shall
be better."

CHAPTER LXX.

In the checkered area of human experience the seasons are all mingled
as in the golden age: fruit and blossom hang together; in the same
moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled; one tends the
green cluster and another treads the winepress. Nay, in each of our
lives harvest and spring-time are continually one, until himself
gathers us and sows us anew in his invisible fields.

Among the blessings of love there is hardly one more exquisite than the
sense that in uniting the beloved life to ours we can watch over its
happiness, bring comfort where hardship was, and over memories of
privation and suffering open the sweetest fountains of joy. Deronda's
love for Mirah was strongly imbued with that blessed protectiveness.
Even with infantine feet she had begun to tread among thorns; and the
first time he had beheld her face it had seemed to him the girlish
image of despair.

But now she was glowing like a dark-tipped yet delicate ivory-tinted
flower in the warm sunlight of content, thinking of any possible grief
as part of that life with Deronda, which she could call by no other
name than good. And he watched the sober gladness which gave new beauty
to her movements; and her habitual attitudes of repose, with a delight
which made him say to himself that it was enough of personal joy for
him to save her from pain. She knew nothing of Hans's struggle or of
Gwendolen's pang; for after the assurance that Deronda's hidden love
had been for her, she easily explained Gwendolen's eager solicitude
about him as part of a grateful dependence on his goodness, such as she
herself had known. And all Deronda's words about Mrs. Grandcourt
confirmed that view of their relation, though he never touched on it
except in the most distant manner. Mirah was ready to believe that he
had been a rescuing angel to many besides herself. The only wonder was,
that she among them all was to have the bliss of being continually by
his side.

So, when the bridal veil was around Mirah it hid no doubtful
tremors--only a thrill of awe at the acceptance of a great gift which
required great uses. And the velvet canopy never covered a more goodly
bride and bridegroom, to whom their people might more wisely wish
offspring; more truthful lips never touched the sacrament
marriage-wine; the marriage-blessing never gathered stronger promise of
fulfillment than in the integrity of their