that way about the pope's nephews. Daniel fancied, as older people do,
that every one else's consciousness was as active as his own on a
matter which was vital to him. Did Turvey the valet know?--and old Mrs.
French the housekeeper?--and Banks the bailiff, with whom he had ridden
about the farms on his pony?--And now there came back the recollection
of a day some years before when he was drinking Mrs. Banks's whey, and
Banks said to his wife with a wink and a cunning laugh, "He features
the mother, eh?" At that time little Daniel had merely thought that
Banks made a silly face, as the common farming men often did, laughing
at what was not laughable; and he rather resented being winked at and
talked of as if he did not understand everything. But now that small
incident became information: it was to be reasoned on. How could he be
like his mother and not like his father? His mother must have been a
Mallinger, if Sir Hugo were his uncle. But no! His father might have
been Sir Hugo's brother and have changed his name, as Mr. Henleigh
Mallinger did when he married Miss Grandcourt. But then, why had he
never heard Sir Hugo speak of his brother Deronda, as he spoke of his
brother Grandcourt? Daniel had never before cared about the family
tree--only about that ancestor who had killed three Saracens in one
encounter. But now his mind turned to a cabinet of estate-maps in the
library, where he had once seen an illuminated parchment hanging out,
that Sir Hugo said was the family tree. The phrase was new and odd to
him--he was a little fellow then--hardly more than half his present
age--and he gave it no precise meaning. He knew more now and wished
that he could examine that parchment. He imagined that the cabinet was
always locked, and longed to try it. But here he checked himself. He
might be seen: and he would never bring himself near even a silent
admission of the sore that had opened in him.

It is in such experiences of a boy or girlhood, while elders are
debating whether most education lies in science or literature, that the
main lines of character are often laid down. If Daniel had been of a
less ardently affectionate nature, the reserve about himself and the
supposition that others had something to his disadvantage in their
minds, might have turned into a hard, proud antagonism. But inborn
lovingness was strong enough to keep itself level with resentment.
There was hardly any creature in his habitual world that he was not