the line ended with
Sir Hugo and his younger brother Henleigh. This last had married Miss
Grandcourt, and taken her name along with her estates, thus making a junction
between two equally old families, impaling the three Saracens' heads proper and
three bezants of the one with the tower and falcons argent of the other, and, as
it happened, uniting their highest advantages in the prospects of that Henleigh
Mallinger Grandcourt who is at present more of an acquaintance to us than either
Sir Hugo or his nephew Daniel Deronda.
    In Sir Hugo's youthful portrait with rolled collar and high cravat, Sir
Thomas Lawrence had done justice to the agreeable alacrity of expression and
sanguine temperament still to be seen in the original, but had done something
more than justice in slightly lengthening the nose, which was in reality shorter
than might have been expected in a Mallinger. Happily the appropriate nose of
the family reappeared in his younger brother, and was to be seen in all its
refined regularity in his nephew Mallinger Grandcourt. But in the nephew Daniel
Deronda the family faces of various types, seen on the walls of the gallery,
found no reflex. Still he was handsomer than any of them, and when he was
thirteen might have served as model for any painter who wanted to image the most
memorable of boys: you could hardly have seen his face thoroughly meeting yours
without believing that human creatures had done nobly in times past, and might
do more nobly in time to come. The finest childlike faces have this consecrating
power, and make us shudder anew at all the grossness and basely-wrought griefs
of the world, lest they should enter here and defile.
    But at this moment on the grass among the rose-petals, Daniel Deronda was
making a first acquaintance with those griefs. A new idea had entered his mind,
and was beginning to change the aspect of his habitual feelings as happy
careless voyagers are changed when the sky suddenly threatens and the thought of
danger arises. He sat perfectly still with his back to the tutor, while his face
expressed rapid inward transition. The deep blush, which had come when he first
started up, gradually subsided; but his features kept that indescribable look of
subdued activity which often accompanies a new mental survey of familiar facts.
He had not lived with other boys, and his mind showed the same blending of
child's ignorance with surprising knowledge which is oftener seen in bright
girls. Having read Shakespeare as well as a great deal of history, he could have
talked with the wisdom of a bookish child about men who were born out of wedlock
and were held unfortunate in