第256章

If he resigned the living, what would become of him--of him--of him and his wife? Whither would they first go when they turned their back upon the door inside which there had at any rate been shelter for them for so many years? He calculated everything that he had, and found that at the end of April, even when he should have received his rent-charge, there would not be five pounds in hand among them. As for his furniture, he still owed enough to make it impossible that he should get anything out of that. And these thoughts all had reference to his position if he should be acquitted. What would become of his wife if he should be convicted? And as for himself, whither would he go when he came out of prison?

He had completely realised the idea that Hoggett's counsel was opposed to that given to him by Dr Tempest; but then it might certainly be the case that Hoggett had not known all the facts. A man should, no doubt, be dogged when the evils of life are insuperable; but need he be so when the evils can be overcome? Would not Hoggett himself undergo any treatment which he believed to be specific for rheumatism? Yes; Hoggett would undergo any treatment that was not in itself opposed to his duty.

The best treatment for rheumatism might be to stay away from the brick-field on a rainy day; but if so, there would be no money to keep the pot boiling, and Hoggett would certainly go to the brick-field, rheumatism and all, as long as his limbs would carry him there. Yes; he would send his letter. It was his duty, and he would do it. Men looked askance at him, and pointed at him as a thief. He would send the letter, in spite of Dr Tempest. Let justice be done, though the heaven may fall.

He had heard of Lady Lufton's to his wife. The offers of the Lady Luftons of the world had been sorely distressing to his spirit, since it had first come to pass that such offers had reached him in consequence of his poverty. But now there was something almost of relief to him in the thought that the Lady Luftons would, after some fashion, save his wife and children from starvation--would save his wife from the poorhouse, and enable his children to have a start in the world. For one of his children a brilliant marriage might be provided--if only he himself were out of the way. How could he take himself out of the way?

It had been whispered to him that he might be imprisoned for two months--or for two years. Would it not be a grand thing if the judge would condemn him to be imprisoned for life? Was thee ever a man whose existence was so purposeless, so useless, so deleterious, as his own?

And yet he knew Hebrew well, whereas the dean knew but very little Hebrew. He could make Greek iambics, and doubted whether the bishop knew the difference between an iambus and a trochee. He could disport himself with trigonometry, feeling confident that Dr Tempest had forgotten his way over the asses' bridge. He knew 'Lycidas' by heart; and as for Thumble, he felt quite sure that Thumble was incompetent of understanding a single allusion in that divine poem. Nevertheless, though all his wealth of acquirement was his, it would be better for himself, better for those who belonged to him, better for the world at large, that he should be put an end to. A sentence of penal servitude for life, without any trial, would be of all things the most desirable.

Then there would be ample room for the practice of the virtue that Hoggett had taught him.

When he returned home the Hoggethan doctrine prevailed, and he prepared to copy his letter. But before he commenced his task, he sat down with his youngest daughter, and read--or made her read to him--a passage of a Greek poem, in which are described the troubles and agonies of a blind giant. No giant would have been more powerful--only that he was blind, and could not see to avenge himself on those who had injured him. 'The same story is always coming up,' he said, stopping the girl in her reading. 'We have it in various versions, because it is true to life.

"Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves."It is the same story. Great power reduced to impotence, great glory to misery, by the hand of Fate--Necessity, as the Greeks called her; to goddess that will not be shunned. At the mill with slaves! People, when they read it, do not appreciate the horror of the picture. Go on my dear. It may be a question whether Polyphemus had mind enough to suffer;but, from the description of his power, I should think he had. "At the mill with slaves!" Can any picture be more dreadful than that? Go on, my dear. Of course you remember Milton's Samson Agonistes. Agonistes indeed!' His wife was sitting stitching at the other side of the room;but she heard his words--heard and understood them; and before Jane could again get herself into the swing of the Greek verse, she was over at her husband's side, with her arms round his neck. 'My love!' she said. 'My love!'

He turned to her, and smiled as he spoke to her. 'These are old thoughts with me. Polyphemus and Belisarius, and Samson and Milton, have always been pets of mine. The mind of the strong blind creature must be sensible of the injury that he has been done to him! The impotency, combined with the strength, or rather the impotency with the misery of former strength and former aspirations, is so essentially tragic!'

She looked into his eyes as he spoke, and there was something of the flash of old days, when the world was young to them, and when he would tell her of his hopes, and repeat to her long passages of poetry, and would criticise for her advantage the works of the old writers. 'Thank God,' she said, 'that you are not blind. It may yet be all right with you.'

'Yes--it may be,' he said.

'And you shall not be at the mill with slaves.'

'Or, at any rate, not eyeless in Gaza, if the Lord is good to me. Come, Jane, we will go on.' Then he took up the passage himself, and read it on with clear, sonorous voice, every now and then explaining some passage or expressing his own ideas upon it, as though he were really happy with his poetry.