Book 5 - Chapter 6

The Hard-Won Triumph

Three weeks later, when Dorlcote Mill was at its prettiest moment in
all the year,--the great chestnuts in blossom, and the grass all deep
and daisied,--Tom Tulliver came home to it earlier than usual in the
evening, and as he passed over the bridge, he looked with the old
deep-rooted affection at the respectable red brick house, which always
seemed cheerful and inviting outside, let the rooms be as bare and the
hearts as sad as they might inside. There is a very pleasant light in
Tom's blue-gray eyes as he glances at the house-windows; that fold in
his brow never disappears, but it is not unbecoming; it seems to imply
a strength of will that may possibly be without harshness, when the
eyes and mouth have their gentlest expression. His firm step becomes
quicker, and the corners of his mouth rebel against the compression
which is meant to forbid a smile.

The eyes in the parlor were not turned toward the bridge just then,
and the group there was sitting in unexpectant silence,--Mr. Tulliver
in his arm-chair, tired with a long ride, and ruminating with a worn
look, fixed chiefly on Maggie, who was bending over her sewing while
her mother was making the tea.

They all looked up with surprise when they heard the well-known foot.

"Why, what's up now, Tom?" said his father. "You're a bit earlier than
usual."

"Oh, there was nothing more for me to do, so I came away. Well,
mother!"

Tom went up to his mother and kissed her, a sign of unusual good-humor
with him. Hardly a word or look had passed between him and Maggie in
all the three weeks; but his usual incommunicativeness at home
prevented this from being noticeable to their parents.

"Father," said Tom, when they had finished tea, "do you know exactly
how much money there is in the tin box?"

"Only a hundred and ninety-three pound," said Mr. Tulliver. "You've
brought less o' late; but young fellows like to have their own way
with their money. Though I didn't do as I liked before _I_ was of
age." He spoke with rather timid discontent.

"Are you quite sure that's the sum, father?" said Tom. "I wish you
would take the trouble to fetch the tin box down. I think you have
perhaps made a mistake."

"How should I make a mistake?" said his father, sharply. "I've counted
it often enough; but I can fetch it, if you won't believe me."

It was always an incident Mr. Tulliver liked, in his gloomy life, to
fetch the tin box and count the money.

"Don't go out of the room, mother," said Tom, as he saw her moving
when his father was gone upstairs.

"And isn't Maggie to go?" said Mrs. Tulliver; "because somebody must
take away the things."

"Just as she likes," said Tom