never a consciousness
showed some fullness and conviction where his own was blank. It
accorded with his habitual disposition that he should meet rather than
resist any claim on him in the shape of another's need; and this claim
brought with it a sense of solemnity which seemed a radiation from
Mordecai, as utterly nullifying his outward poverty and lifting him
into authority as if he had been that preternatural guide seen in the
universal legend, who suddenly drops his mean disguise and stands a
manifest Power. That impression was the more sanctioned by a sort of
resolved quietude which the persuasion of fulfillment had produced in
Mordecai's manner. After they had stood a moment in silence he said,
"Let us go now," and when they were riding he added, "We will get down
at the end of the street and walk to the shop. You can look at the
books, and Mr. Ram will be going away directly and leave us alone."

It seemed that this enthusiast was just as cautious, just as much alive
to judgments in other minds as if he had been that antipode of all
enthusiasm called "a man of the world."

While they were rattling along in the cab, Mirah was still present with
Deronda in the midst of this strange experience, but he foresaw that
the course of conversation would be determined by Mordecai, not by
himself: he was no longer confident what questions he should be able to
ask; and with a reaction on his own mood, he inwardly said, "I suppose
I am in a state of complete superstition, just as if I were awaiting
the destiny that could interpret the oracle. But some strong relation
there must be between me and this man, since he feels it strongly.
Great heaven! what relation has proved itself more potent in the world
than faith even when mistaken--than expectation even when perpetually
disappointed? Is my side of the relation to be disappointing or
fulfilling?--well, if it is ever possible for me to fulfill I will not
disappoint."

In ten minutes the two men, with as intense a consciousness as if they
had been two undeclared lovers, felt themselves alone in the small
gas-lit book-shop and turned face to face, each baring his head from an
instinctive feeling that they wished to see each other fully. Mordecai
came forward to lean his back against the little counter, while Deronda
stood against the opposite wall hardly more than four feet off. I wish
I could perpetuate those two faces, as Titian's "Tribute Money" has
perpetuated two types pre