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If
you
can
tell
me
that
my
life
is
not
threatened
by
anything
else
than
ordinary
casualties
,
I
shall
rejoice
,
on
grounds
which
I
have
already
indicated
.
If
not
,
knowledge
of
the
truth
is
even
more
important
to
me
.
"
"
Then
I
can
no
longer
hesitate
as
to
my
course
,
"
said
Lydgate
;
"
but
the
first
thing
I
must
impress
on
you
is
that
my
conclusions
are
doubly
uncertain
—
uncertain
not
only
because
of
my
fallibility
,
but
because
diseases
of
the
heart
are
eminently
difficult
to
found
predictions
on
.
In
any
ease
,
one
can
hardly
increase
appreciably
the
tremendous
uncertainty
of
life
.
"
Mr
.
Casaubon
winced
perceptibly
,
but
bowed
.
"
I
believe
that
you
are
suffering
from
what
is
called
fatty
degeneration
of
the
heart
,
a
disease
which
was
first
divined
and
explored
by
Laennec
,
the
man
who
gave
us
the
stethoscope
,
not
so
very
many
years
ago
.
A
good
deal
of
experience
—
a
more
lengthened
observation
—
is
wanting
on
the
subject
.
But
after
what
you
have
said
,
it
is
my
duty
to
tell
you
that
death
from
this
disease
is
often
sudden
.
At
the
same
time
,
no
such
result
can
be
predicted
.
Your
condition
may
be
consistent
with
a
tolerably
comfortable
life
for
another
fifteen
years
,
or
even
more
.
I
could
add
no
information
to
this
beyond
anatomical
or
medical
details
,
which
would
leave
expectation
at
precisely
the
same
point
.
"
Lydgate
’
s
instinct
was
fine
enough
to
tell
him
that
plain
speech
,
quite
free
from
ostentatious
caution
,
would
be
felt
by
Mr
.
Casaubon
as
a
tribute
of
respect
.
"
I
thank
you
,
Mr
.
Lydgate
,
"
said
Mr
.
Casaubon
,
after
a
moment
’
s
pause
.
"
One
thing
more
I
have
still
to
ask
:
did
you
communicate
what
you
have
now
told
me
to
Mrs
.
Casaubon
?
"
"
Partly
—
I
mean
,
as
to
the
possible
issues
.
"
Lydgate
was
going
to
explain
why
he
had
told
Dorothea
,
but
Mr
.
Casaubon
,
with
an
unmistakable
desire
to
end
the
conversation
,
waved
his
hand
slightly
,
and
said
again
,
"
I
thank
you
,
"
proceeding
to
remark
on
the
rare
beauty
of
the
day
.
Lydgate
,
certain
that
his
patient
wished
to
be
alone
,
soon
left
him
;
and
the
black
figure
with
hands
behind
and
head
bent
forward
continued
to
pace
the
walk
where
the
dark
yew
-
trees
gave
him
a
mute
companionship
in
melancholy
,
and
the
little
shadows
of
bird
or
leaf
that
fleeted
across
the
isles
of
sunlight
,
stole
along
in
silence
as
in
the
presence
of
a
sorrow
.
Here
was
a
man
who
now
for
the
first
time
found
himself
looking
into
the
eyes
of
death
—
who
was
passing
through
one
of
those
rare
moments
of
experience
when
we
feel
the
truth
of
a
commonplace
,
which
is
as
different
from
what
we
call
knowing
it
,
as
the
vision
of
waters
upon
the
earth
is
different
from
the
delirious
vision
of
the
water
which
cannot
be
had
to
cool
the
burning
tongue
.
When
the
commonplace
"
We
must
all
die
"
transforms
itself
suddenly
into
the
acute
consciousness
"
I
must
die
—
and
soon
,
"
then
death
grapples
us
,
and
his
fingers
are
cruel
;
afterwards
,
he
may
come
to
fold
us
in
his
arms
as
our
mother
did
,
and
our
last
moment
of
dim
earthly
discerning
may
be
like
the
first
.
To
Mr
.
Casaubon
now
,
it
was
as
if
he
suddenly
found
himself
on
the
dark
river
-
brink
and
heard
the
plash
of
the
oncoming
oar
,
not
discerning
the
forms
,
but
expecting
the
summons
.
In
such
an
hour
the
mind
does
not
change
its
lifelong
bias
,
but
carries
it
onward
in
imagination
to
the
other
side
of
death
,
gazing
backward
—
perhaps
with
the
divine
calm
of
beneficence
,
perhaps
with
the
petty
anxieties
of
self
-
assertion
.
What
was
Mr
.
Casaubon
’
s
bias
his
acts
will
give
us
a
clew
to
.
He
held
himself
to
be
,
with
some
private
scholarly
reservations
,
a
believing
Christian
,
as
to
estimates
of
the
present
and
hopes
of
the
future
.
But
what
we
strive
to
gratify
,
though
we
may
call
it
a
distant
hope
,
is
an
immediate
desire
:
the
future
estate
for
which
men
drudge
up
city
alleys
exists
already
in
their
imagination
and
love
.
And
Mr
.
Casaubon
’
s
immediate
desire
was
not
for
divine
communion
and
light
divested
of
earthly
conditions
;
his
passionate
longings
,
poor
man
,
clung
low
and
mist
-
like
in
very
shady
places
.
Dorothea
had
been
aware
when
Lydgate
had
ridden
away
,
and
she
had
stepped
into
the
garden
,
with
the
impulse
to
go
at
once
to
her
husband
.
But
she
hesitated
,
fearing
to
offend
him
by
obtruding
herself
;
for
her
ardor
,
continually
repulsed
,
served
,
with
her
intense
memory
,
to
heighten
her
dread
,
as
thwarted
energy
subsides
into
a
shudder
;
and
she
wandered
slowly
round
the
nearer
clumps
of
trees
until
she
saw
him
advancing
.
