ace in her mind. Deeming
herself born for dominion over every male heart, in her utter childish
ignorance of human character, she deems that Grandcourt also shall be her
slave.

But through all her relations with that magnificent incarnation of self-
isolation and self-love, she is compelled to cower before him. Again and
again she attempts to turn, only to be crushed under his heel as
ruthlessly as a worm. During the yachting voyage it is the same; intense
inward revulsion on the one side--cold, inexorable despotism on the
other.

The drowning scene first begins to stir the better nature within her. The
intensity of terror with which she regards the involuntary murderous
thought, and which prompted her leap into the water, the fervour of
remorse which followed, all begin to indicate a nature which may yet be
attuned to the highest qualities. On the other hand, the sweet clinging
trust with which she hangs on Deronda, looks up to him, feels that for
her every possibility of good lies in association with him, are those of
a guileless, artless child. She has been called a hard-hearted, callous
woman of the world: her worldliness is on the surface alone. Her first
cry to Deronda is the piteous wail of a forsaken child; the letter with
which their relations close is the fond yearning of a child towards one
whom she looks up to as protector and saviour.

Grandcourt is portrayed before us in more massive and simple proportions
as a type of concentrated selfishness. We dare not despise him, we
cannot loathe him--we stand bowed and awe-stricken before him. He never
for a moment falls from that calm dignity of pride and
self-isolation--never for a moment softens into respect for anything
without himself. Without a moment's exception he is ever consistent,
imperturbable in his self-containedness, ruthlessly crushing all things
from dog to wife, under his calm, cold, slighting contempt. He stands up
before us, not so much indomitable as simply unassailable. We cannot
conceive the boldest approaching or encroaching on him--all equally
shiver and quail before that embodiment of the devil as represented by
human self-love.

Fain would we linger over the Jewish girl, Mirah. She has been spoken of
as characterless; to us it seems as if few characters of more exquisite
loveliness have ever been portrayed. From her first appearance robed in
her meek despair, through all her subsequent relations with Deronda, her
brothe