The mill on the floss

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mill on the Floss, by George Eliot This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook Title: The Mill on the Floss Author: George Eliot Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6688] Last Updated: May 25, 2019 Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILL ON THE FLOSS *** Produced by Curtis Weyant and David Maddock The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot “In their death they were not divided.” Contents BOOK FIRST BOY AND GIRL Chapter I Outside Dorlcote Mill Chapter II Mr Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom Chapter III Mr Riley Gives His Advice Concerning a School for Tom Chapter IV Tom Is Expected Chapter V Tom Comes Home Chapter VI The Aunts and Uncles Are Coming Chapter VII Enter the Aunts and Uncles Chapter VIII Mr Tulliver Shows His Weaker Side Chapter IX To Garum Firs Chapter X Maggie Behaves Worse Than She Expected Chapter XI Maggie Tries to Run away from Her Shadow Chapter XII Mr and Mrs Glegg at Home Chapter XIII Mr Tulliver Further Entangles the Skein of Life BOOK SECOND SCHOOL-TIME Chapter I Tom’s “First Half” Chapter II The Christmas Holidays Chapter III The New Schoolfellow Chapter IV “The Young Idea” Chapter V Maggie’s Second Visit Chapter VI A Love-Scene Chapter VII The Golden Gates Are Passed BOOK THIRD THE DOWNFALL Chapter I What Had Happened at Home Chapter II Mrs Tulliver’s Teraphim, or Household Gods Chapter III The Family Council Chapter IV A Vanishing Gleam Chapter V Tom Applies His Knife to the Oyster Chapter VI Tending to Refute the Popular Prejudice against the Present of a Pocket-Knife Chapter VII How a Hen Takes to Stratagem Chapter VIII Daylight on the Wreck Chapter IX An Item Added to the Family Register BOOK FOURTH THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION Chapter I A Variation of Protestantism Unknown to Bossuet Chapter II The Torn Nest Is Pierced by the Thorns Chapter III A Voice from the Past BOOK FIFTH WHEAT AND TARES Chapter I In the Red Deeps Chapter II Aunt Glegg Learns the Breadth of Bob’s Thumb Chapter III The Wavering Balance Chapter IV Another Love-Scene Chapter V The Cloven Tree Chapter VI The Hard-Won Triumph Chapter VII A Day of Reckoning BOOK SIXTH THE GREAT TEMPTATION Chapter I A Duet in Paradise Chapter II First Impressions Chapter III Confidential Moments Chapter IV Brother and Sister Chapter V Showing That Tom Had Opened the Oyster Chapter VI Illustrating the Laws of Attraction Chapter VII Philip Re-enters Chapter VIII Wakem in a New Light Chapter IX Charity in Full-Dress Chapter X The Spell Seems Broken Chapter XI In the Lane Chapter XII A Family Party Chapter XIII Borne Along by the Tide Chapter XIV Waking BOOK SEVENTH THE FINAL RESCUE Chapter I The Return to the Mill Chapter II St Ogg’s Passes Judgment Chapter III Showing That Old Acquaintances Are Capable of Surprising Us Chapter IV Maggie and Lucy Chapter V The Last Conflict BOOK FIRST BOY AND GIRL Chapter I Outside Dorlcote Mill A wide plain, where the broadening Floss hurries on between its green banks to the sea, and the loving tide, rushing to meet it, checks its passage with an impetuous embrace On this mighty tide the black ships—laden with the freshscented fir-planks, with rounded sacks of oil-bearing seed, or with the dark glitter of coal—are borne along to the town of St Ogg’s, which shows its aged, fluted red roofs and the broad gables of its wharves between the low wooded hill and the river-brink, tingeing the water with a soft purple hue under the transient glance of this February sun Far away on each hand stretch the rich pastures, and the patches of dark earth made ready for the seed of broad-leaved green crops, or touched already with the tint of the tender-bladed autumn-sown corn There is a remnant still of last year’s golden clusters of beehive-ricks rising at intervals beyond the hedgerows; and everywhere the hedgerows are studded with trees; the distant ships seem to be lifting their masts and stretching their red-brown sails close among the branches of the spreading ash Just by the red-roofed town the tributary Ripple flows with a lively current into the Floss How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice, as to the voice of one who is deaf and loving I remember those large dipping willows I remember the stone bridge And this is Dorlcote Mill I must stand a minute or two here on the bridge and look at it, though the clouds are threatening, and it is far on in the afternoon Even in this leafless time of departing February it is pleasant to look at,— perhaps the chill, damp season adds a charm to the trimly kept, comfortable dwelling-house, as old as the elms and chestnuts that shelter it from the northern blast The stream is brimful now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, and half drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here among the withes, unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier world above The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene They are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world beyond And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming home with sacks of grain That honest wagoner is thinking of his dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour; but he will not touch it till he has fed his horses,—the strong, submissive, meek-eyed beasts, who, I fancy, are looking mild reproach at him from between their blinkers, that he should crack his whip at them in that awful manner as if they needed that hint! See how they stretch their shoulders up the slope toward the bridge, with all the more energy because they are so near home Look at their grand shaggy feet that seem to grasp the firm earth, at the patient strength of their necks, bowed under the heavy collar, at the mighty muscles of their struggling haunches! I should like well to hear them neigh over their hardlyearned feed of corn, and see them, with their moist necks freed from the harness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond Now they are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace, and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the trees Now I can turn my eyes toward the mill again, and watch the unresting wheel sending out its diamond jets of water That little girl is watching it too; she has been standing on just the same spot at the edge of the water ever since I paused on the bridge And that queer white cur with the brown ear seems to be leaping and barking in ineffectual remonstrance with the wheel; perhaps he is jealous because his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so rapt in its movement It is time the little playfellow went in, I think; and there is a very bright fire to tempt her: the red light shines out under the deepening gray of the sky It is time, too, for me to leave off resting my arms on the cold stone of this bridge Ah, my arms are really benumbed I have been pressing my elbows on the arms of my chair, and dreaming that I was standing on the bridge in front of Dorlcote Mill, as it looked one February afternoon many years ago Before I dozed off, I was going to tell you what Mr and Mrs Tulliver were talking about, as they sat by the bright fire in the left-hand parlour, on that very afternoon I have been dreaming of Chapter II Mr Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom “What I want, you know,” said Mr Tulliver,—“what I want is to give Tom a good eddication; an eddication as’ll be a bread to him That was what I was thinking of when I gave notice for him to leave the academy at Lady-day I mean to put him to a downright good school at Midsummer The two years at th’ academy ’ud ha’ done well enough, if I’d meant to make a miller and farmer of him, for he’s had a fine sight more schoolin’ nor I ever got All the learnin’ my father ever paid for was a bit o’ birch at one end and the alphabet at th’ other But I should like Tom to be a bit of a scholard, so as he might be up to the tricks o’ these fellows as talk fine and write with a flourish It ’ud be a help to me wi’ these lawsuits, and arbitrations, and things I wouldn’t make a downright lawyer o’ the lad,—I should be sorry for him to be a raskill,—but a sort o’ engineer, or a surveyor, or an auctioneer and vallyer, like Riley, or one o’ them smartish businesses as are all profits and no outlay, only for a big watch-chain and a high stool They’re pretty nigh all one, and they’re not far off being even wi’ the law, I believe; for Riley looks Lawyer Wakem i’ the face as hard as one cat looks another He’s none frightened at him.” Mr Tulliver was speaking to his wife, a blond comely woman in a fan-shaped cap (I am afraid to think how long it is since fan-shaped caps were worn, they must be so near coming in again At that time, when Mrs Tulliver was nearly forty, they were new at St Ogg’s, and considered sweet things) “Well, Mr Tulliver, you know best: I’ve no objections But hadn’t I better kill a couple o’ fowl, and have th’ aunts and uncles to dinner next week, so as you may hear what sister Glegg and sister Pullet have got to say about it? There’s a couple o’ fowl wants killing!” “You may kill every fowl i’ the yard if you like, Bessy; but I shall ask neither aunt nor uncle what I’m to do wi’ my own lad,” said Mr Tulliver, defiantly “Dear heart!” said Mrs Tulliver, shocked at this sanguinary rhetoric, “how can Ought she to shrink in this way from the long penance of life, which was all the possibility she had of lightening the load to some other sufferers, and so changing that passionate error into a new force of unselfish human love? All the next day she sat in her lonely room, with a window darkened by the cloud and the driving rain, thinking of that future, and wrestling for patience; for what repose could poor Maggie ever win except by wrestling? And on the third day—this day of which she had just sat out the close—the letter had come which was lying on the table before her The letter was from Stephen He was come back from Holland; he was at Mudport again, unknown to any of his friends, and had written to her from that place, enclosing the letter to a person whom he trusted in St Ogg’s From beginning to end it was a passionate cry of reproach; an appeal against her useless sacrifice of him, of herself, against that perverted notion of right which led her to crush all his hopes, for the sake of a mere idea, and not any substantial good,—his hopes, whom she loved, and who loved her with that single overpowering passion, that worship, which a man never gives to a woman more than once in his life “They have written to me that you are to marry Kenn As if I should believe that! Perhaps they have told you some such fables about me Perhaps they tell you I’ve been ‘travelling.’ My body has been dragged about somewhere; but I have never travelled from the hideous place where you left me; where I started up from the stupor of helpless rage to find you gone “Maggie! whose pain can have been like mine? Whose injury is like mine? Who besides me has met that long look of love that has burnt itself into my soul, so that no other image can come there? Maggie, call me back to you! Call me back to life and goodness! I am banished from both now I have no motives; I am indifferent to everything Two months have only deepened the certainty that I can never care for life without you Write me one word; say ‘Come!’ In two days I should be with you Maggie, have you forgotten what it was to be together,—to be within reach of a look, to be within hearing of each other’s voice?” When Maggie first read this letter she felt as if her real temptation had only just begun At the entrance of the chill dark cavern, we turn with unworn courage from the warm light; but how, when we have trodden far in the damp darkness, and have begun to be faint and weary; how, if there is a sudden opening above us, and we are invited back again to the life-nourishing day? The leap of natural longing from under the pressure of pain is so strong, that all less immediate motives are likely to be forgotten—till the pain has been escaped from For hours Maggie felt as if her struggle had been in vain For hours every other thought that she strove to summon was thrust aside by the image of Stephen waiting for the single word that would bring him to her She did not read the letter: she heard him uttering it, and the voice shook her with its old strange power All the day before she had been filled with the vision of a lonely future through which she must carry the burthen of regret, upheld only by clinging faith And here, close within her reach, urging itself upon her even as a claim, was another future, in which hard endurance and effort were to be exchanged for easy, delicious leaning on another’s loving strength! And yet that promise of joy in the place of sadness did not make the dire force of the temptation to Maggie It was Stephen’s tone of misery, it was the doubt in the justice of her own resolve, that made the balance tremble, and made her once start from her seat to reach the pen and paper, and write “Come!” But close upon that decisive act, her mind recoiled; and the sense of contradiction with her past self in her moments of strength and clearness came upon her like a pang of conscious degradation No, she must wait; she must pray; the light that had forsaken her would come again; she should feel again what she had felt when she had fled away, under an inspiration strong enough to conquer agony,—to conquer love; she should feel again what she had felt when Lucy stood by her, when Philip’s letter had stirred all the fibres that bound her to the calmer past She sat quite still, far on into the night, with no impulse to change her attitude, without active force enough even for the mental act of prayer; only waiting for the light that would surely come again It came with the memories that no passion could long quench; the long past came back to her, and with it the fountains of self-renouncing pity and affection, of faithfulness and resolve The words that were marked by the quiet hand in the little old book that she had long ago learned by heart, rushed even to her lips, and found a vent for themselves in a low murmur that was quite lost in the loud driving of the rain against the window and the loud moan and roar of the wind “I have received the Cross, I have received it from Thy hand; I will bear it, and bear it till death, as Thou hast laid it upon me.” But soon other words rose that could find no utterance but in a sob,—“Forgive me, Stephen! It will pass away You will come back to her.” She took up the letter, held it to the candle, and let it burn slowly on the hearth To-morrow she would write to him the last word of parting “I will bear it, and bear it till death But how long it will be before death comes! I am so young, so healthy How shall I have patience and strength? Am I to struggle and fall and repent again? Has life other trials as hard for me still?” With that cry of self-despair, Maggie fell on her knees against the table, and buried her sorrow-stricken face Her soul went out to the Unseen Pity that would be with her to the end Surely there was something being taught her by this experience of great need; and she must be learning a secret of human tenderness and long-suffering, that the less erring could hardly know? “O God, if my life is to be long, let me live to bless and comfort——” At that moment Maggie felt a startling sensation of sudden cold about her knees and feet; it was water flowing under her She started up; the stream was flowing under the door that led into the passage She was not bewildered for an instant; she knew it was the flood! The tumult of emotion she had been enduring for the last twelve hours seemed to have left a great calm in her; without screaming, she hurried with the candle upstairs to Bob Jakin’s bedroom The door was ajar; she went in and shook him by the shoulder “Bob, the flood is come! it is in the house; let us see if we can make the boats safe.” She lighted his candle, while the poor wife, snatching up her baby, burst into screams; and then she hurried down again to see if the waters were rising fast There was a step down into the room at the door leading from the staircase; she saw that the water was already on a level with the step While she was looking, something came with a tremendous crash against the window, and sent the leaded panes and the old wooden framework inward in shivers, the water pouring in after it “It is the boat!” cried Maggie “Bob, come down to get the boats!” And without a moment’s shudder of fear, she plunged through the water, which was rising fast to her knees, and by the glimmering light of the candle she had left on the stairs, she mounted on to the window-sill, and crept into the boat, which was left with the prow lodging and protruding through the window Bob was not long after her, hurrying without shoes or stockings, but with the lanthorn in his hand “Why, they’re both here,—both the boats,” said Bob, as he got into the one where Maggie was “It’s wonderful this fastening isn’t broke too, as well as the mooring.” In the excitement of getting into the other boat, unfastening it, and mastering an oar, Bob was not struck with the danger Maggie incurred We are not apt to fear for the fearless, when we are companions in their danger, and Bob’s mind was absorbed in possible expedients for the safety of the helpless indoors The fact that Maggie had been up, had waked him, and had taken the lead in activity, gave Bob a vague impression of her as one who would help to protect, not need to be protected She too had got possession of an oar, and had pushed off, so as to release the boat from the overhanging window-frame “The water’s rising so fast,” said Bob, “I doubt it’ll be in at the chambers before long,—th’ house is so low I’ve more mind to get Prissy and the child and the mother into the boat, if I could, and trusten to the water,—for th’ old house is none so safe And if I let go the boat—but you,” he exclaimed, suddenly lifting the light of his lanthorn on Maggie, as she stood in the rain with the oar in her hand and her black hair streaming Maggie had no time to answer, for a new tidal current swept along the line of the houses, and drove both the boats out on to the wide water, with a force that carried them far past the meeting current of the river In the first moments Maggie felt nothing, thought of nothing, but that she had suddenly passed away from that life which she had been dreading; it was the transition of death, without its agony,—and she was alone in the darkness with God The whole thing had been so rapid, so dreamlike, that the threads of ordinary association were broken; she sank down on the seat clutching the oar mechanically, and for a long while had no distinct conception of her position The first thing that waked her to fuller consciousness was the cessation of the rain, and a perception that the darkness was divided by the faintest light, which parted the overhanging gloom from the immeasurable watery level below She was driven out upon the flood,—that awful visitation of God which her father used to talk of; which had made the nightmare of her childish dreams And with that thought there rushed in the vision of the old home, and Tom, and her mother, —they had all listened together “O God, where am I? Which is the way home?” she cried out, in the dim loneliness What was happening to them at the Mill? The flood had once nearly destroyed it They might be in danger, in distress,—her mother and her brother, alone there, beyond reach of help! Her whole soul was strained now on that thought; and she saw the long-loved faces looking for help into the darkness, and finding none She was floating in smooth water now,—perhaps far on the overflooded fields There was no sense of present danger to check the outgoing of her mind to the old home; and she strained her eyes against the curtain of gloom that she might seize the first sight of her whereabout,—that she might catch some faint suggestion of the spot toward which all her anxieties tended Oh, how welcome, the widening of that dismal watery level, the gradual uplifting of the cloudy firmament, the slowly defining blackness of objects above the glassy dark! Yes, she must be out on the fields; those were the tops of hedgerow trees Which way did the river lie? Looking behind her, she saw the lines of black trees; looking before her, there were none; then the river lay before her She seized an oar and began to paddle the boat forward with the energy of wakening hope; the dawning seemed to advance more swiftly, now she was in action; and she could soon see the poor dumb beasts crowding piteously on a mound where they had taken refuge Onward she paddled and rowed by turns in the growing twilight; her wet clothes clung round her, and her streaming hair was dashed about by the wind, but she was hardly conscious of any bodily sensations,—except a sensation of strength, inspired by mighty emotion Along with the sense of danger and possible rescue for those long-remembered beings at the old home, there was an undefined sense of reconcilement with her brother; what quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs? Vaguely Maggie felt this, in the strong resurgent love toward her brother that swept away all the later impressions of hard, cruel offence and misunderstanding, and left only the deep, underlying, unshakable memories of early union But now there was a large dark mass in the distance, and near to her Maggie could discern the current of the river The dark mass must be—yes, it was—St Ogg’s Ah, now she knew which way to look for the first glimpse of the wellknown trees—the gray willows, the now yellowing chestnuts—and above them the old roof! But there was no colour, no shape yet; all was faint and dim More and more strongly the energies seemed to come and put themselves forth, as if her life were a stored-up force that was being spent in this hour, unneeded for any future She must get her boat into the current of the Floss, else she would never be able to pass the Ripple and approach the house; this was the thought that occurred to her, as she imagined with more and more vividness the state of things round the old home But then she might be carried very far down, and be unable to guide her boat out of the current again For the first time distinct ideas of danger began to press upon her; but there was no choice of courses, no room for hesitation, and she floated into the current Swiftly she went now without effort; more and more clearly in the lessening distance and the growing light she began to discern the objects that she knew must be the well-known trees and roofs; nay, she was not far off a rushing, muddy current that must be the strangely altered Ripple Great God! there were floating masses in it, that might dash against her boat as she passed, and cause her to perish too soon What were those masses? For the first time Maggie’s heart began to beat in an agony of dread She sat helpless, dimly conscious that she was being floated along, more intensely conscious of the anticipated clash But the horror was transient; it passed away before the oncoming warehouses of St Ogg’s She had passed the mouth of the Ripple, then; now, she must use all her skill and power to manage the boat and get it if possible out of the current She could see now that the bridge was broken down; she could see the masts of a stranded vessel far out over the watery field But no boats were to be seen moving on the river,—such as had been laid hands on were employed in the flooded streets With new resolution, Maggie seized her oar, and stood up again to paddle; but the now ebbing tide added to the swiftness of the river, and she was carried along beyond the bridge She could hear shouts from the windows overlooking the river, as if the people there were calling to her It was not till she had passed on nearly to Tofton that she could get the boat clear of the current Then with one yearning look toward her uncle Deane’s house that lay farther down the river, she took to both her oars and rowed with all her might across the watery fields, back toward the Mill Colour was beginning to awake now, and as she approached the Dorlcote fields, she could discern the tints of the trees, could see the old Scotch firs far to the right, and the home chestnuts,—oh, how deep they lay in the water,—deeper than the trees on this side the hill! And the roof of the Mill—where was it? Those heavy fragments hurrying down the Ripple,—what had they meant? But it was not the house,—the house stood firm; drowned up to the first story, but still firm,—or was it broken in at the end toward the Mill? With panting joy that she was there at last,—joy that overcame all distress,— Maggie neared the front of the house At first she heard no sound; she saw no object moving Her boat was on a level with the upstairs window She called out in a loud, piercing voice,— “Tom, where are you? Mother, where are you? Here is Maggie!” Soon, from the window of the attic in the central gable, she heard Tom’s voice,— “Who is it? Have you brought a boat?” “It is I, Tom,—Maggie Where is mother?” “She is not here; she went to Garum the day before yesterday I’ll come down to the lower window.” “Alone, Maggie?” said Tom, in a voice of deep astonishment, as he opened the middle window, on a level with the boat “Yes, Tom; God has taken care of me, to bring me to you Get in quickly Is there no one else?” “No,” said Tom, stepping into the boat; “I fear the man is drowned; he was carried down the Ripple, I think, when part of the Mill fell with the crash of trees and stones against it; I’ve shouted again and again, and there has been no answer Give me the oars, Maggie.” It was not till Tom had pushed off and they were on the wide water,—he face to face with Maggie,—that the full meaning of what had happened rushed upon his mind It came with so overpowering a force,—it was such a new revelation to his spirit, of the depths in life that had lain beyond his vision, which he had fancied so keen and clear,—that he was unable to ask a question They sat mutely gazing at each other,—Maggie with eyes of intense life looking out from a weary, beaten face; Tom pale, with a certain awe and humiliation Thought was busy though the lips were silent; and though he could ask no question, he guessed a story of almost miraculous, divinely protected effort But at last a mist gathered over the blue-gray eyes, and the lips found a word they could utter,— the old childish “Magsie!” Maggie could make no answer but a long, deep sob of that mysterious, wondrous happiness that is one with pain As soon as she could speak, she said, “We will go to Lucy, Tom; we’ll go and see if she is safe, and then we can help the rest.” Tom rowed with untired vigor, and with a different speed from poor Maggie’s The boat was soon in the current of the river again, and soon they would be at Tofton “Park House stands high up out of the flood,” said Maggie “Perhaps they have got Lucy there.” Nothing else was said; a new danger was being carried toward them by the river Some wooden machinery had just given way on one of the wharves, and huge fragments were being floated along The sun was rising now, and the wide area of watery desolation was spread out in dreadful clearness around them; in dreadful clearness floated onward the hurrying, threatening masses A large company in a boat that was working its way along under the Tofton houses observed their danger, and shouted, “Get out of the current!” But that could not be done at once; and Tom, looking before him, saw death rushing on them Huge fragments, clinging together in fatal fellowship, made one wide mass across the stream “It is coming, Maggie!” Tom said, in a deep, hoarse voice, loosing the oars, and clasping her The next instant the boat was no longer seen upon the water, and the huge mass was hurrying on in hideous triumph But soon the keel of the boat reappeared, a black speck on the golden water The boat reappeared, but brother and sister had gone down in an embrace never to be parted; living through again in one supreme moment the days when they had clasped their little hands in love, and roamed the daisied fields together Conclusion Nature repairs her ravages,—repairs them with her sunshine, and with human labour The desolation wrought by that flood had left little visible trace on the face of the earth, five years after The fifth autumn was rich in golden cornstacks, rising in thick clusters among the distant hedgerows; the wharves and warehouses on the Floss were busy again, with echoes of eager voices, with hopeful lading and unlading And every man and woman mentioned in this history was still living, except those whose end we know Nature repairs her ravages, but not all The uptorn trees are not rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending To the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair Dorlcote Mill was rebuilt And Dorlcote churchyard—where the brick grave that held a father whom we know, was found with the stone laid prostrate upon it after the flood—had recovered all its grassy order and decent quiet Near that brick grave there was a tomb erected, very soon after the flood, for two bodies that were found in close embrace; and it was visited at different moments by two men who both felt that their keenest joy and keenest sorrow were forever buried there One of them visited the tomb again with a sweet face beside him; but that was years after The other was always solitary His great companionship was among the trees of the Red Deeps, where the buried joy seemed still to hover, like a revisiting spirit The tomb bore the names of Tom and Maggie Tulliver, and below the names it was written,— “In their death they were not divided.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mill on the Floss, by George Eliot *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILL 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they go again at a swifter pace, and the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the trees.. .The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mill on the Floss, by George Eliot This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions