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"
Well
,
my
dears
,
"
he
said
,
kindly
,
as
they
went
up
to
kiss
him
,
"
I
hope
nothing
disagreeable
has
happened
while
I
have
been
away
.
"
"
No
,
uncle
,
"
said
Celia
,
"
we
have
been
to
Freshitt
to
look
at
the
cottages
.
We
thought
you
would
have
been
at
home
to
lunch
.
"
"
I
came
by
Lowick
to
lunch
—
you
didn
’
t
know
I
came
by
Lowick
.
And
I
have
brought
a
couple
of
pamphlets
for
you
,
Dorothea
—
in
the
library
,
you
know
;
they
lie
on
the
table
in
the
library
.
"
It
seemed
as
if
an
electric
stream
went
through
Dorothea
,
thrilling
her
from
despair
into
expectation
.
They
were
pamphlets
about
the
early
Church
.
The
oppression
of
Celia
,
Tantripp
,
and
Sir
James
was
shaken
off
,
and
she
walked
straight
to
the
library
.
Celia
went
up
-
stairs
.
Mr
.
Brooke
was
detained
by
a
message
,
but
when
he
re
-
entered
the
library
,
he
found
Dorothea
seated
and
already
deep
in
one
of
the
pamphlets
which
had
some
marginal
manuscript
of
Mr
.
Casaubon
’
s
—
taking
it
in
as
eagerly
as
she
might
have
taken
in
the
scent
of
a
fresh
bouquet
after
a
dry
,
hot
,
dreary
walk
.
She
was
getting
away
from
Tipton
and
Freshitt
,
and
her
own
sad
liability
to
tread
in
the
wrong
places
on
her
way
to
the
New
Jerusalem
.
Mr
.
Brooke
sat
down
in
his
arm
-
chair
,
stretched
his
legs
towards
the
wood
-
fire
,
which
had
fallen
into
a
wondrous
mass
of
glowing
dice
between
the
dogs
,
and
rubbed
his
hands
gently
,
looking
very
mildly
towards
Dorothea
,
but
with
a
neutral
leisurely
air
,
as
if
he
had
nothing
particular
to
say
.
Dorothea
closed
her
pamphlet
,
as
soon
as
she
was
aware
of
her
uncle
’
s
presence
,
and
rose
as
if
to
go
.
Usually
she
would
have
been
interested
about
her
uncle
’
s
merciful
errand
on
behalf
of
the
criminal
,
but
her
late
agitation
had
made
her
absent
-
minded
.
"
I
came
back
by
Lowick
,
you
know
,
"
said
Mr
.
Brooke
,
not
as
if
with
any
intention
to
arrest
her
departure
,
but
apparently
from
his
usual
tendency
to
say
what
he
had
said
before
.
This
fundamental
principle
of
human
speech
was
markedly
exhibited
in
Mr
.
Brooke
.
"
I
lunched
there
and
saw
Casaubon
’
s
library
,
and
that
kind
of
thing
.
There
’
s
a
sharp
air
,
driving
.
Won
’
t
you
sit
down
,
my
dear
?
You
look
cold
.
"
Dorothea
felt
quite
inclined
to
accept
the
invitation
.
Some
times
,
when
her
uncle
’
s
easy
way
of
taking
things
did
not
happen
to
be
exasperating
,
it
was
rather
soothing
.
She
threw
off
her
mantle
and
bonnet
,
and
sat
down
opposite
to
him
,
enjoying
the
glow
,
but
lifting
up
her
beautiful
hands
for
a
screen
.
They
were
not
thin
hands
,
or
small
hands
;
but
powerful
,
feminine
,
maternal
hands
.
She
seemed
to
be
holding
them
up
in
propitiation
for
her
passionate
desire
to
know
and
to
think
,
which
in
the
unfriendly
mediums
of
Tipton
and
Freshitt
had
issued
in
crying
and
red
eyelids
.
She
bethought
herself
now
of
the
condemned
criminal
.
"
What
news
have
you
brought
about
the
sheep
-
stealer
,
uncle
?
"
