that I think of devoting the best part of my life to some effort at giving them effect."
Again Gwendolen seemed shaken—again there was a look of frustration, but this time it was mingled with alarm. She looked at Deronda with lips childishly parted. It was not that she had yet connected his words with Mirah and her brother, but that they had inspired her with a dreadful presentiment of mountainous travel for her mind before it could reach Deronda's. Great ideas in general which she had attributed to him seemed to make no great practical difference, and were not formidable in the same way as these mysteriously-shadowed particular ideas. He could not quite divine what was going on within her; he could only seek the least abrupt path of disclosure.
"That is an object," he said, after a moment, "which will by-and-by force me to leave England for some time—for some years. I have purposes which will take me to the East."
Here was something clearer, but all the more immediately agitating. Gwendolen's lip began to tremble. "But you will come back?" she said, tasting her own tears as they fell, before she thought of drying them.
Deronda could not sit still. He rose, grasping
