he world, poor Mrs. Casaubon had a very blurred shortsighted
knowledge, little helped by her imagination.) But she took the smile as
encouragement of her plan.

"I think you see now that you spoke too scrupulously," she said, in a
tone of persuasion. "The hospital would be one good; and making your
life quite whole and well again would be another."

Lydgate's smile had died away. "You have the goodness as well as the
money to do all that; if it could be done," he said. "But--"

He hesitated a little while, looking vaguely towards the window; and
she sat in silent expectation. At last he turned towards her and said
impetuously--

"Why should I not tell you?--you know what sort of bond marriage is.
You will understand everything."

Dorothea felt her heart beginning to beat faster. Had he that sorrow
too? But she feared to say any word, and he went on immediately.

"It is impossible for me now to do anything--to take any step without
considering my wife's happiness. The thing that I might like to do if
I were alone, is become impossible to me. I can't see her miserable.
She married me without knowing what she was going into, and it might
have been better for her if she had not married me."

"I know, I know--you could not give her pain, if you were not obliged
to do it," said Dorothea, with keen memory of her own life.

"And she has set her mind against staying. She wishes to go. The
troubles she has had here have wearied her," said Lydgate, breaking off
again, lest he should say too much.

"But when she saw the good that might come of staying--" said Dorothea,
remonstrantly, looking at Lydgate as if he had forgotten the reasons
which had just been considered. He did not speak immediately.

"She would not see it," he said at last, curtly, feeling at first that
this statement must do without explanation. "And, indeed, I have lost
all spirit about carrying on my life here." He paused a moment and
then, following the impulse to let Dorothea see deeper into the
difficulty of his life, he said, "The fact is, this trouble has come
upon her confusedly. We have not been able to speak to each other
about it. I am not sure what is in her mind about it: she may fear
that I have really done something base. It is my fault; I ought to be
more open. But I have been suffering cruelly."

"May I go and see her?" said Dorothea, eagerly. "Would she accept my
sympathy? I would tell her that you have not been blama