you went back far enough, his body
counted; his body which he had made a house of shame and hunger and
desire, shaken by its own shivering nerves and leaping desperate
pulses. But what of that now? What matter, since that tumult of his
blood had set throbbing such subtle, such infinite vibrations in his
soul. _That_ was what counted. He could tell by it the quality and
immensity of his passion, by just that spiritual resonance and
response. It was the measure of Lucia's power to move him, the measure
too of his nearness to her no less than of his separation.

She could not take away what she had given; and among his sources of
inspiration, of the unique and unforgettable secret that had passed
into him with the night, on Harcombe Hill, as he looked towards
Muttersmoor, she also counted. She would be always there, a part of
it, a part of him, whether she would or no--if that was any
consolation.

CHAPTER XXXIV

He had made no empty promise when he assured her that he would do his
best; for there was something that could still be done. He built great
hopes on the result of the coming interview with his father. His idea
was to go up to town by the early morning train and talk the whole
thing over as calmly as might be. He would first of all appeal to his
father's better feelings; he would make him see this thing as he saw
it, he would rouse in him the spirit of integrity, the spirit of mercy
and pity, the spirit of justice and chivalry and honour.

But if all the arts of persuasion failed to touch him, Rickman Junior
had in reserve one powerful argument against which Rickman Senior
would hardly be able to contend. There would no doubt be inspirations,
but as to the main lines of his pleading he was already clear. He felt
entirely confident and light-hearted as he rose at five the next
morning to catch that early train.

Rickman Senior was not in the shop when Rickman Junior arrived on the
scene. He was in a great bare room on an upper floor of the
second-hand department. He looked more than ever studious and ascetic,
having exchanged his soft felt hat for a velvet skull-cup, and his
frock coat for a thin alpaca. He was attended by a charwoman with
scrubbing brush and pail, a boy with ladder and broom, and a carpenter
with foot-rule, note-book and pencil. He moved among them with his
most solemn, most visionary air, the air, not so much of a Wesleyan
minister, as of a priest engaged in some high service of ded