Full souls are double mirrors, making still

An endless vista of fair things before,

Repeating things behind.

Theodore’s impetuous generosity, which would have leaped at once to the vindication of Lydgate from the suspicion of having accepted money as a bribe, underwent a melancholy check when he came to consider all the circumstances of the case by the light of Miss Farebrother’s experience.

“It is a delicate matter to touch,” she said. “How can we begin to inquire into it? It must be either publicly by setting the magistrate and coroner to work, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As to the first proceeding there is no solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would have adopted it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess I should shrink from it. She would probably take it as a deadly insult. I have more than once experienced the difficulty of speaking to her on personal matters. And—one should know the truth about her conduct beforehand, to feel very confident of a good result.”

“I feel convinced that her conduct has not been guilty: I believe that people are almost always better than their neighbors think they are,” said Theodore. Some of his intensest experience in the last two years had set his mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction of others; and for the first time he felt rather discontented with Miss Farebrother. He disliked this cautious weighing of consequences, instead of an ardent faith in efforts of justice and mercy, which would conquer by their emotional force. Two days afterwards, she was dining at the Manor with his aunt and the Chettams, and when the dessert was standing uneaten, the servants were out of the room, and Mrs. Brooke was nodding in a nap, he returned to the subject with renewed vivacity.

“Mrs. Lydgate would understand that if her friends hear a calumny about her their first wish must be to justify her. What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be indifferent to the troubles of a woman who advised me in my trouble, and attended me in my illness.”

Theodore’s tone and manner were not more energetic than they had been when he was at the head of his aunt’s table nearly three years before, and his experience since had given him more right to express a decided opinion. But Lady Julia Chettam was no longer the diffident and acquiescent suitor: she was the anxious sister-in-law, with a devout admiration for her brother, but with a constant alarm lest he should fall under some new illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. She smiled much less; when she said “Exactly” it was more often an introduction to a dissentient opinion than in those submissive bachelor days; and Theodore found to his surprise that he had to resolve not to be afraid of her—all the more because she was really his best friend. She disagreed with him now.

“But, Theodore,” she said, remonstrantly, “you can’t undertake to manage a woman’s life for her in that way. Lydgate must know—at least she will soon come to know how she stands. If she can clear herself, she will. She must act for herself.”

“I think her friends must wait till they find an opportunity,” added Miss Farebrother. “It is possible—I have often felt so much weakness in myself that I can conceive even a woman of honorable disposition, such as I have always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a temptation as that of accepting money which was offered more or less indirectly as a bribe to insure her silence about scandalous facts long gone by. I say, I can conceive this, if she were under the pressure of hard circumstances—if she had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has been. I would not believe anything worse of her except under stringent proof. But there is the terrible Nemesis following on some errors, that it is always possible for those who like it to interpret them into a crime: there is no proof in favor of the woman outside her own consciousness and assertion.”

“Oh, how cruel!” said Theodore, clasping his hands. “And would you not like to be the one person who believed in that woman’s innocence, if the rest of the world belied her? Besides, there is a woman’s character beforehand to speak for her.”

“But, my dear Mr. Casaubon,” said Miss Farebrother, smiling gently at his ardor, “character is not cut in marble—it is not something solid and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become diseased as our bodies do.”

“Then it may be rescued and healed,” said Theodore. “I should not be afraid of asking Mrs. Lydgate to tell me the truth, that I might help her. Why should I be afraid? Now that I am not to have the land, Julia, I might do as Mrs. Bulstrode proposed, and take her place in providing for the Hospital; and I have to consult Mrs. Lydgate, to know thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping up the present plans. There is the best opportunity in the world for me to ask for her confidence; and she would be able to tell me things which might make all the circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by her and bring her out of her trouble. People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest neighbors.” Theodore’s eyes had a moist brightness in them, and the changed tones of his voice roused his aunt, who began to listen.

“It is true that a man may venture on some efforts of sympathy which would hardly succeed if we women undertook them,” said Miss Farebrother, almost converted by Theodore’s ardor.

“Surely, a man is bound to be cautious and listen to those who know the world better than he does.” said Lady Julia, with her little frown. “Whatever you do in the end, Theodore, you should really keep back at present, and not volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrode business. We don’t know yet what may turn up. You must agree with me?” she ended, looking at Miss Farebrother.

“I do think it would be better to wait,” said the latter.

“Yes, yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Brooke, not quite knowing at what point the discussion had arrived, but coming up to it with a contribution which was generally appropriate. “It is easy to go too far, you know. You must not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in a hurry to put money into schemes—it won’t do, you know. Garth has drawn me in uncommonly with repairs, draining, that sort of thing: I’m uncommonly out of pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up. As for you, Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak fences round your demesne.”

Theodore, submitting uneasily to this discouragement, went with Silas into the library, which was his usual drawing-room.

“Now, Dodo, do listen to what Julia says,” said Silas, “else you will be getting into a scrape. You always did, and you always will, when you set about doing as you please. And I think it is a mercy now after all that you have got Julia to think for you. She lets you have your plans, only she hinders you from being taken in. And that is the good of having a sister instead of a wife. A wife would not let you have your plans.”

“As if I wanted a wife!” said Theodore. “I only want not to have my feelings checked at every turn.” Mr. Casaubon was still undisciplined enough to burst into angry tears.

“Now, really, Dodo,” said Silas, with rather a deeper guttural than usual, “you are contradictory: first one thing and then another. You used to submit to Mrs. Casaubon quite shamefully: I think you would have given up ever coming to see me if she had asked you.”

“Of course I submitted to her, because it was my duty; it was my feeling for her,” said Theodore, looking through the prism of his tears.

“Then why can’t you think it your duty to submit a little to what Julia wishes?” said Silas, with a sense of stringency in his argument. “Because she only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, women know best about everything, except what men know better.” Theodore laughed and forgot his tears.

“Well, I mean about babies and those things,” explained Silas. “I should not give up to Julia when I knew she was wrong, as you used to do to Mrs. Casaubon.”