking the simple rule of renunciation, she was
throwing herself under the seductive guidance of illimitable
wants. She thought she had won strength to obey
the warning before she allowed herself the next week
to turn her steps in the evening to the Red Deeps.
But while she was resolved to say an affectionate
farewell to Philip, how she looked forward to that
evening walk in the still, fleckered shade of the
hollows, away from all that was harsh and unlovely;
to the affectionate, admiring looks that would meet
her; to the sense of comradeship that childish memories
would give to wiser, older talk; to the certainty
that Philip would care to hear everything she said,
which no one else cared for! It was a half-hour
that it would be very hard to turn her back upon,
with the sense that there would be no other like it.
Yet she said what she meant to say; she looked firm
as well as sad.
