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A man in threadbare clothing, whose age was difficult to guess from the dead yellowish flatness of the flesh, something like an old ivory carving was seated on a stool against some bookshelves that projected beyond the short counter, doing nothing more remarkable than reading yesterday's Times; but when he let the paper rest on his lap and looked at the incoming customer, the thought glanced through Deronda that precisely such a physiognomy as that might possibly have been seen in a prophet of the Exile, or in some New Hebrew poet of the mediæval time.
We could choose some other name, however such as singers ordinarily choose an Italian or Spanish name, which would suit your physique." To Deronda just now the name Cohen was equivalent to the ugliest of yellow badges. Mirah reflected a little, anxiously, then said, "No. If Cohen will not do, I will keep the name I have been called by. I will not hide myself. I have friends to protect me.
Jacob looked up into his face scanningly for a moment or two, and apparently arriving at his conclusions, said gravely "I'll shwop," handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it with corresponding gravity.
To Deronda this event of finding Mirah was as heart-stirring as anything that befell Orestes or Rinaldo. He sat up half the night, living again through the moments since he had first discerned Mirah on the river-brink, with the fresh and fresh vividness which belongs to emotive memory.
In uttering these last sentences the Princess narrowed her eyes, waved her head up and down, and spoke slowly with a new kind of chest-voice, as if she were quoting unwillingly. "Were those my grandfather's words?" said Deronda. "Yes, yes; and you will find them written. I wanted to thwart him," said the Princess, with a sudden outburst of the passion she had shown in the former interview.
It was an unaccountable conjunction the presence among these common, prosperous, shopkeeping types, of a man who, in an emaciated threadbare condition, imposed a certain awe on Deronda, and an embarrassment at not meeting his expectations.
Not that he looked at Deronda: he seemed to see nothing immediately around him, and if any one had grasped him he would probably not have known it. Again the former words came back to Deronda's mind, "You must hope my hopes see the vision I point to behold a glory where I behold it." They came now with gathered pathos.
You must tell them, for my heart would fail me." "I felt that you would want me to tell them. Shall we go now at once?" said Deronda, much relieved by this unwavering compliance. "Yes; let us not defer it. It must be done," said Mordecai, rising with the air of a man who has to perform a painful duty. Then came, as an afterthought, "But do not dwell on my sister more than is needful."
Deronda had a strongly resistant feeling: he was inclined to shake off hastily the touch on his arm; but he managed to slip it away and said coldly, "I am an Englishman." The questioner looked at him dubiously still for an instant, then just lifted his hat and turned away; whether under a sense of having made a mistake or of having been repulsed, Deronda was uncertain.
Deronda, awaiting the barge, now turning his head to the river-side, and saw at a few yards' distant from him a figure which might have been an impersonation of the misery he was unconsciously giving voice to: a girl hardly more than eighteen, of low slim figure, with most delicate little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears under a large black hat, a long woolen cloak over her shoulders.
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