fy Adelaide Rebekah in like manner, and succeeded very well.

But Mordecai suffered a check which lasted long, from the consciousness
of a misapplied agitation; sane as well as excitable, he judged
severely his moments of aberration into futile eagerness, and felt
discredited with himself. All the more his mind was strained toward the
discernment of that friend to come, with whom he would have a calm
certainty of fellowship and understanding.

It was just then that, in his usual midday guardianship of the old
book-shop, he was struck by the appearance of Deronda, and it is
perhaps comprehensible now why Mordecai's glance took on a sudden eager
interest as he looked at the new-comer: he saw a face and frame which
seemed to him to realize the long-conceived type. But the disclaimer of
Jewish birth was for the moment a backward thrust of double severity,
the particular disappointment tending to shake his confidence in the
more indefinite expectation. Nevertheless, when he found Deronda seated
at the Cohens' table, the disclaimer was for the moment nullified: the
first impression returned with added force, seeming to be guaranteed by
this second meeting under circumstance more peculiar than the former;
and in asking Deronda if he knew Hebrew, Mordecai was so possessed by
the new inrush of belief, that he had forgotten the absence of any
other condition to the fulfillment of his hopes. But the answering "No"
struck them all down again, and the frustration was more painful than
before. After turning his back on the visitor that Sabbath evening,
Mordecai went through days of a deep discouragement, like that of men
on a doomed ship, who having strained their eyes after a sail, and
beheld it with rejoicing, behold it never advance, and say, "Our sick
eyes make it." But the long-contemplated figure had come as an
emotional sequence of Mordecai's firmest theoretic convictions; it had
been wrought from the imagery of his most passionate life; and it
inevitably reappeared--reappeared in a more specific self-asserting
form than ever. Deronda had that sort of resemblance to the
preconceived type which a finely individual bust or portrait has to the
more generalized copy left in our minds after a long interval: we renew
our memory with delight, but we hardly know with how much correction.
And now, his face met Mordecai's inward gaze as it had always belonged
to the awaited friend, raying out, moreover, some of that influence
which bel