He had really a movement of anger against her at that moment, and it impelled him to go away without pause.  It was all one flash to Dorothea—­ his last words—­his distant bow to her as he reached the door—­ the sense that he was no longer there.  She sank into the chair, and for a few moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were hurrying upon her.  Joy came first, in spite of the threatening train behind it—­joy in the impression that it was really herself whom Will loved and was renouncing, that there was really no other love less permissible, more blameworthy, which honor was hurrying him away from.  They were parted all the same, but—­Dorothea drew a deep breath and felt her strength return—­she could think of him unrestrainedly.  At that moment the parting was easy to bear:  the first sense of loving and being loved excluded sorrow.  It was as if some hard icy pressure had melted, and her consciousness had room to expand:  her past was come back to her with larger interpretation.  The joy was not the less—­perhaps it was the more complete just then—­ because of the irrevocable parting; for there was no reproach, no contemptuous wonder to imagine in any eye or from any lips.  He had acted so as to defy reproach, and make wonder respectful.

Any one watching her might have seen that there was a fortifying thought within her.  Just as when inventive power is working with glad ease some small claim on the attention is fully met as if it were only a cranny opened to the sunlight, it was easy now for Dorothea to write her memoranda.  She spoke her last words to the housekeeper in cheerful tones, and when she seated herself in the carriage her eyes were bright and her cheeks blooming under the dismal bonnet.  She threw back the heavy “weepers,” and looked before her, wondering which road Will had taken.  It was in her nature to be proud that he was blameless, and through all her feelings there ran this vein—­“I was right to defend him.”

The coachman was used to drive his grays at a good pace, Mr. Casaubon being unenjoying and impatient in everything away from his desk, and wanting to get to the end of all journeys; and Dorothea was now bowled along quickly.  Driving was pleasant, for rain in the night had laid the dust, and the blue sky looked far off, away from the region of the great clouds that sailed in masses.  The earth looked like a happy place under the vast heavens, and Dorothea was wishing that she might overtake Will and see him once more.

After a turn of the road, there he was with the portfolio under his arm; but the next moment she was passing him while he raised his hat, and she felt a pang at being seated there in a sort of exaltation, leaving him behind.  She could not look back at him.  It was as if a crowd of indifferent objects had thrust them asunder, and forced them along different paths, taking them farther and farther away from each other, and making it useless to look back.  She could no more make any sign that would seem to say, “Need we part?” than she could stop the carriage to wait for him.  Nay, what a world of reasons crowded upon her against any movement of her thought towards a future that might reverse the decision of this day!