That ought to be altered; and no time ought to be lost. This very question which had just arisen about Will Ladislaw's occupation, was the occasion for placing things on a new, right footing.
Her husband, she felt sure, according to all his previous conduct, would be ready to take the just view, if she proposed it--she, in whose interest an unfair concentration of the property had been urged.
His sense of right had surmounted and would continue to surmount anything that might be called antipathy. She suspected that her uncle's scheme was disapproved by Mr. Casaubon, and this made it seem all the more opportune that a fresh understanding should be begun, so that instead of Will's starting penniless and accepting the first function that offered itself, he should find himself in possession of a rightful income which should be paid by her husband during his life, and, by an immediate alteration of the will, should be secured at his death. The vision of all this as what ought to be done seemed to Dorothea like a sudden letting in of daylight, waking her from her previous stupidity and incurious self-absorbed ignorance about her husband's relation to others. Will Ladislaw had refused Mr. Casaubon's future aid on a ground that no longer appeared right to her; and Mr. Casaubon had never himself seen fully what was the claim upon him. "But he will!" said Dorothea.
"The great strength of his character lies here. And what are we doing with our money? We make no use of half of our income. My own money buys me nothing but an uneasy conscience."There was a peculiar fascination for Dorothea in this division of property intended for herself, and always regarded by her as excessive.
She was blind, you see, to many things obvious to others--likely to tread in the wrong places, as Celia had warned her;yet her blindness to whatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried her safely by the side of precipices where vision would have been perilous with fear.
The thoughts which had gathered vividness in the solitude of her boudoir occupied her incessantly through the day on which Mr. Casaubon had sent his letter to Will. Everything seemed hindrance to her till she could find an opportunity of opening her heart to her husband.
To his preoccupied mind all subjects were to be approached gently, and she had never since his illness lost from her consciousness the dread of agitating him. Bat when young ardor is set brooding over the conception of a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with independent life, mastering ideal obstacles.
The day passed in a sombre fashion, not unusual, though Mr. Casaubon was perhaps unusually silent; but there were hours of the night which might be counted on as opportunities of conversation; for Dorothea, when aware of her husband's sleeplessness, had established a habit of rising, lighting a candle, and reading him to sleep again. And this night she was from the beginning sleepless, excited by resolves.
He slept as usual for a few hours, but she had risen softly and had sat in the darkness for nearly an hour before he said--"Dorothea, since you are up, will you light a candle?""Do you feel ill, dear?" was her first question, as she obeyed him.
"No, not at all; but I shall be obliged, since you are up, if you will read me a few pages of Lowth.""May I talk to you a little instead?" said Dorothea.
"Certainly."
"I have been thinking about money all day--that I have always had too much, and especially the prospect of too much.""These, my dear Dorothea, are providential arrangements.""But if one has too much in consequence of others being wronged, it seems to me that the divine voice which tells us to set that wrong right must be obeyed.""What, my love, is the bearing of your remark?""That you have been too liberal in arrangements for me--I mean, with regard to property; and that makes me unhappy.""How so? I have none but comparatively distant connections.""I have been led to think about your aunt Julia, and how she was left in poverty only because she married a poor man, an act which was not disgraceful, since he was not unworthy. It was on that ground, I know, that you educated Mr. Ladislaw and provided for his mother."Dorothea waited a few moments for some answer that would help her onward.
None came, and her next words seemed the more forcible to her, falling clear upon the dark silence.
"But surely we should regard his claim as a much greater one, even to the half of that property which I know that you have destined for me.
And I think he ought at once to be provided for on that understanding.
It is not right that he should be in the dependence of poverty while we are rich. And if there is any objection to the proposal he mentioned, the giving him his true place and his true share would set aside any motive for his accepting it.""Mr. Ladislaw has probably been speaking to you on this subject?"said Mr. Casaubon, with a certain biting quickness not habitual to him.
"Indeed, no!" said Dorothea, earnestly. "How can you imagine it, since he has so lately declined everything from you? I fear you think too hardly of him, dear. He only told me a little about his parents and grandparents, and almost all in answer to my questions.
You are so good, so just--you have done everything you thought to be right. But it seems to me clear that more than that is right;and I must speak about it, since I am the person who would get what is called benefit by that `more' not being done."There was a perceptible pause before Mr. Casaubon replied, not quickly as before, but with a still more biting emphasis.