Chapter 47

           

           Wasnevertruelovelovedinvain,Fortruestloveishighestgain.Noartcanmakeit:itmustspringWhereelementsarefostering.Soinheaven’sspotandhourSpringsthelittlenativeflower,Downwardrootandupwardeye,Shapenbytheearthandsky.

           IthappenedtobeonaSaturdayeveningthatWillLadislawhadthatlittlediscussionwithLydgate.Itseffectwhenhewenttohisownroomswastomakehimsituphalfthenight,thinkingoveragain,underanewirritation,allthathehadbeforethoughtofhishavingsettledinMiddlemarchandharnessedhimselfwithMr.Brooke.Hesitationsbeforehehadtakenthestephadsinceturnedintosusceptibilitytoeveryhintthathewouldhavebeenwisernottotakeit;andhencecamehisheattowardsLydgateaheatwhichstillkepthimrestless.Washenotmakingafoolofhimself?andatatimewhenhewasmorethaneverconsciousofbeingsomethingbetterthanafool?Andforwhatend?

           Well,fornodefiniteend.True,hehaddreamyvisionsofpossibilities:thereisnohumanbeingwhohavingbothpassionsandthoughtsdoesnotthinkinconsequenceofhispassionsdoesnotfindimagesrisinginhismindwhichsoothethepassionwithhopeorstingitwithdread.Butthis,whichhappenstousall,happenstosomewithawidedifference;andWillwasnotoneofthosewhosewit"keepstheroadway:"hehadhisbypathswheretherewerelittlejoysofhisownchoosing,suchasgentlemencanteringonthehighroadmighthavethoughtratheridiotic.

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