For four hours Dorothea lay in this conflict, till she felt ill and bewildered, unable to resolve, praying mutely. Helpless as a child which has sobbed and sought too long, she fell into a late morning sleep, and when she waked Mr. Casaubon was already up. Tantripp told her that he had read prayers, breakfasted, and was in the library.
“I never saw you look so pale, madam,” said Tantripp, a solid-figured woman who had been with the sisters at Lausanne.
“Was I ever high-colored, Tantripp?” said Dorothea, smiling faintly.
“Well, not to say high-colored, but with a bloom like a Chiny rose. But always smelling those leather books, what can be expected? Do rest a little this morning, madam. Let me say you are ill and not able to go into that close library.”
“Oh no, no! let me make haste,” said Dorothea. “ Mr. Casaubon wants me particularly.”
When she went down she felt sure that she should promise to fulfil his wishes; but that would be later in the day—not yet.
As Dorothea entered the library, Mr. Casaubon turned round from the table where he had been placing some books, and said—
“I was waiting for your appearance, my dear. I had hoped to set to work at once this morning, but I find myself under some indisposition, probably from too much excitement yesterday. I am going now to take a turn in the shrubbery, since the air is milder.”
“I am glad to hear that,” said Dorothea. “Your mind, I feared, was too active last night.”
“I would fain have it set at rest on the point I last spoke of, Dorothea. You can now, I hope, give me an answer.”