t the coat toward her with a smile, and there came a faint
melancholy smile in answer, as she took it and put it on very cleverly.

"I have some biscuits--should you like them?" said Deronda.

"No; I cannot eat. I had still some money left to buy bread."

He began to ply his oar without further remark, and they went along
swiftly for many minutes without speaking. She did not look at him, but
was watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of repose, as if
she were beginning to feel the comfort of returning warmth and the
prospect of life instead of death. The twilight was deepening; the red
flush was all gone and the little stars were giving their answer one
after another. The moon was rising, but was still entangled among the
trees and buildings. The light was not such that he could distinctly
discern the expression of her features or her glance, but they were
distinctly before him nevertheless--features and a glance which seemed
to have given a fuller meaning for him to the human face. Among his
anxieties one was dominant: his first impression about her, that her
mind might be disordered, had not been quite dissipated: the project of
suicide was unmistakable, and given a deeper color to every other
suspicious sign. He longed to begin a conversation, but abstained,
wishing to encourage the confidence that might induce her to speak
first. At last she did speak.

"I like to listen to the oar."

"So do I."

"If you had not come, I should have been dead now."

"I cannot bear you to speak of that. I hope you will never be sorry
that I came."

"I cannot see how I shall be glad to live. The _maggior dolore_ and the
_miseria_ have lasted longer than the _tempo felice_." She paused and
then went on dreamily,--"_Dolore--miseria_--I think those words are
alive."

Deronda was mute: to question her seemed an unwarrantable freedom; he
shrank from appearing to claim the authority of a benefactor, or to
treat her with the less reverence because she was in distress. She went
on musingly--

"I thought it was not wicked. Death and life are one before the
Eternal. I know our fathers slew their children and then slew
themselves, to keep their souls pure. I meant it so. But now I am
commanded to live. I cannot see how I shall live."

"You will find friends. I will find them for you."

She shook her head and said mournfully, "Not my mother and brother. I
cannot find them."

"You are English? You must be--speaking Engli