Our Mutual Friend

Our Mutual Friend_Part_3

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Broadcast on:: 11 Oct 2024
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Or was the Golden Dustman passing through the furnace of proof and coming out dross? Ill news travels fast. We shall know full soon. On that very night of her return from the happy return, something chanced rich Bella closely followed with her eyes and ears. There was an apartment at the side of the Boughton Mansion known as Mr. Boughton's Room. Far less grand than the rest of the house, it was far more comfortable, being pervaded by a certain air of homely snuggness, which upholstering despotism had banished to that spot when it inexorably set its face against Mr. Boughton's appeal of a mercy in behalf of any other chamber. Thus although a room of modest situation for its windows gave on Silas' Wegg's old corner, and of no pretensions to velvet a satin or gilding, it had got itself established in a domestic position, analogous to that of an easy dressing-gan or pair of slippers. And whenever the family wanted to enjoy a particularly pleasant fireside evening, they enjoyed it as an institution that must be in Mr. Boughton's Room. Mr. and Mrs. Boughton were reported sitting in this room when Bella got back. Entering it, she found the secretary there, too, an official attendant it would appear, for he was standing with some papers in his hand by a table, with shaded candles on it, at which Mr. Boughton was seated, thrown back in his easy chair. "You are busy, sir," said Bella, hesitating of the door. "Not at all, my dear, not at all. Don't one of ourselves. We never might company of you. Come in, come in. Easy our lady in her usual place." Mrs. Boughton, adding her nard and smile of welcome to Mr. Boughton's words, Bella took her book to a chair in the fireside corner by Mrs. Boughton's work-table. Mr. Boughton's station was on the opposite side. "Now, Rokesmith," said the Golden Dustman, so sharply wrapping the table to bespeak his attention, as Bella turned the leaves of her book, that she started. "Where were we?" "You were saying, sir," returned the secretary with an air of some reluctance and glance towards those others who were present, that you considered the time had come for fixing my salary. "Don't be above calling it wages, man," said Mr. Boughton, testily. "What a juice! I never taught of any salary when I was in service. My wages," said the secretary, correcting himself. "Rokesmith, you're not proud, I hope," observed Mr. Boughton, eyeing him as scans. "I hope not, sir, because I never was when I was poor," said Mr. Boughton. "Poverty and pride, don't go at all well together, mind that, out then they go well together. Why it stands a reason, a man, being poor, has nothing to be proud of. It's nonsense." For the slight inclination of his head, and a look of some surprise, the secretary seemed to assent by forming the syllables of the word nonsense on his lips. "Now, concerning these same wages," said Mr. Boughton, "sit down." The secretary sat down. "Why didn't you sit down before?" asked Mr. Boughton, distrustfully. "I hope that wasn't pride. But about these wages." "Now, I've gone into the matter, and I say, two hundred a year. What do you think of it? Do you think it's enough?" "Thank you. It is a fair proposal." "I don't say, you know," Mr. Boughton stipulated, "but what it may be more than enough. I'll tell you why," wrote Smith. "A man of property, like me, is bound to consider the market price. At first I didn't enter into that, as much as I might have done. But I've got acquainted with other men of property since. I've got acquainted with the duties of property. I mustn't go putting the market price up, because money may happen, not to be an object with me. A sheep is worth so much in the market. I ought to give it, and no more. A secretary is worth so much in the market, and I ought to give it, and no more. However, I don't mind stretching a point with you." Mr. Boughton, "You are very good," replied the secretary with an effort. "When we put the figure," said Mr. Boughton, "a two hundred a year, and the figure is disposed of. Now, there must be no misunderstanding regarding what I buy for two hundred a year. If I'll pay for a sheep, I'll buy it out and out. Similarly, if I'll pay for a secretary, I'll buy him out and out. In other words, you purchase my whole time. Certainly I do. Look here," said Mr. Boughton, "it ain't that I want to occupy your whole time. You can take up a book for a minute or two when you've nothing but a dew. I think you're almost always finding something useful to do. But I want to keep you in attendance. It's convenient to have you at all times ready on the premises. Therefore, betwixt your breakfast and your supper, on the premises I expect to find you." The secretary bowed. "In my grand days, when I was in service myself," said Mr. Boughton, "I couldn't go cutting about in my will and pleasure, and you might expect to go cutting about at your will and pleasure. You've rather got into abbot of that lately. Perhaps it was from one of a right specification betwixt us. Now, let there be a right specification betwixt us. Let it be this. If you ought to leave, ask for it." Again the secretary bowed. His manner was uneasy and astonished and showed a sense of humiliation. "I'll have a bell," said Mr. Boughton, "I'm from this room to yours. When I want you, I'll touch it. I don't call to mind that I have anything more to say at the present moment." The secretary rose, gathered up his papers and withdrew. Beller's eyes followed him to the door. Lited on Mr. Boughton, complacently thrown back in his easy chair, and drooped over her book. "I've, at that chap, that young man of mine," said Mr. Boughton, taking a trot up and down the room, "get above his work. It won't do. You must have him down a peg. A man of property owes a duty to other men of property. It must look sharp, after his inferiors." Beller felt that Mrs. Boughton was not comfortable, and that the eyes of that good creature sought to discover from her face what attention she had given to this discourse, and what impression it had made upon her. For which reason Beller's eyes drooped more engrossingly over her book, and she turned the page with an air of profound absorption in it. "No day," said Mrs. Boughton, after thoughtfully pausing in her work, "my dear," returned the Golden Dustman, stopping short in his trot, "excuse my putting it to you, Noddy. But now, really, haven't you been a little strict with Mr. Rokes, Mr. Knight? Haven't you been a little—it's just a little—little—not quite like your old self?" "Well, woman, I hope so," returned Mr. Boughton cheerfully, if not boastfully. "I hope so, dearie." "Our old selves wouldn't do your old lady. Haven't you found that out yet?" "Our old selves would be fit for nothing here but to be robbed and imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new selves are. It's a great difference." "Ah," said Mrs. Boughton, pausing in her work again, softly to draw a long breath and to look at the fire, "a great difference." "And we must be up to the difference," pursued her husband. "We must be all to the change. That's what we must be. We've got to hold our own now against everybody. For everybody's hand is stretched out to be dipped into our pockets. And we've got to recollect that money makes money, as well as makes everything else." "Mentioning recollecting," said Mrs. Boughton with her work abandoned, her eyes upon the fire, and her chin upon her hand. "Do you recollect, Naughty? How you said to Mr. Oaksmith, when he first came to see us at the bower, and you engaged him, how you said to him that if it had pleased Evan to send John Arman to his fortune safe, we could have been content with the one mound which was our legacy, and should never have wanted the rest." "Aye?" "I remember our lady. But we hadn't tried what it was to have the rest in. Our new shoes had come home, but we hadn't put them on. We're wearing them now, we're wearing them, and must step out accordingly." Mrs. Boughton took up her work again, and applied her needle and silence. "As to Rokesmith, that young man in mine," said Mr. Boughton, dropping his voice and glancing towards the door, with an apprehension of being overheard by some eavesdropper there, "it's the same with him. As with the footman, I found out that you must either scrunch him or let him scrunch you. If you ain't imperious with him, they won't believe in your being any better than themselves. If it's good, after the stories lies, mostly, as they have heard of your beginnings, is nothing betwixt stiffening yourself up and throwing yourself away. Take my word for that, old lady." Bella ventured for a moment to look stealthily towards him under her eyelashes, and she saw a dark cloud of suspicion, covetousness, and conceit, overshadowing the once-open face. "Out, however," said he, "this isn't entertaining to Miss Bella, is it Bella?" At a seaving Bella, she was, to look at him with that pensively abstracted air, as if her mind were full of her book, and she had not heard a single word. "Ha! Bet employed, and to attend to it," said Mr. Boughton. "That's right. That's right. Especially as you have no call, to be told how to value yourself, my dear." Coloring a little under this compliment, Bella returned, "I hope, sir, you don't think me vain?" "Not a bit, my dear," said Mr. Boughton. "But I think it's very critical in you, at your age, to be so well up, with the pace of the world, and to know what to go in for. You're right. Go in for money, my love. Money's the amotical. You'll make money of your good looks, and of the money, Mrs. Boughton and me, will have the pleasure of settling upon you, and you live and die rich. That's the state to live and die in," said Mr. Boughton, in an unctuous manner. "Wrich!" There was an expression of distress in Mrs. Boughton's face, as, after watching her husband's, she turned to their adopted girl, and said, "Don't mind him, Bella, my dear." "Aye?" cried Mr. Boughton. "What? Not mind him." "I don't mean that," said Mrs. Boughton, with a worried look, "but I mean, don't believe him, to be anything but good and generous Bella, because he is the best of men. No, I must say that much, naughty. You're always the best of men." She made the decoration as if he were objecting to it, which assuredly he was not in any way. "And as to you, my dear Bella," said Mrs. Boughton, still with that distressed expression, "is so much attached to you, whatever he says, that your own father is not a tourist in you and can hardly like you better than he does." "Says to," cried Mr. Boughton, whatever he says, "why, I say so openly. Give me a kiss, my dear child, in saying goodnight, and let me confirm what my old lady tells you. I'm very fond of you, my dear, and I am entirely of your mind, and you and I will take care that you shall be rich. These good looks of yours, which you have some right to be vain of, my dear, that you are not, you know, are worth money, and you shall make money of them. The money you will have will be worth money, and you shall make money of that, too. Here's a golden ball at your feet. Goodnight, my dear!" Somehow Bella was not so well pleased with this assurance and this prospect, as she might have been. Somehow, when she put her arms round, Mrs. Boughton's neck, and said goodnight, she derived a sense of unworthiness from the still anxious face of that good woman, and her obvious wish to excuse her husband. "Why, what need to excuse him?" thought Bella, sitting down in her own room. "What he said was very sensible, I'm sure, and very true, I'm sure. It is only what I often say to myself. Don't I like it, then?" "No, I don't like it, and though he is my liberal benefactor, I disparage him for it. Then pray," said Bella, sternly putting the question to herself in the looking-glass, as usual, "what do you mean by this, you inconsistent little beast?" The looking-glass, preserving a discreet ministerial silence, when thus called upon for explanation, Bella went to bed with a weariness upon her spirit, which is more than the weariness of one to sleep. And again in the morning, she looked for the cloud, and for the deepening of the cloud, upon the golden dustman's face. She had begun by this time to be his frequent companion in his morning strolls about the streets, and it was at this time that he made her a party to his engaging in a curious pursuit. Having been hard at work in one dull enclosure all his life, he had a child's delight in looking at shops. It had been one of the first novelties and pleasures of his freedom, and was equally the delight of his wife. For many years their only walks in London had been taken on Sundays when the shops were shut. And when every day in the week became their holiday, they derived an enjoyment from the variety and fancy and beauty of the display in the windows, which seemed incapable of exhaustion. As if the principal streets were a great theatre, and the play were childishly new to them, Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, from the beginning of Bella's intimacy in their house, had been constantly in the front row, armed with all they saw, and applauding vigorously. But now Mr. Boughton's interest began to centre in book-shops, and more than that, for that of itself would not have been much in one exceptional kind of book. "Look in here, my dear," Mr. Boughton would say, checking Bella's arm at a book-sellers' window, "you can read a sight, and your eyes are as sharp as their bright. Now, look well about your my dear, and tell me if you see any book about her miser." If Bella saw such a book, Mr. Boughton would instantly dart in and buy it, and still, as if they had not found it, they would seek out another book-shop, and Mr. Boughton would say, "Now, look well around, my dear, for a life of a miser, or any book of that sort, any lives of odd characters who may have been miser's." Bella, thus directed, would examine the window with the greatest attention, while Mr. Boughton would examine her face. The moment you pointed out any book as being entitled, "Lives, eccentric personages, anecdotes of strange characters, records of remarkable individuals, or anything to that purpose, Mr. Boughton's countenance would light up, and he would instantly dart in and buy it. Size, price, quality were of no account. Any book had seemed to promise a chance of miserly biography. Mr. Boughton purchased without a moment to lay, and carried home. Happening to be informed by a bookseller, the deposition of the annual register was devoted to characters, Mr. Boughton at once bought a whole set of that ingenious compilation, and began to carry at home piecemeal, confiding a volume to Bella, and bearing three himself. The completion of this labour occupied them about a fortnight. When the task was done, Mr. Boughton was appetite for miser's wetted, instead of satiated, began to look out again. It very soon became unnecessary to tell Bella what to look for, and an understanding was established between her and Mr. Boughton that she was always to look for lives of miser's. Morning after morning they roamed about the town together, pursuing the singular research. miserly literature, not being abundant, the proportion of failures to successes may have been as a hundred to one. Still, Mr. Boughton, never wearyed, remained as avaricious for miser's, as he had been at the first onset. It was curious that Bella never saw the books about the house, nor did she ever hear from Mr. Boughton one word of reference to their contents. He seemed to save up his miser's, as they had saved up their money, as they had been greedy for it, and secret about it, and had hidden it, so he was greedy for them, and secret about them, and hid them. But beyond old out it was to be noticed, and was by Bella very clearly noticed, that as he pursued the acquisition of those dismal records with the ardour Don Quixote for his books of chivalry, he began to spend his money with a more sparing hand. And often when he came out of a shop with some new account of one of those wretched lunatics, she would almost shrink from the sly, dry chuckle with which he would take her arm again, and trot away. It did not appear that Mrs. Boughton knew of this taste. He made no allusion to it, except in the morning walks when he and Bella were always alone, and Bella partly entered the impression that he took her into his confidence by implication, and partly in remembrance of Mrs. Boughton's anxious face that night, held the same reserve. While these occurrences were in progress, Mrs. Lemmel made the discovery that Bella had a fascinating influence over her. Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by J.P. Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. The Lemmel's, originally presented by the dear veneerings, visited the Boughton's on all grand occasions. And Mrs. Lemmel had not previously found this out, but now the knowledge came upon her all at once. It is a most extraordinary thing, she said to Mrs. Boughton. She was foolishly susceptible of the power of beauty. But it wasn't altogether that. She never had been able to resist a natural grace of manner. But it wasn't altogether that. It was more than that. And there was no name for the indescribable extent and degree to which she was captivated by this charming girl. This charming girl, having the words repeated to her by Mrs. Boughton, who was proud of her being admired and would have done anything to give her pleasure, naturally recognised to Mrs. Lemmel a woman of penetration and taste. Responding to the sentiments by being very gracious to Mrs. Lemmel, she gave that lady the means of so improving her opportunity, as that the captivation became reciprocal, though all was wearing an appearance of greater sobriety on Bella's part than on the enthusiastic Saphronius. How be it they were so much together that for a time the Boughton chariot held Mrs. Lemmel oftener than Mrs. Boughton, a preference of which the latter worthy soul was not in the least jealous, placidly remarking, "Mrs. Lemmel is a younger companion for her than I am," and she's more fashionable. But between Bella Wilfer and Georgiana Potsnap, there was this one difference, among many others, that Bella was in no danger of being captivated by Alfred. She distrusted and disliked him. Indeed, her perception was so quick, at her observation so sharp, that after all she mistrusted his wife, too, though with her giddy vanity in bothfulness she squeezed the mistrust away into a corner of her mind, and blocked it up there. Mrs. Lemmel took the friendliest interest in Bella's making a good match. Mrs. Lemmel said, in a sport of way, she really must show her beautiful Bella what kind of wealthy creatures she and Alfred had on hand, who would as one man fall at her feet and slaved. Fitting occasion made, Mrs. Lemmel accordingly produced the most passable of those feverish, boastful, and indefinably loose gentlemen, who were always lounging in and out of the city on questions of the boss, and Greek, and Spanish, and India, and Mexican, and par, and premium, and discount, and three-quarters and seven-eighths, who, in their agreeable manner, did homage to Bella, as if you were a compound of fine girl, thoroughbred horse, well-built drag, and remarkable pipe. Without the least effect, though even Mr. Fledgeby's attractions were cast into the scale. "I fear, Bella, dear," said Mrs. Lemmel, one day in the chariot, "that you will be very hard to please." "I don't expect to be pleased, dear," said Bella, with a languid turn of her eyes. "Truly, my love," returned Saphronia, shaking her head and smiling her best smile, "it would not be very easy to find a man worthy of all our attractions. The question is not a man, my dear," said Bella Cooley, "but an establishment." "My love," returned Mrs. Lemmel, "your prudence amazes me. Where did you study life so well? You're right. In such a case as yours the object is a fitting establishment. You could not descend to an inadequate one from Mr. Boffin's house. And even if your beauty alone could not command it, it is to be assumed that Mr. and Mrs. Boffin will—oh, they have already!" Bella interposed. "No. Have they really?" A little vexed by a suspicion that she had spoken precipitately, and with them all a little defined of her own vexation, Bella determined not to retreat. "That is to say," she explained, "they have told me they mean to portion me as their adopted child. If you mean that, but don't mention it." "Mention it," replied Mrs. Lemmel, as if she were full of awakened feeling at the suggestion of such an impossibility. "Minge on it." "I don't mind telling you, Mrs. Lemmel." Bella began again. "My love," say Saphronia, "or I must not say Bella." "With a little short petulant." "Oh," Bella complied. "Oh, Saphronia, then, I don't mind telling you, Saphronia, that I am convinced I have no heart, as people call it, and that I think that sort of thing is nonsense." "Brave girl," no meant Mrs. Lemmel. "And so," pursued Bella, "as to seeking to please myself, I don't. Except in the one respect I have mentioned, I am indifferent otherwise." "But you can't help pleasing Bella," said Mrs. Lemmel, rallying her with an arch-look and her best smile. "You can't help making a proud and un-miring husband. You may not care to please yourself, and you may not care to please him, but you are not a free agent, as to pleasing. You are forced to do that in spite of yourself, my dear. So it may be a question whether you may not as well please yourself, too, if you can." Now, the very grossness of this flattery put Bella upon proving that she actually did please in spite of herself. She had a misgiving that she was doing wrong, though she had an indistinct for shadowing that some harm might come of it thereafter. She little thought what consequences it would really bring about, but she went on with her confidence. "Don't talk of pleasing and spite of oneself, dear," said Bella. "I have had enough of that." "I," cried Mrs. Lemmel, "am I already corroborated, Bella?" "Never mind, Sepronia, we will not speak of it any more. Don't ask me about it." This plainly meaning "do" asked me about it, Mrs. Lemmel did as she was requested. "Tell me, Bella." "Come, my dear. What provoking burr has been inconveniently attracted to the charming skirts, and with difficulty shaken off?" "Provoking, indeed," said Bella, "and no burr to boast of. But don't ask me." "Shall I guess?" "You would never guess. What would you say to our secretary?" "My, dear, the hermit secretary, who creeps up on down the back stairs and is never seen. I don't know about his creeping up and down the back stairs," said Bella, rather contemptuously, "further than knowing that he does no such thing, and as to his never-being seen, I should be content never to have seen him, who he is quite as visible as you are. But I please him--" for my sins, and he had the presumption to tell me so." "The man never made a declaration to you, my dear Bella." "Are you sure of that, Sophia?" said Bella. "I am not. In fact, I am sure of the contrary." "The man must be mad," said Mrs. Lemmel, with a kind of resignation. "He appeared to be in his senses," returned Bella, tossing her head, "and he had plenty to say for himself. I told him, my opinion of his declaration, and his conduct, and dismissed him. Of course this has all been very inconvenient to me, and very disagreeable. It has remained a secret, however; that word reminds me to observe, Saphronia, that I have glided on into telling you the secret, and that I rely upon you never to mention it." "Mention it," repeated Mrs. Lemmel with her former feeling. "Mention it." This time, Saphronia was so much an earnest, that she found it necessary to bend forward in the carriage, and give Bella a kiss. A dudous order of kiss. Well, she thought, while she yet pressed Bella's hand after giving it. Upon your own showing, your vain heartless girl, puffed up by the doting folly of a dustman, I need have no relenting towards you. If my husband who sends me here should form any scheme for making you a victim, I should certainly not cross him again." In those very same moments, Bella was thinking, "Why am I or is it war with myself? Why have I told, as if upon compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to have withheld? Why am I making a friend of this woman beside me, in spite of the whispers against her, that I hear in my heart?" "Hey Amazon Prime members! Why pay more for groceries, when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel." Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. As usual, there was no answer in the looking glass when she got home and referred these questions to it. Perhaps if she had consulted some better oracle, the result might have been more satisfactory, but she did not, and all things consequent, marched the march before them. On one point, connected with the watch she kept on Mr. Boffin, she felt very inquisitive, and that was the question whether the secretary watched him too and followed the sure and steady change in him as she did. Her very limited intercourse with Mr. Rokesmith rendered this hard to find out. Their communication now, at no time, extended beyond the preservation of commonplace appearances before Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, and if Bella and the secretary were ever left alone together by any chance, he immediately withdrew. She consulted his face when she could do so covetly, as she worked or read, and could make nothing of it. He looked subdued, but he had acquired a strong command of feature, and whenever Mr. Boffin spoke to him in Bella's presence, or whatever revelation of himself Mr. Boffin made, the secretary's face changed no more than a wall. A slightly knitted brow had expressed nothing but an almost mechanical attention, and a compression of the mouth that might have been a guard against a scornful smile, these she saw from morning to night, from day to day, from week to week, monotonous, unvarying, set, as in a piece of sculpture. The worst of the matter was that it thus fell out insensibly, and most provokingly, as Bella complained to herself in her impetuous little manner, that her observation of Mr. Boffin involved a continual observation of Mr. Rokesmith. Won't that extract a look from him? Can it be possible that makes no impression on him? Such questions Bella would propose to herself, often as many times in a day as there were hours in it, impossible to know, always the same fixed face. Can he be so basis to sell his very nature for two hundred a year, Bella would think, and then, but why not? It's a mere question of price with others besides him. I suppose I would sell mine, if I could get enough for it, and so she would come round again to the war with herself. A kind of illegibility, though a different kind, stole over Mr. Boffin's face. Its old simplicity of expression got masked by a certain craftiness that assimilated even his good humour to itself. His very smile was cunning, as if he had been studying smiles among the portraits of his risers. Saving an occasional burst of impatience, or coarse assertion of his mastery, his good humour remained to him, but it had now a sordid alloy of distrust; and though his eyes should twinkle and all his face should laugh, he would sit holding himself in his own arms, as if he had an inclination to hoard himself up, and must always grudgingly stand on the defensive. What with taking heed of these two faces, and what with feeling conscious of the stealthy occupation must set some mark on her own, Bella soon began to think there was not a candid or a natural face among them all but Mrs. Boffin's. Nonetheless, because it was far less radiant than of your, faithfully reflecting in its anxiety and regret every line of change in the Golden Dustman's. "Rokesmith," said Mr. Boffin one evening when they were all in his room again, and he and the secretary had been going over some accounts, "I am spending too much money. Or least wise, you are spending too much for me. You are rich, sir. I am not," said Mr. Boffin. The sharpness of the retort was next to telling the secretary that he lied, but it brought no change of expression into the set face. "I tell you, I am not rich," repeated Mr. Boffin. "I won't have it. You are not rich, sir," repeated the secretary in measured words. "Well," returned Mr. Boffin, "if I am, that's my business. I am not going to spend at this rate to please you, or anybody. You wouldn't like it if it was your money. Even in that impossible case, sir, I hold your tongue," said Mr. Boffin. "You oughtn't to like it in any case. There. I didn't mean to be rude, but you put me out, so, and after all, I am master. I didn't intend to tell you to hold your tongue. I beg your pardon. Don't hold your tongue. Only, don't contradict. Did you ever come across the life of Mr. Elwiz?" referring to his favorite subject at last. The miser. "Ah, people called him a miser. People are always calling other people something. Did you ever read about him?" "I think so. He never owned to be rich. And yet he might have bought me twice over. Did you ever hear of Daniel Dancer?" "Another miser. Yes." "He was a good one," said Mr. Boffin, and he had a sister worthy of him. They never called themselves rich, neither. If they had called themselves rich, most likely, they wouldn't have been so. They lived and died very miserably. Did they not, sir? "Now, I don't know that they did," said Mr. Boffin, curtly. "Then they are not the miser's, I mean. Those abject riches don't call names right, Smith," said Mr. Boffin. "That exemplary brother and sister lived and died in the foulest and filthiest degradation." "They pleased themselves," said Mr. Boffin, "and I suppose they could have done no more if they had spent their money. But, however, I ain't going to fling mine away. Keep the expenses down. The fact is, you ain't enough here, Rokesmith. It wants constant attention and the littlest things. Some of us will be dying in a workhouse next." "Because of the persons you have cited." Quietly remarked the secretary of thought they would, if I remember, sir. "And very credible in them, too," said Mr. Boffin, "very independent in them. Never mind them, just now. Have you given up just to quit your lodgings?" "Under your direction, I have, sir. "Then I'll tell you what," said Mr. Boffin. "Pay their quarters rent. Pay the quarters rent. It'll be the cheapest thing in the end. And come here, it wants to have at you, maybe always, on the spot, day and night, and keep the expenses down. You'll charge the quarters rent to me. I mean, must try and save it somewhere. You've got some lovely furniture, haven't you?" "The furniture in my rooms is my own. Then we shall have to buy any for you, in case you was to think it," said Mr. Boffin, to the look of peculiar shrewdness. "So honourably independent in you, as to make it a relief to your mind, to make that furniture over to me, in the light of a set-off, against the quarters rent. Why, ease your mind. Ease your mind. I don't ask it, but I won't stand in your way, if you should consider it due to yourself, as to your room, choose any empty room at the top of the house. "Any empty room will do for me," said the secretary. "You can take your pick," said Mr. Boffin, "and it'll be as good as eight, or ten shillings a week, add it your income. I won't deduct for it. I'll look to you to make it up and simply, while keeping the expenses down. Now, if you show a light, I'll come to your office-room and dispose of a letter or two." On that clear, generous face of Mrs. Boffin's, Bella had seen such traces of her pang at the heart, while this dialogue was being held, as she had not the courage to turn her eyes to it when they were left alone. Fainting to be intent on her embroidery, she sat plying her needle until her busy hand was stopped by Mrs. Boffin's hand, being lightly laid upon it. Yield into the touch, she felt her hand carried to the good soul's lips, and felt a tear fall on it. "Oh! My loved husband," said Mrs. Boffin, "this is hard to see in here. But my dear Bella, believe me, that in, spite of all the change in him, he is the best of men." He came back at the moment when Bella had taken the hand comfortingly between her own. "Hey?" said he, mistrustfully looking in at the door, "or she telling you." "She's only praising you, sir," said Bella. "Praising me? You are sure? Not blaming me for standing on my own defence against the crew of plunderers who had sat me dry by dribblets, not blaming me for getting a little horde together?" He came up to them, and his wife folded her arms upon his shoulder, and shook her head as she laid it on her hands. "There, there, there," urged Mr. Boffin, not unkindly, "don't take on, old lady." "But I can't pay to see you, sir, my dear." "Nonsense! Regulate! We are not our old souls. Regulate! We must scrunch, or be scrunched. We must hold our own. Regulate! Money! Makes money! Don't you be an easy Bella, my child? Don't you be doubtful? The more I save, the more you shall have!" Bella thought it was well for his wife that she was musing with her affectionate face on his shoulder, for there was a cunning light in his eyes as he said all this, which seemed to cast a disagreeable illumination on the change in him, and make it morally uglier. End of book three, chapter five. Chapter six, the Golden Dustman, falls into worse company. It had come to pass, Mr. Silas Weg, now rarely attended the minion of fortune and the worm of the hour, at his, the worms and minions, own house, but lay under general instructions to await him within a certain margin of hours at the bough. Mr. Weg took this arrangement in great dungeon, because the appointed hours were evening hours, and though she considered pressures to the progress of the friendly move. But it was quite in character, he bitterly remarked to Mr. Venus, that the upstart who had trampled on these eminent creatures, Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and Uncle Parker, should oppress his literary man. The Roman Empire, having worked out its destruction, Mr. Buffon, next appeared in a cab with Rowland's ancient history, which valuable work being found to possess lethargic properties broke down at about the period when the whole of the army of Alexander the Macedonian, at that time about forty thousand strong, burst into tears simultaneously on his being taken with a shivering fit after bathing. The wars of the Jews, likewise languishing under Mr. Weg's generalship, Mr. Buffon arrived in another cab with Putok, whose lives he found in the sequel extremely entertaining, though he hoped Putok might not expect him to believe them all. What to believe, in the course of his reading, was Mr. Buffon's chief literary difficulty indeed. For some time he was divided in his mind between half, all, or none, at length when he decided as a moderate man to compound with half, the question still remained, which half, and that stumbling-block he never got over. One evening when Silas Weg had gone accustomed to the arrival of his patron in a cab, accompanied by some profane historian charged with unutterable names of incomprehensible peoples, of impossible descent, waging wars any number of years, and syllables long, and carrying illimitable hosts and riches about with the greatest ease beyond the confines of geography, one evening the usual time passed by, and no patron appeared. After half an hour's grace, Mr. Weg proceeded to the outer gate, and there executed a whistle, conveying to Mr. Venus, if, per chance, within hearing, the tidings of his being at home and disengaged. Fourth from the shelter of a neighbouring wall, Mr. Venus then emerged. "Bravour in arms," said Mr. Weg, in excellent spirits, "welcome." In return Mr. Venus gave him a rather dry good evening. "Walk in, brother," said Silas, capping him on the shoulder, "and take your seat in my chimney corner. For what says the ballad? No malice to dread, sir, and no falsehood for your, but choose to delight me, Mr. Venus, and I forgot what to cheer. Lee, toddler, de om de, and something to guide, my aim-fire-side, sir, my aim-fire-side." With this quotation, depending for its neatness, rather, on the spirit and the words, Mr. Weg conducted his guest to his hearth. "And you come, brother," said Mr. Weg, in a hospitable glow, "you come, I don't know what, exactly like it. I shouldn't know you from it, shedding a halo all around you. What kind of a halo?" asked Mr. Venus. "Ope, sir," replied Silas. "That's your halo." Mr. Venus appeared doubtful on the point, and looked rather discontentedly at the fire. "We'll devout the evening, brother," exclaimed Weg, "deposecute our friendly move, in our words, crashing a flow in wine-cap, which I elude a brew in ramen water. We'll pledge one another. For what says the poet, and you needn't Mr. Venus be your black bottle? For surely I'll be mine. I'll we'll take a glass with a slice of lemon in it to which you'll partial for our Lang's on." Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select Varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Funds issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. This flow of quotation and hospitality and wag indicated this observation of some little quarrellessness on the part of Venus. Why, as does a friendly move, observe the last same gentleman, rubbing his knees peevishly, one of our objections to it is that it don't move. "Rome, brother," returned Weg, a city which it may not be generally known, originated in twins and a wolf, and ended in imperial marble, wasn't built in a day. "Did I say it was?" asked Venus. "No, you did not, brother. Well inquired. But, I do say," proceeded Venus, "that I am taken from among our trophies of anatomy, and called upon who exchanged my human weariness for mere coalashes, weariness, and nothing comes of it. I think I must give up." "No, sir," demonstrated Weg enthusiastically. "No, sir, charge, jester, charge, on Mr. Venus on. Never say die, sir. A man of your mark?" "It's not so much saying that I object to," returned Mr. Venus, "as doing it. And having got to do it, whether or not, I can't afford to waste my time on grubby for nothing in cinders. But, think our little time you have given to the moves, sir, after all," urged Weg, "had the evenings, so what your part together, and what do they come to? And you, sir, harmonize her with myself in opinions, views, and feelings. You, the patience to fit together on wires, the whole framework of society, are allude to the human skeleton. You, to give in so soon." "I don't like it," returned Mr. Venus, moodily, as he put his head between his knees and stuck up his dusty hair. "And there's no encouragement to go on." "Not their mounds without," said Mr. Weg, extending his right hand with an air of solemn reasoning, "incaragement. Not their mounds, now, lookin' down upon us." "They're too big," Grandmother Venus, "what's a scratch here, and it's great there, a pokiness place, and a diggin' the other to them? Besides, what we found?" "What have we found?" cried Weg, delighted to be able to acquiesce. "Ah, there I grant you, comrade. Nothing. On the contrary, comrade. What may we find? There you grant me, anything." "I don't like it," pettishly returned Venus as before. "I came in the week without enough consideration. Besides, again, isn't your own Mr. Boffin well acquainted with the mounds? Wasn't he well acquainted with the deceased in his ways, and has he ever showed any expectation of finding anything?" At that moment, wheels were heard. "Now, I should be loath," said Mr. Weg, with an air of patient injury, to think so ill of him as to suppose him capable of coming at this time of night. "And yet, it sounds like him." "A ring at the yard-bell." "It is him," said Mr. Weg, "and he is capable of it. I am sorry, because I could have wished to keep up a little lingering fragment of respect for him." Here Mr. Boffin was heard lustily calling at the yard-gate, "Hello, Weg, hello!" "Keep your seat, Mr. Venus," said Weg. "He may not stop." And then called out, "Hello, I sure, hello, I am with you directly, sir, half a minute, Mr. Boffin. It can mean, sir, sir, as is my leg, or bring me, and so, with a show of much cheerful alacrity, stumped out to the gate with a light. And there, through the window of a cab, described Mr. Boffin inside, blocked up with books. "Here, in the end, Weg," said Mr. Boffin excitedly, "I can't get out till the way is cleared for me. This is the annual register, Weg, in a cab full of volumes. Do you know him?" "Now the animal registers, sir," returned the imposter, who had caught the name imperfectly, "for a childly major. I think I could find any animal in him blindfolded, Mr. Boffin." "And he is. Kirby is wonderful museum," said Mr. Boffin, and called for you's characters, "and Wilson's. Such characters, Weg. Such characters. I must have one or two of the best of them to-night. It's amazing what places they used to put the guineas in, wrapped up in rags, catch hold of that pile of volumes, Weg, or it'll bulge out and burst into the mud. Is there anyone about to help?" "There's a friend of mine, sir, that had the intention of spending the evening with me when I gave you up, much against my will, for the night. Call him out," said Mr. Boffin, in a bustle, "get him to bear a hand. Don't drop that one under your arm. It's dancer. And his sister, my pies of a dead sheep, they found when they were out walking. Where's your friend? Oh, here's your friend. Would you be so good at Elpe Weg, and myself with these books? Don't take Jimmy Taylor of Southwalk, nor yet Jimmy would have glossed her. These are the two jemmies. I'll carry them myself." Not ceasing to talk and bustle in a state of great excitement, Mr. Boffin directed the removal and arrangement of the books, appearing to be in some sort beside himself, until they were all deposited on the floor, and the cab was dismissed. "There!" said Mr. Boffin, gloating over them. "There they are, like the four or twenty fiddlers. All of a row. Get on your spectacles, Weg. I know where to find the best of them, and we have a taste at once of what we've got before us. What's your friend's name?" Mr. Weg presented his friend as Mr. Venus. "Hey?" cried Mr. Boffin, catching at the name of Claude-Enwell. "Of Claude-Enwell, sir?" said Mr. Venus. "Why? I've heard of you!" cried Mr. Boffin. "I heard of you in the old man's time. You knew him. Did you ever buy anything of him?" with piercing eagerness. "No, sir." returned Venus. "But he showed you things, didn't he?" Mr. Venus, with glance at his friend, replied in the affirmative. "What do you show you?" asked Mr. Boffin, putting his hands behind him, and eagerly advancing his head. "Did he tell you box it? Little cabinets, pocket-books, parcels, anything locked or sealed, anything tied up?" Mr. Venus shook his head. "Why are you a judge of China?" Mr. Venus again shook his head. "Because, if he never showed you a teapot, I should be glad to know of it," said Mr. Boffin, and then, with his right hand at his lips, repeated thoughtfully, "a teapot." "A teapot." And glanced over the books on the floor, as if he knew there was something interesting connected with the teapot somewhere among them. Mr. Werg and Mr. Venus looked at one another wonderingly, and Mr. Werg, in fitting only spectacles, opened his eyes wide over their rims and tapped the side of his nose, as an admonition to Venus to keep himself generally wide awake. "A teapot," repeated Mr. Boffin, continued to muse and survey the books, "a teapot? A teapot? Are you ready, Werg?" "I am at your service, sir," replied that gentleman, taking his usual seat on the usual settle, and poking his wooden leg under the table before it. "Mr. Venus, would you make yourself useful, and take your seat beside me, sir, for the convenient seat of snuffing the candles?" Venus, complying with the invitation, while it was yet being given, Silas pegged at him with his wooden leg, to call his particular attention to Mr. Boffin standing musing before the fire in the space between the two settles. "Cough, Mr. Wig, to attract his employer's attention. Would you wish it commence with an animal, sir, from the register?" "No," said Mr. Boffin. "No, Wig." With that, producing a little book from his best pocket, he handed it with great care to the literary gentleman and inquired, "What do you call that, Wig?" "This, sir," replied Silas, suggesting the spectacles and referring to the title page, "is merry weather's lives, and anecdotes of myzers." "Mr. Venus, would you make yourself useful, and draw the candles a little nearer, sir?" "This, to have a special opportunity by stowing a stare upon his comrade." "Which of whom have you got in that lot?" asked Mr. Boffin. "Can you find out pretty easy?" "Well, sir," replied Silas, turning to the table of contents, and slowly fluttering the leaves of the book. "I should say, there must be pretty well all the years, sir. Here's a larger sort when, sir." "My eye catches John Overs, sir." "John Little, sir." "Dick Gerald." "John Elwiz." "The Reverend Mr. Jones of Blueberry." "Vulture Hopkins." "Daniel Dancer." "Give us dance, O Wig," said Mr. Boffin. With another stare it has come, read. Silas sought and found a place. Page 109, Mr. Boffin. Chapter 8. Contents of Chapter. His birth and estate. His garments and outward appearance. Ms. Dancerin of feminine graces, the miser's mentioned, the finding of a treasure, the story of the mutton pies, a miser's idea of death, Bob the miser's idea, Griffiths and his master, out to turn a penny, a substitute for a fire, the advantages of keeping a snaff box, the miser dies without a shirt, the treasures of a dung hill?" "Aye?" "Osset," demanded Mr. Boffin. "The treasures, sir," repeated Silas, reading very distinctly, "of a dung hill." "Mr. Venus, sir, would you oblige with the snaffers?" This to secure attention to his adding with his lips only, mounds. Mr. Boffin drew an armchair into the space where he stood and said, sitting himself and slyly rubbing his hands, "Give us dance!" Mr. Wig pursued the biography that eminent man, through its various phases of avarice and dirt, through Ms. Dancer's death on a sick regimen of cold dumpling, and through Mr. Dancer's keeping his rags together with a hay-band, and warming his dinner by sitting upon it, down to the consolatory incident of his dying naked in a sack, after which he read on as follows. The oss, or rather the eat of ruins in which Mr. Dancer lived, and which at his death devolved to the right of Captain Holmes, was a most miserable, decayed building, for it had not been repaired for more than half a century. Here Mr. Wig ayes is comrade, and the room in which they sat, which had not been repaired for a long time. But thou poor in external structures, the ruinous fabric was very rich in the interior. It took many weeks to explore its whole contents, and Captain Holmes found it a very agreeable task to dive into the miser's secret hordes. Here Mr. Wig repeated secret hordes and pegged his comrade again. One of Mr. Dancer's riches escretwires was found to be a dang-eep in the car-house. A sambut little short of two thousand five hundred pounds was contained in this rich piece of manure, and in an old jacket, carefully tied, and strongly nailed down to the manger, in bank-notes and gold were found five hundred pounds more. Here Mr. Wigs wooden legs started forward under the table, and slowly elevated itself as he read on. Several bows were discovered filled with guineas and off guineas, and at different times on search in the corners of the house they found various parcels of bank-notes. Some were crammed into the crevices of the wall. Here Mr. Venus looked at the wall. Those were hid under the cushions and covers of the chairs. Here Mr. Venus looked under himself on the settle. Some were reposing snaggly at the back of the drawers, and notes amount into six hundred pounds were found neatly doubled up in the inside of an old teapot. In the stable the Captain found jags full of old dollars in shillings. The chimney was not left unsurched, and pied very well for the trouble, for in nineteen different holes all filled with suit were found various sums of money, amounting together to more than two hundred pounds. On the weight of this crisis Mr. Wigs wooden leg had gradually elevated itself more and more, and he had nudged Mr. Venus with his opposite elbow deeper and deeper. Until at length the preservation of his balance became incompatible with the two actions, and he now dropped over sideways upon that gentle woman, squeezing him against the settle's edge. Nor did either of the two, for some seconds, make any effort to recover himself, both remaining in a kind of pecuniary swoon. But the sight of Mr. Boughton, sitting in the armchair hugging himself with his eyes upon the fire, acted as a restorative. Counterfeiting a sneeze to cover their movements, Mr. Wig with a spasmodic "Kisho!" pulled himself from Mr. Venus up in a masterly manner. "Let's have some more!" said Mr. Boughton, hungrily. "John Elwys is an excer. Is it your pleasure to take John Elwys?" "Ah!" said Mr. Boughton. "Let's hear what John did." He did not appear to have hidden anything, so went off rather flatly. But an exemplary lady named Wilcox, who had stowed away gold and silver in a pickle pot, in a clock case, a canister full of treasure in a hole under her stairs, and a quantity of money in an old rat-trap revived the interest. To her, she had seen another lady claiming to be a pauper whose wealth was found wrapped up in little scraps of paper and old rag. To her, another lady, apple-worn by trade, who had saved a fortune of ten thousand pounds and hidden it, here and there, in cracks and corners behind bricks and under the flooring. To her, a French gentleman, who had crammed up his chimney rather to the detriment of its drawing-powers, a leather release containing twenty thousand francs, gold coins, and a large quantity of precious stones, as discovered by a chimney-sweep after his death. By these steps, Mr. Weg arrived at a concluding instance of the human magpie. Hey Amazon Prime members! Why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to fifty percent on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save ten percent on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, three sixty-five by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn fifty thousand bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank N.A. member FDIC, subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. Many years ago, they lived at Cambridge, a miserly old couple of the name of Jardine. They had two sons, the father was a perfect miser, and that is death. One thousand guineas were discovered, secreted in his bed. The two sons grew up as parsimonious as their sire, when about twenty years of age, they commenced business at Cambridge as drapers, and they continued there until their death. The establishment of the Messers Jardine was the most dirty of all the shops in Cambridge. Customers seldom went into purchase except perhaps out of curiosity. The brothers were most susceptible looking beings, for although surrounded with gay apparel as their staple in trade, they wore the most filthy rags themselves. It is said that they had no bed, and to save the expensive one always slept on a bundle of packing clothes under the counter. In their housekeeping they were penurious in the extreme. A joint of meat did not grace their board for twenty years, yet when the first of the brothers died, the other, much to his surprise, found large sums of money which had been secreted even from him. "There!" cried Mr. Boughton. "Even from him, you see. There was only two of them, and yet one of them hid from the other." Mr. Venus, whose senses introduction to the French gentleman, had been stooping to peer up the chimney, had his attention recalled by the last sentence, and took the liberty of repeating it. "Do you like it?" asked Mr. Boughton, turning suddenly. "I'll bake you a pardon, sir." "Do you like what wigs been a reading?" Mr. Venus answered that he found it extremely interesting. "Then come again," said Mr. Boughton, "and hear some more. Come when you like. Come the day off or tomorrow, off an hour sooner. It's plenty more. There's no end to it." Mr. Venus expressed his acknowledgments and accepted the invitation. "He's wonderful. What's been he'd? At one time in another," said Mr. Boughton, ruminating. "Truly, wonderful." "Maine, sir?" observed Weg with a propitatory face to draw him out, and with another peg at his friend and brother, "In the way of money?" "Manny?" said Mr. Boughton. "Ah-ha! And papers!" Mr. Weg, in a languid transport, again dropped over on Mr. Venus, and again recovering himself, mastered the motions with the sneeze. "Tish, you—did you say papers, too, sir?" "Been hidden, sir?" "Hidden and forgot!" said Mr. Boughton. "Why, sir?" The bookseller that sold me the wonderful museum. "What's the wonderful museum?" He was on his knees, on the floor, in a moment, groping eagerly among the books. "Can I assist you, sir?" asked Weg. "No. I've got it. Here it is," Mr. Boughton, dusting it with the sleeve of his coat. "Wallium IV." "I know it was the fourth volume. Let the book sell everything to me out of. Look for it, Weg." Silas took the book, and turned the sleeves. "Remarkable pet refaction, sir." "No. That's not it," said Mr. Boughton. "It can't have been a pet refaction." Memoirs of General John Reed, commonly called the Waltney and Rush Light, sir, was portrait. "No. No, yet, him," said Mr. Boughton. "Remarkable case of a person who swallowed a crown piece, sir." "Tied it?" asked Mr. Boughton. "Why, no, sir," replied Wade, consulting the text. "It appears to have been done by accident." "Oh, this next must be it. Singular discovery of a will lost 21 years." "That's it," cried Mr. Boughton. "Redak." "A most extraordinary case," read Silas Wager loud, "was tried at the last Maryborough as sizes in Ireland. It was briefly this. Robert Baldwin, in March 1782, made his will in which he devised the lands now in question to the children of his youngest son, soon after which his faculties failed him and he became altogether childish and died above eight years old. The defendant, the eldest son, immediately afterwards, gave out that his father had destroyed the will, and no will being found, he ended in possession of the lands in question, and so Mass remained for twenty-one years, the whole family during all that time believing that the father had died without a will. But after twenty-one years, defendant's wife died, and he very soon afterwards at the age of seventy-eight married a very young woman, which caused some anxiety to his two sons whose poignant expressions of this feeling so exasperated their father that Ian's resentment executed a will to disinherit his eldest son, and in his fit of anger showed it to his second son who instantly determined to get at it and destroy it, in order to preserve the property to his brother. With this view he broke open his father's desk, where he found not his father's will which he sought after, but the will of his grandfather which was then altogether forgotten in the family. "There!" said Mr. Buffon, "see what man put away, and forget, or meet a destroyer, don't?" he then added in a slow tone, "Astonisine." And as he rolled his eyes all round the room, Weg and Venus likewise rolled their eyes all round the room, and then Weg singly fixed his eyes on Mr. Buffon looking at the fire again, as if he had a mind a spring upon him, and a man his thoughts or his life. "However, time's up for tonight," said Mr. Buffon, waving his hand after a silence, "more the day after tomorrow. Rains the books upon the shelves, Weg, our dear, say Mr. Venus will be so kind as to help you." While speaking, he thrust his hand into the breast of his outer coat, and struggled with some object there that was too large to be got out easily. What was the stupid affection of the friendly movers when this object had last emerging proved to be a much dilapidated, dark lantern? Without at all noticing the effect produced by this little instrument, Mr. Buffon stood it on his knee, and producing a box of matches to liberately light of the candle in the lantern, blew out the kindled match and cast the end into the fire. "I'm going, Weg," he then announced, "to take your turn about a place, around the yard. I don't want you. Me and this same lantern have taken hundreds, thousands of such turns in our tent together. But I couldn't think so. Not on any account, I couldn't. Weg was politely beginning when Mr. Buffon had risen and was going towards the door stopped. "I told you. I don't want you, Weg." Weg looked intelligently thoughtful, as if that had not occurred to his mind until he now brought it to bay on the circumstance. He had nothing for it but to let Mr. Buffon go out and shut the door behind him. But the instant he was on the other side of it, Weg clutched Venus with both hands and said in a chucking whisper, as if he were being strangled, "Mr. Venus, he must be followed, he must be watched, he mustn't be lost sight of for a moment. Why, mustn't he?" asked Venus, also strangling. "Comrade, you might have noticed, always a little early-weighted in spirits when you come in and hide. I found something. What have you found?" asked Venus, touching him with both hands, so that they stood interlocked like a couple of preposterous gladiators. "There's no dark until you know. I think you must have gone to look right. We must have an eye upon him instantly." Releasing each other, they crept to the door, opened it softly and peeped out. It was a cloudy night, and the black shadow of the mounds made the dark yard darker. "If not a double swindler!" whispered Weg. "Why a dark lantern? We could have seen what used about if he had carried a light one. Softly, this way!" cautiously along the path that was bordered by fragments of crockery set in ashes, the two stone after him. They could hear him at his peculiar trot, crushing the loose cinders as he went. "He knows the place by heart!" muttered Silas. "And don't need to turn his land on, confound him." But he did turn it on, almost in that instant, and flashed a slight upon the first of the mounds. "Is that the spot?" asked Venus in a whisper. "He's warm," said Silas, in the same tone. "He's precious warm. He's close. I think he must be countin' a look for it." "What's that? He's gottin' his hand." "I shall fall!" answered Venus. "And he knows out the usein'. Remember, fifty times as well as other of us?" "If he looks for it and misses it, partner," suggested Weg. "What shall we do?" "First of all, White Tilly Dazz." Said Venus. Discrete advice, too, for he darkened his lantern again, and the mound turned black. After a few seconds he turned the light on once more, and was seen standing at the foot of the second mound, slowly raising the lantern little by little, and till he held it up at arm's length as if he were examining the condition of the whole surface. "There can't be this spot, too," said Venus. "No!" said Weg. "He's getting cold. He strikes me," whispered Venus, "that he wants to find out whether anyone has been groping about there." "Hush!" returned Weg. "He's getting colder and colder. Now he's freezing." This exclamation was elicited by his having turned the lantern off again and on again, and being visible at the foot of the third mound. "Why, he's going up it!" said Venus. "Shavle and all!" said Weg. At a nimble trot, as if the shovel over his shoulder stimulated him by reviving old associations, Mr. Buffon ascended the serpent-tining walk up the mound, which he had described to Silas Weg on the occasion of their beginning to decline and fall. On striking into it he turned his lantern off. The two following him, stooping low, so that their figures might make no mark in relief against the sky when he should turn his lantern on again. Mr. Venus took the lead, towing Mr. Weg, in order that his refactory leg might be promptly extricated from any pitfall such a dig for itself. They could just make out that the golden dustman stopped to breathe. Of course they stopped, too, instantly. "This is his own mound!" whispered Weg, as he recovered his wind. "This one. Why all three are his own?" returned Venus. "So he thinks. But he's used to call this his own, because it's the one first left to him, the one that was his legacy when it was all he took under the wheel." "When he shows his light," said Venus, keeping watch upon his dusky figure all the time, "drop lower, and keep closer." He went on again, and they followed again. Gaining the top of the mound he turned on his light, but only partially, and stood it on the ground. A bare lopsided weather-beaten pole was planted in the ashes there, and had been there many a year. Hard by this pole his lantern stood, lighting a few feet of the lower part of it, and a little of the ashy surface around, and then casting off a purposeless little clear trail of light into the air. "He can never be going to dig up the pole," whispered Venus as they dropped low and kept close. "Perhaps each holler, and fool something," whispered Weg. He was going to dig, with whatsoever object, for he tucked up his cuffs and spat on his hands, and then went at it like an old dig as he was. He had no design upon the pole, except that he measured a shovel's length from it before beginning, nor was it his purpose to dig deep. Some dozen or so of expert stroke sufficed. Then he stopped, looked down into the cavity, bent over it, and took out what appeared to be an ordinary case-bottle, one of those squat, high-shouldered, short-necked glass-bottles which the Dutchman has said to keep his carriage in. As soon as he had done this, he turned off his lantern, and they could hear that he was filling up the hole in the dark. The ashes being easily moved by a skilful hand, the spies took this as a hint to make off in good time. Accordingly Mr. Venus slipped past Mr. Weg, and towed him down. But Mr. Weg's descent was not accomplished without some personal inconvenience, for his self-willed leg, sticking into the ashes about halfway down, and time pressing, Mr. Venus took the liberty of hauling him from his tether by the collar, which occasioned him to make the rest of the journey on his back, with his head enveloped in the skirts of his coat, and his wooden leg coming last like a drag. So flustered was Mr. Weg by this mode of travelling, that only was set on the level ground with his intellectual developments uppermost. He was quite unconscious of his bearings, and had not the least idea where his place of residence was to be found, until Mr. Venus shoved him into it. Even then he staggered round and round, weakly staring about him, until Mr. Venus with a hard brush brushed his senses into him and the dust out of him. Mr. Boffin came down leisurely, for this brushing process had been well-acamplished, and Mr. Venus had had time to take his breath before he reappeared. That he had to bottle somewhere about him could not be doubted, where was not so clear. He wore a large, rough coat buttoned over, and it might be in any one of half a dozen pockets. "What's the matter, Weg?" said Mr. Boffin. "You are as pale as a candle." Mr. Weg replied with literal exactness, that he felt as if he had had a turn. "Bile?" said Mr. Boffin, blowing out the light and the lantern, shutting it up and stowing it away in the breast of his coat as before. "Are you subject to vile, Weg?" Mr. Weg again replied, with strict adherence to truth, that he didn't think he had ever had a similar sensation in his head to anything like the same extent. "Fizzic yourself to-morrow, Weg?" said Mr. Boffin, to be in order for next night. "By the way, this neighbourhood is going to have a loss, Weg." "A lot, sir?" "Gain't to lose the mounds." The friendly movers made such an obvious effort not to look at one another, that they might as well have stared at one another, though they might. "Have you parted with them, Mr. Boffin?" asked Silas. "Yes, they're going. My mind's as good as gone already." "You mean the little one of the three with the Powell-a-top, sir?" "Yes," said Mr. Boffin, rubbing his ear in his old way, with that new touch of craftiness added to it. "It is fetched a penny. It will begin to be carted off to-morrow." "Have you been out to take leave of your old friend, sir?" asked Silas, jacotally. "No," said Mr. Boffin, "what the devil put that in your head?" He was so sudden and rough that Weg, who had been hovering closer and closer to his skirts, dispatching the back of his hand and exploring expeditions in search of the bottle of surface, retired, two or three paces. "No, a fence, sir," said Weg humbly. "No, a fence!" Mr. Boffin eyed him as a dog might I, another dog, who wanted his bone, and actually retorted with a low growl as the dog might have retorted. "Good night!" he said, after having sung into a moody silence, with his hands clasped behind him and his eyes suspiciously wandering about Weg. "Now, stop there. I know the way out, and I want no light." Averus, and the evening's legends of Averus, and the inflammatory effect of what he had seen, and perhaps the rush of his ill-conditioned blood to his brain and his descent, wrought Silas' way to such a pitch of insatiable appetite, that when the door closed he made a swoop at it, and drew Venus along with him. "He mustn't go!" he cried. "We mustn't let him go! He's got that bottle about him! We must have that bottle!" "Why?" "You wouldn't take it by force," said Venus, restraining him. "Wouldn't I?" "Yes, I would. I'll take it by any force. I'd have it at any price. Are you so afraid of one old man as to let him go, you coward?" "I'm so afraid of you, as not to let you go," muttered Venus, sturdily, clasping him in his arms. "Did you hear him?" retorted Meg. "Did you hear him say that he was resolved to disappoint us? Did you hear him say you curl that he was going to have the mounds cleared off, when no doubt the whole place will be rummaged? If you aren't the spirit of a mouse to defend your rights I have, let me go after him." As in his wildness he was making a strong struggle for it, Mr. Venus deemed it expedient to lift him, throw him, and fall with him. Well, knowing that, once down, he would not be up again easily with his wooden leg. So they both rolled on the floor, and as they did so, Mr. Buffon, shut the gate. Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. End of book three, chapter six. Chapter seven, The Friendly Move takes up a strong position. The friendly movers sat upright on the floor, panting and eyeing one another, after Mr. Buffon had slammed a gate and gone away. In the weak eyes of Venus, and in every reddish-dust-colored hair in his shock of hair, there was a marked distress of Weg, and an alertness to fly at him on perceiving the smallest occasion. In the hard-grained face of Weg, and in his stiff, knotty figure he looked like a German wooden toy, there was expressed a politic conciliation, which had no spontaneity in it. Both were flushed, flustered, and rumpled by the late scuffle, and Weg, in coming to the ground, had received a humming-knock on the back of his devoted head, which caused him still to rub it with an air of having been highly, but disagreeably astonished. Each was silent for some time, leaving it to the other to begin. "Brother," said Weg, at length, breaking the silence, "you are right, now I was wrong. I forgot myself." Mr. Venus knowingly cocked his shock of hair, as rather thinking Mr. Weg had remembered himself in respect of appearing without any disguise. "But, comrade," pursued Weg, "it was never your ought to know, Mr. Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, nor Uncle Parker." Mr. Venus admitted that he had never known those distinguished persons, and added in effect that he had never so much desired the honour of their acquaintance. "Don't say that, comrade," retorted Weg. "No! Don't say that! Because without having known them, you never can fully know what it is to be stimulated of frenzy by the sort of the usurper." Offering these excusatory words as if they reflected great credit on himself, Mr. Weg impelled himself with his hands towards a chair in a corner of the room, and there, after a variety of awkward gambles, attained a perpendicular position. Mr. Venus also rose. "Comed," said Weg, "take your seat. Comed? What a speaking countenance is yours." Mr. Venus involuntarily smoothed his countenance, and looked at his hand, as if to see whether any of its speaking properties came off. "For clearly, do I know, Mark you," pursued Weg, pointing his words with his forefinger, "clearly, do I know what question your expressive feature puts to me." "What question?" said Venus. "A question," returned Weg with a sort of joyful affability. "Why, I didn't mention sooner that I had found something." "Sis your speaking countenance to me? Why didn't you communicate that when our first come in this evening? Why did you keep it back till you thought Mr. Boughton had come to look for the article?" "Your speaking countenance," said Weg, "put a seat plainer than language. Now, you can't read in my face what answer I give." "Now, I can't," said Venus, "I knew it. And why not?" returned Weg with the same joyful candour, because I lay no claims to a speaking countenance, because I am well aware of my deficiencies. All men are not gifted alike, but are in answering words. And in what words? These are wanted to give you a delightful surprise. Having thus elongated and emphasised the word surprise, Mr. Weg shook his friend and brother by both hands, and then clapped him on both knees like an affectionate patron who entreated him not to mention so small a service as that which had been his happy privilege to render. "You all speak in countenance," said Weg, "being answered to its satisfaction, only ask, then, what have you found? Why, I hear it say the words." "Well," retorted Venus snappishly, after waiting in vain, "if you hear it say the words, why don't you answer it? Hear me out," said Weg. "I am going to. Hear me out. Man and brother, partner in feelings equally with undertakings and actions. I have found a cash-box." "Where? Hear me out," said Weg. He tried to reserve whatever he could, and, whenever disclosure was forced upon him, broke into a radiant gush of hear me out. "On a certain day, sir. When?" said Venus bluntly. "No," returned Weg, shaking his head at once observantly, thoughtfully and playfully. "No, sir. That's not your expressive countenance which asks that question. That's your voice. Mealy your voice." To proceed. "On a certain day, sir, I happen to be walking in the yard, taking my lonely round. For in the words of a friend of my own family, the author of All's Well arranged as a duet. Deserted, as you will remember, Mr. Venus, by the waning moon, when stars it will occur to you before I mention it, proclaim, night's cheerless noon. On tower, fort, or tent did ground, the sentry walks, is lonely round, the sentry walks. Under those circumstances, sir, I happen to be walking in the yard early one-off to noon, and am to have an iron rod in my hand, with which I have been, sometimes, accustomed to be guile, am I not any of a literary life? When I struck it against an object, not necessary to topple you by naming, it is necessary what object?" demanded Venus in a wrath or tone. "You hear me out!" said Weg, the pampe. "When I struck it against the pampe, and found, only at the top was loose, and opened with a lid, but that's something in it rattled. That something, comrade, I discovered to be a small, flat, oblong cash-box. Shall I say it was disappointingly light?" "There were papers in it!" said Venus. "There are expressive countenance-speaks, indeed!" cried Weg, a paper. The box was locked, tied up and sealed, and on the outside was a parchment label with the writing, "My will, John-Harmon, temporarily deposited here." "We mustn't how it's content!" said Venus. " Hear me out!" cried Weg, I said so, and I broke the box open. "Without coming to me?" exclaimed Venus. "Exactly so, sir," returned Weg, blandly and buoyantly, "I see I take you with me. Hear, hear, hear, result as you all discriminate in good senses perceive that if you was to ever sap her eyes, it should be a complete one." "Well, sir, and so, as you have honoured me by anticipating, I examine the document. Regularly executed, regularly witnessed, very short. Inasmuch as he never made friends and has ever had a rebellious family, he, John-Harmon, gives to Nicodemus boffin the little mound, which is quite enough for him, and gives the whole rest and residue of his property to the crown. The date of the will has been proved, must be looked to," remarked Venus, "it may be later than this one. Hear me out!" cried Weg, I said so, I paid a shilling, never mind you or six months of it, to look up that will, rather that will is dated months before this will. And now, as a fellow man, and as a partner in a friendly move, added Weg, benignly taken by both hands again, and clapping on both knees again, say, "Have I completed my labour of love to your perfect satisfaction, and are you sap her eyes?" Mr. Venus contemplated his fellow man and partner with doubting eyes, and then rejoined stiffly. "This is great news, indeed, Mr. Wedge. There's no denying it, but I could have wished you had told me before you got your fright to-night, and I could have wished you would ever ask me as your partner what we were to do before you thought you were dividing a responsibility." " Hear me out!" cried Weg, I knew it was a guy, I said, he said, "But alone I bore the anxiety, and alone I'll bear the blame. This was an air of great magnanimity." "No!" said Venus. "Let's see this will in this box." "Do I understand, brother?" returned Weg, with considerable reluctance, that it is your wish to see this will, and this Mr. Venus smoked the table with his hand. " Hear me out!" said Weg, " Hear me out! I'll go and fetch him!" After being some time absent, as if in his covetousness he could hardly make up his mind to produce the treasure to his partner, he returned with an old leaven hat-box into which he had put the other box for the better preservation of commonplace appearance and for the disarming of suspicion. "But I don't off like hoping in it here!" said Silas, in a low voice looking around, "He might come back. He may not be gone. We don't know what he might be up to after what we've seen." "There is something in that," assented Venus, "camped in my place." "Jealous of the custody of the box, and yet fearful of opening it under the existing circumstances," Weg hesitated. "Can I tell you?" repeated Venus, chafing to my place. Not very well seeing his way to a refusal, Mr. Weg then rejoined in a gush, " Hear me out! Certainly!" So he locked up the bar, and they set forth, Mr. Venus taking his arm and keeping it, with remarkable tenacity. They found the usual dim light burning in the window of Mr. Venus's establishment, imperfectly disthosing to the public the usual pair of preserved frogs, sold in hand, with their point of honour still unsettled. Mr. Venus had closed his shop-door on, coming out, and now opened it with the key, and shut it again, as soon as they were within, but not before he had put up, and barred the shutters of the shop-window. "Now I can get in without being let in," said he then, "and we couldn't be more snug than here." So he raked together the yet warm cinders in the rusty grate, and made a fire, and trimmed a candle on the little counter. As the fire cast its flickering gleams here and there upon the dark, greasy walls, the Hindu baby, the African baby, the articulated English baby, the assortment of skulls, and the rest of the collection, came starting to their various stations as if they had all been out, like their master, and were punctual and a general rendezvous to assist at the secret. The French gentleman had grown considerably since Mr. Weglass saw him, being now accommodated with a pair of legs and a head, though his arms were yet in abeyance. To whomsoever the head had originally belonged, Silas Weg would have regarded it as a personal favour if he had not cut quite so many teeth. Silas took his seat in silence on the wooden box before the fire, and Venus, dropping into his low chair, produced her among his skeleton hands, his tea-tray, and teacups, and put the kettle on. Silas inwardly approved of these preparations, trusting they might end in Mr. Venus' diluting his intellect. "Now, sir," said Venus, "always safe and quiet, let us see this discovery." With still reluctant hands, and not without several glances towards the skeleton hands, as if he must trusted that a couple of them might spring forth and clutch the document, Weg opened a hat-box, and revealed the cash-box, opened the cash-box, and revealed the will. He held a corner a bit tight, while Venus, taking hold of another corner, searchingly and attentively read it. "Was I correct in my account of it, partner?" said Mr. Weg at length. "Partner, you were," said Mr. Venus. Mr. Weg thereupon made an easy, graceful movement as though he would fold it up, but Mr. Venus held on by his corner. "No, sir," said Mr. Venus, winking his weak eyes and shaking his head. "No, partner." The question is now brought up. "Who is going to take care of this?" "Do you know who is going to take care of this partner?" "I am," said Weg. "How, dear, no, partner," retorted Venus. "That's a mistake. I am." "Now, look here, Mr. Weg. I don't want to have any words with you, and still less do I want to have any anatomical pursuits with you. What do you mean?" said Weg, quickly. "I mean, partner," replied Venus slowly. "That is hardly possible for a man to feel in a more amiable state towards another man than I do towards you at this present moment. But I am on my own ground. I am surrounded by the trophies of my art, and my tools is very endy." "What do you mean, Mr. Venus?" asked Weg again. "I am surrounded, as I have observed," said Mr. Venus, placidly. "By the trophies of my art. They are numerous, my stock of human weariness is large. A shop is pretty well-crammed, and I don't just now want any more trophies of my art. But I like my art, and I now out to exercise my art. Now, man, better," ascended Mr. Weg with a somewhat staggered air. "These, the miscellaneous of several human specimens," said Venus, "though you aren't thinking it, in a box on which you're sitting. There's the miscellaneous of several human specimens in the lovely compo one behind the door, with a nod towards the French gentleman. It still wants a pair of arms. I don't, say, that I'm in any hurry for them." "Who must be wandering in your mind, partner?" Silas demonstrated. "You'll excuse me if I wonder," returned Venus. "I am sometimes rather subject to it. I like my art, and I now out exercise my art, and I mean to have the key-pin of this document. But what was that got to do with your art, partner?" asked Weg in an insinuating tone. Mr. Venus winked as chronically fatigued eyes, both at once, and adjusting the kettle on the fire, remarked to herself in a hollow voice. "She'll bile in a couple of minutes." Silas were glanced at the kettle. Glanced at the shells, glanced at the French gentleman behind the door, and shrink a little, as he glanced at Mr. Venus, winking his red eyes, and feeling his waistcoat pocket, as for a lancet, say, with his unoccupied hand. He and Venus were necessarily seated close together, as he chelled a corner of the document, which was but a common sheet of paper. "Partner," said Weg, even more insinuatingly than before, "I propose that we cut it in half, and each keep it half." Venus shook a shock of hair, as he replied. "It wouldn't do to mute a lady, partner. It might seem to be cancelled." "Partner," said Weg, after silence, during which they had contemplated one another, "don't your speak in count and say that you're going to suggest a middle course?" Venus shook a shock of hair, as he replied. "Partner, you have kept this paper from me once. You shall never keep it from me again. I offer you the box and the label to take care of, but I'll take care of the paper." Silas hesitated a little longer, and then suddenly releasing his corner, and resuming his buoyant and benignant tone, exclaimed, "What's life without Trasfornus? What's a fellow man, without honour? You're welcome to it, partner, in a spirit of trust and confidence." Continuing to wink his red eyes both together, but in a self-commuting way, and without any show of triumph, Mr. Venus folded the paper, now left in his hand, and locked it in a draw behind him and pocketed the key. He then proposed, "Her cap a tea, partner?" to which Mr. Weg returned, "Thank you, partner," and the tea was made, and poured out. "Next," said Venus, blowing at his tea in his saucer, and looking over it at his confidential friend, "Cams a question. What's the course to be pursued?" Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, A Plenty, and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change terms apply. On this head, Silas Weg had much to say. Silas had to say that he would beg to remind his comrade, brother and partner, of the impressive passages they had read that evening, of the evident parallel in Mr. Boffin's mind between them and the late owner of the bower, and the present circumstances of the bower, of the bottle, and of the box. At the fortunes of his brother and comrade and of himself were evidently made inasmuch as they had but to put their price upon this document and get that price from the minion of fortune and the worm of the hour, who now appeared to be less of a minion and more of a worm than had been previously supposed. That he considered it plain that such price was stateable in a single expressive word, and that the word was halves, that the question that arose when halves should be called, that here he had a plan of action to recommend with a conditional clause, that the plan of action was that they should lie by with patience, that they should allow the mounds to be gradually levelled and cleared away, while retaining to themselves their present opportunity of watching the process, which would be, he conceived, to put the trouble and cost of daily digging and delving upon somebody else, while they might, nightly, turn such complete disturbance of the dust to the account of their own private investigations, and that, when the mounds were gone, and they had worked those chances for their own joint benefit solely, they should then, and not before, explode on the minion and worm. But here came the conditional clause, and to this he entreated the special attention of his comrade, brother, and partner. It was not to be borne that the minion and worm should carry off any of that property which was now to be regarded as their own property. When he, Mr. Weg, had seen the minion surreptitiously making off with that bottle, and its precious contents unknown, he had looked upon him in the light of a mere robber, and, as such, would have despoiled him of his ill-gotten gain, but for the judicious interference of his comrade, brother, and partner. Therefore, the conditional clause he proposed was that, if the minion should return in his late sneaking manner, and if, being closely watched, he should be found to possess himself of anything no matter what, the sharp sword impending over his head should be instantly shown him. He should be strictly examined as to what he knew or suspected should be severely handled by them his masters, and should be kept in a state of abject, moral bondage, and slavery, until the time when they should see fit to permit him to purchase his freedom at the price of half his possessions. Smith said Mr. Weg, by way of peroration, he had erred in saying only halves. He trusted to his comrade, brother, and partner not to hesitate to set him right, and to reprove his weakness. It might be more according to the rights of things to, say, two-thirds. It might be more according to the rights of things to, say, three-fourths, and those points he was ever open to correction. Mr. Venus, having wafted his attention to this discourse over three successive sources of tea, signified his concurrence in the views advanced. In spirited hereby Mr. Weg extended his right hand and declared it to be a hand which never yet. Without entering into more minute particulars, Mr. Venus, sticking to his tea, briefly professed his belief, as polite forms required of him, that it was a hand which never yet. But contented himself was looking at it, and did not take it to his bosom. "Brother," said Weg, when this happy understanding was established, "I shall light ask you something." "You remember, Knight, when I first looked in here, and found you floked in your powerful mind in tea?" "Still, swelling tea, Mr. Venus, not a descent." "And there you sit, sir," pursued Weg with an air of thoughtful admiration, "as if you had never left off. There you sit, sir, as if you had an unlimited capacity of assimilating the flagrant article. There you sit, sir, in the midst of your works, looking as if you had been called upon for home, sweet home, and was a bleach in the company. I exile from home, spend or dazzles in vain. I'll give you your lonely preparations again." The birds stuffed so sweetly. "I can't be expected to come at your call. Give you these with the peace of mind, dearer than all. Home, home, home, sweet home. Be it ever," added Mr. Weg in prose, as he glanced about the shop, "ever shall ghastly all things consider there's no place like it." "You said you'd like to ask something, but you haven't asked it," remarked Venus, very unsympathetic in manner. "Your peace of mind," said Weg, offering condolence, "your peace of mind was in a poor way that night. How's it going on? Is it looking up at all?" "She does not wish," replied Mr. Venus, with a comical mixture of indignant obstinacy and tender melancholy, "to regard herself nor yet to be regarded in that particular light." There's no more to be said. "Aww, dear me, dear me," exclaimed Weg with a sigh, but eyeing him while pretending to keep in company and eyeing the fire. "Such is woman." "And I remember," you said that night, sitting there as I sat near, "said that night when your peace of mind was first laid low, that you had taken an interest in these very affairs. Such is coincidence." "Her father," rejoined Venus, and then stopped to swallow more tea, "her father was fixed up in them." "You didn't mention her name, sir, I think," observed Weg, pensively. "Now, you didn't mention her name that night?" "Placent ride-o'd. Indeed," cried Weg, "placent ride-o'd. There's something moving in the name, pleasant." "Dear me," seems to express what she might have been, if she hadn't made that unpleasant remark, and what she ain't, in consequence of having made it. "What did it all pour-bomb into your wounds, Mr. Venus, to enquire how you came acquainted with her?" "I was down at the water-side," said Venus, taking another gulp of tea, and mournfully winking at the fire, "look in for parrots," taking another gulp and stopping. Mr. Weg hinted to Jugger's attention. "You would hardly have been out parrot-shootin' in the British climate, sir?" "No, no, no," said Venus, fetfully. "I was down at the water-side, looking for parrots brought home by sailors to buy for stuffing." "I, I, I, sir." "And looking for a nice pair of rattlesnakes to articulate for a museum. When I was doomed to fall in with her and deal with her, it was just at the time of that discovery in the river, her father had seen the discovery being towed in the river. I made a popularity of the subject of reason for going back to improve the acquaintance, and I had never since been a man I was. My very bones as rendered flabby by a brooding over it. If they could be brought to me loose, to sort, I should hardly have the face to claim 'em as mine, to such an extent of how I fall in awe-frontin' it." Mr. Weg, less interested than he had been, glanced at one particular shelf in the dark. "Why, I remember, Mr. Venus," he said in a tone of friendly commiseration, "for I remember every word that falls from you, sir. I remember that you said that night you had got up there, and then your words was never mine." "The parrot that I bought of her," said Venus, with a despondent rise and fall of his eyes, "yes, there it lies on its side, dried up, except for its plumage, very like myself. I never had the art to prepare it, and I never shall have now." With a disappointed face, Silas mentally consigned this parrot to regions more than tropical, and seeming for the time to have lost his power of assuming interest in the woes of Mr. Venus, fell to tightening his wooden leg as a preparation for departure. Its gymnastic performances of that evening having severely tried its constitution. After Silas had left the shop, had box in hand, and had left Mr. Venus to lower himself to oblivion point, with the requisite weight of tea, it greatly preyed on his ingenuous mind that he had taken this artist into partnership at all. He bitterly felt that he had overreached himself in the beginning, by grasping at Mr. Venus's mere straws of hints now shown to be worthless for his purpose, casting about for ways and means of dissolving the connection without loss of money, reproting himself for having been betrayed into an avowal of his secret, and complimenting himself beyond measure on his purely accidental good luck, he beguiled the distance between Clark and Well and the mansion of the Golden Dustman. For Silas Weg felt it to be quite out of the question that he could lay his head upon his pillow and peace, without first hovering over Mr. Buffon's house in the superior character of its evil genius. Power, unless it be the power of intellect or virtue, has ever the greatest attraction for the lowest natures, and the mere defiance of the unconscious house front, with his power to strip the roof off the inhabiting family like the roof of a house of cards, was a treat which had a charm for Silas Weg. As he hollered on the opposite side of the street, exulting, the carriage drove up. "They'll shortly be an end of you," said Weg, threatening it with the hatbox, "Your varnish is fading." Mrs. Buffon descended and went in. "Look out for a full, my lady, dust woman," said Weg. Bella lightly descended and ran in after her. "How brisk we are," said Weg. "You won't run so gallily to your old shabby home, my girl. You'll have to go there, though." A little while, and the secretary came out. "I was passed over for you," said Weg, "but you'd better provide yourself with another situation, young men." Mr. Buffon's shadow passed upon the blinds of three large windows as he tottered down the room and passed again as he went back. "Yup!" cried Weg. "You're there, are you?" "Where's the bottle?" "You would give your bottle for my box, Dassmann." Having now composed his mind for slumber, he turned homeward. Such was the greed of the fellow, that his mind had shot beyond halves, two-thirds, three-fourths, and gone straight to spoliation of the whole. Though that wouldn't quite do he considered growing cooler as he got away, that's what would happen to him if he didn't buy us up. We should get nothing by that. We so judge others by ourselves, that it never came into his head before, that he might not buy us up and might prove honest and prefer to be poor. It caused him a slight tremor as it passed, but a very slight one, for the idle thought was gone directly. "He's grown to fond of money for that," said Weg. "He's grown to fond of money." The burden fell into a strain or tune as he stumped along the pavements. All the way home he stumped it out of the rattling streets, piano, with his own foot, and forte, with his wooden leg. "He's grown to fond of money for that he's grown to fond of money." Even next day, Silas soothed himself with this melodious strain, when he was called out of bed a daybreak to set open the yard-gate and admit the train of carts and horses that came to carry off the little mound. And all day long as he kept unwinking watch on the slow process, which promised to protect itself through many days and weeks, whenever, to save himself from being choked with dust, he patrolled a little, cindreous beat he established for the purpose. Without taking his eyes from the diggers, he still stumped to the tune. He's grown to fond of money for that he's grown to fond of money. But of Book III, Chapter VII Chapter VIII, The End of a Long Journey The train of carts and horses came and went all day from dawn to nightfall, making little or no daily impression on the heap of ashes, though, as the days passed on, the heap seemed to be slowly melting. "My lords and gentlemen and honorable boards, when you in the course of your dust shoveling and cinder-raking, have piled up a mountain of pretentious failure, you must off with your honorable coats for the removal of it, and fall to the work with the power of all the queen's horses and all the queen's men, or it will come rushing down and bury us alive. Yes, verily, my lords and gentlemen and honorable boards, adapting your catechism to the occasion, and by God's help, so you must. For when we have got things to the pass, that with an enormous treasure at disposal to relieve the poor, the best of the poor detest our mercies, hide their heads from us and shame us, by starving to death in the midst of us, it is a pass, impossible of prosperity, impossible of continuance. It may not so be written in the gospel according to Podsnapery. You may not find these words for the text of a sermon and the returns of the board of trade, but they have been the tooth since the foundations of the universe were laid, and they will be the tooth until the foundations of the universe are shaken by the builder. This boastful handiwork of ours, which fails in its terrors for the professional pauper, the sturdy break out of windows and the rampant terror of clothes, strikes with a cruel and a wicked stab at the stricken sufferer, and is a horror to the deserving and unfortunate. We must mend it, lords and gentlemen and honorable boards, or in its own evil hour, it will mar every one of us. Old Betty Higdon fared upon her pilgrimage as many ruggedly honest creatures, women and men, fair on their toiling way along the roads of life, patiently to earn a spare bear living and quietly to die untouched by workhouse hands. This was her highest sublunary hope. Something had been heard of her at Mr. Boffin's house, since she trudged off. The weather had been hard, and the roads had been bad, and her spirit was up. A less staunch spirit might have been subdued by such adverse influences. But the loan for her little outfit was in no part repaid, and it had gone worse with her than she had foreseen, and she was put upon proving her case and maintaining her independence. Faithful soul. When she had spoken to the Secretary of that deadness that steals over me at times, her fortitude had made too little of it. Often and ever often, it came stealing over her, darker and ever darker, like the shadow of advancing death. At the shadow should be deep as it came on, like the shadow of an actual presence, was in accordance with the laws of the physical world, for all the light that shone on Betty Higdon lay beyond death. The poor old creature had taken the upward course of the river Thames as her general track. It was the track in which her last home lay, and of which she had last had local love and knowledge. Hey Amazon Prime members! Why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings! Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by J.P. Morgan Chase Bank N.A. member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. She had hovered for a little while in the near neighborhood of her abandoned dwelling, and had sold, and knitted and sold, and gone on. In the pleasant towns of Chirtsy, Walton, Kingston, and Stains, her figure came to be quite well known for some short weeks, and then again passed on. She would take her stand in marketplaces, where there were such things, on market days, at other times in the busiest that was seldom very busy, portion of the little quiet high street. At still other times she would explore the outlying roads for great houses, and would ask leave at the lodge to pass in with her basket, and would not often get it. But ladies and carriages would frequently make purchases from her trifling stock, and were usually pleased with her bright eyes and her hopeful speech. In these and her clean dress originated a fable that she was well to do in the world, one might say, for her station, rich, as making a comfortable provision for its subject which costs nobody anything, this class of fable has long been popular. In those pleasant little towns on Thames, you may hear the fall of the water over their weirs, or even in still weather the rustle of the rushes; and from the bridge you may see the young river dimpled like a young child, playfully gliding away among the trees, unpoluted by the defilements that lie and wait for it on its course, and as yet out of hearing of the deep summons of the sea. It were too much to pretend that Betty Higdon made out such thoughts. No. But she heard the tender river whispering to many like herself. "Come to me. Come to me. When the cruel shame and terror you have so long fled from, most beset you. Come to me. I am the relieving officer appointed by eternal ordinance to do my work. I am not held in estimation according as I shirk it. My breast is softer than the porper nurses. Death in my arms is peacefuler than among the porper wards. Come to me." There was abundant place for gentler fancies, too, in her untutored mind. Those gentle folks and their children inside those fine houses, could they think, as they looked out at her, what it was to be really hungry, really cold? Did they feel any of the wonder about her that she felt about them? Bless the dear, laughing children. If they could have seen sick Johnny in her arms, would they have cried for pity? If they could have seen dead Johnny on that little bed, would they have understood it? Bless the dear children for his sake anyhow. So with the humble houses in the little street, the inner firelight shining on the panes as the outer twilight darkened, when the families gathered indoors there for the night, it was only a foolish fancy to feel as if it were a little hard in them to close the shutter and blacken the flame. So with the lighted chops and speculations whether their masters and mistresses taking tea in a perspective of back parlour, not so far within but at the flavour of tea and toast came out, mingled with the glow of light into the street, eight or drank or wore what they sold with the greater relish, because they dealt in it. So with the churchyard, on a branch of the solitary way, to the night's sleeping place, aww me! It did, in high, seem to have it pretty patch to ourselves in the dark and in this weather, but so much a bit of for all who are warmly housed at home. The poor soul envied no one in bitterness, and grudged no one anything. But the old abhorrent screw stronger on her as she grew weaker, and it found more sustaining food than she did in her wanderings. Now she would light upon the shameful spectacle of some desolate creature or some wretched, ragged groups of either sex or of both sexes, with children among them, huddled together like the smaller vermin for a little warmth, lingering and lingering on a doorstep, while the appointed evader of the public trust did his dirty office of trying to weary them out, and so get rid of them. Now she would light upon some poor, decent person like herself, going afoot on a pilgrimage of many weary miles to see some worn-out relative or friend who had been charitably clutched off to a great, blank, barren union house as far from old home was the county jail, the remoteness of which is always its worst punishment for small, rural offenders, and in its dietary, and in its lodging, and in its tending of the sick, a much more penal establishment. Sometimes she would hear a newspaper read out, and would learn how the registrar general cast up the units that had, within the last week, died of want and of exposure to the weather, for which that recording angel seemed to have a regular fixed place in his sum as if they were his happens. All such things she would hear discussed, as we, my lords and gentlemen and honorable boards in our unapproachable magnificence, never hear them, and from all such things she would fly with the wings of raging despair. This is not to be received as a figure of speech; old Betty Higdon, however tired, however foot sore, would start up and be driven away by her awakened horror of falling into the hands of charity. It is a remarkable Christian improvement to have made a pursuing fury of the Good Samaritan, but it was so in this case, and it is a type of many, many, many. Two incidents united to intensify the old unreasoning abhorrence; granted in a previous place to be unreasoning, because the people always are unreasoning, and invariably make a point of producing all their smoke without fire. One day she was sitting in a market place on a bench outside and in, with her little wares for sale, and the deadness that she strove against came over her so heavily at the scene departed from before her eyes. When it returned she found herself on the ground, her head supported by some good-natured market-women, and a little crowd about her. "Are you better now, mother?" asked one of the women. "Do you think you can do nicely now?" "Have I been ill, then?" asked old Betty. "You have had a faint like," was the answer "or a fit. It ain't that you've been a straggly mother, but you've been stiff and nammed." "Ah," said Betty, recovering her memory, "it's the namness. Yes, it comes over me at times. Was it gone?" the woman asked her. "It's gone now," said Betty, "I shall be stronger than I was a fore. Many, thanks to ye, my dears, and when you can't refuse old as I am, may others do as much for you." They assisted her to rise, but she could not stand yet, and they supported her when she sat down again upon the bench. "My heads a bit light, and our feet are a bit heavy," said old Betty, leaning her face drowsily on the breast of the woman who had spoken before. "They'll both come natural in a minute. There's nothing more than better." "Ask her," said some farmer, standing by, who had come out from their market dinner. "Who belongs to her?" "Are there any folks belonging to your mother?" said the woman. "Yes, sure," answered Betty. "I hear the gentleman say it, but I couldn't answer quick enough. There's plenty belonging to me. Don't ye fear for me, my dear?" "But are any of them near here?" said the men's voices, the woman's voices chiming in when it was said, and prolonging the strain. "Quite near enough," said Betty, rousing herself. "Don't ye be a feared for me, neighbors?" "But you are not fit to travel. Where are you going?" was the next compassionate chorus she heard. "I'm a-caring in a-landin' when I've sold out all," said Betty, rising with difficulty. "I've-right, good friends in London. How up for nothing? I shall come to know her. Thank ye, don't ye be a-feared for me?" A well-meaning bystander, yellow leggened and purple-faced, said hoarsely over his red comforter as she rose to her feet, that she "awnt to be let to go." "For the lads, love! Don't meddle with me!" cried old Betty, all her fears crowding on her. "I am quite well now. I must go this minute." She caught up her basket as she spoke, and was making an unsteady rush away from them, when the same bystander checked her with his hand on her sleeve, and urged her to come with him and see the parish doctor. Strengthening herself by the utmost exercise of her resolution, the poor trembling creature shook him off, almost fiercely, and took to flight. Nor did she feel safe, until she had set a mile or two of by road between herself and the marketplace, and had crept into a corpse like a hunted animal to hide and recover breath. Not until then, for the first time did she venture to recall how she had looked over her shoulder before turning out of the town, and had seen the sign of the white lion hanging across the road, and the fluttering market booths and the old grey church and the little crowd gazing after her but not attempting to follow her. The second frightening incident was this. She had been again as bad, and had been for some days better, and was travelling along by a part of the road where it touched the river, and in wet seasons was so often overflowed by it that there were tall white posts set up to mark the way. A barge was being towed towards her, and she sat down on the bank to rest and watch it. As the tow rope was slackened by a turn of the stream and dipped into the water, such a confusion stole into her mind that she thought she saw the forms of her dead children and dead grandchildren peopling the barge and waving their hands to her in solemn measure. Then, as the rope tightened and came up dropping diamonds, it seemed to vibrate into two parallel ropes and strike her with a twang, though it was far off. When she looked again there was no barge, no river, no daylight, and a man whom she had never before seen held a candle close to her face. "Now, Mrs." said he, "Where did you come from, and where are you going to?" The poor soul confusedly asked the counter question where she was. "I am the lock," said the man. "The lock?" "I am the deputy lock on job, and this is the lock-house. Lock or deputy lock at all one while the two other men's in the hospital. What's your perish?" "Perish?" She was up on the chuckle-bed directly, wildly feeling about her basket and gazing at him in a fright. "You'll be asked the question downtown," said the man. "They won't let you be more than a casual there. They're past you want your settlement, Mrs. at all speed. You're not in a state that we let come upon strange parishes, second as a casual." "Tours the deadness again," murmured Betty Higdon with a hand to her head. "It was the deadness. It's not a doubt about it," returned the man. "I should have thought the deadness was a mild word for it if it had been named to me when we brought you in. Have you got any friends, Mrs?" "The best of friends, master." "I should recommend you look in the map if you consider I'm gained to do anything for you," said the deputy lock. "Have you got any money?" "Just a morsel of money, sir." "Do you want to keep it?" "Sure I do." "Well, you know," said the deputy lock, shrugging his shoulders with his hands in his pockets and shaking his head in a sulkily ominous manner, "the parish authorities downtown will have it out of you if you go on. You may take your Alfred David." "Then I'll not go on. I make you pay, as clear as your money will go," pursued the deputy, "for your relief as a casual and for being past your parish." "Thank you, kindly, master, for your warning. Thank you for your shelter, and good night." "Stop a bit," said the deputy, striking in between her and the door. "Why? Are you all of a shake? And what's your hurry, Mrs?" "Oh, master, master," returned Betty Hicton. "I've fought against the parish and fed from it all my life, and I want to die free of it." "I don't know," said the deputy, with deliberation, "as I ought to let you go. I'm honest, man, as gets my living by the sweat of my brow, and I'm playful in the trouble by letting you go. I've fell into trouble for now, by George, and I know what it is, and it's made me careful. You might be took with your deadness again half a mile, or four half a quarter for the matter of that, and then it would be asked. Why did that there on his deputy lock let her go, instead of putting her safe with the parish? That's what a man of his character ought to have done, and it would be oggy-fied," said the deputy lock, cunningly harping on the strong string of her terror. He ought to have handed her over, safe to the parish. That was to be expected of a man of his merits. As I stood in the doorway, the poor old care-worn, way-worn woman burst into tears, and clasped her hands as if in a very agony she prayed to him, "As I've told you, master, I've the best of friends! This letter will show how true I spoke, and they will be thankful for me." The deputy lock opened the letter with a grave face, which underwent no change as he eyed its contents, but it might have done, if he could have read them. "What amount of small change, Mrs?" he said with an abstracted air, after little meditation, "what you call a mortal of money!" hurriedly emptying her pocket, old Betty laid down on the table, a shilling, and two six many pieces, and a few pence. "If I was to let you go, and said a van in you over, safe to the parish," said the deputy, counting the money with his eyes, "might it be your own free wish to leave that there behind you?" "Take it, master! Take it, and welcome, and thankful!" "I'm a man," said the deputy, giving her back the letter, and pocketing the coins one by one, as earns his living, while it's wet of his brow. Here he drew his sleeve across his forehead, as if this particular portion of his humble gains were the result of sheer hard labour and virtuous industry. "And I won't stand in your way! Go where you like!" She was gone out of the lock house as soon as he gave her this permission, and her tottering steps were on the road again. But afraid to go back, and afraid to go forward, seeing what she fled from in the sky glare of the lights of the little town before her, and leaving a confused horror of it everywhere behind her, as if she had escaped it in every stone of every marketplace. She struck off by sideways, among which she got bewildered and lost. "Hey Amazon Prime members! Why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favourites. Plus save 10% on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel." Cards issued by J.P. Morgan Chase Bank N.A. member FDIC, subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. That night she took refuge from this American in his latest accredited form under a farmer's rig. And if, worth thinking of, perhaps my fellow Christians, the Samaritan had in the lonely night passed by on the other side, she would have most devoutly thanked High Heaven for her escape from him. The morning found her afoot again, but fast declining, as to the cleanness of her thoughts, though not as to the steadiness of her purpose. Comprehending that her strength was quitting her, and that the struggle of her life was almost ended, she could neither reason out the means of getting back to her protectors nor even form the idea. The over-mastering dread and a proud, stubborn resolution it engendered in her to die undegraded, with the two distinct impressions left in her failing mind. Supported only by a sense that she was bent on conquering in her lifelong fight, she went on. The time was come, now, when the wants of this little life were passing away from her. She could not have swallowed food, though a table had been sped for her in the next field. The day was cold and wet, but she scarcely knew it. She crept on, poor soul, like a criminal afraid of being taken, and felt little beyond the terror falling down while it was yet daylight, and being found alive. She had no fear that she would live through another night. Sown in the rest of her gown, the money to pay for her burial was still intact. If she could wear through the day and then lie down to die under cover of the darkness, she would die independent. If she were captured previously, the money would be taken from her as a pauper who had no right to it, and she would be carried to the accursed work-house. Gaining her end, the letter would be found in her breast along with the money, and the gentle vote would say, when it was given back to them, she prized it, did old Betty Higdon. She was true to it, and while she lived she would never let it be disgraced, by falling into the hands of those she held in horror. Most illogical, inconsequential, and light-headed this, but travellers in the valley of the shadow of death are apt to be light-headed, and worn out old people of lower state have a trick of reasoning as indifferently as they live, and doubtless would appreciate our poor law more philosophically on an income of ten thousand a year. So, keeping to buy ways, and shunning human approach, this troublesome old woman hid herself, and fared on all through the dreary day. Yet so unlike were she to vagrant hide as in general, at some times as the day advanced, there was a bright fire in her eyes, and a quicker beating at her feeble heart, as though she said exultingly, "The Lord will see me through it." By what visionary hands she was led along upon that journey of escape from this American. By what voices hushed in the grave she seemed to be addressed, how she fancied the dead child in her arms again, and times innumerable adjusted her shawl to keep it warm, what infinite variety of forms of tower and roof and steeple the trees took, how many furious horsemen rode at her crying, there she goes, "Stop, stop!" Betty Higdon, and melted away as they came close, be these things left untold. Fearing on and hiding, hiding and fairing on, the poor harmless creature as though she were a murderous and the whole country were up after her wore out the day and gained the night. "What are meadows, or such like?" she had sometimes murmured on the day's pilgrimage, when she had raised her head and taken any note of the real objects about her. There now arose in the darkness a great building full of lighted windows. Smoke was issuing from a high chimney in the rear of it, and there was the sound of a water-wheel at the side. Between her and the building lay a piece of water in which the lighted windows were reflected, and on its nearest margin was a plantation of trees. "I humbly thank the power and the glory," said Betty Higdon, holding up her withered hands, "that I have come to my journey's end." She crept among the trees to the trunk of a tree when she could see, beyond some intervening trees and branches, the lighted windows, both in their reality and their reflection in the water. She placed her orderly little basket at her side and sank upon the ground, supporting herself against the tree. It broke to her mind the foot of the cross, and she committed herself to him who died upon it. Her strength held out to enable her to arrange the letter in her breast, so as that it could be seen that she had a paper there. It had held out for this, and it departed when this was done. "I am safe here," was her last benummed thought. "When I am founded at the foot of the cross, it will be by some of my own sort, some of the working people who work among the lights, yonder. I cannot see the lighted windows now, but they are there. I am thankful for all." The darkness gone, and a face, bending down. "It cannot be the boof-a-lady." "I don't understand what you say. Let me wet your lips again with this brandy. I've been a white-affettered. Did you think I was long gone?" "It is as the face of a woman, shaded by a quantity of rich, dark hair. It is the earnest face of a woman who is young and handsome, but all is over with me on earth, and this must be an angel." "Have I been long dead? I don't understand what you say. Let me wet your lips again. I hurried all I could and brought no one back with me, lest you should die of the shock of strangers. I not did. I cannot understand what you say. Your voice is so low and broken I cannot hear you. Do you hear me? Yes. Do you mean yes? Yes. I was coming from our work just now, along the path outside. I was up with a night-hounds last night, and I had a groan, and found you lying there. "What? Work, dearie. Did you ask what work? At the paper mill?" "Where is it? Your face is turned up to the sky, and you can't see it. It is close by. You can see my face here between you and the sky. Yes. Dear, I lift you. Not yet. Not even lift your head to get on my arm, or do it by very gentle degrees. You should hardly feel it. Not yet, paper. Let her. This paper in your breast. Bless you. Let me wet your lips again. Am I to open it, to read it? Bless ye." She reads it with surprise, and looks down with a new expression, and an added interest on the motionless face she kneels beside. "I know these names. I have heard them often." "Will you send it, my dear? I can understand you. Let me wet your lips again, and your forehead there. Oh. Poor thing. Poor thing." These words, who have fast-dropping tears. "What was it that you asked me? Wait till I bring my ear quite close. Will you send it, my dear? Will I send it to the writers? Is it your wish? Yes, certainly. You'll not give it up to any one, but then, now, as you must grow old in time, and come to your dying hour, my dear. You'll not give it up to any one, but then, now, most solemnly, never, to the bearish." With a convolved struggle. "Now, most solemnly, nor let the bearish touch me, not yet so much as look at me." With another struggle. "Now, faithfully." A look of thankfulness and triumph lights the warm old face. The eyes which have been darkly fixed upon the sky turn with meaning in them towards a compassionate face in which the tears are dropping, and a smile is on the aged lips as they ask. "What is your name, my dear? My name is Lizzie Hexam. I must be so disfigured. Are you afraid to kiss me?" The answer is, the ready pressure of her lips upon the cold but smiling mouth. "Blessy, now, lift me by love," Lizzie Hexam very softly raised the weather-stained gray head, and lifted her as high as heaven. As a united explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on united purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Members issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank N.A. member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. End of Book 3, Chapter 8. Chapter 9, somebody becomes the subject of a prediction. "We give thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased thee to deliver this our sister out to the miseries of this sinful world." So read the Reverend Frank Milvey, in a not untoubled voice, for his heart misgave him that all was not quite right between us and our sister, or say our sister-in-law, poor-law, and that we sometimes read these words in an awful manner over our sister and our brother, too. And sloppy, on whom the brave deceased had never turned her back until she ran away from him, knowing that otherwise he would not be separated from her. Sloppy could not in his conscience as yet find the hearty thanks required of it. Selfish and sloppy, and yet excusable. It may be humbly hoped, because our sister had been more than his mother. The words were read above the ashes of Betty Higdon in a corner of a churchyard near the river. In a churchyard so obscure that there was nothing in it but grass mounds, not so much as one single tombstone. It might not be to do an unreasonably great deal for the diggers and heures in a registering age if we ticketed their graves at the common charge, so that a new generation might know which was which, so that the soldier, sailor, emigrant, coming home, should be able to identify the resting-place of father, mother, playmate, or betrothed. For we turn up our eyes and say that we are all like in death, and we might turn them down and work the saying out in this world, so far. It would be sentimental, perhaps. But how say ye, my lords and gentlemen, honourable boards, shall we not find good standing-room left for a little sentiment, if we look into our crowds? Here unto the Reverend Frank Milvey, as he read, stood his little wife. John Rokesmith, the secretary, and Bella Wilfer. These, over and above sloppy, were the mourners of the lowly grave. Not a penny had been added to the money sown in her dress; what her honest spirit had so long projected, was fulfilled. "I've chucked in in my head," said Sloppy, laying it inconsolable against the church-door when all was done. "I've chucked it in in my wretched head. It's our mark, our shan-chanched, tunch, a little harder for her, and it catch me deep, to think so now." The Reverend Frank Milvey, comforting Sloppy, expounded to him how the best of us were more or less remiss in our turnings, at our respective mangles. Some of us very much so, and how we were all a halting, failing, feeble, and inconstant crew. "She wants her," said Sloppy, taking his ghostly counsel rather ill, in behalf of his late benefactors. "Let us speak for ourselves, sir. She went through with whatever duty she had to do. She went through with me. She went through with her minders. She went through with herself. She went through with everything. Oh! Mrs. Higgin. Mrs. Higgin. He was a woman and a muffer and a mangler in a million, million." With those heartfelt words, Sloppy removed his dejected head from the church-door, and took it back to the grave in the corner, and laid it down there, and wept alone. "What a very poor grave!" said the Reverend Frank Milvey, brushing his hand across his eyes, "when it has that homely figure on it. Richard, I think, then it could be made by most of this sculpture in Westminster Abbey." They left him undisturbed, and passed out at the Wicket Gate. The water-wheel of the paper mill was audible there, and seemed to have a softening influence on the bright, wintry scene. They had arrived but a little while before, and Lizzie Hexham now told them the little she could add to the letter in which she had enclosed Mr. Rooksmith's letter, and had asked for their instructions. This was merely how she had heard the groan, and what had afterwards passed, and how she had obtained leave for the remains to be placed in that sweet, fresh, empty store-room of the mill, from which they had just accompanied them to the churchyard, and how the last requests had been religiously observed. "I could not have done it all, or nearly all, of myself," said Lizzie. "I should not have wanted the will, but I should not have had the power without our managing partner." "Surely, not the Jew who received us," said Mrs. Milvey. "My dear," observed her husband and parenthesis, "why not?" "The gentleman certainly is a Jew," said Lizzie, "and the lady's wife is a Jew, s, and I was first brought to their notice by a Jew, but I think they cannot be kind of people in the world. But suppose they try down there to you," suggested Mrs. Milvey bristling in her good little way as a clergyman's wife. "To do what, ma'am," asked Lizzie, with a modest smile, "to make you change your religion," said Mrs. Milvey. Lizzie shook her head, still smiling. "They have never asked me what my religion is. They asked me what my story was, and I told them. They asked me to be industrious and faithful, and I promised to be so. They most willingly and cheerfully do their duty to all of us who are employed here, and we try to do ours to them. Indeed, they do much more than their duty to us, for they are wonderfully marinful of us in many ways." "It is easy to see you what a favor, my dear," said little Mrs. Milvey, not quite pleased. "It would be very ungrateful in me to say I'm not," returned Lizzie, "for I've been already raised to a place of confidence here. But that makes no difference in their following their own religion in leaving all of us to ours. They never talk of theirs to us, and they never talk of ours to us. If I was in last in the mill, it would be just the same. They never asked me what religion that poor thing had followed." "My dear," said Mrs. Milvey, aside to the Reverend Frank, "I wish you would talk to her." "My dear," said the Reverend Frank, aside to his good little wife, "I think I will leave it to somebody else. The circumstances are hardly favorable. There are plenty of talkers going about my love, and she will soon find one." While this discourse was interchanging, both Bella and the Secretary observed Lizzie Jackson was great attention. Brought face to face for the first time with the daughter of his supposed murderer, it was natural that John Harmon should have his own secret reasons for a careful scrutiny of her countenance and manner. Bella knew that Lizzie's father had been falsely accused of the crime, which had had so great an influence on her own life and fortunes, and her interest, though it had no secret springs like that of the Secretary, was equally natural. Both had expected to see something very different from the real Lizzie Jackson, and thus it fell out that she became the unconscious means of bringing them together. For when they had walked on with her to the little house in the clean village by the paper mill where Lizzie had a lodging with an elderly couple employed in the establishment, and when Mrs. Milvey and Bella had been up to see her room and had come down, the mill bell rang. This called Lizzie away for the time, and left the Secretary and Bella standing rather awkwardly in the small street. Mrs. Milvey being engaged in pursuing the village children and her investigations, whether they were in danger of becoming children of Israel and the Reverend Frank being engaged to save the truth in evading that branch of his spiritual functions and getting out of sight surreptitiously. Bella at length said, "Hadn't we better talk about the Commission we have undertaken, Mr. Rooksmith?" "By all means," said the Secretary, "I suppose," faulted Bella, "that we are both commissioned or we shouldn't both be here." "I suppose so," was the Secretary's answer. "When I proposed to come with Mr. and Mrs. Milvey," said Bella, "Mrs. Boffin urged me to do so in order that I might give her my small report. It's not worth anything Mr. Rooksmith, except for it's been a woman's, which indeed with you may be a fresh reason for it's been worth nothing of Lizzie Hexham." "Mr. Boffin," said the Secretary, directed me to come for the same purpose. As they spoke, they were leaving the little street and emerging on the wooded landscape by the river. "You think well of her, Mr. Rooksmith?" pursued Bella, conscious of making all the advances. "I think highly of her." "I am so glad of that. Something quite refined in her beauty, is they not?" "Her appearance was very striking." "There is a shade of sadness upon her that is quite touching. At least I am not setting up my own poor opinion, you know, Mr. Rooksmith?" said Bella, excusing and explaining herself in a pretty shy way. "I am consulting you." "I noticed that sadness. I hope it may not," said the Secretary in a lower voice, "be the result of the false accusation which has been retracted." When they had passed on a little further without speaking, Bella, after stealing a glance at you with the Secretary, suddenly said, "Oh, Mr. Rooksmith, don't be hard with me. Don't be stern with me. Be magnanimous. I want to talk with you on equal terms." The Secretary, a suddenly brightened and returned. Upon my honour I had no thought but for you. I forced myself to be constrained, lest you might misinterpret my being more natural. There, it's gone. "Thank you," said Bella, holding out a little hand. "Forgive me." "No," cried the Secretary eagerly, "forgive me." For there were tears in her eyes, and they were prettier in his sight, though they smote him on the heart rather approachfully too, than any other glitter in the world. Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favourites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United Purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. When they had walked a little further, "You were going to speak to me," said the Secretary with the shadow so long on him, quite thrown off and cast away about Lizzie Hexham. So was I going to speak to you if I could have begun? "Now that you can, begin, sir," returned Bella, with a look as if she italicized the word by putting one of her dimples under it. "What were you going to say?" You remember, of course, but in her short letter to Mrs. Botham, short but containing everything to the purpose, she stipulated that either her name or else her place of residence must be kept strictly a secret among us. Bella nodded yes. It is my duty to find out why she made that stipulation. I have it in charge of Mr. Botham to discover, and I'm very desirous for myself to discover whether that retracted accusation still leaves any stain upon her. I mean, whether it places her at any disadvantage towards anyone, even towards herself. "Yes," said Bella, nodding thoughtfully, "I understand. That seems wise and considerate." "You may not have noticed, Miss Wilfer, that she has the same kind of interest in you that you have in her, just as you are attracted by her--by her appearance and manner she is attracted by yours." "I certainly have not noticed it," returned Bella, again italicizing with the dimple, "and I should have given her credit for--" The secretary, with a smile, held up his hand, so plainly interposing, not for better taste, that Bella's colour deepened over the little piece of cochitary she was checked in. "And so," presumed the secretary, "if you would speak with her alone before we go away from here, I feel quite sure that a natural and easy confidence would arise between you. Of course you would not be asked to betray it, and of course you would not, if you were. But if you do not object to put this question to her, to ascertain for us her own feeling in this one matter, you can do so at a far greater advantage than I or any else could. Mr. Boffin is anxious on the subject, and I am," added the secretary, after a moment, "for a special reason, very anxious." "I shall be happy, Mr. Rooksmith," returned Bella, "to be of the least use, for I feel, out of the serious scene of today, that I am useless enough in this world." "Don't say that," edged the secretary. "Oh, but I mean that," said Bella, raising her eyebrows. "No one is useless in this world," retorted the secretary, who lightens the burden of it for anyone else. "But I assure you, I don't, Mr. Rooksmith," said Bella, half-crying, "not for your father." "Dear, loving, self-forgetting, easily satisfied, pah-hah. Oh, yes, he thinks so." "It is enough, if he only thinks so," said the secretary. "Excuse the interruption. I don't like to hear you depreciate yourself." "But you once depreciated me, sir," thought Bella, pouting, "and I hope you may be satisfied of the consequences you brought upon your head. However, she said nothing to that purpose. She even said something to a different purpose." "Mr. Rooksmith, it seems so long since we spoke together naturally that I am embarrassed in approaching another subject. Mr. Boffin. You know, I am very grateful to him, don't you? You know, I feel a true respect for him, and am bound to him by the strong ties of his own generosity. Now, now, don't you?" "Ungressionably, and also that you are his favourite companion." "That makes it," said Bella, "so very difficult to speak of him. But... does he treat you well?" "You see, how he treats me?" The secretary answered with a patient and yet proud air. "Yes, and I see it with pain," said Bella, very energetically. The secretary gave her such a radiant look. The divvy had thanked her a hundred times. He could not have said as much as the look said. "I see it with pain," repeated Bella. "And it often makes me miserable. Miserable, because I cannot bear to be supposed to approve of it, or have any indirect cheer in it. Miserable because I cannot bear to be forced to admit to myself that fortune is spoiling Mr. Boffin." "Miss Wilfher," said the secretary with a beaming face, "if you could know with what delight I make the discovery that fortune isn't spoiling you, you would know that it more than compensates me for any slight at any other hand." "Oh, don't speak of me!" said Bella, giving herself an impatient little slap with her glove. "You don't know me as well as—" "As you know yourself," suggested the secretary, finding that she'd stopped. "Do you know yourself?" "I know quite enough of myself," said Bella, with the charming air of being inclined to give herself up as a bad job, "and I do to prove upon acquaintance. But Mr. Boffin—" "Mr. Boffin's manner to me, or consideration for me, is not what it used to be," observed the secretary, "must be admitted. It is too plain to be denied." "Are you disposed to deny it, Mr. Rook-Smith?" asked Bella, with the look of wonder. "Ort, I not to be glad to do so, if I could, though it were only for my own sake." "Truly," returned Bella, "it must try you very much, and you must please promise me that you won't take ill what I'm going to add, Mr. Rook-Smith." "I promise it with all my heart." "And it must sometimes I should think," said Bella, hesitating, "a little lower you in your own estimation." Ascenting with the movement of his head, though not at all looking as if it did, the secretary replied, "I have very strong reasons, Miss Wilfer, for bearing with the drawbacks of my position in the house we both inhabit. Believe that they are not all mercenary, although I have, through a series of strange fatalities, faded out of my place in life. If what you see with such a gracious and good sympathy is calculated to rouse my pride, there are other considerations, and those you do not see, urging me to quiet endurance. The latter are by far the stronger." "I think I have noticed, Mr. Rook-Smith," said Bella, looking at him with curiosity as not quite making him out, "that you repress yourself and force yourself to act a passive part." "You are right. I repress myself, and force myself to act a part. It is not in tameless of spirit that I submit. I have a settled purpose." "And a good one, I hope?" said Bella, "and a good one, I hope," he answered, looking steadily at her. "Sometimes I have fancied, sir," said Bella, turning away her eyes, "that your great regard for Mrs. Boffin is a very powerful motive with you." "You are right again. It is. I would do anything for her, bear anything for her. There are no words to express how I esteem that good, good woman." "As I do, too. May I ask you one more thing, Mr. Rook-Smith?" "Anything more." "Of course. You see that she really suffers, when Mr. Boffin shows how he is changing?" "I see it every day, as you see it, and am grieved to give her pain." "To give her pain?" said Bella, repeating the phrase quickly with her eyebrows raised. "I am generally the unfortunate cause of it." "Perhaps, she says to you, as she often says to me, that he is the best of men in spite of all." "I often overhear her, in her honest and beautiful devotion to him, saying so to you. We turn the secretary with the same steady look, but I cannot assert that she ever says so to me." Bella met the steady look for a moment with the wistful, musing little look of her own, and then nodding her pretty head several times like a dimpled philosopher of the very best school who was moralizing on life. Heaved a little sigh, and gave up things in general for a bad job, as she had previously been inclined to give up herself. But for all that, they had a very pleasant walk. The trees were bare of leaves and the river was bare of water lilies, but the sky was not bare of its beautiful blue, and the water reflected it, and a delicious wind ran with the stream touching the surface crisply. Perhaps the old mirror was never yet made by human hands, which, if all the images it has in its time reflected, could pass across its surface again, would fail to reveal some scene of horror or distress. But the great serene mirror of the river seemed as if it might have reproduced all it had ever reflected between those placid banks, and brought nothing to the light, say what was peaceful, pastoral, and blooming. So they walked, speaking of the newly filled up grave and of Johnny and of many things. So on their return, they met brisk Mrs. Milvey coming to seek them, with the agreeable intelligence that there was no fear for the village-children, there being a Christian school in the village, and no worse due deical interference with it and to plant its garden. So they got back to the village as Lizzie Hexen was coming from the paper mill, and Bella detached herself to speak with her in her own home. "I'm fade, it is a poor room for you," said Lizzie, with a smile of welcome, as she offered the post of honour by the fireside. "Not so poor as you think, my dear," returned Bella, "if you knew all." Indeed, though attained by some wonderful winding narrow stairs, would seem to have been erected in a pure white chimney, and though very low in the ceiling, and very rugged in the floor, and rather blinking as to the proportions of its lattice window, it was a pleasanter room that that despised chamber once at home in which Bella had first bemoaned the miseries of taking lodges. The day was closing as the two girls looked at one another by the fireside. The dusky room was lighted by the fire. The great might have been the old braisier, and the glow might have been the old hollow down by the flare. "It's quite new to me," said Lizzie, "to be visited by a lady so nearly of my own age, and so pretty as you who it's a pleasure to me to look at you. I have nothing left to begin with," returned Bella, blushing, "because I was going to say that it was a pleasure to me to look at you, Lizzie. But we can begin without a beginning, can't we?" Lizzie took the pretty little hand that was held out in as pretty a little frankness. "Now, dear," said Bella, drawing her chair a little nearer, and taking Lizzie's arm as if they were going out for a walk, "I am commissioned with something to say, and I dare say I shall say it wrong, but I won't if I can help it. It is in reference to your letter to Mr. Mrs. Buffon, and this is what it is. Let me see. Oh, yes, this is what it is." With this exhorium, Bella set forth that request of Lizzie's touching secrecy, and delicately spoke of that false accusation and its retraction, and asked, might she beg to be informed whether it had any bearing, near or remote, on such a request? "I feel, my dear," said Bella, quite amazing herself by the business-like manner in which she was getting on, "that the subject must be a painful one to you, but I am mixed up in it also, for I don't know whether you may know it or suspect it. I am the willed away girl who was to have been married to the unfortunate gentleman, if he had been pleased to prove of me. So I was dragged into the subject without my consent, and you were dragged into it without your consent, and there is very little to choose between us." "I had no doubt," said Lizzie, "that you were the Miss Wolfer I have often heard named, can you tell me who my unknown friend is?" "A known friend, my dear," said Bella, "who caused the charge against poor father to become predicted and sent me the written paper." Bella had never heard of him, had no notion who he was. "I should have been glad to thank him," returned Lizzie. "He has done a great deal for me. I must hope that he will let me thank him some day." "You ask me, has it anything to do—eat or the accusation itself?" Bella put in. "Yes, has either—anything to do with Marwishing to live quite secret and retired here?" "No." As Lizzie Hexam shook her head in giving this reply, and as her glance sought the fire, there was a quiet resolution in her folded hands, not lost on Bella's bright eyes. "Have you lived much alone?" asked Bella. "Yes. It's nothing new to me. I used to be always alone many hours, together in the day and in the night, when poor father was alive. You have a brother? I've been told? I have a brother. But he's not friendly with me. He's a very good boy, thou, and has raised himself by his industry. I don't complain of him." As she said it, with her eyes upon the fire-glow, there was an instantaneous escape of distress into her face. Bella seized the moment to touch her hand. "Lizzie, I wish you would tell me whether you have any friend of your own sex and age?" "I've lived that lonely kind of life that I have never had one," was the answer. "Nor I neither," said Bella. "Not that my life has been lonely, for I could have sometimes wished it lonelier, instead of having Ma going on like the tragic mules, with a face ache and majestic corners, and Lavi being spiteful. Though of course I'm very fond of them both, I wish you could make friend of me, Lizzie. Do you think you could? I have no more of what they call character, my dear, than a canary bird, but I know I am trustworthy." The wayward, playful, affectionate nature, giddy for want of the weight of some sustaining purpose, and capricious because it was always fluttering among little things, was yet a captivating one. To Lizzie it was so new, so pretty, had once so womanly as so childish that it won her completely, and when Bella said again, "Do you think you could, Lizzie?" With her eyebrows raised, her head inquiringly on one side, and an odd doubt about it in her own bosom, Lizzie showed beyond all question that she thought she could. "Tell me, my dear." "Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh. Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. "As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel." Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. said Bella, "What is the matter, and why you live like this?" As he presently began, by way of prelude. "You must have many lavas." When Bella checked her with a little scream of astonishment, "My dear, I haven't won." "Not one." "Well, perhaps one." said Bella, "I'm sure I don't do. I had one, but what he may think about it at the present time I can't say. Perhaps I have half a one. Of course I don't count that idiot, George Sampson. However, never mind me. I want to hear about you." "There is a certain man," said Lizzie, "a passionate and angry man who says he loves me, and who I must believe does love me. He is the friend of my brother. I shrank from him within myself and my brother first brought him to me. But the last time I saw him, he terrified me more than I can say." There she stopped. "Did you come here to escape from him, Lizzie?" I came here immediately after he so alarmed me. "Are you afraid of him here?" "I'm not timid, generally, but I'm always afraid of him. I'm afraid to see a newspaper or to hear a word spoken of what is done in London, lest he should have done some violence. Then you are not afraid of him for yourself, dear," said Bella, after pondering on the words. "I should be even that, if I met him about here. I look round for him always as I pass to and fro at night. Are you afraid of anything he may do to himself in London, my dear?" "No. He might be fierce enough even to do some violence to himself, but I don't think of that." "Then it would almost seem, dear," said Bella quickly, "as if there must be somebody else?" Lizzie put her hands before her face for a moment, before replying. "The words are always in my ears, and a blowy stuck upon a stone wall, as he said them, is always before my eyes. I tried hard to think it not worth remembering, but I cannot make so little of it. His hand was trickling down with blood as he said it to me. Then I hope that I may never kill him." Rather startled, Bella made and clasped a girdle of her arms round Lizzie's waist, and then asked quietly in a soft voice as they both looked at the fire. "Kill him? Is this man so jealous then?" "Of a gentleman," said Lizzie, "I oddly now out is tell you. Of a gentleman far above me in my way of life, who broke father's death to me, and has shown an interest in me since." "Does he love you?" Lizzie shook her head. "Does he admire you?" Lizzie ceased to shake her head, and pressed her hand upon her living girdle. "Is it through his influence that you came here?" "Oh, no. And of all the world I wouldn't have him know that I am here, or get the least clue where to find me." "Lizzie, dear, why?" asked Bella in amazement at this burst, but then quickly added, reading Lizzie's face. "No. Don't say why. That was a foolish question of mine. I see. I see." There was a silence between them. Lizzie, with a drooping head, glanced down at the glow in the fire, where her first fancies had been nursed, and her first escape made from the grim life out of which she had plucked her brother for seeing her reward. "You know all now," she said, raising her eyes to Bella's, "there is nothing left out. This is my reason for living secret here, with the aid of a good old man who is my true friend. For a short part of my life at home with father, I knew of things. Don't ask me what, that I set my face against, and tried it better. I don't think I could have done more, then, without letting my hold on father go. But they sometimes lie heavy on my mind. By doing all for the best, I hope I may wear them out." "And wear out, too," said Bella soothenly, "this sweetness, Lizzie, in favour of one who is not worthy of it?" "No. I don't want to wear that out," was the flush reply. "Nordo, I want to believe. Nordo, I believe, that is not worthy of it. What should I gain by that, and how much should I lose?" Bella's expressive little eyebrows, remonstrated with the fire for some short time before she rejoined. "Don't think that I press you, Lizzie. But wouldn't you gain in peace and hope, and even in freedom? Wouldn't it be better not to live a secret life in hiding, and not to be shut out from your natural and wholesome prospects? Forgive me asking you, would there be no gain?" "Does a woman's heart that—that—has that weakness in it which you have spoken of?" returned Lizzie. "Seek to gain anything." The question was so directly at variance with Bella's views in life, I set forth through her father, that she said internally, "There, you little mercenary wretch, do you hear that, ain't you ashamed of yourself?" and unclasped the girdle of her arms expressly to give herself a penitential poke in the side. "But you said, Lizzie," observed Bella, returning to her subject when she had administered this chastisement, "that you would lose besides. Would you mind telling me what you would lose, Lizzie?" "I should lose some of the best recollections, best encouragements and best objects that I carry through my daily life. I should lose my belief that if I had been as equal and he had loved me, I should have tried with all my might to make him better and happier as he would have made me. I should lose almost all the value that I put upon the little learning I have, which is all owing to him, and which I conquered the difficulties of, and he might not think it's thrown away upon me. I should lose a kind of picture of him, or of what he might have been, if I had been a lady, and he had loved me, which is always with me, and which I somehow feel that I cannot do a mean or wrong thing before. I should leave off prize in the remembrance that he has done me nothing but good since I have known him, and that he has made a change within me, like the change in the grain of these hands, which were coarse and cracked and hard, and brown when I rode on the river with father, and are softened, and made supple by this new work as you see them now. They trembled, but with no weakness as she showed them. "Andestand me, my dear," thus she went on, "I've never dreamed of the possibility of his being anything to me on this earth, but the kind picture that I know I could not make you understand, if the understanding was not your own breast already, I've no more dreamed the possibility of my being his wife than he ever has, and words could not be stronger than that. And yet, I love him. I love him so much, and so dearly, that when I sometimes think my life may be a weary one, I am proud of it, and glad of it, I am proud and glad to suffer something for him, even though it is of no service to him, and he will never know of it, or care for it." Bella sat and chained by the deep, unselfish passion of this girl or woman of her own age, courageously revealing itself in the confidence of her sympathetic perception of its tooth, and yet she had never experienced anything like it, or thought of the existence of anything like it. "It was light upon a wretched night," said Lizzy, when his eyes first looked at me in my older of a side home, very different from this. "His eyes may never look at me again. I would rather they never did. I hope that they never may. But I would not have the light of them taken out of my life, for anything my life can give me. I'll tell you everything now, my dear. If it comes a little strange to me, have parted with it, I'm not sorry. I had no thought of ever parting with a single word of it, a moment before you came in, but you came in, and my mind changed." Bella kissed her on the cheek, and thanked her warmly for her confidence. "I only wish," said Bella, "I was more deserving of it. More deserving of it," repeated Lizzy with an incredulous smile. "I don't mean in respect of keeping it," said Bella, "because any one should tear me to bits before getting it a syllable of it, though there's no merit in that, for I am naturally as obstinate as a pig. What I mean is, Lizzy, that I am a mere impertinent piece of conceit, and you shame me." Lizzy put up the pretty brown hair that came tumbling down, owing to the energy with which Bella shook her head, and she remonstrated while thus engaged. "My dear! Oh, it's awfully well to call me your dear," said Bella, with a pettish whimper, "and I'm glad to be called so, though I have slight enough claim to be, but I am such a nasty little thing." "My dear," urged Lizzy again, "such a shallow, cold, worldly, limited little but!" said Bella, hanging out her last adjective with culminating force. "Do you think," inquired Lizzy, with a quiet smile, the hair being now secured, "that I don't know better?" "Do you know better, though?" said Bella, "do you really believe you know better?" "Oh, I should be so glad if you did know better, but I am so very much afraid that I must know best." Lizzy asked her, laughing out right, whether she ever saw her own face or heard her own voice. "I suppose so," returned Bella, "I look in the glass often enough, and I chat her like a mad pie." "I've seen your face, and heard your voice at any rate," said Lizzy, "and they have tempted me to say to you, with a certainty of not going wrong, what I thought I should never say to anyone. Does that look ill?" "No, I hope it doesn't," pouted Bella, stopping herself in something between a humid laugh and a humid sob. "I used once to see pictures in the fire," said Lizzy, playfully, "to please my brother. Shall I tell you what I see down there where the fire is glowing?" They had risen and were standing on the hearth, the time being come for separating, each had drawn an arm around the other to take leave. "Shall I tell you," asked Lizzy, "what I see down there?" "Limited little bee," suggested Bella, with her eyebrows raised. "A heart well worth winning and well won. A heart that once won goes through fire and water for the winner and never changes and is never daunted." "Girl's heart," asked Bella, with accompanying eyebrows, Lizzy nodded, "and figure to which it belongs." "It's yours," suggested Bella. "Now, most clearly and distinctly yours." So the interview terminated with pleasant words on both sides, and with many reminders on the part of Bella that they were friends, and pledges that she would soon come down into that part of the country again. There, with Lizzy returned to her occupation, and Bella ran over to the little inn to rejoin her company. "Yo, look rather serious, Miss Wilfer," was the secretary's first remark. "I feel rather serious," returned Miss Wilfer. She had nothing else to tell him, but that Lizzy Hexham's secret had no reference whatever to the cruel charge or its withdrawal. "Oh, yes, though," said Bella, she might as well mention one other thing. Lizzy was very desirous to thank her unknown friend who had sent her the written retraction. "Was she indeed?" observed the secretary. "Ah," Bella asked him, "had he any notion who that unknown friend might be?" he had no notion whatever. They were on the borders of Oxfordshire, so far had poor old Betty Higdon strayed. They were to return by the train presently, and the station being near attend, the Reverend Frank and Mrs. Frank, and Sloppy and Bella and the secretary set out to walk to it. Few rustic paths are wide enough for five, and Bella and the secretary dropped behind. "Can you believe, Mr. Rokesmith?" said Bella, "that I feel as if whole years had passed since I went into Lizzy Hexham's cottage." "We have crowded a good deal into the day," he returned, "and you are much affected in the churchyard. You are overtired." "No, I'm not at all tired. I've not quite expressed what I mean. I don't mean that I feel as if a great space of time had gone by, but that I feel as if much had happened to myself, you know." "For good, I hope." "I hope so," said Bella, "you are cold. I thought you trembled. Pray let me put this wrapper of mine about you. May I fold it over this shoulder without injuring your dress? Now it will be too heavy and too long. Let me carry this end over my arm as you have no arm to give me." "Yes," she had, though, "how she got it out in her muffled state, heaven knows, but you got it out somehow. There it was, and slipped it through the secretaries." "I have had a long and interesting talk with Lizzy, Mr. Rokesmith, and she gave me her full confidence." "She could not withhold it," said the secretary. "I wonder how you come," said Bella, stopping short as she glanced at him, "to say to me just what she said about it." "I infer that it must be because I feel just as she felt about it." "And how was that? Do you mean to say so?" asked Bella, moving again, "that if you were inclined to win her confidence, anybody's confidence, you were sure to do it." The railway, at this point, knowingly shutting a green eye and opening a red one, they had to run for it. As Bella could not run easily so wrapped up, the secretary had to help her. When she took her opposite place in the carriage corner, the brightness in her face was so charming to behold that on her exclaiming, "What beautiful stars, and what a glorious night!" The secretary said, "Yes," but seemed to prefer to see the night and the stars in the light of her lovely little countenance to looking out of the window. "Oh, Bufa Lady, fascinating Bufa Lady, if I were but legally executor of Johnny's will, if I had but the right to pay your legacy and to take your receipt." Something to this purpose surely mingled with the blast of the train as it cleared the stations, all knowingly shutting up their green eyes and opening their red ones when they prepared to let the Bufa Lady pass. Hey Amazon Prime Members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites, plus save 10% on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC. Subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. End of book three. Chapter nine. Chapter ten. Scouts out. "And so, Miss Ren?" said Mr. Eugene Rayburn. "I cannot persuade you to dress me a doll." "No," replied Miss Ren, snappishly. "If you want one, don't buy one at the shop." "And my charming young daughter," said Mr. Rayburn, plaintively, "down in Hartfordshire." "Humbug, sir, you mean, I think?" interposed Miss Ren. "Is to be put upon the cold footing of the general public, and is to derive no advantage from my private acquaintance with the court dressmaker." "If it's any advantage to your charming godchild, and oh, a precious godfather she has got," replied Miss Ren, pricking at him in the air with her needle, "to be informed that the court dressmaker knows your tricks in all manners, and they tell her so by post with my compliments." Miss Ren was busy at her work by candlelight, and Mr. Rayburn, half amused and half vexed and all idle and shiftless, stood by her bench looking on. Miss Ren's troublesome child was in the corner, and deep disgrace, and exhibiting great wretchedness in the shivering stage of prostration from drink. "Ugh, you disgraceful boy," exclaimed Miss Ren, attracted by the sound of his chattering teeth, "I wish they'd all drop down your throat and pay it dice in your stomach. But, wicked child, be bar back sheep." On her accompanying each of these reproaches with a threatening stamp of the foot, the wretched creature protested with a wine. "Pay five shillings for you indeed," Miss Ren proceeded, "how many hours do you suppose it cost me to earn five shillings, you infamous boy? Don't cry like that, or I threw a doll at you. Pay five shillings fine for you indeed, fine in more ways than one. I think I'd give the dasmine five shillings to carry you off in the dust-cart." "No, no," pleaded the absurd creature, "please." "He's had never to break his mother's heart, is this boy?" said Miss Ren, half appealing to Eugene. "I wish I'd never brought him up. He'd be sharper than a certain tooth if he wasn't as dull as ditch water. Look at him. There's a pretty object for a parent's eyes." Assuredly, in his worse than swine-ish state, for swine at least fatten on their guzzling and make themselves good to eat, he was a pretty object for any eyes. "A muddling and swipey old child," said Miss Ren, rating him with great severity, "fit for nothing but to be preserved in the liquor that destroys him, and put in a great glass bottle as a sight for rather swipey children of his own pattern, if he's no consideration for his liver, as he long for his mother." "Yes, to your asian. Oh, don't!" cried the subject of these angry remarks. "Oh, don't, and oh, don't," pursued Miss Ren. "It's oh, do, and oh, do, and why do you?" "I won't do so any more. Won't indeed pray. There," said Miss Ren, covering her eyes with her hand. "I can't bear to look at you. Go upstairs, and get me my bonnet and shore. Make yourself useful in some way, bad boy, and let me have your room instead of your company for half a minute." Abing here, he shambled out. And Eugene Rayburn saw the tears exude from between the little creature's fingers as she kept her hand before her eyes. He was sorry, but his sympathy did not move his carelessness to do anything but feel sorry. "I'm going to the Italian opera to try on," said Miss Ren, taking away her hand after a little while, and laughing satirically to hide that she had been crying. "I must see your back before I go, Mr. Rayburn. Let me first tell you, once, for all, that is of no use, your pain visits to me. You wouldn't get what you want of me. No, not if you brought pincers with you to tear it out." "Are you also obstinate on the subject of a doll's dress for my gone child?" "Ha," returned Miss Ren with a hitch of her chin. "I am so obstinate. And, of course, it's on the subject of a doll's dress, or ad-dress, whichever you like. Get a song and give it up." Her degraded charge had come back, and was standing behind her with the bonnet and shawl. "Give him to me, and get back into your corner, you naughty old thing," said Miss Ren, as she turned and aspired him. "No, no. I want to have your help. Go into your corner this minute!" shuffled onto his post of disgrace, but not without a curious glance at Eugene in passing him. A companyed with what seemed as if it might have been an action of his elbow, if any action of any limb or joint he had would have answered truly to his will. Taking no more particular notice of him, than instinctively falling away from the disagreeable contact, Eugene, or the lazy compliment or so to Miss Ren, beg leave to light a cigar and departed. "Now, you prodigal old son," said Jenny, shaking her head and her infested little forefinger at her burden, "you sit there till I come back. You did move out of your corner for a single instant while I'm gone, and I know the reason why." With this admonition she blew her work-candles out, leaving him to the light of the fire, and taking her big-door key in her pocket and her crutch-stick in her hand, marched off. Eugene lounge slowly towards the temple, smoking his cigar, but saw no more of the doll's dress-maker through the accident of their taking opposite sides of the street. He lounged along moodily and stopped cheering cross to look about him, but there's little interest in the crowd as any man might take, and was lounging on again on the most unexpected object caught his eyes. No less an object than Jenny Ren's bad boy tried to make up his mind to cross the road. A more ridiculous and feeble spectacle than his tottering wretch making unsteady salads into the roadway, and as often staggering back again, oppressed by terrors of vehicles that were a long way off or were nowhere, the streets could not have shown. Over and over again, when the course was perfectly clear, he set out, got half-way, described a loop, turned, and went back again, when he might have crossed and re-crossed half a dozen times. Then he would stand shivering on the edge of the pavement, looking up the street and looking down, while stores of people jostled him, and crossed, and went on. Stimulated in course of time by the sight of so many horses, he would make another sally, make another loop, would all but have his foot on the opposite pavement, would see or imagine something coming, and would stagger back again. There he would stand, making spasmodic preparations, as if for a great leap, and at last would decide on a star to precisely the wrong moment, and would be roared at by drivers, and would shrink back once more, and stand in the old spot shivering, with the whole of the proceedings to go through again. "It strikes me," remarked Eugene Cooley, after watching him for some minute, "that, my friend, is likely to be rather behind time, if he has any appointment on hand," with which remark he strolled on, and took no further thought of him. Lightwood was at home when he got to the chambers, and had dined alone there. Eugene drew a chair to the fire, by which he was having his wine, and reading the evening paper, and brought a glass and filled it for good fellowship's sake. "My dear Mortimer, you are the express picture of contented industry, reposing on credit after the virtuous labours of the day. My dear Eugene, you are the express picture of discontented idleness not reposing at all, where have you been?" "I have been," replied Rayburn, "about town. I have turned up at the present donuture of the intention of consulting my highly intelligent and respected solicitor on the position of my affairs. Your highly intelligent and respected solicitor is of opinion that your affairs are in a bad way, Eugene. "Though, whether," said Eugene thoughtfully, "that can be intelligently said, now, of the affairs of a client who has nothing to lose, and who cannot possibly be made to pay, may be opened to question. "You have fallen into the hands of the Jews, Eugene. My dear boy," returned the debtor, very composedly taking up his glass, having previously fallen into the hands of some of the Christians, I can bear it with philosophy. I've had an interview today, Eugene, with a Jew, who seems determined to press his heart. Quite a shylock, and quite a patriarch, a picturesque, grey-headed and grey-bearded old Jew, and a shovel-haten-gabbardine. "Not," said Eugene, pausing and setting down his glass, "surely, not my worthy friend, Mr. Aaron." He calls himself Mr. Raya. "By the bi," said Eugene, "it comes into my mind that, no doubt, with an instinctive desire to receive him into the bosom of our church, I gave him the name of Aaron. "Eugene, Eugene," returned Lightwood, "you're more ridiculous than usual. Say what you mean." "Mealy, my dear fellow, that I have the honour and pleasure of a speaking acquaintance with such a patriarch as you describe, and that I address him as Mr. Aaron, because it appears to me he brick, expressive, appropriate, and complimentary, notwithstanding which strong reasons for its being his name. It may not be his name. "I believe you are the absurdist man on the face of the earth," said Lightwood, laughing, "not at all, I assure you. Did he mention that he knew me? He did not. He only said of you that he expected to be paid by you. And which looks," remarked Eugene, with much gravity, "like not knowing me. I hope it may not be my worthy friend, Mr. Aaron, for to tell you the truth, Mortimer, I doubt she may have of pre-possession against me. I strongly suspect him of having had a hand and spiriting away Lizzie. Everything," returned Lightwood impatiently, "seems by a fatality to bring us round to Lizzie. About town meant about Lizzie just now, Eugene. My solicitor, do you know, observed Eugene turning round to the furniture, is a man of infinite discernment? Did it not, Eugene? Yes, it did, Mortimer. And yet, Eugene, you know you do not really care for her. Eugene may burn rose and put his hands in his pockets, and stood with a foot on the fender, indolently rocking his body and looking at the fire. After prolonged pause, he replied, "I don't know that. I must ask you not to say that, as if we took it for granted. But if you do care for her so much the more should you leave her to herself?" "Having again paused as before," Eugene said, "I don't know that either. But tell me, did you ever see me take so much trouble about anything as about this disappearance of hers? I ask for information. My dear Eugene, I wish I ever had. Then you have not. Just so. You confirm my own impression. Does that look as if I cared for her? I ask for information. I ask you for information, Eugene," said Mortimer, reproachfully. "Dear boy, I know it. But I can't give it. I thirst for information. What do I mean? If my taking so much trouble to recover her, does not mean that I care for her? What does it mean? If Peter Piper picked a pickle-pepper wears the peck and et cetera. Though he sent this gaily, he said it with a perplexed and inquisitive face, as if he actually did not know what to make of himself. Look on to the end," Lightwood was beginning to remonstrate, when he courted the words, "Ah, see now. That's exactly what I am incapable of dying. I'm very acute, you'll harm Mortimer, in finding my weak place. When we were at school together, I got up my lessons at the last moment, day by day, and bit by bit. Now we are out in life together. When I get up my lessons in the same way, in the present task, I have not got beyond this. I am bent on finding, Lizzy, and I mean to find her, and I will take any means of finding her, but offer themselves. Fair means or foul means are all like to me. I ask you for information. What does that mean? When I have found her, I may ask you also for information. What do I mean now?" But it would be premature in this stage, and it's not the character of my mind. Lightwood was shaking his hand over the air, with which his friend held forth thus. An air so whimsically open and argumentative as almost to deprive what he said of the appearance of evasion, when the shuffling was heard at the outer door, and then an undecided knock, as though some hand were groping for the knocker. "The frolicsome youth of the neighbourhood," said Eugene, whom I should be delighted to pitch from this elevation into the churchyard below, without any intermediate ceremonies, have probably turned the lamp out. "I am on duty tonight, and will see you to the door." His friend had barely had time to recall the unprecedented gleam of determination with which he had spoken of finding this girl, and which had faded out of him with the breath of the spoken words. When Eugene came back, ushering in the most disgraceful shadow of a man, shaking from head to foot, and clothed in shabby grease and smear. "This, interesting gentleman," said Eugene, "is the son, the occasionally rather trying son, for he has his failings, of a lady of my acquaintance. My dear Mortimer, Mr. Dolls." Eugene had no idea what his name was, knowing the little dress-makers to be assumed, but presented him with easy confidence under the first appellation that his association suggested. "I gather, my dear Mortimer," pursued Eugene, as Lightwood stared at the obscene visitor, "from the manner of Mr. Dolls, which is occasionally complicated, that he desires to make some communication to me. I have mentioned to Mr. Dolls that you and I are on terms of confidence, and have requested Mr. Dolls to develop his views here." The wretched object, being much embarrassed by holding what remained of his hat, Eugene eerily tossed it to the door, and put him down in a chair. "It will be necessary, I think," he observed, "to wind up Mr. Dolls before anything to any mortal purpose can be got out of him, and, Brandy, Mr. Dolls, or a three-penith-ram," said Mr. Dolls. A judiciously small quantity of the spirit was given him in a wine-glass, and he began to convey it to his mouth with all kinds of falterings and gyrations on the road. "The nerves of Mr. Dolls," remarked Eugene to Lightwood, "are considerably unstrung, and I deem it on the whole expedient to fumigate Mr. Dolls." He took the shovel from the grate, sprinkled a few live ashes on it, and from a box on the chimney-piece took a few pastels, which he set upon them. Then, with great composure, began placidly waving the shovel in front of Mr. Dolls to cut him off from his company. "Lord, bless my soul, Eugene," cried Lightwood, laughing again, "what a mad fellow you are! Why does this creature come to see you?" "We shall hear," said Rayburne, very observant of his face with all. "Now, then, speak out, don't be afraid, state your business, Dolls." "Michete, Rayburn," said the visitor, thickly and huskily. "Cheese, michete, Rayburne, ain't?" With a stupid stare. "Of course it is! Look at me! What do you want?" Mr. Dolls collapsed in his chair, and faintly said, "Thre, penith, rum!" "Well, you'll do me the favour, my dear Mortimer, to wind up Mr. Dolls again," said Eugene, "I am occupied with the fumigation." A similar quantity was poured into his glass, and he got it to his lips by similar securitous ways. Having drunk it, Mr. Dolls with an evident fear of running down again, unless he made haste, proceeded to business. "Michete, Rayburne, try'd, to nudge you, but you wouldn't. You want that suction. You want to know where she lives. Do you mistripe it?" After the glance at his friend, Eugene replied to the question sternly. "I do." "I am a man!" said Mr. Dolls, trying to smite himself on the breast, but bringing his hand to bear upon the vicinity of his eye. "Oh, do it! I am a man! Oh, do it!" "What are you the man to do?" demanded Eugene, still sternly. "Ooh, give up that suction!" Have you got it? With a most laborious attempt at pride and dignity, Mr. Dolls rolled his head for some time, awakening the highest expectations, and then answered as if it were the happiest point that could possibly be expected of him. "No!" "What do you mean, then?" Mr. Dolls, collapsing in the drowsy's manner after his late intellectual triumph, replied, "Three pereth round." "Wind him up again, my dear Mortimer!" said Rayburne. "Wind him up again." "Eugene! Eugene!" urged Lightwood, in a low voice as he complied. "Can you stoop to the use of such an instrument as this?" "I said," was the reply made with that former gleam of determination, "that I would find her out by any means, fair or foul. These are foul, and I'll take them. If I'm not first tempted to break the head of Mr. Dolls with the fumigator, can you get the direction? Do you mean that? Speak! If that's what you have come for, say how much you want." "Chene, shillings! Three penith's rum!" said Mr. Dolls. "You shall have it. Fifteen shillings! Three penith's rum!" said Mr. Dolls, making an attempt to stiffen himself. "You shall have it. Stop at that." Hey Amazon Prime members! Why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC. Subject to credit approval. Offer subject to change. Terms apply. "How will you get the direction you talk of?" "I am a man!" said Mr. Dolls with Majesty. "Ugh, get it. How will you get it?" I ask you. "I am ill-used, vigil," said Mr. Dolls. "Blown up, morning, night. Called names, she makes mint money, sir, and never stands three petneths run." Get on, rejoined Eugene, tapping his pulsed head with the fire shovel as it sank on his head. "What comes next?" Making a dignified attempt to gather himself together, but, as it were, dropping half a dozen pieces of himself while he tried in vain to pick up one, Mr. Dolls, swaying his head from side to side, regarded his questioner with what he's supposed to be a haughty smile and a scornful glance. "She looks upon me as mere child, sir. I am not mere child, sir. Man. Man. Talent. Lera's pass betwixt him. Postman Lera's. Easy, for man. Talent. Oh, get direction. Get it, then," said Eugene, adding very heartily under his breath, "you brute. Get it, and bring it here to me, and earn the money for sixty-three petneths a rum, and drink them all worn atop of another, and drink yourself dead with a more possible expedition. The latter clauses of these special instructions, he addressed to the fire, as he gave it back the ashes he had taken from it, and replaced the shovel." Mr. Dolls now struck out the highly unexpected discovery they had been insulted by Lightwood, and stated his desire to "have it out with him on the spot," and defied him to come on upon the liberal terms of a sovereign to a hapony. Mr. Dolls then fell a crying, and then exhibited a tendency to fall asleep. This last manifestation is by far the most alarming by a reason of its threatening his prolonged stay on the premises necessitated vigorous measures. Eugene picked up his worn-out hat with the tongs, clapped it on his head, and, taking him by the collar, all lists at arm's length, conducted him downstairs and out of the precincts into Fleet Street. There he turned his face westward, and left him. When he got back, Lightwood was standing over the fire, brooding in a sufficiently low-spirited manner. "I'll wash my hands of Mr. Dolls physically," said Eugene, "and be with you again directly, Mortimer." "I would much prefer," retorted Mortimer, "you're washing your hands of Mr. Dolls morally, Eugene." "So would I," said Eugene, "but you see, dear boy, I can't do without him." In a minute or two he resumed his chair, as perfectly unconcerned as usual, and rallied his friend on having so narrowly escaped the prowess of their muscular visitor. "I can't be amused on this theme," said Mortimer restlessly. "You can make almost any theme amusing to me, Eugene, but not this." "Well," cried Eugene, "I am a little ashamed of it myself, and therefore let us change the subject." "It is so deplorably underhanded," said Mortimer. "It is so unworthy of you, this setting on of such a shameful scout. We have the change to subject," exclaimed Eugene early. "We have found a new one in that word, 'Scout.' Don't be like patients on a mantelpiece frowning at Dolls, but sit down, when I tell you something that you really will find amusing. Take a cigar. Look at this of mine. I light it, draw one puff, breathe the smoke out, there it goes. It's Dolls. It's gone. And being gone, you are a man again." "Your subject," said Mortimer, after lighting a cigar and comforting himself for the whiff or two, "was scouts, Eugene?" "Exactly. Isn't it drow, that I never go out after dark, but I find myself attended, always, by one scout, and often, by two. Lightwood took his cigar from his lips in surprise, and looked at his friend, as if for the latent suspicion that there must be a jest or a hidden meaning in his words." "On my honour, no," said Rayburn, answering the look and smiling carelessly, "I don't wonder at your supposing so, but on my honour, no. I say what I mean. I never go out after dark, but I find myself, in the ludicrous situation, being followed and observed at a distance, always, by one scout, and often, by two." "Are you sure, Eugene?" "Sure, my dear boy. They're always the same." "But there's no process out against you. The Jew's only threatened. They have done nothing, besides they know where to find you, and I represent you, why take the trouble?" "Observe the legal mind," remarked Eugene, turning round to the furniture again with an air of indolent rapture. Observe the dire's hand assimilating itself to what it works in, or would work in, if anybody would give it anything to do. Respected solicitor. It's not that. The schoolmaster's abroad. The schoolmaster? I, sometimes the schoolmaster and the people are both abroad. Why, how soon you rusten my absence. You don't understand yet. Those fellows who were here one night. They are the scouts I speak of, as doing me the honour to attend me after dark. How long has this been going on?" asked Lightwood, opposing a serious face to the laugh of his friend. "I apprehend it has been going on ever since a certain person went off. Probably it had been going on some little time before I noticed it, which would bring it to about that time. Do you think they supposed you to have in vegalter away?" "My dear Mortimer, you know the absorbing nature of my professional occupations. I really have not had leisure to think about it. Have you asked them what they want? Have you objected? Why should I ask them what they want, dear fellow, when I am indifferent to what they want? Why should I express objection? I don't object. You are in your most reckless mood. But you called a situation just now a ludicrous one, and most men object to that, even those who are utterly indifferent to do everything else. "You charm me, Mortimer, with your reading of my weaknesses. And by the by that very word, reading, in its critical use, always charms me. An actress's reading of a chambermaid, a dancer's reading of a hornpipe, a singer's reading of a song, a marine painter's reading of the sea, the cattle-drums reading of an instrumental passage, are phrases ever youthful and delightful. I was mentioning your perception of my weaknesses. I own to the weakness of objecting to occupy a ludicrous position, and therefore I transfer the position to the scuts. I wish you gene he would speak a little more soberly and plainly, if it were only out of consideration for my feeling less at ease than you do. Then soberly and plainly, Mortimer, I go'd the schoolmaster to madness. I make the schoolmaster so ridiculous, and so aware of being made ridiculous, that I see him chafe and fret at every paul when we cross one another. The amiable occupation has been the solace of my life, since I was booked in the manner unnecessary to recall. I have derived an expressible comfort from it. I do it thus. I stow loud after dark, stow a little way, look in at a window, and furtively look out for the schoolmaster. Soon or later I perceive the schoolmaster on the watch, sometimes accompanied by his hopeful pupil, oftener, pupilless. Having made sure as watching me, I tempt him on, all over London. One night I go east, another night north, and a few nights I go all round the campus. Sometimes I walk. Sometimes I proceed in cabs, draining the pocket of the schoolmaster who then follows in cabs. I study and get up abstruse no thoroughfares on the course of the day. With Venetian mystery I seek those no thoroughfares at night, glide into them, by means of dark courts, tempt the schoolmaster to follow, turn suddenly, and catch him before he can retreat. Then we face one another. And I pass him as unaware of his existence, and he undergoes grinding torments. Similarly I walk at a great pace down a short street, rapidly turn the corner, and, getting out of his view, as rapidly turn back, I catch him coming on post. Again pass him as unaware of his existence, and again he undergoes grinding torments. Night at a night a disappointment is acute, but hope springs eternal in these scholastic breasts, and he follows me again tomorrow. Thus I enjoy the pleasures of the chase and derive great benefit from the healthful size. When I do not enjoy the pleasures of the chase, or anything I know, he watches at the temple gate all night. This! Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. Isn't it extraordinary story? Observed likelihood, who had heard it out with serious attention. I don't like it. You are a little hit, dear fellow. Said Eugene, you have been too sedentary. Come and enjoy the pleasures of the chase. Do you mean that you believe he is watching now? I have not the slightest doubt he is. Have you seen him tonight? I have got to look for him when I was last out. Returned Eugene with the calmest and different. But I dare say he was there. Come, be a British sportsman and enjoy the pleasures of the chase. It will do you good. Lightwood hesitated, but yielding to his curiosity rose. Bravo. Grat Eugene rising to, or, if yoyks would be in better keeping, consider that I said yoyks. Look to your feet, Mortimer, for we shall try your boots. When you are ready, I am, need I say, with a hey-ho chibi, and like rise with a hawk forward, tend to be. Will nothing make you serious, said Mortimer, laughing through his gravity? I am always serious, but as now I am a little excited by the glorious fact that a southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim a hunting evening. Ready? So, we turn out the lamp and shut the door and take the field. As the two friends passed out of the temple into the public street, Eugene demanded with a show of courteous patronage, in which direction Mortimer would you like the run to be? There was a rather difficult country about Bethel Green, said Eugene. And we have not taken in that direction lately. What is your opinion of Bethel Green? Mortimer assented to Bethel Green, and they turned eastward. Now, when we counters in Paul's churchyard, Mr. Eugene, we'll loiter, artfully, and I'll show you the schoolmaster. But they both saw him before they got there, alone and stealing after them in the shadow of the houses on the opposite side of the way. "Get your wind," said Eugene, "for I am off directly. Does it occur to you that the boys of Merry England will begin to deteriorate in an educational light if this lasts long? The schoolmaster can't attend to me and the boys, too. Got your wind? I am off." At what a rate he went, to breathe the schoolmaster, and how he then lounged and loitered to put his patience to another kind of wear. What preposterous ways he took, with no other object on earth, than to disappoint and punish him, and how he wore him out by every piece of ingenuity that his eccentric humour could devise. All this lightward noted, with the feeling of astonishment, that so careless a man could be so wary, that so idle a man could take so much trouble. At last, far on, in the third hour of the pleasures of the chase, when he had brought the poor, dogging wretch round again into the city, he twisted Mortimer up a few dark entries, twisted him into a little square court, twisted him sharp round again, and they almost ran against Bradley Headstone. "And, you see, as I was saying, Mortimer," remarked Eugene, aloud with the utmost coolness, as though they were no one within hearing by themselves, "and, you see, as I was saying, undergoing grinding torments." It was not too strong a phrase for the occasion. Looking like a hunted, and not the hunter, baffled, worn, with the exhaustion of deferred hope and consuming hate and anger in his face, white-lipped, wild-eyed, draggled head, seemed with jealousy and anger, and torturing himself for the conviction that he showed it all, and they exalted in it. He went by them in the dark, like a haggard head suspended in the air, so completely did the force of his expression cancel his figure. Mortimer Lightwood was not an extraordinarily impressable man, but this face impressed him. He spoke of it more than once on the remainder of the way home, and more than once when they got home. They had been a bed in their respective rooms two or three hours, when Eugene was partly awakened by hearing footsteps going about, and was fully awakened by seeing Lightwood standing at his bedside. "Nothing wrong, Mortimer?" "No." "What fancy it takes you then for walking about in the night?" "I'm horribly wakeful. How comes that about, I wonder?" "Eugene, I cannot lose sight of that fellow's face." "A horde," said Eugene with the light laugh. "I can." "Turn over, and fell asleep again." Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon Brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change terms apply. End of Book 3 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 In The Dark There was no sleep for Bradley Headstone on that night when Eugene Rayburn turned so easily in his bed. There was no sleep for Little Miss Peecher. Bradley consumed the lonely hours and consumed himself in haunting the spot where his careless rival lay a dreaming. Little Miss Peecher wore them away in listening for the return home of the master of her heart, and in sorrowfully presaging that much was a miss with him. Yet more was a miss with him than Miss Peecher's simply arranged little work-box of thoughts fitted with no gloomy and dark recesses could hold, for the state of the man was murderous. The state of the man was murderous, and he knew it. More, he irritated it, with the kind of perverse pleasure, akin to that which a sick man sometimes has in irritating a wound upon his body. Tied up all day with his disciplined show upon him, subdued to the performance of his routine of educational tricks and circled by a gabbling crowd, he broke loose at night like an ill-tamed wild animal. Under his daily restraint it was his compensation, not his trouble, to give a glance towards his state at night, and to the freedom of its being indulged. If great criminals told the truth, which, being great criminals, they do not, they would very rarely tell of their struggles against the crime. Their struggles are towards it. They buffeted with opposing waves to gain the bloody shore, not to recede from it. This man perfectly comprehended that he hated his rival with his strongest and worst forces, and that if he tracked him to Lizzie Hexham, his so-doing would never serve himself with her or serve her. All his pains were taken to the end that he might incense himself with the sight of the detested figure in her company and favour in her place of concealment, and he knew as well what act of his would follow if he did, as he knew that his mother had borne him. Granted that he may not have held it necessary to make express mention to himself of the one familiar truth any more than of the other. He knew equally well that he fed his wrath and hatred, and that he accumulated provocation and self-justification by being made the nightly sport of the reckless and insolent Eugene. Knowing all this, and still always going on with infinite endurance, pains, and perseverance, could his dark soul doubt whether he went? Baffled, exasperated, and weary, he lingered opposite the Temple Gate when it closed on Rayburn and Lightwood; debating with himself should he go home for that time, or should he watch longer? Possessed in his jealousy by the fixed idea that Rayburn was in the secret if it were not altogether of his contriving, Bradley was as confident of getting the better of him at last by sullenly sticking to him, as he would have been, and often had been, of mastering any piece of study in the way of his vocation by the like, slow, persistent process. A man of rapid passions and sluggish intelligence, it had served him often, and should serve him again. The suspicion crossed him as he rested in a doorway with his eyes upon the Temple Gate that perhaps she was even concealed in that set of chambers. It would furnish another reason for Rayburn's purposeless walks, and it might be. He thought of it, and thought of it, until he resolved to steal up the stairs, if the gatekeeper would let him through, and listen. So the haggard head, suspended in the air, flitted across the road, like the spectre of one of many heads erst hoisted upon the neighboring Temple Bar, and stopped before the Watchman. The Watchman looked at it, and asked, "O 4!" "Mr. Rayburn!" "He's very late." He came back with Mr. Lightwood, I know, near upon two hours ago, but if he has gone to bed, I'll put a paper in his letterbox. I am expected. The Watchman said no more, but opened the gate, though rather doubtfully. Seeing, however, that the visitor went straight and fast in the right direction, he seemed satisfied. The haggard head floated up the dark staircase, and softly descended nearer to the floor outside the outer door of the chambers. The doors of the rooms within appeared to be standing open. There were rays of candle light from one of them, and there was the sound of a footstep going about. There were two voices. The words they uttered were not distinguishable, but they were both the voices of men. In a few moments the voices were silent, and there was no sound of footstep, and the inner light went out. If Lightwood could have seen the face which kept him awake, staring and listening in the darkness outside the door, as he spoke of it, he might have been less disposed to sleep, to the remainder of the night. "What there?" said Bradley, but he might have been. Head arose to its former height from the ground, floated down the staircase again, and passed on to the gate. A man was standing there in Pali with the Watchman. "Oh," said the Watchman. "Here he is." Perceiving himself to be the antecedent, Bradley looked from the Watchman to the man. "This man is leaving a letter for Mr. Lightwood," the Watchman explained, showing it in his hand, and I was mentioning that a person had just gone up to Mr. Lightwood's chambers. It might be the same business, perhaps. "No," said Bradley, glancing at the man who was a stranger to him. "No," the man ascended in a surly way, "my letter. It's wrote by my daughter, it's mine. It's about my business, and my business ain't nobody else's business." As Bradley passed out of the gate with an undecided foot, he heard it shut behind him, and heard the footstep of the man coming after him. "Excuse me," said the man, who appeared to have been drinking and rather stumbled at him and touched him to attract his attention. "But, might you be acquainted with the Tather Governor?" "With whom?" asked Bradley. "With?" returned the man, pointing backward over his right shoulder with his right thumb, "The Tather Governor." "I don't know what you mean." "Why, look here." Hooking his proposition on his left hand fingers with the forefinger of his right, "There's two governors, ain't they?" "One and one, two." "Loyer Lightwood," my first finger, "he's one, ain't he?" "Well, might you be acquainted with my middle finger, the Tather?" "I know quite as much of him," said Bradley with a frown and a distant look before him, as I want to know. "Hooraw!" cried the man. "Hooraw! Tather! Tather! Governor!" "I am of your way of thinking!" "Don't make such a noise at this dead hour of the night, what are you talking about?" "Look here, Tather! Tather! Tather!" replied the man, becoming horsely confidential. "The Tather Governor, he's always joked his jokes again me, hoeing, as I believe, to my being honest man, as gets my living by the sweat of my brow, which he ain't, and he don't. And one is that to me." "Tatherist, Governor!" returned the man in a tone of injured innocence, "If you don't care, dear, no more, down here, no more, you begummy. You said, a light-wire show, pretty plain, as you want, by no means friendly to him. But I don't seek to force my company, nor yet my opinions on no man. I am a honest man. That's why I am. Put me in a dog anywhere. I don't care where, and I says, 'My lord, I am a honest man.' Put me in a witness box anyway. I don't care where, and all my sister, the same to his lordship, and I kiss his the book. I don't kiss my co-calf, I kiss his the book." It was not so much in deference to these strong testimonials to character, as in his restless casting about for any way or help towards the discovery on which he was concentrated that badly headstone replied. "You needn't any offence. I didn't mean to stop you. You were too loud on the open street. That was all." "Tatherist, Governor!" replied Mr. Riderhood, modified and mysterious. "I know what it is to be loud, and I know what it is to be soft. Naturally I do. It will be a wonder if I did not, being by the christen name of Roger, which took it out of my own father, which took it from his own father, which of our family first took it natural, rather not in any ways mislead you by undertaking to say. And wishing that your elf may be better than your looks, which your inside must be bad indeed, if it's on the foot and of your out." Startled by the implication that his face revealed too much of his mind, Bradley made an effort to clear his brow. It might be worth knowing what this strange man's business was with Lightwood, or Rayburn, or both, at such an unseasonable hour. He set himself to find out, for the man might prove to be a messenger between those two. "You call at the temple late?" he remarked, with a lumbering show of ease. "Wish I may die!" cried Mr. Riderhood with a horse laugh. "If I want a guy to say the same words to you, Tatherist, Governor." "It chanced so with me," said Bradley, looking disconcertedly about him. "And it chanced so with me," said Riderhood, "but I don't mind telling you how. Why should I mind telling you?" "I and my deputy lock the keeper up the river, and I was off duty yesterday, and I shall be on tomorrow." "Yes?" "Yes, I come from London to look out at my private affairs. My private affairs is to get appointed to the lock, as regular keeper at fast-end, and to have the law of a busted, blow-bridge steamer which drowned it of me. I ate a gun to be drowned, and not pay for it." Bradley looked at him as though he were claiming to be a ghost. "The steamer," said Mr. Riderhood, obstinately, "run me down and drowned it of me. Interference on the part of other parties brought me round, but I never asked him to bring me round, nor yet the steamer never asked him to it. I mean to be paid for the life as the steamer took." "Was that your business at Mr. Lightwood's chambers in the middle of the night?" asked Bradley, eyeing him with distrust. "That? And to get a writing to be fast-hand lockkeeper. A recommendation in writing being looked for. Who else ought to give it to me?" As I says in the letter in my daughter's hand with my mark put to it to make it good in law, "Who but you, lawyer Lightwood, ought to hand over this year's certificate, and who but you ought to know in for damages on my account against the steamer? For, as I says under my mark, I have had trouble enough along of you and your friend. If you, lawyer Lightwood, had backed me good and true. And if the Tather Governor, it took me down correct," I said under my mark, "I should have been worth money at the present time, instead of having a bargeload of bad names chucked at me, and be forced to eat my words, which is unsatisfied, sort of fooled, whatever a man's appetite." "And when you mention the middle of the night, Tatherist Governor?" growled Mr. Ridehood, winding up his monotonous summary of his wrongs. "Through your eye, or missy a bundle, under my arm, and bear in mind that I am awarding back to my luck, and that the temple laid upon my line of road." Bradley Headstone's face had changed during this latter recital, and he had observed the speaker with a more sustained attention. "Do you know?" said he, after pause, during which they walked on side by side. "That I believe I could tell you your name, if I tried." "Prove your opinion," was the answer, accompanied with a stop and a stare. "Try!" "Your name is Ridehood." "Ah, bless David, ain't!" returned that gentleman. "But I don't know your name." "That's quite another thing," said Bradley. "I never supposed you did." As Bradley walked on, meditating, the rogue walked on at his side, muttering. The purport of the muttering was, that rogue Ridehood, by George, seemed to be made public property on now, and that every man seemed to think himself free to handle his name as if it was a street pump. The purport of the meditating was, "Here is an instrument. Can I use it?" "Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh. Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50 percent on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10 percent on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. They had walked along the strand and into Pal Mall and had turned uphill towards Hyde Park Corner, Bradley Headstone waiting on the pace and lead of Riderhood, and leaving him to indicate the course. So slow were the schoolmaster's thoughts, and so indistinct his purpose when they were but tributary to the one absorbing purpose, or rather when, like dark trees under a stormy sky, they only lined the long vista at the end of which he saw those two figures of Rayburn and Lizzie on which his eyes were fixed. That at least a good half-mile was traversed before he spoke again. Even then it was only to ask, "Where is your lock?" "Twenty mile an odd. Call it five and twenty mile an odd, if you like. Upstream," was the solemn reply. "How is it called?" "Pash-water-weir-mill-lock." "Suppose I was to offer you five shillings. What, then?" "Why, then I take it," said Mr. Riderhood. The schoolmaster put his hand in his pocket, and produced two half-crowns, and placed them in Mr. Riderhood's palm, who stopped at a convenient doorstep to ring them both before acknowledging their receipt. "There's one thing about you, Tatherist Governor," said Riderhood, fairing on again, "as looks well and goes fur. You're already money-man. Now," when he had carefully pocketed the coins on that side of himself which was furthest from his new friend, "what's this for?" "For you?" "Why, of course I know that," said Riderhood, as arguing something that was self-evident. "Of course I know very well, as no man in his right senses would suppose that anything would make me give it up again when I'd once got it. But what do you want for it?" "I don't know that I want anything for it. Or if I do want anything for it, I don't know what it is." Bradley gave this answer in a stolid, vacant, and self-commuting manner, which Mr. Riderhood found very extraordinary. "You have no good will towards this... Rayburn," said Bradley, coming to the name in a reluctant and forced way as if he were dragged to it. "No. Neither have I," Riderhood nodded and asked, "Is it for that?" "It's as much for that as anything else. It's something to be agreed with on a subject that occupies so much of one's thoughts." "It don't agree with you," returned Mr. Riderhood, bluntly. "No, it don't, Tatherist Governor, and it's no use of looking as if you wanted to make out that it did. I'll tell you, it rankles in you. It rankles in you, rusting you and poisons you." "Say that it does so," returned Bradley with quivering lips. "Here's there, no cause for it. Caws in half, far better bound," cried Mr. Riderhood. "Having to be yourself declared that the fellow has heaped provocations in salt and affronts on you or something to that effect, he has done the same by me. He is made of venomous insults and affronts, from the crown of his head to the soul of his foot. Are you so hopeful or so stupid as not to know that he and the other will treat your application with contempt and light their cigars with it?" "I shouldn't wonder if they did, by George," said Riderhood, turning angry. "If they did, they will. Let me ask you a question. I know something more than your name about you. I knew something about Gaffa Hexum. When did you last set eyes upon his daughter?" "When did I last set eyes upon his daughter, Tatherist Governor?" repeated Mr. Riderhood, growing intentionally slower of comprehension as the other quickened in his speech. "Yes. Not to speak to her, to see her, anyway." The rogue had got the clue he wanted, though he held it with a clumsy hand, looking perplexedly at the passionate face as if he were trying to work out or summon his mind, he slowly answered, "I ain't set eyes upon her, never wants, not since the day of Gaffa's death." "You know her well by sight." "I should think I did. No one better." "And you know him as well?" "Who's him?" asked Riderhood, taking off his hat and rubbing his forehead, as he directed a dull look at his questioner. "Curse the name. Is it so agreeable to you that you want to hear it again?" "Oh, him," said Riderhood, who had craftily worked the schoolmaster into this corner, that he might again take note of his face under its evil possession. "I'd now him, among a thousand." "Did you?" badly tried to ask it quietly, but do what he might with his voice he could not subdue his face. "Did you ever see them together?" "That Rogue had got the clue in both hands now." "Ah, I see them together." "Tethera's government, on the very day when Gaffa was told ashore." Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, A Plenty, and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offers subject to change, terms apply. Bradley could have hidden a reserve piece of information from the sharp eyes of a whole inquisitive class, but he could not veil from the eyes of the ignorant riderhood that withheld question next in his breast. "You shall put it plain if you wanted answered," thought the rogue doggedly. "I ain't a going, a wallentering." "Well?" "Was he incident to her too?" asked Bradley after a struggle. "Or did he make a show of being kind to her?" "He made a show of being most on common kind to her," said riderhood. "By George. Now I," his flying off at a tangent, was indisputably natural. Bradley looked at him for the reason. "Now I think of it," said Mr. Riderhood, evasively, for he was substituting those words for, "Now I see you so jealous," which was the phrase really in his mind. "Perhaps," he went, "took me down wrong a purpose on account of being sweet upon her." The baseness of confirming him in this suspicion, or pretensive one, for he could not have really entertained it, was a line's breadth beyond the mark the schoolmaster had reached. The baseness of communing and intriguing with the fellow, who would have set that stain upon her, and upon her brother, too, was attained. The line's breadth further lay beyond. He made no reply, but walked on with a louring face. "What he might gain by the sequaintons, he could not work out in his slow and cumbra's thoughts. The man had an injury against the object of his hatred, and that was something, though it was less than he supposed, for their dwelt and the man no such deadly rage and resentment as burned in his own breast. The man knew her, and might, by a fortunate chance, see her, or hear of her. That was something, as enlisting one pair of eyes and ears the more. The man was a bad man, and willing enough to be in his pay. That was something, for his own state and purpose were as bad as bad could be, and he seemed to derive a vague support from possession of a congenial instrument, though it might never be used. Suddenly he stood still, and asked Riderhood point-blank if he knew where she was. Clearly he did not know. He asked Riderhood if he would be willing, in case any intelligence of her or of Rayburn, as seeking her or associating with her, should fall in his way to communicate it if it were paid for. He would be very willing indeed. He was a gynum, both, he said, with an oath, and for why, because they had both stood betwixt him and his getting his living by the sweat of his brow. "It will not be long, then," said Badly Headstone, after some more discourse to this effect, "before we see one another again. Here is the country road, and here is the day. Both have come upon me by surprise." "Bart, Tathery Scavener," urged Mr. Riderhood, "I don't know where to find you." "It is of no consequence, and I will find you, and I will come to your look." "Bart, Tathery Scavener," urged Mr. Riderhood again, "no luck never come yet of a dry acquaintance. Let's wet it in a mouthfeel of rum and milk, Tathery Scavener." Bradley ascending went with him into an early public house, haunted by unsavory smells of musty hay and stale straw, where returning carts, farmers men, gaunt dogs, fouls of a beary breed, and certain human night birds fluttering home to roost, or sullising themselves after their several manners, and where not one of the night birds hovering about the sloppy bar, failed to discern at a glance in the passion-wasted night bird with respectable feathers the worst night bird of all. An inspiration of affection for a half-drunken Carter going his way led to Mr. Riderhood's being elevated on a high heap of baskets on a wagon, and pursuing his journey recumbent on his back with his head on his bundle. Bradley then turned to retrace his steps, and by and by struck off through little traversed waves, and by and by reached school and home. Up came the sun to find him washed and brushed, methodically dressed in decent black coat and waistcoat, decent formal black tie, and pepper and salt pantaloons, with his decent silver watch in its pocket and its decent hair guard round his neck, a scholastic huntsman clad for the field with his fresh pack yelping and barking around him. Yet more really bewitched than the miserable creatures of the much lamented times, who accused themselves of impossibilities under contagion of horror, and the strongly suggestive influences of torture, he had been written hard by evil spirits in the night that was newly gone. He had been spurred, and whipped, and heavily sweated. If a record of the sport had usurped the places of the peaceful text from scripture on the wall, the most advanced of the scholars might have taken fright and run away from the master. End of book 3, chapter 11, chapter 12, meaning mischief. Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. Up came the sun, steaming all over London, and in its glorious impartiality even condescending to make prismatic sparkles in the whiskers of Mr. Alfred Lamel as he sat at breakfast. A need of some brightening from without was Mr. Alfred Lamel, for he had the air of being dull enough within, and had grievously discontented. Mrs. Alfred Lamel faced her lord, the happy pair of swindlers with a comfortable tie between them that each had swindled the other, sat moodily observant of the tablecloth. Things looked so gloomy in the breakfast-room, albeit on the sunny side of Sackville Street, that any of the family tradespeople would glance into the blinds, might have taken the hint to send in his account and press for it. But this indeed, most of the family tradespeople had already done, without the hint. "It seems to me," said Mrs. Lamel, "that you have had no money at all, ever since we have been married." "What seems to you?" said Mr. Lamel, "to have been the case—may possibly have been the case—it doesn't matter." Was it the speciality of Mr. Mrs. Lamel, or does it ever obtain with other loving couples? In these matrimonial dialogues they never addressed each other, but always some invisible presence that appeared to take a station about midway between them. Perhaps the skeleton in the cupboard comes out to be talked to on such domestic occasions. "I have never seen any money in the house," said Mrs. Lamel to the skeleton, "except to my own annuity, that I swear." "You needn't take the trouble of swearing," said Mr. Lamel to the skeleton. "Once more, it doesn't matter. You never turned your annuity to so good an account." "Good an account? In what way?" asked Mrs. Lamel. "In the way of getting credit and living well," said Mr. Lamel. Perhaps the skeleton laughed scornfully on being entrusted with this question, and this answer certainly Mrs. Lamel did, and Mr. Lamel did. "And what is to happen next?" asked Mrs. Lamel of the skeleton. "Smash, Mr. Haberne next?" said Mr. Lamel to the same authority. After this Mrs. Lamel looked disdainfully at the skeleton, but without carrying the look on to Mr. Lamel and drooped her eyes. After that Mr. Lamel did exactly the same thing and drooped his eyes. A servant then entering with toast, the skeleton retired into the closet and shut itself up. "Saphronia?" said Mr. Lamel when the servant had withdrawn, and then very much louder. "Saphronia?" "Well?" "Attend to me, if you please," he eyed her sternly until she did attend, and then went on. "I want to take counsel with you. Come, come, no more trifling. You know our league and covenant. We ought to work together for our joint interest, and you are as knowing a hand as I am. We shouldn't be together if you were not. What's to be done? We are hemmed into a corner. What shall we do?" "Have you no scheme on foot that will bring in anything?" Mr. Lamel plunged into his whiskers for reflection and came out hopeless. "No. As adventurers, we are obliged to play rash games for chances of high winnings, and there has been a run of luck against us." She was resuming. "Have you nothing?" when he stopped her. "We, Saphronia. We, we, we. Have we nothing to sell?" "Duce a bit. I have given a dew a bill of sale on this furniture, and he could take it tomorrow, today, now. He would have taken it before now, I believe, but for Fledgebee. What is Fledgebee to do with him?" Knew him, cautioned me against him before I got into his claws, couldn't persuade him then, and be half of somebody else. "Do you mean that Fledgebee has at all softened him towards it? Us, Saphronia, us, us, us, towards us? I mean that the Jew is not yet done what he might have done, and that Fledgebee takes the credit of having got him to hold his hand." "Do you believe, Fledgebee?" "Saphronia, I never believe anybody, I never have, my dear, since I believed you, but it looks like it." Having given her this backhanded reminder of her mutinous observations to the skeleton, Mr. Lammo rose from the table. Perhaps the better concealer smile, and a whited tint or two about his nose, and took a turn on the carpet, and came to the hearth rug. If you could have packed the brute off with Georgie Yana, however, that spilled milk. As Lammo, standing, gathering up the skirt of his dressing gown with his back to the fire, said this, looking down at his wife, she turned pale and looked down at the ground. With a sense of disloyalty upon her, and perhaps of the sense of personal danger, for she was afraid of him, even afraid of his hand and afraid of his foot, though he had never done her violence, she hastened to put herself right in his eyes. "If we could borrow money, Alfred? Beg money, borrow money, or steal money, it'd be all one to us, Sifronia, her husband struck in. Then we could weather this, no doubt, to offer another original undeniable remark, Sifronia, two and two make four." Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon Saver, 365 by Whole Foods Market, a plenty and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offer subject to change, terms apply. But seeing that she was turning something in her mind, he gathered up the skirts of his dressing hand again, and tucking them under one arm and collecting his ample whiskers in his other hand, kept his eye upon her silently. "It is natural, Alfred," she said, looking up with some timidity into his face, "to think in such an emergency of the richest people we know, and the simplest." "And just so, Saveronia?" "The boffins." "Just so, Saveronia." "Is there nothing to be done with them?" "What is there to be done with them, Saveronia?" She cast about in her thoughts again, and he kept his eye upon her as before. "Of course, I have repeatedly thought of the boffins, Saveronia," he resumed after a fruitless silence, "but I have seen my way to nothing. They are well guarded, but infernal secretary stands between them and people of merit." "If he could be got rid of," said she, brightening a little, after more casting about, "take times, Saveronia," observed her watchful husband and a patronizing manner, "if working him out of the way could be presented in the light of a service to Mr. Boffin." "Take times, Saveronia?" "We have remarked lately, Alfred, as the old man is telling very suspicious and distrustful." "Mys arely too, my dear, which is far the most unpromising for us. Nevertheless, take time, Saveronia, take time." She took time, and then said, "Suppose we should address ourselves to that tendency in him of which we have made ourselves quite sure. Suppose my conscience, and we know what a conscience it is, my soul, yes?" "Suppose my conscience should not allow me to keep to myself any longer what that upstart girl told me of the secretaries having made a declaration to her. Suppose my conscience should oblige me to repeat it to Mr. Boffin?" "I rather like that," said Lamel. "Suppose I so repeated it to Mr. Boffin as to insinuate that my sensitive delicacy and honour," said Saveronia, "as to insinuate that our sensitive delicacy and honour," she resumed, with a bit of stress upon the phrase, "would not allow us to be silent parties to so mercenary and designing a speculation on the secretary's part, and so gross a breach of faith towards his confiding employer. Suppose I had imparted my virtuous uneasiness to my excellent husband, and he had said in his integrity, "Saveronia, you must immediately disclose this to Mr. Boffin." "Once more, Saveronia," observed Lamel, changing the leg on which he stood, "I rather like that." "You remark that he has well guarded," she pursued. "I think so too, but if this should lead to his discharging his secretary, there would be a weak place made." "Go on expanding, Saveronia. I begin to like this very much." Having in our unimpeachable rectitude done him the service of opening his eyes to the treachery of the person he trusted, we shall have established a claim upon him, and a confidence with him, whether it can be made much of or little of, we must wait, because we can't help it to see. Probably we shall make the most of it that is to be made." "Probably," said Lamel, "do you think it impossible," she asked in the same cold, plotting way, "that you might replace the secretary?" "Not impossible, Saveronia. It might be brought about. At any rate, it might be skillfully led up to." She nodded her understanding of the hint as she looked at the fire. "Mr. Lamel," she said, musingly, not without a slight, ironical touch, "Mr. Lamel would be so delighted to do anything in his power. Mr. Lamel, himself a man of business, as well as a capitalist. Mr. Lamel, accustomed to be entrusted with the most delicate affairs, Mr. Lamel, who has managed my own little fortune so admirably, but who, to be sure, began to make his reputation with the advantage of being a man of property above temptation and beyond suspicion?" Mr. Lamel smiled, and even patted her on the head. In his sinister relish of the scheme, as he stood above her, making it the subject of his cogitations, he seemed to have twice as much nose on his face as he had ever had in his life. Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? Shop Prime exclusive deals and save up to 50% on weekly grocery favorites. Plus, save 10% on Amazon brands, like our new brand Amazon's Favor, 365 by Whole Foods Market, A Plenty, and more. Come back for new deals rotating every week. Don't miss out on savings. Shop Prime exclusive deals at Amazon Fresh. Select varieties. As a United Explorer card member, you can earn 50,000 bonus miles. Plus, look forward to extraordinary travel rewards, including a free-checked bag, two times the miles on United purchases, and two times the miles on dining and at hotels. Become an explorer and seek out unforgettable places while enjoying rewards everywhere you travel. Cards issued by JP Morgan Chase Bank NA member FDIC, subject to credit approval, offers subject to change, terms apply. He stood pondering and sat looking at the dusty fire without moving for some time. But the moment he began to speak again, she looked up with a wince and attended to him as if that double dealing of hers had been in her mind and the fear were revived in her of his hand or his foot. It appears to me a symphronia that you have omitted one branch of the subject, perhaps not for women understand women. We might host the girl herself. Mrs. Lammel shook her head. She has an immensely strong hold upon them both Alfred, not to be compared with that of a paid secretary. "But the dear child," said Lammel, with a crooked smile, "order having opened with her benefactor and benefactors. The darling love ought to have reposed unbounded confidence in her benefactor and benefactors." Saphronia shook her head again. "Well, women understand women," said her husband, rather disappointed. "I don't press it. It might be the making of our fortune to make a clean sweep of them both, with me to manage the property and my wife to manage the people. Phew! Again shaking her head, she returned. They will never quarrel with the girl. They will never punish the girl. We must accept the girl, rely upon it." "Well," cried Lammel, shrugging his shoulders, "so be it, only always remember that we don't want her." "Now, the sole remaining question is," said Mrs. Lammel, "when shall I begin?" "You cannot begin too soon, Saphronia, as I have told you, the condition of our affairs is desperate and may be blown upon in any moment." "I must secure Mr. Buffon alone, Alfred." "If his wife was listened, she would throw oil upon the waters." "I know I should fail to move him to an angry outburst, if his wife was there, and as to the girl herself, as I am going to betray her confidence, she is equally out of the question." "It wouldn't do to write for an appointment," said Lammel. "No, certainly not. They would wonder among themselves why I wrote, and I want to have him wholly unprepared. Call and ask to see him alone," suggested Lammel. "I would rather not do that either." "Leave it to me. Spare me the little carriage for today and for tomorrow, if I don't succeed today, and I lie in wait for him." It was barely settled when a manly form was seen to pass the windows and herd to knock and ring. "Here's Fledgeby," said Lammel. "He admires you, and has a high opinion of you. I'll be out, coax him to use his influence with the Jew, his name is Riah, of the House of Pubbity and Co." Adding these words under his breath, lest it should be audible and the erect ears of Mr. Fledgeby through two keyholes and the hall, Lammel making signals of discretion to his servant went softly upstairs. "Mr. Fledgeby," said Mrs. Lammel, giving him a very gracious reception, "so glad to see you. My poor dear Alfred, who was greatly worried just now about his affairs, went out rather early. Dear Mr. Fledgeby, do sit down." Dear Mr. Fledgeby did sit down and satisfied himself, or judging from the expression of his countenance dis-certified himself, that nothing new had occurred in the way of Whiskersbrot, since he came round the corner from the Albany. "Dear Mr. Fledgeby, it was needless to mention to you that my poor dear Alfred is much worried about his affairs at present, for he has told me what a comfort you ought to him in his temporary difficulties, and what a great service you have rendered him." "Oh," said Mr. Fledgeby. "Yes," said Mrs. Lammel. "I don't know," remarked Mr. Fledgeby, trying a new part of his chair. "But that Lammel might be reserved about his affairs." "Not to me," said Mrs. Lammel, with deep feeling. "Oh, indeed," said Fledgeby. "Not to me. Dear Mr. Fledgeby, I am his wife." "Yes, I always understood so," said Mr. Fledgeby. "And as the wife of Alfred, may I, dear Mr. Fledgeby, wholly without his authority or knowledge, as I am sure your discernment will perceive, entreat you to continue that great service, and once more use your well-earned influence of Mr. Ryer for a little more indulgence. The name I have heard Alfred mention, tossing in his dreams, is Ryer? Is it not?" "The name of the clarineté is Ryer," said Mr. Fledgeby, with a rather uncompromising accent on his known substantive. "St. Mary-Acts, pubsby and coe." "Oh, yes," exclaimed Mrs. Lammel, clasping her hands with a certain gushing wildness. "Podsy and coe." "The pleading of the feminine," Mr. Fledgeby began, and there stuck so long for a word to get on with, that Mrs. Lammel offered him sweetly. "Heart?" "No," said Mr. Fledgeby. "Gender. Is ever what a man is bound to listen to? And I wish it rested with myself, but this vire is a nasty one, Mrs. Lammel here really is." "Not if you speak to him, dear Mr. Fledgeby." "Upon my soul and body he is," said Fledgeby. "Try, of try once more, dearest Mr. Fledgeby. What is there you cannot do, if you will?" "Thank you," said Fledgeby. "You are very complimentary to say so. I don't mind trying him again at your request, but of course I can't answer for the consequences. Riah is a tough subject, and when he says he'll do a thing, he'll do it." "Exactly so," cried Mrs. Lammel, "and when he says to you he'll wait. He'll wait." "She is a devilish clever woman," thought Fledgeby. "I didn't see that opening, but she spies it out and cuts into it as soon as it's made." "In point of fact, dear Mr. Fledgeby," Mrs. Lammel went on in a very interesting manner, not to affect concealment of Alfred's hopes. To you, who are so much his friend, there is a distant break in his horizon. This vigorous feature seemed rather mysterious to fascination Fledgeby, who said, "And there is a what in his eye?" Alfred, dear Mr. Fledgeby, discussed with me this very morning before he went out some prospects he has, which might entirely change the aspect of his present troubles. "Really?" said Fledgeby. "Oh yes," here Mrs. Lammel brought her handkerchief into play. "And, dear Mr. Fledgeby, you who study the human heart and study the world, what an affliction it would be to lose position and to lose credit, when ability to tide over a very short time might save all appearances." "Oh," said Fledgeby. "Then you think, Mrs. Lammel, that if Lammel got time, he wouldn't burst up to use an expression," Mr. Fledgeby apologetically explained, which is adopted in the money market. "Indeed, yes. Truly, truly, yes." "That makes all the difference," said Fledgeby. "I'll make a point of seeing Ryan at once." "Plessings, are you, dear Mr. Fledgeby?" "Not at all," said Fledgeby. "She gave him her hand." "The hand?" said Mr. Fledgeby. "I'm a lovely and superior-minded female as ever the repayment of a... noble action," said Mrs. Lammel, extremely anxious to get rid of him. "It wasn't what I was going to say," returned Fledgeby, who never would, under any circumstances, accept a suggested expression, "that you are very complimentary. May I imprint a... one upon it?" "Good morning." "I may depend upon your promptitude, dearest Mr. Fledgeby," said Fledgeby, looking back at the door, and respectfully kissing his hand, "you may depend upon it." In fact, Mr. Fledgeby sped on his errand of mercy through the streets, at so brisk a rate that his feet might have been winged by all the good spirits that wait on generosity. They might have taken him up their station in his breast, too, for he was blind and merry; there was quite a fresh trill in his voice, when arriving at the counting house in St. Mary Axe, and finding it for the moment empty, he told forth at the foot of the staircase, "Now, Judah, what are you up to there?" The old man appeared, with his accustomed deference. "Hello," said Fledgeby, falling back with a wink, "you mean Miss Chief Jerusalem." The old man raised his eyes, and cry, "Yes, you do," said Fledgeby. "Oh, you, sinner. Oh, you, Dodger. What? You're going to act upon that bill of sale at the Lemmels, are you? Nothing will turn you, won't it? You won't be put off for another single minute, won't you?" Ordered to immediate action by the master's tone and look, the old man took up his hat from the little counter where it lay. "You have been told that he might pull through it, if you didn't go in to win. Wide awake, have you?" said Fledgeby. "And it's not your game that he should pull through it, ain't it? You having got security, and there being enough to pay you? Oh, you, Jew." The old man stood a resolute, and uncertain for a moment, as if there might be further instructions for him in reserve. "Do I go, sir?" he at length asked in a low voice. "Ask me, if he is going," exclaimed Fledgeby. "Ask me, as if he didn't know his own purpose. Ask me, as if he hadn't got his hat on ready. Ask me, as if his sharp old eye. Why, it cuts like a knife, or isn't looking at his walking stick by the door." "Do I go, sir?" "Do you go?" sneered Fledgeby. "Yes, you do go. Toddle, Judah." End of book three, chapter twelve. Chapter thirteen, give a dog a bad name, and hang him. Fascination, Fledgeby, left alone in the counting-house, strolled about with his hat on one side, whistling and investigating the drawers, and prying here and there for any small evidences of his being cheated, but could find none. "Not his merit, said he don't cheat me," was Mr. Fledgeby's commentary delivered with a wink, "that my precaution." He then, with the lazy grandeur, asserted his rights as Lord of PUBZY and Co, by poking his cane at the stools and boxes and spitting in the fireplace, and so lighted royally to the window and looked out into the narrow street, with his small eyes just peering over the top of PUBZY and Co's blind. As a blind in more senses than one, it reminded him that he was alone in the counting-house with the front door open. He was moving away to shut it lest he should be injudiciously identified with the establishment when he was stopped by someone coming to the door. This someone was the doll's dressmaker, with a little basket on her arm, and her clutch stick in her hand. Her keen eyes had aspired Mr. Fledgeby, before Mr. Fledgeby had aspired her, and he was paralyzed in his purpose of shutting her out, not so much by her approaching the door, as by her favouring him with a shower of nods, the instant he saw her. This advantage, she improved, by hobbling up the steps, with such dispatch, that before Mr. Fledgeby could take measures for her, finding nobody at home, she was face to face with him in the counting-house. "I hope I see you well, sir," said Miss Ren. "Mr. Rye of Inn." Fledgeby had dropped into a chair, and the attitude of one waiting wearily. "I suppose he will be back soon," he replied. He has cut out, and left me expecting him back, in an odd way. "How and I have seen you before?" "Once before, if you hide your eyesight," replied Miss Ren. The conditional claws in an undertone. "When you were carrying on some games up at the top of the house, I remember. How was your friend?" "I have more friends than one, sir, I hope," replied Miss Ren. "Which friend?" "Never mind," said Mr. Fledgeby, shutting up one eye. "Any of your friends, all your friends, are they pretty tolerable?" Somewhat confounded, Miss Ren parried the placentary, and sat down in a corner behind the door, with her basket in her lap. "By and by," she said, breaking along, and patient silence. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I am used to find Mr. Rye at this time, and so I generally come at this time. I only want to buy my poor little tushillings worth of waste. Perhaps you'll kindly let me have it, and I'll trot off to my work." "I let you have it," said Fledgeby, turning his head to water, for he had been sitting blinking at the light, and feeling his cheek. "Why, you don't really suppose that I have anything to do with the place or the business, do you?" "Suppose," exclaimed Miss Ren. "He said that day you were the master." "The old cock in black, said," Rye said. "Why, he'd say anything." "Well, but you said so too," returned Miss Ren. "At least, he took on like the master, and didn't contradict him." "One of his dodges," said Mr. Fledgeby with a cool and contemptuous shrug. "He's made of dodges," he said to me, "come up to the top of the house, and I'll show you a handsome girl, but I shall call you the master." So I went up to the top of the house, and he showed me the handsome girl, very well worth looking at, she was, and I was called the master. I don't know why, I dare say he don't. He loves the dodge for his own sake, being," added Mr. Fledgeby, after casting about for an expressive phrase, and then a Dodgerist of all the Dodgers. "Out of my head," cried the doll's dressmaker, holding it with both her hands as if it were cracking. "You can't mean what you say." "I can, my old woman," retorted Fledgeby, "and I do. I assure you." This repudiation was not only an act of deliberate policy on Fledgeby's part, in case of his being surprised by any other corner, but is also a retort upon Miss Ren for her over-sharpness, and a pleasant instance of his humor as regarded the old Jew. He has got a bad name as an old Jew, and he has paid for the use of it, and I'll have my money's worth out of him. This was Fledgeby's habitual reflection in the way of business, and it was shortened just now by the old man's presuming to have a secret from him, though of the secret itself, as annoying somebody else whom he disliked, he by no means disapproved. Miss Ren, with the fallen countenance, sat behind the door, looking thoughtfully at the ground, and the long and patient silence had again set in for some time, when the expression of Mr. Fledgeby's face be tokened to the upper portion of the door, which was a glass, he saw someone faltering on the brink of the counting-house. Presently there was a rustle and a tap, and then some more rustling and another tap. Fledgeby taking no notice, the door was at length softly opened, and the dried face of a mild little elderly gentleman looked in. "Mr. Rhea?" said this visitor, very politely. "I am waiting for him, sir," returned Mr. Fudgeby. "He went out and left me here. I expect him back every minute. Perhaps he had better take a chair." The gentleman took a chair, and put his hand on his forehead as if he were in a melancholy frame of mind. Mr. Fledgeby eyed him aside and seemed to relish his attitude. "A fine day, sir," remarked Fledgeby. The little dried gentleman was so occupied with his own depressed reflections that he did not notice the remark until the sound of Mr. Fledgeby's voice had died out of the counting-house. Then he started and said, "I beg your pardon, sir. I fear you spoke to me." "I said," remarked Fledgeby a little louder than before, "it was a fine day." "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, yes." Again the little dried gentleman put his hand to his forehead, and again Mr. Fledgeby seemed to enjoy his doing it. When the gentleman changed his attitude with the sigh, Fledgeby spoke with the grin. "Mr. Twemlow, I think?" The dried gentleman seemed much surprised. "Had the pleasure of dining with you at lambels," said Fledgeby. "Even have the honour of being a connection of yours, an unexpected sort of place this to meet in. But one never knows when one gets into the city what people one may knock up against. I hope you have your health and, uh, enjoying yourself." There might have been a touch of impertinence in the last words; on the other hand, it might have been but the native grace of Mr. Fledgeby's manner. Mr. Fledgeby sat on a stool with a foot on the rail of another stool, and his hat on. Mr. Twemlow had uncovered, unlooking in at the door, and remained so. Now the conscientious Twemlow, knowing what he had done to thwart the gracious Fledgeby, was particularly disconcerted by this encounter. He was as ill at ease as a gentleman well could be. He felt himself bound to conduct himself stiffly towards Fledgeby, and he made him a distant bow. Fledgeby made his small eyes smaller, in taking special note of his manner. The doll's dressmaker sat in her corner behind the door, with her eyes on the ground, and her hands folded on her basket, holding her crutch stick between them, and appearing to take no heed of anything. "Here's a long time," muttered Mr. Fledgeby, looking at his watch. "What time may you make it, Mr. Twemlow?" Mr. Twemlow made it ten minutes past twelve, sir. "As near as a toucher," ascended Fledgeby, "I hope, Mr. Twemlow, your business here may be of a more agreeable character than mine." "Thank you, sir," said Mr. Twemlow. Fledgeby again made his small eyes smaller, as he glanced with great complacency at Twemlow, who was tumorously tapping the table with a folded letter. "What I know of Mr. Wire," said Fledgeby, with a very disparaging utterance of his name, "leads me to believe that this is about the shop for disagreeable business. I have always found him the bitingest and tightest screw in London." Mr. Twemlow acknowledged the remark for the little distant bow. It evidently made him nervous. "So much so," pursued Fledgeby, "that if it wasn't to be true to a friend, nobody should catch me waiting here a single minute. But if you have friends in adversity, stand by them. That's what I say, and act up too." The equitable Twemlow felt that this sentiment, irrespective of the atra, demanded his cordial ascent. "You are very right, sir," he rejoined with spirit. "You indicate the generous and manly cords." "Lad to have your approbation," returned Fledgeby. "It's a coincidence, Mr. Twemlow." Here he descended from his perch and sauntered toward him. "That the friends I am standing by today are the friends at whose house I met you, the lemels. She is a very taking and agreeable woman." Conscience smoked the gentle Twemlow pale. "Yes," he said, "she is." And when she appealed to me this morning to come and try what I could do to pacify that creditor, this Mr. Ryer, that I certainly have gained some little influence with in transacting business for another friend, but nothing like so much as she supposes. And when a woman like that spoke to me as her dearest Mr. Fledgeby and shed tears, why, what could I do, you know?" Twemlow gasped. "Nothing but come." "Nothing but come." "And so I came. But why?" said Fledgeby, putting his hand in his pockets and counterfeiting deep meditation. "Why, Ryer should have started up when I told him that the lemels entreated him to hold over a bill of sale. He has on all their effects, and why he should have cut out, saying he would be back directly, and why he should have left me here alone so long, I cannot understand." The chivalrous Twemlow, night of the simple heart, was not in a condition to offer any suggestion. He was too penitent, too remorseful. For the first time in his life, he had done an underhanded action, and he had done wrong. He had secretly interposed against this confiding young man for no better reason than because the young man's ways were not his ways. But the confiding young man proceeded to heap coals of fire on his sensitive head. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Twemlow. You see, I am acquainted with the nature of the affairs that are transacted here. Is there anything I can do for you here? You have always been brought up as a gentleman, never as a man of business, another touch of possible impertinence in this place, and perhaps you are but a poor man of business. What else is to be expected?" "I am even a poor man of business, then. I am a man, sir," returned Twemlow, "and I could hardly express my deficiency in a stronger way. I really do not so much as clearly understand my position in the matter on which I am brought here. But there are reasons which make me very delicate of accepting your assistance. I am greatly, greatly disinclined to profit by it. I don't deserve it." Good childish creature, condemned to a passage through the world by such narrow little dimly-lighted ways, and picking up so few specks or spots on the road. "Perhaps," said Fetchby, "you may be a little proud of entering on the topic, having been brought up as a gentleman." "It's not that, sir," returned Twemlow, "it's not that. I hope I distinguish between true pride and false pride." "I have no pride at all, myself," said Fetchby, "and perhaps I don't cut things so fine as to know one from Tother. But I know this is a place where even a man of business needs his wits about him. And if mine can be of any use to you here, you're welcome to them." "You are very good," said Twemlow, faltering, "but I am most unwilling." "I don't, you know," proceeded Fetchby, with an ill-favorite glance, "entertain the vanity of supposing that my wits could be of any use to you in society, where they might be here. You cultivate society, and society cultivate you. But Mr. Raya's not society. And society, Mr. Raya, is kept dark, eh, Mr. Twemlow?" Twemlow much disturbed, and with his hand fluttering about his forehead replied, "He quite true." The confiding young man besought him to state his case. The innocent Twemlow, expecting Fetchby to be astounded by what he should unfold, and not for an instant conceiving the possibility of its happening every day, but treating of it as a terrible phenomenon, occurring in the course of ages, related how that he had had a deceased friend, a married civil officer with a family who had wanted money for change of place on change of post, and how he, Twemlow, had given him his name, with the usual. But in the eyes of Twemlow, almost incredible result, that he had been left to repay what he had never had. "How in the course of years he had reduced the principle by trifling sums, having," said Twemlow, "always to observe great economy, being in the enjoyment of a fixed income limited in extent, and that depending on the magnificence of a certain nobleman, and had always pinched the full interest out of himself with punctual pinches. How he had come, in course of time, to look upon this one only debt of his life as a regular quarterly drawback, and no worse, when his name had some way fallen into the possession of Mr. Riah, who had sent him notice to redeem it by paying up in full in one plump sum or take tremendous consequences. This, with hazy remembrances of how he had been carried to some office to confess judgment as he recollect the phrase, and how he had been carried to another office where his life was assured for somebody not wholly unconnected with the Sherry trade, whom he remembered by the remarkable circumstance that he had a stratovarious violin to dispose of, and also a Madonna, formed the sum and substance of Mr. Twemlow's narrative, through which stalked the shadow of the awful Snakesworth, eyed afar off by money-lenders a security in the mist, and menacing tremolo with his baronial truncheon. To all Mr. Fetchby listened with the modest gravity becoming a confiding young man, who knew it all beforehand, and, when it was finished, seriously shook his head. "I don't like, Mr. Twemlow," said Fetchby, "I don't like Riah's calling in the principle. If he's determined to call it in, it must come." "But supposing, sir," said Twemlow, downcast, "that it can't come." "Then," retorted Fetchby, "you must go, you know." "Where?" asked Twemlow, frankly. "Is there a present?" returned Fetchby. Where at Mr. Twemlow leaned his innocent head upon his hand, and moaned a little moan of distress and disgrace. "However," said Fetchby, appearing to pluck up his spirit, "we'll hope it's not so bad as that comes to. If you'll allow me, I'll mention to Mr. Riah when he comes in, who you are, and I'll tell him you're my friend, and I'll say my say for you, instead of you're saying it for yourself. I may be able to do it in a more business-like way. You won't consider it a liberty." "I think you again and again, sir," said Twemlow, "I'm strong, strongly, disinclined to avail myself of your generosity, though my helplessness yields, for I cannot but feel that I, to put it in the pilotist form of speech, that I have done nothing to deserve it." "Where can he be?" muttered Fetchby, referring to his watch again. "What can he have gone out for? Did you ever see him, Mr. Twemlow?" "He's never. He is a thorough Jew to look at, but he is a more thorough Jew to deal with. He is worst when he's quiet. If he's quiet, I shall take it as a very bad sign. Keep your eye upon him when he comes in, and if he's quiet, don't be hopeful. Here he is. He looks quiet." With these words, which had the effect of causing the harmless Twemlow painful agitation, Mr. Fletry withdrew to his former post, and the old man entered the county house. "Why, Mr. Reyer," said Fetchby, "I thought you were lost." The old man, glancing at the stranger, stood stock still. He perceived that his master was leading up to the orders he was to take, and he waited to understand him. "I really thought," repeated Fletry slowly, "that you were lost, Mr. Reyer, why, now I look at you. But no, you can't have done it." "No, you can't have done it!" Hat in hand, the old man lifted his head, and looked distressfully at Fetchby, as seeking to know what new moral burden he was to bear. "You can't have rushed out to get the start of everybody else, and put in that bill of sailor little animals," said Fetchby, "say you haven't, Mr. Reyer." "Sir, I have," replied the old man in a low voice, "oh, my, I," cried Fetchby. "Dear, dear, dear, well, I knew you were a hard customer, Mr. Reyer, but I never thought you were as hard as that." "Sir," said the old man, with great uneasiness, "I do as I am directed. I am not the principal here. I am but the agent of a superior, and I have no choice, no power." "Don't say so," retorted Fletry secretly exalted, as the old man stretched out his hands, with a shrinking action of defending himself against the sharp construction of the two observers. "Don't play the tune of the trade, Mr. Reyer. You were right to get in your debts, if you're determined to do it, but don't pretend what everyone in your line regularly pretends. At least don't do it to me. Why should you, Mr. Reyer? You know I know all about you." The old man clasped the skirt of his long coat with his disengaged hand, and directed a wistful look at Fletry. "And don't," said Fletry, "don't I entreat you as a favour, Mr. Reyer. Be so devilish meek, for I know what'll follow if you are." "Look here, Mr. Reyer. This gentleman is Mr. Twemblow." The dew turned to him and bowed. That poor lamb bowed in return, polite and terrified. "I have made such a failure," proceeded Fletry, "in trying to do anything with you for my friend Lemmel, that I've hardly a hope of doing anything with you for my friend and connection indeed, Mr. Twemblow. But I do think that if you would do a favour for anybody, you would for me, and I won't fail for want of trying, and I pass my promise to Mr. Twemblow besides." "Now, Mr. Reyer, here is Mr. Twemblow. Always good for his interest, always coming up to time, always paying his little way. Now why should you press Mr. Twemblow? You can't have any spite against Mr. Twemblow. Why not be easy with Mr. Twemblow?" The old man looked into Fletry's little eyes, for any sign of leave to be easy with Mr. Twemblow. But there was no sign in them. "Mr. Twemblow is no connection of yours, Mr. Reyer," said Fletry. "You can't want to be even with him, for having, through life, gone in for a gentleman, and hung on to his family. If Mr. Twemblow has a contempt for business, what can it matter to you?" "But pardon me," interposed the gentle victim, "I have not. I should consider it, presumption." "There, Mr. Reyer," said Fletry. "Isn't that handsomely said? Come, make terms with me for Mr. Twemblow." The old man looked again for any sign of permission to spare the poor little gentleman. "No," Mr. Fletry meant him to be racked. "I am very sorry, Mr. Twemblow," said Reyer. "I have my instructions. I am invested with no authority for diverging from them. The money must be paid." "Inful and slapped down, do you mean Mr. Reyer?" asked Fletry to make things quite explicit. "Inful, sir, and at once," was Reyer's answer. Mr. Fletry shook his head deploringly at Twemblow, and mutly expressed in reference to the venerable figure standing before him with eyes upon the ground. "What a monster of an Israelite this is!" "Mr. Reyer," said Fletry. The old man lifted up his eyes once more to the little eyes and Mr. Fletry's head, with some reviving hope the sign might be coming yet. "Mr. Reyer, it's of no use my holding back the fact. There's a certain great party in the background in Mr. Twemblow's case, and you know it." "I know it," the old man admitted. "Now, I'll put it as a plain point of business, Mr. Reyer. Are you fully determined as a plain point of business either to have that said great party security or that said great party's money?" "Fully determined," answered Reyer, as he read his master's face and learnt the book. "Not at all caring for, and indeed as it seems to me rather enjoying," said Fletry, with peculiar function, and a precious kick-up and row that will come off between Mr. Twemblow and the said great party. This required no answer, and received none. Poor Mr. Twemblow, who had betrayed the keenest mental terrors since his noble kinsmen loomed in the perspective, rose with a sigh to take his departure. "I thank you very much, sir," he said, offering Fletry his feverish hand. "You have done me an unmerited service. Thank you. Thank you." "Don't mention it," answered Fletry. "It's a failure so far, but I'll stay behind and make another touch at Mr. Reyer." "Do not deceive yourself, Mr. Twemblow," said the Jew, then addressing him directly for the first time. "There is no hope for you. You must expect no leniency here. You must pay in full, and you cannot pay too, from clear where you will be put to heavy charges. Trust nothing to me, sir. Money. Money." When he had said these words in an emphatic manner, he acknowledged Mr. Twemblow's still polite motion of his head, and that amiable little worthy took his departure in the lowest spirits. Fascination Fletry was in such a merry vein when the counting house was cleared of him, that he had nothing for it but to go to the window and lean his arms on the frame of the blind and have his silent laugh out with his back to his subordinate. When he turned round again with a composed countenance, his subordinate still stood in the same place, and the doll's dressmaker sat behind the door with a look of horror. "Hello?" cried Mr. Vegby. "You're forgetting this young lady, Mr. Reyer, and she has been waiting long enough too. Sell her her waist, please, and give her good measure, if you can make up your mind to do the liberal thing for once." He looked on for a time, as the Jew filled her little basket with such scraps as she was used to buy. But his merry vein coming on again, he was obliged to turn round to the window once more, and lean his arms on the blind. "There, my Cinderella dear," said the old man in a whisper, and with a worn-out look, "the basket's full now, bless you, and get you gone." "Don't call me your Cinderella dear," returned Miss Ren. "How, you cruel old godmother!" She shook that emphatic little forefinger of hers in his face at parting, as earnestly and reproachfully as she had ever shaken it at her grim old child at home. "You are not the godmother at all," said she, "you are the wolf in the forest, the wicked wolf. And if ever my dear Lizzy is sold and betrayed, I shall know who sold and betrayed her." End of book 3, Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Mr. Weg prepares a grindstone for Mr. Buffon's nose. Having assisted at a few more expositions of the lives of Mises, Mr. Venus became almost indispensable to the evenings at the bar. The circumstance of having another listener to the wonders unfolded by Weg, or, as it were, another calculator to cast up the guineas found in teapots, chimneys, racks, and mangers, and other such banks of deposit seemed greatly to heighten Mr. Buffon's enjoyment. While Silas Weg, for his part, though of a jealous temperament, which might, under ordinary circumstances, have resented the anatomists getting into favor, were so very anxious to keep his eye on that gentleman, lest being too much left to himself he should be tempted to play any tricks with the precious document in his keeping, that he never lost an opportunity of commending him to Mr. Buffon's notice as a third party whose company was much to be desired. Another friendly demonstration towards him Mr. Weg now regularly gratified. After each sitting was over, and the patron had departed, Mr. Weg invariably saw Mr. Venus home. To be sure, he as invariably requested to be refreshed with the sight of the paper in which he was a joint proprietor, but he never failed to remark that it was the great pleasure he derived from Mr. Venus's improving society which had insensibly lured him round a clock and well again, and that, finding himself once more attracted to the spot by the social powers of Mr. V, he would beg leave to go through that little incidental procedure as a matter of form. "For well, I know, sir," Mr. Weg would add, "that a man of your delicate mind would wish to be checked off whenever the opportunity arises, and it is not for me to bork your feelings." A certain restiness in Mr. Venus, which never became so lubricated by the oil of Mr. Weg, but that he turned under the screw in a creaking and stiff manner, was very noticeable at about this period. While assisting at literary evenings, he even went so far on two or three occasions as to correct Mr. Weg when he grossly mispronounced a word, or made nonsense of a passage. In so much that Mr. Weg took to surveying his course in the day and to making arrangements for getting round rocks at night instead of running straight upon them. Of the slightest anatomical reference, he became particularly shy, and, if he saw a bone ahead, would go any distance out of his way rather than mention it by name. The adverse destinies ordained that one evening Mr. Weg's laboring bark became beset by polysyllables, and embarrassed among a perfect archipelago of hard words. It being necessary to take soundings every minute, and to feel the way with the greatest caution Mr. Weg's attention was fully employed. Advantage was taken of this dilemma by Mr. Venus to pass a scrap of paper into Mr. Boffin's hand and lay his finger on his own lip. When Mr. Boffin got home at night, he found that the paper contained Mr. Venus's card and these words should be glad to be honoured with the call respecting business of your own about dusk on an early evening. The very next evening saw Mr. Boffin peeping in at the preserved frogs in Mr. Venus's shop window, and saw Mr. Venus aspiring Mr. Boffin with the redness of one on the alert and beckoning that gentleman into his interior. Responding, Mr. Boffin was invited to seat himself on the box of human miscellaneous before the fire, and did so looking round the place with admiring eyes. The fire being low and fitful, and the dusk gloomy, the whole stock seemed to be winking and blinking with both eyes as Mr. Venus did. The French gentleman, though he had no eyes, was not at all behind hand, but appeared as the flame rose and fell to open and shut his no eyes, with the regularity of the glass-eyed dogs and ducks and birds. The big-headed babies were equally obliging, inventing their grotesque aid to the general effect. "You see, Mr. Venus, I've lost no time," said Mr. Boffin. "Here I am." "Here you are, sir," assented Mr. Venus. "I don't like secrecy," assumed Mr. Boffin. "At least, not in a general way, I don't, but I do say you'll show me good reason for being secret so far." "I think I shall, sir," returned Venus. "Good," said Mr. Boffin. "You don't expect Weg, I take it if granted." "No, sir, I expect no one, but the present company." Mr. Boffin glanced about him, as accepting, under that inclusive denomination, the French gentleman, and the circle in which he didn't move, and repeated, "The present company." "Sir," said Mr. Venus, "before entering, upon business, I shall have to ask you for your word and honour that we are in confidence." "Let's wait a bit, and understand what the expression means," answered Mr. Boffin. "In confidence for how long? In confidence for ever in a day?" "I take your hint, sir," said Venus. "You think you might consider the business when you came to know it to be of a nature incompatible with confidence on your part?" "I might," said Mr. Boffin, with a cautious look. "Too, sir." "Well, sir," observed Venus, after clutching at his dusty hair to brighten his ideas. "Let us put it another way. I open the business with you, relying upon your honour not to do anything in it, and not to mention me in it, without my knowledge." "That sounds fair," said Mr. Boffin. "I agree to that. I have your word and honour, sir." "My good fellow," retorted Mr. Boffin. "You have my word, and now you can have that, without my honour, too. I don't know. I've thought you a lot of dust in my time, but I never knew the two things go into separate eaps." This remark seemed rather to abash Mr. Venus. He hesitated and said, "Very true, sir." And again, "Very true, sir," before resuming the thread of his discourse. "Mr. Boffin, if I confess to you that I fell into a proposal of which you were the subject, and of which you oughtn't to have been the subject, you will allow me to mention and will please take into favourable consideration that I was in a crushed state of mind at the time." The golden dustman, with his hands folded on the top of his stout stick, with his chin resting upon them, and with something leering and whimsical in his eyes, gave a nod and said, "Quite so, Venus." "That proposal, sir, was a conspiring breach of your confidence, to such an extent that I ought, at once, to have made it known to you, but I didn't, Mr. Boffin, and I fell into it." "Without moving eye or finger, Mr. Boffin gave another nod, and placently repeated." "Quite so, Venus." "Not that I was ever hearty in it, sir," the penitent anatomist went on, "or that I ever viewed myself with anything but reproach for having turned out of the paths of science, into the paths of," he was going to say, "villainy, but unwilling to press too hard upon himself, substituted with great emphasis, wagery." Placid and whimsical of luck, as ever, Mr. Boffin answered, "Quite so, Venus." "And now, sir," said Venus, "having prepared your mind in the rough, I will articulate the details." With which brief professional exordium he entered on the history of the friendly move, and truly recounted it, one might have thought that it would have extracted some show of surprise, or anger, or other emotion from Mr. Boffin, but it extracted nothing beyond his former comment, "Quite so, Venus." "I have astonished you, sir, I believe," said Mr. Venus, pausing jubiously. Mr. Boffin simply answered, as a poor said, "Quite so, Venus." By this time the astonishment was all on the other side. It did not, however, so continue. For when Venus passed to Meg's discovery, and from that they having both seen Mr. Boffin dig up the Dutch bottle, that gentleman changed colour, changed his attitude, became extremely restless, and ended, when Venus ended, by being in a state of manifest anxiety, trepidation, and confusion. "Now, sir," said Venus, finishing off, "you best know what was in that Dutch bottle, and why you dug it up and took it away. I don't pretend to know anything more about it than I saw. All I know is this. I am proud of my calling, after all, though it has been attended by one dreadful drawback which is told upon my heart and almost equally upon my skeleton. And I mean to live by my calling, putting the same meaning, in other words, I do not mean to turn a single dishonest penny by this affair. As the best amends I can make to you for having ever gone into it, I make known to you, as a warning, what Wegg has found out. My opinion is that Wegg is not to be silenced at a modest price, and I build that opinion on his beginning to dispose of your property the moment he knew his power. Whether it's worth your word to silence him at any price, you will decide for yourself, and take your measures accordingly. As far as I am concerned, I have no price. If I am ever called upon for the truth, I'll tell it, but I want to do no more than I have now done, and ended. "Thank you, Venus," said Mr. Boughton, with a hearty grip of his hand. "Thank you, Venus, thank you, Venus!" and then walked up and down the little shop in great agitation. "But, lucky, a Venus," he by and by resumed, nervously sitting down again, "if I have to buy, wake up. I shan't buy him any cheaper for your being out of it. Is it of his having half the money? It was to a bean-off, I suppose. Share and share alike." "It was to a bean-half, sir," answered Venus. "Instead of that, you now have all. I should play the same, if not more. For you tell me, he's an unconscionable dog, a ravenous rascal." "He is," said Venus. "Don't you think, Venus?" Incinuated Mr. Boughton, after looking at the fire for a while, "don't you feel as if you might like to pretend to be in it till Meg was brought up, and then ease your mind by ending over to me what you had made, believed a pocket?" "No, I don't, sir," returned Venus very positively. "Not to make amends," insinuated Mr. Boughton. "No, sir, it seems to me, after maturingly thinking it over, at the best of ends for having gone out of the square, is to get back into the square." "Hm," mused Mr. Boughton. "When you say the square, you mean?" "I mean," said Venus, stoutly and shortly, "the right." "Hm, it appears to me," said Mr. Boughton, grumbling over the fire in an injured manner, "that the right is with me, if it's anywhere. I have much more right to the old man's money, and the crown can ever have. What was a crown in him, except the king's taxis? Whereas me, and my wife, we was all in all doing." Mr. Venus, with his head upon his hands, rendered melancholy by the contemplation of Mr. Boughton's avarice, only murmured to steep himself in the luxury of that frame of mind. She did not wish so to regard herself, nor yet to be so regarded. "And how am I to live?" asked Mr. Boughton, pitiously, "if I'm to be going by and fellows up, out of the little I've got. And how am I to set about it? When am I to get my money ready? When am I to make a bid? You haven't told me when he threatens to drop down upon me?" Venus explained, under what conditions, and with what views the dropping down upon Mr. Boughton was held over until the mounds should be cleared away. Mr. Boughton listened attentively. "I suppose," said he, with a gleam of hope, "there's no doubt about the genuineness and date of this confounded will. None, whatever," said Mr. Venus, "where might it be deposited at present?" asked Mr. Boughton in a weadling tone. "It's in my possession, sir. Is it?" he cried with great eagerness. "Now, for any liberal summer bunny that could be agreed upon Venus, would you put it in the fire?" "No, sir, I wouldn't," interrupted Mr. Venus. "Nor pass it over to me." "That would be the same thing." "No, sir," said Mr. Venus. The golden dustman seemed about to pursue these questions, when a stumping noise was heard outside, coming towards the door. "Hush! Here's Meg," said Venus, "get behind a young alligator in the corner, Mr. Boughton, and judge him for yourself. I've not liked a candle till he's gone. There'll only be the glow of the fire. Wags well acquainted with the alligator, and he won't take particular notice of him. Draw your legs in, Mr. Boughton, at present, I see a pair of shoes at the end of his tail. Get your head well behind his smile, Mr. Boughton, and you lie comfortable there. You'll find plenty of room behind his smile, he's a little dusty, but he's very light you in tone. Are you right, sir?" Mr. Boughton had but whispered an affirmative response, when Meg came stumping in. "Partner," said their gentleman in a sprightly manner, "hear as yourself." "Tolerable," returned Mr. Venus, "not much to boast of." "Indeed," said Meg, "sorry, partner, are you not picking up faster, but your soul's too large for your body, sir. That's where he is. And ours are stockin' trade, partner. Safe bind, safe bind, partner. Is that about it?" "Do you wish to see it?" asked Venus. "If you please, partner," said Meg, rubbing his hands, "I wish to see it gently with yourself." Or, in similar words, to some that was set to music some time back, "I wish you to see it with your eyes, and I will pledge with mine." Turning his back and turning a key, Mr. Venus produced the document, holding on by his usual corner. Mr. Weg, holding on by the opposite corner, sat down on the seat so lately vacated by Mr. Boughton, and looked it over. "All right, sir," he slowly and unwillingly admitted, in his reluctance to lose his hold. "All right," and greedily watched his partner as he turned his back again and turned his key again. "There's nothing new, I suppose," sat Venus, resuming his low chair behind the counter. "Yes, there is, sir," replied Weg. "There was something new this morning, that foxy-how-grosper and griper." "Mr. Boughton?" inquired Venus, with a glance towards the alligator's yard or two of smile. "Mister, be blowed," cried Weg, yielding to his honest indignation, "Boughton?" "Dasty, Boughton." Now, foxy-how-grunter and grinder, sir, turns at the yard this morning to meddle with our property. And, me and you, too, of his own, a young man by the name of Sloppy. He got, when I say to him, "What do you want here, young man?" "This is your private yard." He pulled out a paper from Boughton's other blaggard, the one I was passed over for. This is to authorize Sloppy to overlook the carton and to watch the work. "That's pretty strong, I think, Mr. Venus." "Remember, he doesn't know yet of our claim on the property," suggested Venus. "Then he must have a hint of it," said Weg, and a strong one that will jog his terrors a bit, give him an inch, and he'll take it ill. That him alone is time, and what will he do with our property next? I'll tell you what, Mr. Venus, he come to this. I must be overbearing with Boughton or I shall fly into several pieces. I can't contain myself when I look at him. Every time I see him putting his hand in his pocket, I see him putting it into my pocket. Every time I hear him jingling his money, I hear him taking liberties with my money. Flesh and blood cannot bear it. No!" said Mr. Weg, greatly exasperated, and I'll go further. A wooden leg can't bear it. "But, Mr. Weg," urged Venus, "it was your own idea that he should not be exposed upon till the bounds were carted away. But it was like, why is my idea, Mr. Venus?" retorted Weg, that it became sneaking and sniffing about the property he should be threatened, given to understand that he has no right to it, and be made our slave. "Wasn't that my idea, Mr. Venus?" "He certainly was, Mr. Weg. It certainly was, as you say, partner," a scented Weg, put into a better humour by the ready admission. "Very well. I'd consider he's planting one of his menial tools in the yard, an act of sneaking and sniffing, and his nose shall be put to the grindstone for it." "He was not your fault, Mr. Weg. I must admit," said Venus, that he got off with the Dutch bottle at night. "As you instantly say again, partner, no, it was not my fault. I'd have had that bottle out of him. Was it to be born that he should come, like a thief in the dark, digging among stuff that was far more ours than he is, seeing that we could deprive him of every grain of it if he didn't buy us at our own figure, and carry off treasure from his bowels?" "No, it was not to be born, and for that too his nose shall be put to the grindstone." "How do you propose to do it, Mr. Weg?" "To put his nose to the grindstone?" "I propose," returned that estimable man, "to insult him, only, and, if looking at this Ohio mind, he dares to offer a word in answer, to retort the point before he can take his breath, add another word to that you dusty old dog in your abagger." "Suppose he says nothing, Mr. Weg. Then," replied Weg, "we shall have come to an understanding with very little trouble, and I'll break him and drive him, Mr. Venus. I'll put him in harness, and I'll bear him up tight, and I'll break him and drive him. The harder the old dust is driven, sir, the higher you'll pay, and I mean to be paid high, Mr. Venus, I promise you." "You speak quite revengefully, Mr. Weg?" "We wengefully, sir. Is it for him that I have declined and forged night after night? Is it for his pleasure that I've waited at home of an evening, like a set of skills, do we set up and knocked over, set up and knocked over, by whatever balls or books he chose to bring against me? Why, I'm a hundred times a man, he is, sir, five hundred times." Perhaps it was, with the malicious intent of urging him on to his worst, that Mr. Venus looked as if he doubted that. What? Was it outside the house, a present occupied, to its disgrace, by that minion of fortune, and whirl of the hour? Said Weg, falling back upon his strongest terms of reprobation, and slapping the counter, that I, soulless Weg, five hundred times a man he ever was, sat in all weathers, waiting for an errand or a customer. Was it outside that very house as our first sit eyes upon him, rolling in the lap of luxury, when I was selling ape knee ballads there for a living, and am I a grovel in the dust for him to walk over? No. There was a grin upon the ghastly countenance of the French gentleman, under the influence of the firelight, as if he were computing how many thousand slanderers and traitors array themselves against the fortunate, on premises exactly answering to those of Mr. Weg. One might have fancied, at the big-headed babies, were toppling over with their hydrocephalic attempts to reckon up the children of men who transformed their benefactors into their injurers by the same process. The yard or two of smile on the part of the alligator might have been invested with the meaning, all about this was quite familiar knowledge down in the depths of the slime ages ago. "That!" said Weg, possibly with some slight perception to the foregoing effect. "Your speak in countenance remarks, Mr. Venus, that I'm duller and savager than usual. Perhaps I have allowed myself to brood too much." "Begone, dull care!" she's gone, sir. I've looked in upon you, and empire resumes us way, for, as the song says, subject to your corrections, sir, when the odds of a man is depressed with cares, the mist is dispelled if Venus appears, like the notes of a fiddle you sweetly, sir, sweetly, raises our spirits and charms our ears. "Good night, sir." "I shall have a word or two to say to you, Mr. Weg, before long," remarked Venus, "respecting my share in the project we've been speaking of." "My time, sir," returned Weg, "is yours. In the meanwhile, let it be fully understood, that I shall not neglect bringing the grinds down to bear, nor yet bringing dusty boffin's nose to it. His nose once brought to it shall be held to it by these hands, Mr. Venus, till the sparks flies out in showers." With this agreeable promise, Weg stumped out, and shut the shop door after him. "White till our lot a candle, Mr. Boffin," said Venus, "and you'll come out more comfortable." So, he lighting a candle and holding it up at arm's length, Mr. Boffin disengaged himself from behind the alligator's smile, with an expression of countenance so very downcast that it not only appeared as if the alligator had the whole of the joke to himself, but further as if it had been conceived and executed at Mr. Boffin's expense. "That's a treacherous fellow," said Mr. Boffin, dusting his arms and legs, as he came forth, the alligator having been but musty company. "That's a dreadful fellow!" "The alligator, sir," said Venus. "No, Venus, no, the serpent! You'll have the goodness to note this, Mr. Boffin," remarked Venus, "that I said nothing to him about my going out of the affair altogether, because I didn't wish to take you any ways by surprise; but I can't be too soon out of it for my satisfaction, Mr. Boffin, and I now put it to you when it will suit your views and meet the retire." "Thank you, Venus, thank you, Venus. But I don't know what to say," returned Mr. Boffin, "I don't know what to do. He'll drop down on me anyway. He seems fully determined to drop down, don't he?" Mr. Venus opined that such was clearly his intention. "You might be sort of a protection for me if you remained in it," said Mr. Boffin. "You might stand betwixt him and me and take the edge off him. Don't you feel as if you could make a show of remaining in it, Venus, till I attempt to turn myself around?" Venus naturally inquired how long Mr. Boffin thought it might take him to turn himself around. "I'm sure I don't know," was the answer, given quite a little loss. "Everything is so sixes and sevens. If I never come into the property, I shouldn't have minded. But being in it, it would be very trying to be turned out. Now, let you acknowledge that it would, Venus." Mr. Venus preferred, he said, to leave Mr. Boffin to arrive at his own conclusions on that delicate question. "I am sure I don't know what to do," said Mr. Boffin. "If I ask advice of anyone else, it's only letting in another person to be brought out. And then I shall be ruined that way, and might as well have given up the property and gone slept to the workhouse. If I were to take the advice of my young man, Rokesmith, I should have to buy him out. Soon or later, of course, he dropped down upon me, like Weg. How I was brought into the world, to be dropped down upon, it appears to me." Mr. Venus listened to these lamentations in silence, while Mr. Boffin jogged to and fro, holding his pockets as if he had a pain in them. "After all, you haven't said what you mean to do yourself, Venus. When you do go out of it, how do you mean to go?" Venus replied that as Weg had found the document and handed it to him, it was his intention to hand it back to Weg, with the declaration that he himself would have nothing to say to it or do with it, and that Weg must act as he chose and take the consequences. "And then it drops down, with his own weight upon me," cried Mr. Boffin, ruefully, "Artson, and be dropped upon by you, and by him, or even by you, giantly, and by him alone." Mr. Venus could only repeat that it was his fixed intention to be take himself to the paths of science, and to walk in the same all the days of his life, not dropping down upon his fellow creatures until he were deceased, and then only to articulate them to the best of his humble ability. "How long could you be persuaded to keep up the appearance of remaining in it?" asked Mr. Boffin, retiring on his other idea. "Could you be got to do so, till the mounds are gone?" "No. That would protect the mental uneasiness of Mr. Venus too long," he said. "Not if I was to show you reason now," demanded Mr. Boffin, "not if I was to show you good and sufficient reason." "If, by good and sufficient reason, Mr. Boffin meant honest and unimpeachable reason, that might weigh with Mr. Venus against his personal wishes and convenience, but he must add that he saw no opening to the possibility of such reason being shown him." "Come and see me, Mr. Venus," said Boffin, "at my house." "Is the reason there, sir?" asked Mr. Venus, with an incredulous smile and blink. "It may be, or may not be," said Mr. Boffin, "just as you view it, but in the meantime, don't go out of the matter. Look here. Do this. Give me your word that you won't take any steps with way without my knowledge, just as I have given you my word that I won't without yours." "Dan," missed Mr. Boffin, said Venus, after brief consideration. "Thank you, Venus. Thank you, Venus. Dan." "When should I come to see you, Mr. Boffin?" "When you like, assume that the better, must be going now. Good night, Venus." "Good night, sir." "And good night to the rest of the present company," said Mr. Boffin, glancing round the shop. "They make a queer show, Venus, and I should like to be better acquainted with them some day." "Good night, Venus. Good night. Thank you, Venus. Thank you, Venus." With that, he jogged out into the street and jogged upon his homeward way. "Now I wonder," he meditated as he went along, nursing his stick, "whether it can be that Venus has set me himself to get the better of Whig. Where as it can be that he means, when I have bought Whig out, do have me what room self, and to pick me clean to the bounds." It was a cunning and suspicious idea, quite in the way of his school of Mises, and he looked very cunning and suspicious as he went jogging through the streets. More than once or twice, more than twice or thrice, say half a dozen times, he took his stick from the arm on which he nursed it and hit a straight, sharp wrap at the air with its head. Possibly the wooden countenance of Mr. Silas Whig was incorporially before him at those moments, for he hit with intense satisfaction. He was within a few streets of his own house, when a little private carriage, coming in the contrary direction, passed him, turned round, and passed him again. It was a little carriage of eccentric movement, for again he heard it stop behind him and turned round, and again he saw it pass him. Then it stopped, and then went on, out of sight. But not far out of sight, for, when he came to the corner of his own street, there it stood again. There was a lady's face of the window as he came up with this carriage, and he was passing it, when the lady softly called him by his name. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Mr. Buffon, coming to a stop. "It is Mrs. Lamel," said the lady. Mr. Buffon went up to the window, and hoped Mrs. Lamel was well. "Not very well, dear Mr. Buffon. I have fluttered myself by being, perhaps foolishly, uneasy and anxious. I have been waiting for you some time. Can I speak to you?" Mr. Buffon proposed that Mrs. Lamel should drive on to his house a few hundred yards further. "I would rather not, Mr. Buffon, unless you particularly wish it. I feel the difficulty and delicacy of the matter so much, that I would rather avoid speaking to it your own home. You must think this very strange." Mr. Buffon said no, but meant yes. "It is because I am so grateful for the good opinion of all my friends, and I am so touched by it, that I cannot bear to run the risk of forfeiting it, in any case, even in the cause of duty. I have asked my husband, my dear Alfred, Mr. Buffon, whether it is the cause of duty, and he has most emphatically said yes. I wish I had asked him sooner. It would have spared me much distress." "Can this be more dropping down upon me?" thought Mr. Buffon, quite bewildered. "It was Alfred, who sent me to you, Mr. Buffon. Alfred said, 'Don't come back, Saphronia, until you have seen Mr. Buffon, and told him all. Whatever he may think of it, he ought certainly to know it. Would you mind coming into the carriage?" Mr. Buffon answered, "Not at all," and took a seat at Mrs. Lamol's side. "Drive slowly, anywhere," Mrs. Lamol called to her coachman, "and don't let the carriage rattle." "It must be more dropping down, I think," said Mr. Buffon to himself. "What next?" End of book three, chapter fourteen. Chapter fifteen, the Golden Dustman at his worst. The breakfast table at Mr. Buffon's was usually a very pleasant one, and was always presided over by Bella. As though he began each new day in his healthy, natural character, and some waking hours were necessary to his relapse into the corrupting influences of his wealth, the face and the demeanour of the Golden Dustman were generally unclouded at that meal. It would have been easy to believe, then, that there was no change in him. It was as the day went on that the clouds gathered, and the brightness of the morning became obscured. One might have said that the shadows of Everest and distressed lengthened as his own shadow lengthened, and that the night closed around him gradually. But one morning long afterwards to be remembered, it was black midnight with the Golden Dustman when he first appeared. His altered character had never been so grossly marked. His bearing towards his secretary was so charged with insolent distrust and arrogance that the latter rose and left the table before breakfast were half done. The look he directed at the secretary's retiring figure was so cunningly malignant that Bella would have sat astounded and indignant, even though he had not gone the length of secretly threatening Rokesmith with his clenched fist as he closed the door. This unlucky morning of all mornings in the year was the morning next after Mr. Buffren's interview with Mrs. Lamel in her little carriage. Bella looked to Mrs. Buffren's face for comment on, or explanation of, this stormy humour in her husband. But none was there. An anxious and a distressed observation of her own face was all she could read in it. When they were left alone together, which was not until noon, for Mr. Buffren sat long in his easy chair by turns jogging up and down the breakfast room, clenching his fist and muttering, Bella, in consternation, asked her what had happened, what was wrong. "I am forbidden to speak to you about it, Bella, dear. I mustn't tell you." It was all the answers she could get. And still, whenever, in her wonder and dismay, she raised her eyes to Mrs. Buffren's face, she saw in it the same anxious and distressed observation of her own. Oppressed by her sense that trouble was impending, and lost in speculations why Mrs. Buffren should look at her as if she had any part in it, Bella found the day long and dreary. It was far on, in the afternoon, when, she being in her own room, a servant brought her a message from Mr. Buffren begging her to come to his. Mrs. Buffren was there, seated on a sofa, and Mr. Buffren was jogging up and down. On seeing Bella he stopped, beckoned her to him, and do her arm through his. "Don't we alarm, my dear?" he said, gently. "I'm not angry with you." "Why, you actually tremble. Don't we alarm, Bella, my dear? I'll see you write it." "See me write it," thought Bella, and then repeated aloud in a tone of astonishment. "See me write it, sir?" "Aye, aye!" said Mr. Buffren. "See you write it." "Send Mr. Rokesmith here, you sir." Bella would have been lost in perplexity, if they had been poor as enough, but the servant found Mr. Rokesmith near at hand, and he almost immediately presented himself. "Shut the door, sir," said Mr. Buffren. "I've got something to say to you, which I fancy you'll not be pleased to hear." "I'm sorry to reply, Mr. Buffren," returned the secretary. As having closed the door he turned and faced him, that I think that very likely. "What do you mean?" blustered Mr. Buffren. "I mean that it has become no novelty to me to hear from your lips what I would rather not hear." "No, perhaps we shall change that," said Mr. Buffren, with a threatening role of his head. "I hope, sir," returned the secretary. He was quiet and respectful, but stood, as Bella thought, and was glad to think, on his manhood, too. "Naira, sir," said Mr. Buffren. "Look at this young lady on my arm." Bella, involuntarily raising her eyes, when this sudden reference was made to herself, met those of Mr. Rokesmith. He was pale and seemed agitated. Then her eyes passed on to Mrs. Buffrens, and she met the look again. In a flash it enlightened her, and she began to understand what she had done. "I say to you, sir," Mr. Buffren repeated, "look at this young lady on my arm." "I do so," returned the secretary. As his plans rested again on Bella for a moment, she thought there was reproach in it, but it is possible that the reproach was within herself. "How dare you, sir," said Mr. Buffren, "temper, and note to me with this young lady. How dare you come out of your station and your place in my house to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses?" "I must decline to answer questions," said the secretary, that are so offensively asked. "You decline to answer?" retorted Mr. Buffren. "You decline to answer, do you?" "Then I'll tell you what it is, Rokesmith. I'll answer for you." "There are two sides of this matter, and I'll take them separately." "The first side is sheer insolence. That's the first side." The secretary smiled with some bitterness, as though he would have said, "So I see and hear." "It was sheer insolence in you, I tell you," said Mr. Buffren. "He went to think of this young lady. This young lady was far above you." "This young lady was no match for you. This young lady was lying in white, as she was qualified to do for money, and you had no money." Bella hung her head and seemed to shrink a little from Mr. Buffren's protecting arm. "What are you?" "I should let her know," pursued Mr. Buffren, "that you were, to have the audacity to follow up this young lady. This young lady was looking about the market for a good bid. She wasn't in it, to be snapped up by fellows that had no money to lay out. Nothing to buy with." "Oh, Mr. Buffren. Mrs. Buffren, pray you say something for me?" murmured Bella, disengaging her arm and covering her face with her hands. "O, lady," said Mr. Buffren, anticipating his wrath, "you hold your tongue." "Bella, my dear, don't you let yourself be put out? I'll write you." "But you don't! You don't write me," exclaimed Bella, with great emphasis. "You wrong me! Wrong me! Don't you be put out, my dear?" complacently retorted Mr. Buffren, "I'll bring this young lady at the book." "Now, you, Rokesmith. You can't decline your ear. You know, as well as to answer. You hear me tell you that the first side of your conduct was insolence, insolence, and presumption. Answer me one thing if you can. Didn't this young lady tell you so herself?" "Did I, Mr. Rokesmith?" asked Bella with her face still covered. "Oh, say, Mr. Rokesmith! Did I?" "Don't be distressed, Miss Wilfer. It matters very little now." "Ah, you can't deny it, though," said Mr. Buffren, with a knowing shake of his head. "But I have asked him to forgive me since," cried Bella, "and I would ask him to forgive me now again upon my knees, if it would spare him." "Here, Mrs. Buffren broke out a crying." "How, lady?" said Mr. Buffren, "stop that noise." "Tender arted in you, Miss Bella, but I mean ovid out, right through, with this showing man. I've been got him into a corner." "Now, you, Rokesmith. I'll tell you, as one side of your conduct, insolence, and presumption. Now, I'm coming to the other, which is much worse." "This was a speculation of yours." "I indignantly deny it." "It is of no use your denying it. He doesn't signify a bit, whether you deny it or not. I've got a head upon my shoulders, and it ain't a baby's. What?" Said Mr. Buffren, gathering himself together in his most suspicious attitude, and wrinkling his face into a very map of curves and corners. "Don't I know? What grabs I made a man with money?" "If I didn't keep my eyes open and my pocket's buttoned, shouldn't I be brought to the workhouse before I knew where I was?" "Wasn't the experience of dancer, and elvies, and opkins, and blueberry Jones, and ever so many more of them similar to mine?" "Didn't everybody want to make grabs at what they got and bring up their property and ruin? Weren't they forced to hide everything belonging to him, for fear it should be snatched from him? Of course they was. How should we tell next, and they didn't know you, my nighter?" "They, poor creatures," murmured the secretary. "What do you say?" asked Mr. Buffren, snapping at him. "However, you needn't be at the trouble of repeating it, for it ain't worth earring, and won't go down with me. Are my gun run fold your plan before this young lady? Are my gunna show this young lady the second view of you, and nothing you can say will stave it off?" "Now, attendee a bellum, idea?" "Oh, Smith, you're a needy chap. You're a chap, that I pick up in the street. Are you, or ain't you?" "Go on, Mr. Buffren. Don't appeal to me." "Not appeal to you," retorted Mr. Buffren, as if he hadn't done so. "No, I should hope not. Appealing to you would be rather a rum course. As always sighing, you're a needy chap, that I pick up in the street. You come and ask me in the street to take you for a secretary, and I'll take you. Very good." "Very bad," murmured the secretary. "What, you say?" asked Mr. Buffren, snapping at him again. He returned no answer. Mr. Buffren, after eyeing him with a comical look of discomforted curiosity, was famed to begin afresh. "This rogue, Smith, is a needy young man, that I'll take for my secretary out of the open street. This rogue, Smith, gets acquainted with my affairs, and gets to know that I'll meet the settler some of money on this young lady." "Oh, ho!" says this rogue, Smith. Here, Mr. Buffren clapped a finger against his nose, and tapped at several times of the sneaking air, as embodying Rokesmith confidentially confabulating with his own nose. "This will be a good haul. I'll go in for this." "And so this rogue, Smith, greedy and angry, begins a creeping on his ends and these towards the money. It's not so bad a speculation, either. For, if this young lady had had less spirit, or had had less sense through being at all in the romantic line, by jord, he might have worked it out and made it pay. But, fortunately, she was too many for him. At her pretty figure he cuts now, he is exposed. There he stands," said Mr. Buffren, addressing Rokesmith himself with ridiculous inconsistency. "Look at him." "You are unfortunate suspicions, Mr. Buffren." began the secretary. "Pricious unfortunate for you are, and tell you," said Mr. Buffren. "Ah, not to be combated by anyone. And I address myself to no such hopeless task. But I will say a word upon the truth." "Yeah, much you care about a truth," said Mr. Buffren with a snap of his fingers. "Naughty, my dear love," expostulated his wife. "How, lady?" returned Mr. Buffren. "You keep still." I was saying to this Rokesmith here, "Muchy cares about the truth." "What'll I'm again?" "Muchy cares about the truth." "Ah, connection being at an end, Mr. Buffren," said the secretary. "It can be a very little moment to me, what you say." "Oh, you are now in enough," retorted Mr. Buffren with a sly look. "To have found out that our connection's an end, eh? But you can't get before end with me." "Look at this in my end. This is your pay, on your discharge. You can only follow suit. You can't deprive me of the lead. Let's have no pretending that you discharge yourself. I'll discharge you." "So that I go," remarked the secretary, waving the point aside with his hand. "It is all one to me." "Is it?" said Mr. Buffren. "But it's two to me, let me tell you." Allowing a fella that's found out, to discharge himself is one thing. Discharge him for incidents and presumption, and lightwars for designs upon his master's money is another. One in wands, too. Not one. Oh, lady, don't you cut in. You keep still." "Have you said all you wish to say to me?" demanded the secretary. "I don't know whether I have or not," answered Mr. Buffren. "It depends." "Perhaps you will consider whether there are any other strong expressions that you would like to bestow upon me." "I'll consider that," said Mr. Buffren, obstinately, "and my convenience, and not at yours. You want the last word? It may not be suitable to let you have it." "Naughty. My dear dear Naughty, you sound so hard," cried poor Mrs. Buffren, not to be quite repressed. "How, lady," said her husband, but without harshness, "if you cut in, went requested not. I'll get a pillow and carry you out of the room upon it." "What you want to say, you, Rokesmith?" "To you, Mr. Buffren, nothing. But to Miss Wilfer, and to your good kind wife, a word, out with it then," replied Mr. Buffren, "and cut it short, for we've had enough of you." "I have borne," said the secretary in a low voice, "with my false position here, that I might not be separated from Miss Wilfer. To be near her has been a recompense to me from day to day, even for the underserved treatment I have had here, and for the degraded aspect in which she has often seen me. Since Miss Wilfer rejected me, I have never again urged my suit to the best of my belief, for the spoken syllable or a look. But I have never changed in my devotion to her, except, if she will forgive my saying so, that it is deeper than it was, and better founded." "Now, mark this chap's saying, Miss Wilfer, when he means LSD," cried Mr. Buffren with a cunning wink, "now mark this chap's making Miss Wilfer stand for parenthood and pints." "My feeling for Miss Wilfer," pursued the secretary, without gaining to notice him, "is not one to be ashamed of. I avow it. I love her. Let me go where I may, when I presently leave this house, I shall go into a blank life, leaving her." "Leaving LSD behind me," said Mr. Buffren, by way of commentary with another wink, "that I am incapable," the secretary went on, still without heeding him, of a mercenary project, or a mercenary thought. In connection with Miss Wilfer is nothing meritorious in me, because any prize that I could put before my fancy would sink into insignificance beside her. If the greatest wealth or the highest rank were hers, it would only be important in my sight as removing her still farther from me, and making me more hopeless, if that could be. Say," remarked the secretary, looking full at his late master, say that with a word she could strip Mr. Buffren of his fortune, and take possession of it. She would be of no greater worth in my eyes than she is. "What, do you think, by this time our lady?" asked Mr. Buffren, turning to his wife, in a bantering tone, about this roguesmith here, and he's caring for the truth. "You needn't say what you think, my dear, because I don't want you to cut in, but you can think it, all the same. After taking possession of my property, I warn you, we wouldn't do with that himself, if he could." "No," returned the secretary with another full look. "Laugh, Mr. Buffren. There's nothing like a gooden while you are about it." "I have been, for a moment," said the secretary, turning from him, and falling into his former manner, and diverted from the little I have to say. "My interest in Miss Wilfer began when I first saw her. Even began when I had only heard of her. It was, in fact, the cause of my throwing myself in Mr. Buffren's way, and entering his service. Miss Wilfer has never known this until now. I mention it now only as a corroboration, though I hope it may be needless, of my being free from the sordid design attributed to me." "Now, this is a very awful dog," said Mr. Buffren, with a deep look. "This is a longer-headed screamer than I thought him. See how patiently, am methodically, he goes to work. He gets to know about me, and my property, and about this young lady, and her share in poor young John's story, and he puts this and act together, and he says to himself, "I'll get in with Buffren, and I'll get in with this young lady, and I'll work on both at the same time, and I'll bring my pigster market somewhere. Are you him, say it? Bless you. I'll look at him now, and I'll see him, say it." Mr. Buffren pointed at the culprit, as it were in the act, and hugged himself in his great penetration. "But, luckily, he hadn't to deal with the people he supposed, bell am I, dear," said Mr. Buffren. "Now, luckily, he had to deal with you, and with me, and with Daniel, and with me to answer, and with Elwhism, with Vulture Hopkins, and with Blueberry Jones, and all the rest of us, one down to have her come on, and he's beat. That's what he is. Regularly beat. He thought to squeeze money out of us, and he is done for himself instead. Bell am I, dear." Bell am I, dear, made no response, gave no sign of acquiescence. When she had first covered her face, she had sunk upon a chair with her hands resting on the back of it, and had never moved since. There was a short silence at this point, and Mrs. Buffren softly rose, as if to go to her. But Mr. Buffren stopped her with a gesture, and she obediently sat down again, and stayed where she was. "There's your pay, Mr. Wokesmith," said the Golden Dustman, jerking the folded scrap of paper he had in his hand towards his late secretary. "I dare say, you can stoop to pick it up, after what you have stooped to hear." "I have stooped to nothing but this," Rokesmith answered, as he took it from the ground. "And this is mine, for I have earned it by the hardest of hard labor." "You're a pretty quick packer, I hope," said Mr. Buffren, "because the sooner you are gone, bag and baggage, the better for all parties." "You need have no fear of my lingering." "There's just one thing, though," said Mr. Buffren, "that I should like to ask you, before we come to a good riddance. If it was only to show this young lady, how conceited you schemas are in thinking, that nobody finds out how you contradict yourselves." "Arts me anything you wish to ask," returned Rokesmith, "but use the expedition that you recommend." "You pretend to have a mighty admiration with this young lady," said Mr. Buffren, laying his hand protectingly on Bella's head without looking down at her. "I do not pretend." "Oh, well, you have a mighty admiration with this young lady, since you are so particular." "Yes." "How do you reconcile that? With this young lady's been a weak-spirited, improvident idiot, not knowing what was due to herself, flinging up her money to the church where the cooks, and racing off at the spitting-spice for the workhouse." "I don't understand you." "Don't you, or won't you? What else could you have made this young lady out of the bee, if she had listened to such addresses as yours?" "What else, if I had been so happy as to win her affections and possess her heart?" "We know it affections," retorted Mr. Buffren with an effable contempt, "and possessor art. Mu," says the cat, "quack, quack," says the duck, "bow well well," says the dog, "winner of fictions and possessor art. Mu, quack, quack, bow well." John Rooksmith stared at him, in his outburst, as if with some faint idea that he had gone mad. "What is due to this young lady?" said Mr. Buffren, "is money, and this young lady, right well knows it." "You slander, the young lady." "You slander, the young lady. You with your affections and hearts and trumpery," returned Mr. Buffren, "it of a piece, with the rest of your behaviour." "I heard of these doings of yours, only last night. Or you should have heard of them from me sooner, take your oath of it. I heard of them, from a lady, with as good ed piece as the best. And she knows this young lady, and I know this young lady, and we all three know that it's money she makes a stand for, money, money, money. Now you and your affections and hearts are a lie, sir." "Mrs. Buffren," said Rooksmith, quietly turning to her, "for your delicate and unvarying kindness. I thank you with the warmest gratitude. Goodbye." "Miss Wilfer, goodbye." "And now, my dear," said Mr. Buffren, laying his hand on Bella's head again, "you may begin to make yourself quite comfortable, and I help you feel that you've been righted." But Bella was so far from appearing to feel it, that she shrank from his hand and from the chair, and starting up in an incoherent passion of tears, and stretching out her arms, cried, "Oh, Mr. Fuchsmith, before you go, if you could, but make me poor again. Oh, make me poor again, somebody. I beg and pray, oh, my heart will break if this goes on. Pa, dear, make me poor again, and take me home. I was bad enough there, but I have been so much worse here. Don't give me money, Mr. Buffren. I won't have money. Keep it away from me, and only let me speak to good little pa. And lay my head upon his shoulder, and tell him all my griefs. Nobody else can understand me, nobody else can comfort me, nobody else knows how unworthy I am, and yet can love me like a little child. I am better with pa than anyone, more innocent, more sorry, more glad." So crying out in a wild way, that she could not bear this, Bella duked her head on Mrs. Buffren's ready breast. John Rokesmith, from his place in the room, and Mr. Buffren, from his, looked on at her in silence until she was silent herself. Then Mr. Buffren observed an soothing and comfortable tone, "There, my dear, there! You're right it now, and it's all right. I don't wonder, I'm sure you're being a little flarried by having a scene with this fellow, but it's all over, my dear, and you're right it, and it's, and it's all right." Which Mr. Buffren repeated with a highly satisfied air of completeness and finality. "I hate you," cried Bella, turning suddenly upon him with a stamp of her little foot, "at least, I can't hate you, but I don't like you." "Hirdo?" exclaimed Mr. Buffren in an amazed undertone. "You're resolving, unjust, abusive, aggravating, bad old creature," cried Bella. "I am angry with my ungrateful self for calling you names, but you are you, are you, know you are?" Mr. Buffren stared here, and stared there, as misdouting that he must be in some sort of fit. "I have hurt you with shame," said Bella, "with shame for myself and with shame for you. You ought to be above the base tail-bearing of a time-serving woman, but you are above nothing now." Mr. Buffren, seeming to become convinced that this was a fit, rolled his eyes and loosened his neckcloth. "When I came here, I respected you and honoured you, and I soon loved you," cried Bella, "and now I can't be the side of you. At least, I don't know that I ought to go so far as that, only you're a monster." Having shot this bow down for the great expenditure of force, Bella hysterically laughed and cried together. "The best wish I can wish you is," said Bella, returning to the charge, "that you had not one single farting in the world. If any true friend and well-wisher could make you a bankrupt, you would be a duck. But as a man of property, you are a demon." After dispatching the second bolt for the still greater expenditure of force, Bella laughed and cried still more. "Mr. Rook-Smith, please stay one moment. Pray here one word for me before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne in my account. Out of the depths of my heart, I earnestly and truly beg your pardon." As she stepped towards him, he met her. As she gave him her hand, he put it to his lips and said, "God bless you." No laughing was mixed with Bella's crying then. Her tears were pure and fervent. "There is not an ungenerous word that I have heard addressed to you. Heard with scorn and indignation, Mr. Rook-Smith. But it has wounded me far more than you, for I have deserved it, and you never have." "Mr. Rook-Smith, it is to me you owe this perverted account of what passed between us that night." I parted with the secret, even while I was angry with myself for doing so. It was very bad in me, but indeed it was not wicked. I did it in a moment of conceit and folly, one of my many such moments, one of my many such hours, years, as I am punished for it severely. Try to forgive it." "I do, with all my soul." "Thank you, oh thank you. Don't part from me till I have said one other word to do you justice." The only thought you can be truly charged with in having spoken to be as you did that night, with how much delicacy and how much forbearance no one but I can know or be grateful to you for, is that you laid yourself open to be slighted by a worldly shallow girl, whose head was turned, and who was quite unable to rise to the worth of what you offered her. Mr. Rook-Smith, that girl has often seen herself in a pitiful and poor light sense, but never in so pitiful and poor light as now, when the mean tone in which she answered you, sordid and vain girl that she was, has been echoed in her ears, by Mr. Boffin." He kissed her hand again. "Mr. Boffin's speeches, would he testable to me?" "Shocking to me," said Bella, startling that gentleman with another stamp of her little foot. "It is quite true, that there was a time, and very lately, when I deserved to be so righted, Mr. Rook-Smith. But I hope that I shall never deserve it again." He once more put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished it, and left the room. Bella was hurrying back to the chair, in which she had hidden her face so long, when catching sight of Mrs. Boffin, by the way, she stopped at her. "He is gone," said Bella, indignantly, despairingly, in fifty ways at once, with her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most shamefully abused, and most unjustly and most basly driven away, and I am the cause of it." All this time, Mr. Boffin had been rolling his eyes over his loosened neck-a-chief, as if his fit were still upon him. Appearing now to think that he was coming too, he stared straight before him for a while, tied his neck-a-chief again, took several long inspirations, swallowed several times, and ultimately exclaimed with a deep sigh, as if he felt himself on the whole better. "Well..." "No word, good or bad," did Mrs. Boffin say. But she tenderly took care of Bella, and glanced at her husband as if for orders. Mr. Boffin, without imparting any, took his seat on a chair over against them, and there sat leaning forward with a fixed countenance, his legs apart, a hand on each knee, and his elbows squared, until Bella should dry her eyes and raise her head, which in the fullness of time she did. "I must go home," said Bella, rising hurriedly, "I am very grateful to you, for all you have done for me, but I can't stay here." "My darling girl," remonstrated Mrs. Boffin, "no, I can't stay here," said Bella, "I can't indeed--" "Ah, you vicious old thing," said Mr. Boffin. "Don't be rash, my love," urged Mrs. Boffin, "think well of what you do." "Yes, you better think well," said Mr. Boffin. "I shall never more think well of you," cried Bella, cutting him short, with intense defiance in her expressive little eyebrows and championship of the late secretary in every dimple. "No, never again. Your money has changed due to marble. You are a hard-hearted miser. You're worse than dancer, worse than Hopkins, worse than Blackberry Jones, worse than any of the wretches, and more!" proceeded Bella, breaking into tears again. "You were wholly undeserving of the gentleman you have lost." "Why, you don't meet the same, Miss Bella," the golden dustman slowly remonstrated, "that you set up roadsmith against me." "I do," said Bella, "he's worth a million of you." "Very pretty," she looked, though very angry, as she made herself as tall as she possibly could, which was not extremely tall, and utterly renounced her patron with the lofty toss of her rich brown head. "I would rather. He thought well of me," said Bella, "though he swept the street for bread, and that you did, though you splashed the mud upon him from the wheels of a chariot of pure gold." "There!" "Well, I'm sure," cried Mr. Boffin, staring, "and, for a long time past, when you have thought you set yourself above him, I have only seen you under his feet," said Bella. "There, and throughout I saw him him the master, and I saw in you the man. There, and when you used him shamefully, I took his part and loved him. There, I boast of it." After which was strong a vowel, Bella underwent reaction, and cried to any extent, with her face on the back of her chair. "Now look here," said Mr. Boffin, as soon as he could find an opening for breaking the silence and striking in, "give me your attention, Bella. I'm not angry." "I am," said Bella. "Oh, I say," resumed the golden dustman, "I'm not angry, and I mean kindly to you, and I want to overlook this. So, you stay where you are, and we'll agree to say no more about it." "No, I can't stay here," cried Bella, rising hurriedly again. "I can't think of seeing here. I must go home for good." "Now, don't be silly," Mr. Boffin reasoned. "Don't do what you can't undo. Don't do what you'll shoot to be sorry for." "I shall never be sorry for it," said Bella, "and I should always be sorry, and should every minute of my life despise myself if I would have been here after what has happened." "At least, Bella," argued Mr. Boffin, "let there be no mistake about it. But before you leave, you know, stay where you are, and always well, and always as it was to be. Go away, and you will never come back." "I know that I can never come back, and that's what I mean," said Bella. "You mustn't expect," Mr. Boffin pursued, "that I'm going to settle money on you, if you leave us like this, because I'm not. Now, Bella, be careful, not one brass farting." "Expect," said Bella, hortly. "Do you think that any power on earth could make me take it if you did, sir?" But there was Mrs. Boffin, Departron, and in the full flush of her dignity, the impressable little soul collapsed again. Down upon her knees before that good woman, she rocked herself upon her breast, and cried, and sobbed, and folded her in her arms with all her might. "You're a dear, a dear, the best of dears," cried Bella. "You're the best of human creatures. I can never be thankful enough to you, and I can never forget you. If I should live to be blind and deaf, I know I shall see and hear you in my fancy, to the last of my dim old days." Mrs. Boffin weft most heartily, and embraced her with all fondness, but said not one single word, except that she was her dear girl. She said that often enough to be sure, for she set it over and over again, but not one word else. Bella broke from her at length and was going weeping out of the room, one in her own little queer affectionate way she half relented towards Mr. Boffin. "I'm very glad," sobbed Bella, "that I called you names, sir, because you richly deserved it. But I'm very sorry that I called you names because you used to be so different. Say goodbye." "Good-bye," said Mr. Boffin shortly. "If I knew which of your hands was the least spoiled, I would ask you to let me touch it," said Bella, "for the last time, but not because I repent of what I have said to you, but I don't. It's true." "To the left hand," said Mr. Boffin, holding it out in a stolid manner, "it's the least used." "You have been wonderfully good and kind to me," said Bella, "and I kissed it for that. You have been as bad as bad could be to Mr. Rooksmith, and I threw it away for that. Thank you for myself, and goodbye." "Good-bye," said Mr. Boffin as before. Bella caught him round the neck and kissed him, and ran out forever. She ran upstairs and sat down on the floor in her own room, and cried abundantly. But the day was declining, and she had no time to lose. She opened all the places where she kept her dresses, selected only those she had brought with her, leaving all the rest, and made a great misshapen bundle of them to be sent for afterwards. "I won't take one of the others," said Bella, tying the knots of the bundle very tight in the severity of her resolution. "I leave all the presents behind, and begin again entirely on my own account." That the resolution might be thoroughly carried into practice. She even changed the dress she wore, for that in which she had come to the grand mansion. Even the bonnet she put on was the bonnet that had mounted into the Boffin chariot at Holloway. "Now, I am complete," said Bella, "it's a little trying, but I have steeped my eyes in cold water, and I won't cry anymore. You have been a pleasant room to me, dear room, I do. We shall never see each other again." With a parting kiss of her fingers to it, she softly closed the door, and went with a light foot down the great staircase, pausing and listening as she went, that she might meet none of the household. No one chance to be about, and she got down to the hall in quiet. The door of the late secretary's room stood open. She peeped in as she passed, and divine from the emptiness of his table, and the general appearance of things, that he was already gone. Softly opening the great hall door, and softly closing it upon herself, she turned and kissed it on the outside, insensible old combination of wood and iron that it was, before she ran away from the house at a swift pace. "That was well done," panted Bella, slackening in the next treat, and subsiding into a walk. "If I had left myself any breath to cry with, I should have cried again. Now, poor dear darling little pa, you are going to see your lovely woman, and expectedly." In Book 3, Chapter 15 Chapter 16, The Feast of the Three Hobgoblins The city looked unpromising enough, as Bella made her way along its gritty streets. Most of its money mills were slackening sail, or had left off grinding for the day. The master millers had already departed, and the journeymen were departing. There was a jaded aspect on the business lanes and courts, and the very pavements had a weary appearance, confused by the tread of a million feet. There must be hours of night to temper down the day's distraction of so feverish a place, as yet the worry of the newly stopped whirling and grinding on the part of the money mills seemed to linger in the air, and the quiet was more like the frustration of a spent giant than the repose of one who was renewing his strength. If Bella thought, as she glanced at the mighty bank, how agreeable it would be to have an hour's gardening there with a bright copper shovel among the money, still she was not in an avaricious vein. Much improved in that respect, and with certain half-formed images which had a little gold in their composition dancing before her bright eyes, she arrived in the drug-flavored region of Minsing Lane, with the sensation of having just opened a drawer in a chemist's shop. The counting house of chicks even nearing and stobbles was pointed out by an elderly female accustomed to the care of officers, who dropped upon Bella out of a public house, wiping her mouth and accounted for its humidity on natural principles well known to the physical sciences by explaining that she had looked in at the door to see what o'clock it was. The counting house was a wall-eyed ground floor by a dark gateway, and Bella was considering, as she approached it, could there be any precedent in the city for her going in and asking for R. Wilfer, when whom should she see, sitting at one of the windows with the plate glass sash raised, but R. Wilfer himself, preparing to take a slight refection. On approaching nearer, Bella discerned that the refection had the appearance of a small cottage loaf and a penith of milk. Simultaneously, with the discovery on her part, her father discovered her, and invoked the echoes of Minsing Lane to explain, "My gracious me!" He then came chiribately, flying out without a hat, and embraced her, and handed her in. "For it's after hours and I am all alone, my dear," he explained, "and I'm having, as I sometimes do, and they are all gone, a quiet tea." Looking round the office, as if her father were a captive, and this his cell, Bella hugged him, and choked him to her heart's content. "I never were so surprised, my dear," said her father, "I couldn't believe my eyes. Upon my life, I thought they had taken to lying." "The idea of you all coming down the lane yourself. Why didn't you send the footman down the lane, my dear?" "I have brought no footman with me, Pa." "Oh, indeed. But you have brought the elegant turn out, my love?" "No, Pa." "You never can have walked, my dear." "Yes, I have, Pa." He looked so very much astonished that Bella could not make up her mind to break it to him just yet. "The consequences, Pa, that your lovely woman feels a little faint, and would very much like to share your tea." The cottage loaf, and a penith of milk, had been set forth on a sheet of paper on the window seat. The cherubic pocket-knife, with the first bit of the loaf still on its point, lay beside them where it had been hastily thrown down. Bella took the bit off and put it in her mouth. "My dear child," said her father, "the idea of your partaking of such lowly fare, but at least you must have your own loaf and your own penith. One moment, my dear, the dairy is just over the way and round the corner." Regardless of Bella's dissuasions, he ran out and quickly returned with the new supply. "My dear child," he said as he sped it on another piece of paper before her, "the idea of a splendid," and then looked at her figure and stopped short. "What's the matter, Pa?" "Of a splendid female," he resumed more slowly, putting up with such accommodation as the present, "is that a new dress you have on, my dear?" "No, Pa, an old one. Don't you remember it?" "Why, I thought I remembered it, my dear?" "You should, for you bought it, Pa." "Yes, I thought I bought it, my dear," said the cherub, giving himself a little shake, as if to rouse his faculties. "Then, have you grown so fickle that you don't like your own taste, Pa dear?" "Well, my love," he returned, swallowing a bit of the cottage loaf with considerable effort, for it seemed to stick by the way. "I should have thought it was hardly sufficiently splendid for existing circumstances." "And so, Pa," said Bella, moving coaxingly to his side instead of remaining opposite, "you sometimes have a quiet tear here all alone." "I'm not in the tease way if I draw my arm over your shoulder like this, Pa." "Yes, my dear, I don't know my dear. Yes, to the first question and certainly not to the second." "Respecting the quiet tear, my dear, why you see the occupations of the day are sometimes a little wearing, and if there's nothing interposed between the day and your mother, why, she, is sometimes a little wearing, too." "I know, Pa." "Yes, my dear, so sometimes I put a quiet tear at the window here with a little quiet contemplation of the lane, which comes soothing between the day and domestic bliss," suggested Bella sorrowfully, "and domestic bliss," said her father, quite contented to accept the phrase, Bella kissed him. "And it is in this dark, jingy place of captivity, poor dear, that you pass all the hours of your life when you are not at home." "Not at home? Or not on the road there or on the road here, my love? Yes, you see that little desk in the corner?" "In the dark corner, furthest both from the light and from the fireplace, the shabbiest desk of all the desks." "No, does it really strike you in that point of view, my dear?" said her father, surveying it artistically with his head on one side. "That's mine. That's called Rumpty's perch." "Whose perch?" asked Bella with great indignation. "Rumpty's. You see, being rather high and up two steps, they call it a perch, and they call me Rumpty." "How dare they?" exclaimed Bella. "They're playful, Bella, my dear, they playful. They're more or less younger than I am, and they're playful. What does it matter? It might be surly or sulky or fifty disagreeable things that I really shouldn't like to be considered. But Rumpty, law, why not Rumpty?" To inflict a heavy disappointment on this sweet nature, which had been through all her capriches, the object of her recognition, love, and admiration from infancy, Bella felt to be the hardest task of her hard day. "I should have done better," she thought, "to tell him at first. I should have done better to tell him just now, when he had some slight misgiving. He is quite happy again, and I shall make him wretched." He was falling back on his loaf and milk, with the pleasantest composure, and Bella stealing her arm a little closer about him, and at the same time sticking up his hair with an irresistible propensity to play with him, founded on the habit of her whole life, had prepared herself to say. "Pah, dear, don't be cast down, but I must tell you something disagreeable." When he interrupted her in an unlocked foremaner, "My gracious me," he exclaimed, invoking the mincing lane echoes as before, "this is very extraordinary." "What is Pah?" "Why, here's Mr. Rook Smith now." "No, no, Pah, no!" cried Bella, greatly floured, "Surely not." "Yes, there is. Look here." Sooth to say, Mr. Rook Smith not only passed the window, but came into the county house. And not only came into the county house, but finding himself alone there with Bella and her father, rushed at Bella, and caught her in his arms with the rapturous words, "My dear, dear girl, my gallant, generous, disinterested, courageous, and noble girl." And not only that, even, which one might have thought astonishment enough for one dose, but Bella, after hanging her head for a moment, lifted it up and laid it on his breast, as if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting place. "I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rook Smith. "My love, my life, you are mine." To which Bella responded, "Yes, I am yours, if you think me worth taking." And after that seemed to shrink to next to nothing in the class of his arms, partly because it was such a strong one on his part, and partly because there was such a yielding to it on hers. The cherub, whose hair would have done for itself under the influence of this amazing spectacle what Bella had just now done for it, staggered back into the window seat from which she had risen and surveyed the pair with his eyes dilated to their utmost. "But we must think of dear Pa," said Bella, "I haven't told dear Pa, let us speak to Pa," upon which they turned to do so. "I wish first my dear," remarked the cherub faintly, "that you'd have the kindness to sprinkle me with a little milk, for I feel as if I was going." In fact, the good little fellow had become alarmingly limp, and his senses seemed to be rapidly escaping from the knees upward. Bella sprinkled him with kisses instead of milk, but gave him a little of that article to drink, and he gradually revived under her caressing care. "We'll break it to you gently, dearest Pa," said Bella. "My dear," returned the cherub, looking at them both, "you broke so much in the first gosh, if I may so express myself that I think I am equal to a good large breakage now." "Mr. Wilfer," said John Brooksmith excitedly and joyfully, "Bella, it takes me, though I have no fortune, even no present occupation, nothing but what I can get in the life before us. Bella takes me." "Yes, I should rather have inferred, my dear sir," returned the cherub feebly, "that Bella took you from what I have within these two minutes," remarked. "You don't know, Pa," said Bella, "how ill I have used him." "You don't know, sir," said Brooksmith. "What a heart she has." "You don't know, Pa," said Bella. "What a shocking creature I was growing, when he saved me from myself." "You don't know, sir," said Brooksmith, "what a sacrifice she has made for me." "My dear Bella," replied the cherub, still pathetically scared, "and my dear John Brooksmith, if you will allow me so to call you." "Yes, do, Pa, do," urged Bella, "I allow you, and my will is his law, isn't it, dear John Brooksmith?" There was an engaging shyness in Bella, coupled with an engaging tenderness of love and confidence and pride, in thus first calling him by name, which made it quite excusable in John Brooksmith to do what he did. What he did was, once more, to give her the appearance of vanishing as a foreset. "I think, my dear," observed the cherub, "that if you could make it convenient to sit one on one side of me and the other on the other, we should get on rather more consecutively and make things rather plainer." John Brooksmith mentioned a while ago, that he had no present occupation. "None," said Brooksmith, "no Pa, none," said Bella, "from which I argue," preceded the cherub, "that he has left Mr. Boffin?" "Yes, Pa, and so stop a bit, my dear, I wish to lead up to it by degrees, and that Mr. Boffin has not treated him well." "Has treated him most shamefully, dear Pa," cried Bella, with a flashing face, "of which," pursued the cherub, "enjoining patients with this hand, a certain mercenary young person, distantly related to myself, could not approve. Am I leading up to it right?" "Could not approve, sweet Pa," said Bella, with a tearful laugh and a joyful kiss. "Upon which," pursued the cherub, "the certain mercenary young person, distantly related to myself, having previously observed and mentioned to myself, that prosperity was spoiling Mr. Boffin, felt that she must not sell her sense of what was right and what was wrong, and what was true and what was false and what was just and what was unjust, for any price that could be paid to her by anyone alive? Am I leading up to it right?" With another tearful laugh, Bella joyfully kissed him again. "And therefore, and therefore," the cherub went on in a glowing voice, as Bella's hand stole gradually up his waistcoat to his neck, "this mercenary young person, distantly related to myself, refused the price, took off the splendid fashions that were part of it, put on the comparatively poor address that I had last given her, and trusting to my supporting her in what was right came straight to me. Have I led up to it?" Bella's hand was round his neck by this time, and her face was on it. "The mercenary young person, distantly related to myself," said her good father, "did well. The mercenary young person, distantly related to myself, did not trust to be in vain. I admire this mercenary young person, distantly related to myself more in this dress than if she had come to me in China silks, cashmere shawls, angle-conder diamonds. I love this young person dearly. I say to the band of this young person's heart, out of my heart, and with all of it, my blessing on this engagement betwixt you, and she brings you a good fortune when she brings you the poverty she has accepted for your sake, and the honest truths. The stone little man's voice failed him, as he gave John Rokes with his hand, and he was silent, bending his face low over his daughter. But not for long. He soon looked up, saying in a sprightly tone, "And now, my dear child, if you think you can entertain John Rokes with for a minute and a half, I'll run over to the dairy and fetch him a cottage loaf and a drink of milk that we may all have tea together." It was, as Bella Galey said, like the supper provided for the three nursery hub goblins at their house in the forest, without their thunderous blow growlings of the alarming discovery, somebody's been drinking my milk. It was a delicious repast, by far the most delicious that Bella or John Rokesmith or even R. Wilfer had ever made. The uncongenial oddity of its surroundings, with the two brass knobs of the iron safe of chicks even earring and stobbles staring from a corner like the eyes of some dull dragon, only made it the more delightful. "To think," said the cherub, looking round the office with unspeakable enjoyment, "that anything of a tender nature should come off here is what tickles me. To think that ever I should have seen my Bella folded in the arms of her future husband here." It was not until the cottage loaves and the milk had for some time disappeared, and the foreshadowings of night were creeping over Mincing Lane, that the cherub, by degrees, became a little nervous, and said to Bella as he cleared his throat, "Have you thought at all about your mother, my dear?" "Yes, Pa." "And your sister, Lavi, for instance, my dear?" "Yes, Pa. I think we had better not enter into particulars at home. I think it will be quite enough to say that I had a difference for Mr. Buffon and have left for good." "John Rook's myth, being acquainted with your mar, my love," said her father, after some slight hesitation, "I need have no delicacy in hinting before him that you may perhaps find your mar a little wearing." "A little patient, Pa?" said Bella, for the tuneful laugh, the tunefuler for being so loving in its tone. "Well, we'll say strictly in confidence among ourselves wearing. We won't qualify it," the cherub stoutly admitted, "and your sister's temper is wearing." "I don't mind, Pa. And you must prepare yourself, you know, my precious?" said her father, with much gentleness, for our looking very poor and meager at home, and being at the best but very uncomfortable after Mr. Buffon's house. "I don't mind, Pa. I could bear much harder trials for John." The closing words were not so softly and blushingly sad, but that John heard them, and sure the dear heard them by again assisting Bella to another of those mysterious disappearances. "Well," said the cherub gaily, and not expressing disapproval, "when you when you come back from retirement, my love and reappear on the surface, I think it will be time to lock up and go." If the counting house of chicksy, veneering and stabbles had ever been shut up by three happier people glad as most people were to shut it up, they must have been superlatively happy indeed. But first, Bella mounted upon Rumpty's perch and said, "Show me what you do here all day long, dear Pa. Do right like this." Laying her round cheek upon her plump left arm and losing sight of her pen and waves of hair in a highly unbusiness-like manner, though John Rokesmith seemed to like it. So the three hobgoblins, having effaced all traces of their feast and swept up the crumbs, came out of mincing lane to walk to Holloway. And if two of the hobgoblins didn't wish the distance twice as long as it was, the third hobgoblin was much mistaken. Indeed, that modest spirit deemed himself so much in the way of their deep enjoyment of the journey that he apologetically remarked, "I think, my dears, I'll take the lead on the other side of the road and seem not to belong to you." Which he did, geographically stewing the path of smiles and the absence of flowers. It was almost ten o'clock when they stopped within view of Wilfer Castle, and then the spot being quiet and deserted, Bella began a series of disappearances which threatened to last all night. "I think, John," the cherub hinted at last, "that if you can spare me, the young person distantly related to myself, I'll take her in." "I can't spare her," answered John, "but I must lend her to you." "My darling," a word of magic which caused Bella instantly to disappear again. "Now, dear as Par," said Bella, when she became visible, "put your hand in mine and we'll run home as fast as ever we can run and get it over. Now Par, once, my dear," the cherub faltered, was something of a craven air, "I was going to observe that if your mother, you mustn't hang back, sir, to gain time," cried Bella, putting out her right foot. "Do you see that, sir? That's the mark. Come up to the mark, sir. Once, twice, three times, and away, Par." Off she skimmed, bearing the cherub along. Nor ever stopped, nor suffered him to stop, until she had pulled at the bell. "Now, dear Par," said Bella, taking him by both ears as if he were a pitcher, and conveying his face to her rosy lips, "we are in for it." Miss Lavi came out to open the gate, waited on by that attentive cavalier and friend of the family, Mr. George Sampson. "Wow, it's never Bella," exclaimed Miss Lavi, starting back at the sight, and then boiled, "Mama, here's Bella!" This produced before they could get into the house, Mrs. Wilfer, who, standing in the portal, received them with ghostly gloom, and all her other appliances of ceremony. "My child is welcome, though unlooked for," said she, at the time presenting her cheek, as if it were a cool slate of visitors to enroll themselves upon. "You two, R.W., are welcome, though late." "Does the male domestic of Mrs. Boffin hear me there?" This steep-toned inquiry was cast forth into the night for response from the menial in question. "There is no one waiting, my dear," said Bella. "There is no one waiting," repeated Mrs. Wilfer, in majestic accents. "No, my dear." A dignified shiver pervaded Mrs. Wilfer's shoulders and gloves, as who should say, an enigma. And then she marched at the head of the procession to the family keeping-room, where she observed. "Unless, R.W., who started on being solemnly turned upon, you have taken the precaution of making some addition to our frugal supper on your way home. It will prove but a distasteful one to Bella. Cold neck of mutton and a lettuce can ill compete with the luxuries of Mr. Boffin's board." "Prayed, don't talk like that, my dear," said Bella. "Mr. Boffin's board is nothing to me." "But here, Miss Levenia, who had been intently eyeing Bella's bonnet, struck in with." "Why, Bella?" "Yes, Lavi, I know." The irrepressible lowered her eyes to Bella's dress, and stooped to look at it, "Xtame me again." "Why, Bella?" "Yes, Lavi, I know what I have got on. I was going to tell Marr when you interrupted. I have left Mr. Boffin's house for Goodmar, and I have come home again." Mrs. Wilfer spake no word, but, having glared at her offspring for a minute or two in an awful silence, retired into her corner of state backward and sat down, like a frozen article on sale in a Russian market. "In short, dear Mar," said Bella, taking off the depreciated bonnet and shaking out her hair, "I have had a very serious difference of Mr. Boffin on the subject of his treatment of a member of his household, and it's a final difference, and there's an end of all." "And I am bound to tell you, my dear," added R.W., submissively, "that Bella has acted in a truly brave spirit and with a truly right feeling; and therefore, I hope, my dear, you not allow yourself to be greatly disappointed." "George," said Miss Lavi, in a suppultural warning voice, founded on her mother's, "George Sampson, speak, what did I tell you about those Boffins?" Mr. Sampson, perceiving his frail bark to be laboring among shoals and breakers, thought it safest not to refer back to any particular thing that he had been told; lest he should refer back to the wrong thing. With admirable seamanship, he got his bark into deepwater by murmuring. "Yes, indeed." "Yes, I tell George Sampson, as George Sampson tells you," said Miss Lavi, "and those hateful Boffins would pick a quarrel with Bella as soon as another did warn off. Have they done it, or have they not? Was I right, or was I wrong? And what do you say to ask Bella of your Boffins now?" "Lavi and Ma," said Bella, "I say of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin what I always have said, and I always shall say of them what I always have said; but nothing will induce me to quarrel with any one tonight. I hope you're not sorry to see me, my dear," kissing her, "and I hope you're not sorry to see me, Lavi," kissing her too, "and as I notice the lettuce ma mentioned on the table, I'll make the salad." Bella playfully setting herself about the task. Mrs. Wilver's impressive countenance followed her with glaring eyes, presenting a combination of the once-popular sign of the Saracens' head with a piece of Dutch clockwork, and suggesting, to an imaginative mind, that from the composition of the salad, her daughter might prudently omit the vinegar. But no word issued from the majestic matron's lips, and this was more terrific to her husband, as perhaps she knew, than any flow of eloquence with which she could have edified the company. "Now, my dear," said Bella in due course, "the salad's ready and it's past supper time." Mrs. Wilver rose, but remained speechless. "George!" said Miss Lavigne, and her voice of warning, "Ma's chair!" Mr. Samson flew to the excellent lady's back, and followed her up close chair in hand as she stalked to the banquet. Arrived at the table she took her rigid seat after favoring Mr. Samson with a glare for himself, which caused the young gentleman to retire to his place in much confusion. The chair of not presuming to address so tremendous an object transacted her supper through the agency of a third person as, "Mutton to your ma, Bella, my dear," and, "Lavy, I dare say your ma would take some lettuce, if you were to put it on her plate." Mrs. Wilver's manner of receiving those veans was marked by petrified absence of mind, in which state, likewise, she buttook of them, occasionally laying down her knife and fork, as saying within her own spirit, "What is this I am doing?" and glaring at one or other of the party as if in indignant search of information. A magnetic result of such glaring was, that the person glared at could not by any means successfully pretend to be ignorant of the fact, so that a bystander, without beholding Mrs. Wilver at all, must have known at whom she was glaring by seeing her refracted from the countenance of the be glared one. Miss Lavinia was extremely affable to Mr. Sampson on this special occasion, and took the opportunity of informing her sister why. "It was not worth troubling you about Bella when you were in a sphere so far removed from your family as to make it a matter in which you could be expected to take very little interest," said Lavinia, with a toss of her chin, "but George Sampson is paying his addresses to me." Bella was glad to hear it. Mr. Sampson became thoughtfully read, and felt called upon to encircle Miss Lavinia's waist with his arm. But, encountering a large pin in the young lady's belt, scarified a finger, uttered a sharp exclamation and attracted the lightning of Mrs. Wilver's glare. "George is getting on very well," said Miss Lavinia, which might not have been supposed at the moment. "And I do say we shall be married one of these days. I didn't care to mention it when you are with your buff." Here, Miss Lavinia checked herself in advance and added more placidly, "When you were with Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, but now I think it's sisterly to name the circumstance." "Thank you, Levy dear. I congratulate you." "Thank you, Bella. The truth is, George and I did discuss whether I should tell you, but I said to George that you wouldn't be much interested in so poetry and affair, and that it was far more likely you would rather detach yourself from us altogether and have him added to the rest of us." "That was a mistake, dear Levy," said Bella, "it turns out to be," replied Miss Lavinia, "but circumstances have changed, you know, my dear. George is in a new situation, and his prospects are very good indeed. I shouldn't have had the courage to tell you so yesterday, when you would have thought his prospects poor and not worth notice, but I feel quite bold tonight." "When did you begin to feel timid, Levy?" inquired Bella with a smile. "I didn't say that I ever felt timid, Bella," replied the irrepressible, "but perhaps I might have said if I had not been restrained by delicacy towards a sister's feelings, but I have for some time felt independent. Too independent, my dear, to subject myself to have my intended match. He'll prick yourself again, George. Looked down upon. It is not that I could have blamed you for looking down upon it when you were looking up to a rich and great match, Bella. It is only that I was independent." Whether the irrepressible felt slighted by Bella's declaration that she would not quarrel, or whether her spitefulness was evoked by Bella's return to the sphere of Mr. George Sampson's courtship, or whether it was a necessary Philip to her spirits that she should come into collision with somebody on the present occasion, anyhow she made a dash at her safely parent now with the greatest impetuosity. "Ma, pray don't sit staring at me in that intensely aggravating manner. If you see a black on my nose, tell me so, if you don't leave me alone." "Do you address me and those words?" said Mrs. Wilfer. "Do you presume?" "Don't talk about presuming, ma, for goodness' sake. A girl who is old enough to be engaged is quite old enough to object to be stared at as if she was a clock." "Odicious one!" said Mrs. Wilfer. "Your grandma, if so addressed by one of her daughters at any age, would have insisted on her retiring to a dark apartment." "My grandma," returned Lavi, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair, "wouldn't have set staring people out of countenance, I think." "She would," said Mrs. Wilfer. "Then it's a pity she didn't know better." Said Lavi. "And if my grandma wasn't in her doteage, when she took to insisted on people's retiring to dark apartments, she ought to have been. A pity exhibition my grandma must have made of herself. I wonder whether she ever insisted on people's retiring into the ball of St. Paul's, and if she did, how she got them there." "Silence!" proclaimed Mrs. Wilfer. "I command silence." "I have not the slightest intention of being silent, ma," returned Laviña Cooley, "but quite a country. I'm not going to be eyed as if I had come from the boffins and sit silent, 100. I'm not going to have George Simpson eyed as if he had come from the boffins and sit silent, 100. If part of things proper to be eyed as if he had come from the boffins also, well and good, I don't choose to, but I won't." Laviña's engineering, having made this crooked opening of Bella, Mrs. Wilfer stowed into it. "You rebellious girl, you mutinous child. Tell me this, Laviña. If in violation of your mother's sentiments you had condescended to allow yourself to be patronized by the boffins, and if you had come from those halls of slavery?" "That's mere nonsense, ma," said Laviña. "How?" exclaimed Mrs. Wilfer, with sublime severity. "Halls of slavery, ma! It's mere stuff in nonsense!" returned the unmoved, irrepressible. "I say, presumptuous child, if you had come from the neighbourhood of Portland Place, bending up to the yoke of patronage and attended by its domestic and glittering garb to visit me, do you think my deep-seated feelings could have been expressed in looks?" "All I think about it is," returned Laviña, "that I should wish them expressed to the right person. And if," pursued her mother, "if making light of my warnings that the face of Mrs. Boffin alone was a face teeming with evil, you had cloned to Mrs. Boffin instead of to me, and heard after all come home rejected by Mrs. Boffin, trampled underfoot by Mrs. Boffin, and cast out by Mrs. Boffin, do you think my feelings could have been expressed in looks?" Laviña was about replying to her honoured parents that she might as well have dispensed with her looks altogether then, when Bella rose and said, "Goodnight, dear ma! I have had a tiring day and I'll go to bed." This broke up the agreeable party. Mr. George Sampson shortly afterwards took his leave, accompanied by Miss Laviña with a candle as far as the hall, and without a candle as far as the garden-gate. Mrs. Wilfher, washing her hands of the Boffins, went to bed after the manner of Lady Macbeth, and R.W. was left alone among the dilapidations of the supper-table in a melancholy attitude. But a light footstep roused him from his meditations, and it was Bella's. Her pretty hair was hanging all about her, and she had tripped down softly, brush in hand, and barefoot to say goodnight to him. "My dear, you most unquestionably are a lovely woman," said the cherub, taking up a dress in his hand. "Look here, sir," said Bella, "when your lovely woman marries, you shall have that piece if you like, and you make you a chain of it. Would you prize that remembrance of the dear creature?" "Yes, my precious." "Then you shall have it if you're good, sir. I am very, very sorry, dearest par, to have brought home all this trouble." "My pet," returned her father, in the simplest good faith. "Don't make yourself fun easy about that. It really is not worth mentioning, because things at home would have taken pretty much the same turn anyway. If your mother and sister don't find one subject to get at times a little wearing on, they find another. Whenever out of a wearing subject, my dear, my assure you, I am afraid you find your old room with lavy, dreadfully inconvenient, Bella?" "No, I don't par. I don't mind. Why don't I mind, do you think par?" "Well, my child, you used to complain of it when it wasn't such a contrast as it must be now. Upon my word I can only answer, because you are so much improved." "No, par, because I am so thankful and so happy." Here she choked him until her long hair made him sneeze, and then she laughed until she made him laugh, and then she choked him again, that they might not be overheard. "Listen, sir," said Bella, "your lovely woman was told her fortune tonight on her way home. It won't be a large fortune, because if the lovely woman's intended gets a certain appointment that he hopes to get soon, she will marry on 150 pounds a year. But that's at first, and even if it should never be more, the lovely woman will make it quite enough. But that's not all, sir. In the fortune is a certain fair man. A little man, the fortune teller said, who it seems, will always find himself near the lovely woman, and will always have kept expressly for him such a peaceful corner in the lovely woman's little house as never was. Tell me the name of that man, sir." "Is he a nave in the pack of cards?" inquired the cherub, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Yes!" cried Bella, in high glee, choking him again. "He's the nave of wolfers, dear par. The lovely woman means to look forward to this fortune that has been told for her so delightfully, and to cause it to make her a much better, lovely woman than she ever has been yet. What the little fair man is expected to do, sir, is to look forward to it also by saying to himself, when he is in danger of being overwarried, "I see land at last." "I see land at last," repeated her father. "There's a dear nave of wolfers," exclaimed Bella, then putting out a small wide barefoot. "That's the mark, sir. Come to the mark. Put your boot against it. We keep to it together, mind. Now, sir, you may kiss the lovely woman before she runs away, so thankful and so happy. Oh, yes, fair little man, so thankful and so happy." End of Book Three, Chapter 16 Chapter 17, A Social Chorus Amazement sits enthroned upon the countenances of Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lamour's Circle of Aquaintance, when the disposal of their first-class furniture and effects, including a billiard table in capital letters by auction under a bill of sale, is publicly announced on a waving hearth rug in Sackville Street. But nobody is half so much amazed at Hamilton veneering Esquire MP for pocket-britches, who instantly begins to find out that Lamour's are the only people ever entered on his soul's register who are not the oldest and dearest friends he has in the world. Mrs. Veneering WMP for pocket-britches, like a faithful wife, shares her husband's discovery and inexpressible astonishment. Perhaps the veneering's twain may deem the last unutterable feeling particularly due to their reputation, by reason that once upon a time some of the longer heads in the city are whispered to have shaken themselves, when veneering's extensive dealings and great wealth were mentioned. But it is certain that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Veneering can find words to wonder in, and it becomes necessary that they give to the oldest and dearest friends they have in the world a wandering dinner. For it is by this time noticeable that, whatever befores, the veneering's must give a dinner upon it. Lady Tippens lives in a chronic state of invitation to dine with the veneering's, and in a chronic state of inflammation arising from the dinners. Boots and Brewer go about in cabs, with no other intelligible business on earth, than to beat up people to come and dine with the veneering's. Veneering pervades the legislative lobbies intend upon entrapping his fellow legislators to dinner. Mrs. Veneering dine with five and twenty brand new faces overnight, calls upon them all today, sends them every one a dinner card tomorrow, for the week after next. Before that dinner is digested, calls upon their brothers and sisters, their sons and daughters, their nephews and nieces, their aunts and uncles and cousins, and invites them all to dinner. And still, as at first, how so ever the dining circle widens, it is to be observed that all the diners are consistent in appearing to go to the veneering's, not to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Veneering, which would seem to be the last thing in their minds, but to dine with one another. Perhaps, after all, who knows? Veneering may find this dining, though expensive, remunerative in the sense that it makes champions. Mr. Podsnap, as a representative man, is not alone in caring very particularly for his own dignity, if not for that of his acquaintances, and therefore in angrily supporting the acquaintances who have taken out his permit, lest in their being lessened he should be. Gold and silver camels and the ice pails and the rest of the veneering table decorations make a brilliant show. And when I, Podsnap, casually remark elsewhere that I dined last Monday with a gorgeous caravan of camels, I find it personally offensive to have it hinted to me that they are broken need camels, or camels laboring under the suspicion of any sort. I don't display camels myself, I'm above them, I'm a more solid man, but these camels are vast to the light of my countenance, and how dare you, sir, insinuate to me that I have irradiated any but unimpeachable camels. The camels are polishing up in the analytical's pantry for the dinner of wonderment, on the occasion of the lamels going to pieces. And Mr. Twamlow feels a little queer on the sofa at his lodgings over the stable yard in Duke Street, St. James's, in consequence of having taken two advertised pills at about midday, on the faith of the printed representation accompanying the box, price one and a penny hate me, government stamp included, at the same will be found highly salutary as a precautionary measure in connection with the pleasures of the table, to whom, while sickly with the fancy of an insoluble pill sticking in his gullet, and also with the sensation of a deposit of warm gum languidly wandering within him a little lower down, a servant enters with the announcement that a lady wishes to speak with him. "A lady?" says Twamlow, pluming his ruffled fellas, "Ask the favour of the lady's name!" The lady's name is Lamel. The lady will not detain Mr. Twamlow longer than a very few minutes. The lady is sure that Mr. Twamlow will do her the kindness to see her, on being told that she particularly desires a short interview. The lady has no doubt whatever of Mr. Twamlow's compliance when he hears her name, has begged the servant to be particular not to mistake her name, would have sent in a card, but has none. "Show the lady in!" Lady Shonin comes in. Mr. Twamlow's little rooms are modestly furnished in an old-fashioned manner, rather like the housekeeper's room at Stigsworthy Park, and would be bare of mere ornament, were it not for a full-length engraving of the sublime Stigsworth over the chimney-piece, snorting at a Corinthian column with an enormous roll of paper at his feet, and a heavy curtain going to tumble down on his head. Those accessories being understood to represent the noble lord are somehow in the act of saving his country. "Pray her take a seat, Mrs. Lamel." Mrs. Lamel takes a seat and opens the conversation. "I have no doubt, Mr. Twamlow, that you have heard of a reverse of fortune, having before on us. Of course you have heard of it. I know kind of news travel so fast among one's friends, especially." Mindful of the wandering dinner, Twamlow, with a little twinge, admits the imputation. "Probably, it will not," says Mrs. Lamel, with a certain hardened manner upon her, that makes Twamlow shrink. "Have surprised you so much as some others, after what passed between us at the house, which is now turned out at windows. I have taken the liberty of calling upon you, Mr. Twamlow, to add a sort of post-script to what I said that day. Mr. Twamlow's dry and hollow cheeks become more dry and hollow at the prospect of some new complication." "Really?" says the uneasy little gentleman. "Really, Mrs. Lamel, I should take it as a favor if you could excuse me from any further confidence. It has ever been one of the objects of my life, which unfortunately has not had many objects, to be inoffensive, and to keep out of cabals and interferences." Mrs. Lamel, by far the more observant of the two, scarcely finds it necessary to look at Twamlow while he speaks, so easily does she read him. "My first script, to retain the term I have used," says Mrs. Lamel, fixing her eyes on his face to enforce what she says herself. "Cone sighs exactly with what you say, Mr. Twamlow. So far from troubling you with any new confidence, I merely wish to remind you of the old one was. So far from asking you for interference, I merely wish to claim your strict neutrality." Twamlow, going on to reply, she rests her eyes again, knowing her ears to be quite enough for the contents of so weak a vessel. "I can, I suppose," says Twamlow nervously, "or for no reasonable objection, to hearing anything that you do me the honor to wish to say to me under those heads. But if I may, with all possible delicacy and politeness, entry do not to range beyond them, I beg to do so." "Sir," says Mrs. Lamel, raising her eyes to his face again, and quite daunting it with her hardened manner, "I am parted to you, a certain piece of knowledge, to be imparted again as you thought best, to a certain person." "Which I did," says Twamlow, "and for doing which I thank you, though indeed I scarcely know why I turned traitorous to my husband in the matter, for the girl is a poor little fool. I was a poor little fool once myself, I can find no better reason." Seeing the effect she produces on him by her indifferent laugh and cold look, she keeps her eyes upon him as she proceeds. "Mr. Twamlow, a future chance to see my husband, or to see me, or to see both of us, in the favour or confidence of anyone else, whether of our common acquaintance or not, is of no consequence, you have no right to use against us the knowledge I entrusted you with, for one special purpose, which has been accomplished. This is what I came to say. It is not a stipulation. To a gentleman it is a simply a reminder." Twamlow sits murmuring to himself with his hand to his forehead. "It is so plain a case," Mrs. Lamel goes on, "as between me, from the first relying on your honour, and you, that I will not waste another word upon it." She looks steadily at Mr. Twamlow, until, with a shrug, he makes her little one-sided bow, as though saying, "Yes, I think you have a right to rely upon me," and then she moistens her lips, and shows a sense of relief. "I trust I have kept the promise I made through your servant, that I would detain you a very few minutes. I need trouble you no longer, Mr. Twamlow." "Stay!" says Twamlow, rising as she rises, "aparten me a moment. I should never have sought you out, madam, to say what I am going to say, but since you have sought me out and I hear, I will throw it off my mind." "Was it quite consistent in candor, with art taking that resolution against Mr. Fletchby, that you should afterwards address Mr. Fletchby as your dear and confidential friend, and entreat a favour of Mr. Fletchby? Always supposing that you did? I've said no knowledge of my own on this subject. It has been represented to me that you did." "Then he told you," retorts Mrs. Lammel, who again has saved her eyes while listening, and uses them with strong effect while speaking. "Yes, it is strange that he should have told you the truth," says Mrs. Lammel, seriously pondering. "A prey? Where did a circumstance so very extraordinary happen?" Twamlow hesitates. He is shorter than the lady, as well as weaker, and as she stands above him with her hardened manner and her well-used eyes, he finds himself at such a disadvantage that he would like to be of the opposite sex. "May I ask where it happened, Mr. Twamlow, in strict confidence?" "I must confess," says the mild little gentleman, coming to his answer by degrees, "that I have felt some compunction when Mr. Fletchby mentioned it. I must admit that I could not regard myself in an agreeable light, more particularly as Mr. Fletchby did with great civility, which I could not feel that I deserved from him, render me the same service that you had, and treated him to render you." "It is a part of the true nobility of the poor gentleman's soul to say this last sentence. Otherwise," he has reflected, "I shall assume the superior position of having no difficulties of my own while I know of hers, which would be mean—very mean." "Was Mr. Fletchby's advocacy as a factual, in your case, as in ours," Mrs. Lamour demands, "as an effectual? Can you make up your mind to tell me where you saw Mr. Fletchby, Mr. Twamlow?" "I beg your pardon, I fully intended to have done so. The reservation was not intentional. I encountered Mr. Fletchby quite by accident on the spot. By the expression on the spot, I mean at Mr. Ryer's in St. Mary Axe. Have you the misfortune to be in Mr. Ryer's hands, then?" "Unfortunately, Madam," returns Twamlow, "the one money obligation to which I stand committed, the one debt of my life, but it is a just debt. Pray observe that I don't dispute it, has fallen into Mr. Ryer's hands." "Mr. Twamlow," says Mrs. Lamour, fixing his eyes with hers, which he would prevent her doing if he could, but he can't. "It has fallen into Mr. Fletchby's hands. Mr. Ryer is his mask. It has fallen into Mr. Fletchby's hands. Let me tell you that, for your guidance. The information may be of use to you, if only to prevent your credulity in judging another man's toothfulness by your own from being imposed upon." "Impossible!" cries Twamlow, standing aghast. "How do you know it?" "I scarcely know how I know it. The whole train of circumstances seem to take fire at once, and show it to me." "Oh, then you have no proof." "It is very strange," says Mrs. Lamour, coldly and boldly, and with some disdain, "how like men are to one another in some things, though their characters are as different as can be. No two men can have less affinity between them, one would say, and Mr. Twamlow and my husband. Yet my husband replies to me, "You have no proof," and Mr. Twamlow replies to me with the very same words. "But why, madam?" Twamlow ventures gently to argue, "Consider why the very same words, because they state the fact, because you have no proof?" "Men are very wise in their way," quote Mrs. Lamour, dancing hortly at the Snigsworth portrait and shaking out a dress before departing, "but they have wisdom to learn. My husband, who is not over confiding, in genius, or inexperienced, sees this plain thing no more than Mr. Twamlow does, because there is no proof. Yet I believe five women out of six in my place would see it as clearly as I do. However, I will never rest, if only in remembrance of Mr. Fledgeby's having kissed my hand, until my husband does see it. And you will do well for yourself to see it from this time forth, Mr. Twamlow, though I can give you no proof." As she moves towards the door, Mr. Twamlow, attending on her, expresses his soothing hope that the condition of Mr. Lamour's affairs is not irretrievable. "I don't know," Mrs. Lamour answers, stopping and sketching out the pattern of the paper on the wall with the point of her parasol. "It depends. There may be an opening for him dawning now, or there may be none. We shall soon find out, if none, we are bankrupt here, and must go abroad, I suppose." Mr. Twamlow, in his good-natured desire to make the best of it, remarks that there are pleasant lives abroad. "Yes," returns Mrs. Lamour, still sketching on the wall, but I doubt whether a billiard playing, card playing and so forth, for the means to live under suspicion at a dirty table-dote is one of them. "It is much for Mr. Lamour," Twamlow politely intubates, though greatly shocked, "to have one always beside him who is attached to him in all his fortunes, and whose restraining influence will prevent him from courses that will be discreditable and ruinous." As he says it, Mrs. Lamour leaves off sketching and looks at him. "Restraining influence, Mr. Twamlow. We must eat and drink and dress and have a roof over our heads. Always beside him and attached in all his fortunes? Not much to boast of in that. What kind of woman at my age do? My husband and I deceived one another when we were married. We must bear the consequences of the deception, and that is to say, bear one another, and bear the burden of scheming together for today's dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast, till death divorces us." With those words, she walks out into Duke Street, St. James's. Mr. Twamlow, returning to his sofa, lays down his aching head on its slippery little horsehair bolster, for the strong internal conviction that a painful interview is not the kind of thing to be taken after the dinner pills, which are so highly salutary in connection with the pleasures of the table. But six o'clock in the evening finds the worthy little gentleman getting better, and also getting himself into his obsolete little silk stockings and pumps for the wandering dinner at the veneerings. And seven o'clock in the evening finds him trotting out into Duke Street to trot to the corner and save a sixpence in coach-hire. Tippens the divine has dined herself into such a condition by this time that a morbid mind might desire her for a blessed change to supper at last and turn into bed. Such a mind has Mr. Eugene Rayburn, whom Twamlow finds contemplating Tippens with the moodiest of visitors, while that playful creature rallies him on being so long overdue at the Wool sack. Skittish is Tippens with Mortimer Lightwood too, and has raps to give him with her fan for having been best man at the nuptures of these deceiving what's-the-names who have gone to pieces. Though indeed the fan is generally lively and taps away at the man in all directions with something of a grisly sound suggestive of the clattering of Lady Tippens' bones. A new race of intimate friends has sprung up at veneerings since he went into Parliament of the public good to whom Mrs. Veneering is very attentive. These friends, like astronomical distances, are only to be spoken of in the very largest figures. Butte says that one of them is a contractor who, it has been calculated, gives employment directly and indirectly to 500,000 men. Brewer says that another of them is a chairman, in such a request at so many boards, so far apart, that he never travels less by railway than three thousand miles a week. Buffer says that another of them hadn't a sixpence eighteen months ago, and through the brilliancy of his genius in getting those shares issued at eighty-five and buying them all up with no money and selling them at par for cash has now 375,000 pounds. Buffer particularly insisting on the odd seventy-five and declining to take a farthing less. With buffer, boots and brewer, Lady Tippens is eminently facetious on the subject of these fathers of the script-church, surveying them through her eyeglass and inquiring by the boots and brewer and buffer think they will make her fortune if she makes love to them, with other pleasantries of that nature. Veneering in a different way is much occupied with the fathers too, piously retiring with them into the conservatory, from which retreat the word "Committee" is occasionally heard, and where the fathers instruct for nearing how he must leave the value of the piano on his left, take the level of the mantapes, cross by an open cutting of the candelabra, seize the carrying traffic of the console, and cut up the opposition route and branch at the window curtains. Mr. and Mrs. Podsnap are of the company, and the fathers describe in Mrs. Podsnap a fine woman. She is consigned to a father, but his father, who employs five hundred thousand men and is brought to anchor under nearing's left, thus affording opportunity to the sport of Tippens on his right, he as usual being mere vacant space, to entreat to be told something about those loves of navies and whether they really do live on raw beef-stakes and drink porter out of their barrows. But in spite of such little skirmishes, it has felt that this was to be a wandering dinner, and that the wandering must not be neglected. Accordingly, Brewer, as the man who has the greatest reputation to sustain, becomes the interpreter of the general instinct. "I took," said Brewer in a favourable pause, "a cab this morning, and I rattled off to that sale." Boots, devoured by envy, says, "So did I." Buffer says, "Some did I, but can find nobody to care whether he did or not. And what was it like?" inquires veneering. "I assure you," replies Brewer, looking about for anybody else to address his answer to, and giving the preference to Lightwood, "I assure you the things were going for a song, handsome things enough, but fetching nothing." "So I heard this afternoon," says Lightwood. Brewer begs to know now, would it be fair to ask a professional man how on earth these people ever did come to such a total smash, Brewer's division's being for emphasis. Lightwood replies that he was consulted, certainly, but could give no opinion, which would pay off the bill of sale, and therefore violate no confidence in supposing that it came of their living beyond their means. "But how?" says veneering. "Can people do that?" "Ha!" That is felt on all hands to be a shot in the bull's eye. "How can people do that?" The analytical chemist going round with champagne looks very much as if he could give them a pretty good idea how people did that if he had a mind. "How?" says Mrs. Veneering, laying down her fork to press her aquiline hands together at the tips of the fingers, and addressing the father who travels the three thousand miles per week. "How a mother can look at her baby and know that she lives beyond her husband's means, I cannot imagine." Eugene suggests that Mrs. Lamel, not being a mother, had no baby to look at. "A true!" says Mrs. Veneering, "but the principle is the same." But it is clear that the principle is the same, so is buffer. It is the unfortunate destiny of buffer to damage a cause by espousing it. The rest of the company have meekly yielded to the proposition that the principle is the same until buffer says it, when instantly a general murmur rises at the principle is not the same. "But I don't understand," says the father of the three hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds. "If these people spoke of occupied the position of being in society, they were in society?" Veneering is bound to confess that they dined here and were even married from here. "Then I don't understand," pursues the father, "how even living beyond their means could bring them to what has been termed a 'total smash,' because there is always such a thing as an adjustment of affairs in the case of people of any standing at all." Eugene, who would seem to be in a gloomy state of suggestiveness, suggests, "And suppose you have no means, and they're beyond him." This is too insolvent a state of things for the father to entertain. It is too insolvent a state of things for anyone with any self-respect to entertain and is universally scouted. But it is so amazing how any people can have come to a total smash that everybody feels bound to account for it, especially. One of the father says, "Gaming table." Another of the father says, "Speculated without knowing that speculation is a science." But says, "Horses." "Lady Tippins," says to her fan, "a two-step lushman's." Mr. Potsnap, saying nothing, is referred to for his opinion, which he delivers as follows, much flushed and extremely angry. "Don't ask me. I desire to take no part in the discussion of these peoples of hairs. I abhor the subject. It is an odious subject, an offensive subject, a subject that makes me sick and I." And with his favourite right arm flourish, which sweeps away everything and settles it forever, Mr. Potsnap sweeps these inconveniently unexplainable wretches who have lived beyond their means and gone to total smash off the face of the universe. Eugene, leaning back in his chair, is observing Mr. Potsnap with an irreverent face, and may be about to offer a new suggestion when the analytical is beheld in collision with the Coachman. The Coachman manifesting a purpose of coming at the company with a silver solver, as though intent upon making a collection for his wife and family, the analytical cutting him off at the sideboard. The superior stateliness, if not the superior generalship, of the analytical prevails over a man who is as nothing off the box, and the Coachman yielding up his solver retires defeated. Then the analytical, perusing a scrap of paper lying on the solver, with the air of a literary censor, adjusts it, takes his time about going to the table with it, and presents it to Mr. Eugene Rayburn, whereupon the pleasant tippance says aloud, "The Lord, Chancellor, has resigned!" With distracting coolness and slowness, for he knows the curiosity of the charmer to be always devouring, Eugene makes a pretense of getting out an eyeglass, polishing it, and reading the paper with difficulty, long after he has seen what is written on it, what is written on it, in wet ink is young blight. Waiting, says Eugene over his shoulder in confidence of the analytical, waiting, returns the analytical in responsive confidence. Eugene looks, excuse me, towards Mrs. Veneering, goes out, and finds young blight, mortimer's clerk, at the hall door. "Etame it bring him, sir, to wherever he was, if he come while he was out, and I was in," says that, discreet young gentleman, standing on tiptoe to whisper, "and I brought him." "Sharp, boy, where is he?" asks Eugene. "He's in a cab, sir, at the door. I thought it best not to show him, if he, if it could be helped, for he's a-shaking all over, like," blights simile is perhaps inspired by the surrounding dishes of sweets, like glumonge. "Sharp, boy, again," returns Eugene. "I'll go to him." Goes out straightway, and leisurely leaning his arms on the open window of a cab in waiting, looks in at Mr. Dawes, who has brought his own atmosphere with him, and would seem from its odour to have brought it for convenience of carriage in a rum cask. "Now, Dawes, wake up." "Meast, ribling, detection, fifteen chillings." After carefully reading the dingy scrap of paper handed to him, and as carefully tucking it into his waistcoat pocket, Eugene tells out the money, beginning in cautiously by telling the first chilling into Mr. Dawes' hand, which instantly jerks it out of window, and ending by telling the fifteen chillings on the seat, and give him a ride back to chairing cross, sharp boy, and there get rid of him. Returning to the dining-room, and pausing for an instant behind the screen at the door, Eugene overhears above the hum and clatter the fair-tippens say, "I am dying to ask him what he was called out for!" "Are you?" mutters Eugene, "Then perhaps if you can't ask him, you'll die, so I'll be a benefactor to society and go. A stroll and a cigar, and I can think this over." "Think this over." Thus, with a thoughtful face, he finds his hat and cloak, unseen of the analytical, and goes his way. End of book three, chapter seventeen. Chapter one, setting traps. Flashwater, wear, mill-lock, looked tranquil and pretty on an evening in the summertime. A soft air stirred the leaves of the fresh green trees, and passed like a smooth shadow over the river, and like a smoother shadow over the yielding grass. The voice of the falling water, like the voices of the sea and the wind, were as an outer memory to a contemplative listener, but not particularly so to Mr. Ryderhood, who sat on one of the blunt wooden levers of his lock gates dozing. Wine must be got into a butt by some agency before it can be drawn out, and the wine of sentiment never having gotten to Mr. Ryderhood by any agency, nothing in nature tapped him. As the rogue sat, ever and again nodding himself off his balance, his recovery was always attended by an angry stare and growl, as if, in the absence of anyone else, he had aggressive inclinations towards himself. In one of these starts, the cry of "lock ho, lock," prevented his relapse into a doze. Shaking himself as he got up like the surly brute he was, he gave his growl a responsive twist at the end, and turned his face downstream to see who hailed. It was an amateur sculler, well up to his work though taking it easily, in so light a boat that rogue remarked, "A little less on you, and you don't, most have been a wager butt." Then went to work at his windless handles and sluices to let the sculler in. As the latter stood in his boat, holding on by the boat hook to the woodwork of the lock side, waiting for the gates to open, Rogue Ryderhood recognized his Tather Governor, Mr. Eugene Rayburn, who was, however, too indifferent or too much engaged to recognize him. The creaking lock gates opened slowly, and the light boat passed in as soon as there was room enough, and the creaking lock gates closed upon it, and it floated low down in the dock between the two sets of gates, until the water should rise, and the second gate should open and let it out. When Ryderhood had run to his second windless and turned it, and while he leaned against the lever of that gate to help it to swing open presently, he noticed, lying to rest under the green hedge by the towing path astern of the lock, a bargeman. The water rose and rose, as the sluice poured in, dispersing the scum which had formed behind the lumbering gates, and sending the boat up, so that the sculler gradually rose like an apparition against the light from the bargeman's point of view. Ryderhood observed that the bargeman rose too, leaning on his arm, and seemed to have his eyes fastened on the rising figure. But there was the toll to be taken, as the gates were now complaining and opening. The Tother Governor tossed it ashore, twisted in a piece of paper, and as he did so, knew his man. "Aye, aye, it's you, is it, honest friend?" said Eugene, sitting himself for parity to resuming his skulls. "You got the place, then." "Aye, got the place, and now thanks are you, for it, nor yet not the lawyer like would," graphly answered Ryderhood. "We saved our recommendation, honest fellow," said Eugene, "for the next candidate, the one who will offer himself when you are transported or hanged. Don't be long about it, will you be so good?" So imperturbable was the air with which he gravely bent to his work, that Ryderhood remained staring at him without having found a retort, until he had rode past a line of wooden objects by the weir which showed, like huge tea totems, standing at rest in the water, and was almost hidden by the drooping boughs on the left bank as he rode away, keeping out of the opposing current. It being then too late to retort of any effect, if that could ever have been done, the honest man can find himself to cursing and growling in a grim undertone. Having then got his gate shut, he crossed back by his plank lockbridge to the towing path side of the river. If, in so doing, he took another glance at the bargeman, he did it by stealth. He cast himself on the grass by the lock-side in an indolent way, with his back in that direction, and having gathered a few blades, fell to chewing them. The dip of Eugene Rayburn's skulls had become hardly audible in his ears when the bargeman passed him, putting the utmost width that he could between them, and keeping under the hedge. Then Ryderhood sat up, and took a long look at his figure, and then cried, "Hi! Lock, ho! Lock! Pash what a weir mill, lock!" The bargeman stopped, and looked back. "Plash water, weir mill, lock! Tatherist, governor!" cried Mr. Ryderhood, with his hands to his mouth. The bargeman turned back. Approaching nearer and nearer, the bargeman became Bradley Headstone, in rough, water-side, second-hand clothing. "Wish I may die!" said Ryderhood, smiting his right leg, and laughing, as he sat on the grass. "If you ain't a bean-aim, it ain't me! Tatherist, governor! Never thought myself so good look in a fall!" Truly, Bradley Headstone had taken careful note of the honest man's dress, in the course of that night walk they had had together. He must have committed it to memory, and slowly got it by heart. It was exactly reproduced in the dress in our war; and whereas, in his own schoolmaster clothes, he usually looked as if they were the clothes of some other man, he now looked in the clothes of some other man, or men, as if they were his own. "This your lock!" said Bradley, whose surprise had a genuine air. They told me where I last inquired it was the third I should come to. "This is only the second." "It's my belief, governor!" returned Ryderhood, with a wink and shake of his head, that you've dropped one in your county. "It ain't locks, as you've been giving your mind to! Oh, no!" As he expressively jerked his pointing finger in the direction the boat had taken, a flush of impatience mounted into Bradley's face, and he looked anxiously up the river. "It ain't locks, as you've been a reckoning up!" said Ryderhood, when the schoolmaster's eyes came back again. "No, no!" "What other calculations do you suppose I've been occupied with?" "Mathematics?" "I never heard it call that. It's a long word for it. However, perhaps you call it so," said Ryderhood, stubbornly chewing his grass. "It! What?" "I'll say them, instead of it, if you like." Was the coolly ground reply, "It's safer talk, too." "What do you mean that I should understand by them?" "Spytes!" "Afronts," a fence he's given took. "Deadly aggravations, such like!" answered Ryderhood. "Do what Bradley had stonewood. He could not keep that form of flush of impatience out of his face. Also master his eyes, as to prevent their again, looking anxiously up the river." "Ah! Don't be a feared Totherist!" said Ryderhood. "The Tothers got to make way again the stream, and he takes it easy. You can soon come up with him. But what's the good of saying that to you? You, now, Alfa, you could have outwalled him twixt, anywhere's about where he lost the tide. Say, Richmond, and this, if you add a mind to it." "You think I have been following him?" said Bradley. "I know you have," said Ryderhood. "Well, I have. I have," Bradley admitted. "But," with another anxious look up the river, "he may land." "Easy you. You have to be lost if he does land," said Ryderhood. "He must leave his boat behind him. He can't make a bundle or a parcel on it and carry it ashore with him and raise an arm." "He was speaking to you just now," said Bradley, kneeling on one knee on the grass beside the lockkeeper. "What did he say?" "Cheek," said Ryderhood. "What?" "Cheek," repeated Ryderhood, with an angry oath. "Cheek is what he said. He can't say nothing but cheek. I'd a lighter, plump down a board of him, neck and crop with every jump and sunk him." Bradley turned away his haggard face for a few moments, and then said, tearing up a tuft of grass. "Damn him!" "Ooh-rah!" cried Ryderhood. "Does you credit ooh-rah?" "I cry a chorus to the Tatherist." "What turn?" said Bradley, with an effort of self-repression that forced him to wipe his face. And did his insolence take today? "It took the turn," answered Ryderhood, with a sullen ferocity of hoping as I was getting ready to be hanged. "Let him look to that," cried Bradley. "Let him look to that. It will be bad for him when men he has injured and at whom he has jeered of thinking of getting hanged. Let him get ready for his fate when that comes about. There was more meaning in what he said than he knew of, or he wouldn't have had brains enough to say it. Let him look to it. Let him look to it. When many has wronged and on whom he has bestowed his insolence are getting ready to be hanged, there is a death-bell ringing and not for them." Ryderhood, looking fixity at him, gradually arose from his recumbent posture, while the schoolmaster said these words were the utmost concentration of rage and hatred. So when the words were all spoken, he too kneeled on one knee on the grass, and the two men looked at one another. "Ah!" said Ryderhood, very deliberately spitting out the grass he had been chewing. "Then I make out tetherist as he is going to her." He left London, answered Bradley. "Yes, did I. I have hardly a doubter's time that at last he is going to her." "You ain't sure then." "I am sure here," said Bradley, with a clutch at the breast of his coarse shirt, "as if it was written there," with a blow or a stab at the sky. "Ah! That judge you from the looks on you!" retorted Ryderhood, completely ridding himself of his grass and drawing his sleeve across his mouth. "You've mind equally sure of four, and have got disappointed, is told upon you." "Listen," said Bradley, in a low voice, bending forward to lay his hand upon the lockkeeper's shoulder. "These are my holidays." "Oh, they buy George," muttered Ryderhood, with his eyes on the passion-wasted face. "Your working days must be stiffens, if these is your only days." "And I have never left him," pursued Bradley, waving the interruption aside with an impatient hand, since they began. "And I never will leave him now till I have seen him with her." "And when you have seen him with her," said Ryderhood, "I'll come back to you." Ryderhood stiffened the knee on which he had been resting, got up and looked gloomily at his new friend. After a few moments they walked side by side in the direction the boat had taken, as if by tacit consent, Bradley pressing forward and Ryderhood holding back. Bradley getting out his neat prim purse into his hand, a present made him by penny subscription among his pupils, and Ryderhood unfolding his arms to smear his coat-cuff across his mouth with a thoughtful air. "I have a pound for you," said Bradley. "You too," said Ryderhood. Bradley held a sovereign between his fingers. Slouching at his side with his eyes upon the towing path, Ryderhood held his left hand open with a certain slight drawing action towards himself. Bradley dipped in his purse for another sovereign, and two chinked in Ryderhood's hand, the drawing action of which promptly strengthening drew them home to his pocket. "Now I must follow him," said Bradley Headstone. "He takes this river road, the fool, to confuse observation, or divert attention, if not solely to battle me, but he must have the power of making himself invisible before he can shake me off." Ryderhood stopped. "If you don't get disappointed again, Tatherist, maybe you'll put up a lock-house when you come back." "I will," Ryderhood nodded, and the figure of the bargeman went its way along the soft turf by the side of the towing path, keeping near the hedge and moving quickly. They had turned a point from which a long stretch of river was visible. A stranger to the scene might have been certain that here and there, along the line of hedge, a figure stood, watching the bargeman and waiting for him to come up. So he himself had often believed at first, until his eyes became used to the posts, bearing the dagger that slew Wat Tyler in the City of London Shield. Within Mr. Ryderhood's knowledge, all daggers were as one, even to Bradley Headstone, who could have told to the letter without book all about Wat Tyler, Lord Mayor Walworth, and the king that it is dutiful for youth to know, there was but one subject living in the world for every sharp destructive instrument that summer evening. So, Ryderhood looking after him as he went, and he with his furtive hand laid upon the dagger as he passed it, and his eyes upon the boat were much upon a par. The boat went on, under the arching trees, and over their tranquil shadows in the water. The bargeman snulking on the opposite bank of the stream went on after it. Sparkles of light showed Ryderhood, when and where the rower dipped his blades, until even as he stood idly watching, the sun went down, and the landscape was dyed red, and then the red had the appearance of fading out of it, and mounting up to heaven, as we say that blood, guiltily shared, does. Turning back towards his lock, he had not gone out of view of it, the rogue pondered as deeply as it was within the contracted power of such a fellow to do. Why did he copy my clothes? He could have looked like what he wanted to look like without that. This was the subject matter in his thoughts, in which, too, there came lumbering up by times, like any half of floating and half sinking rubbish in the river, the question was it done by accident. The setting of a trap for finding out whether it was accidentally done soon superseded as a practical piece of cunning, the upstooser inquiry, why otherwise it was done, and he devised a means. Rogue Ryderhood went into his lock-house, and brought forth into the now sober gray light, his chest of clothes. Sitting on a grass beside it, he turned out, one by one, the articles it contained, until he came to a conspicuous bright red neck-o-chief, stained black here and there by where. It arrested his attention, and he sat pausing over it, until he took off the rusty, colorless wisp that he wore round his throat, and substituted the red neck-o-chief, leaving the long ends flowing. "Now," said the Rogue, "if odd her, he sees me in this neck-hand-catcher, I see him in a similar neck-hand-catcher, it won't be accident." Elated by his device, he carried his chest in again, and went to supper. "Lock-o-lock!" It was a light-night, and a barge coming down summoned him out of a long dose. In due course he had let the barge through, and was alone again, looking to the closing of his gates, when Bradley Headstone appeared before him standing on the brink of the lock. "Hello?" said Ryderhood, "back a ready, Tatherist." "He has put up for the night at an angler's inn," was the fatigued and horse reply. "He goes on up the river at six in the morning. I have come back for a couple of hours' rest." "You want him?" said Ryderhood, making towards the schoolmaster by his plank bridge. "I don't want them," returned Bradley irritably, "because I would rather not have them, but would much prefer to follow him all night. However, if he won't lead, I can't follow. I've been waiting about until I could discover for a certainty at what time he starts. If I couldn't have made sure of it, I should have stayed there. This would be a bad pit for a man to be flung into with his hands tied. These slippery spools' walls would give him no chance, and I suppose those gates would suck him down. "Suck him down or swallow him up. He wouldn't get out," said Ryderhood. "Not even if his hands weren't tied, he wouldn't. Shut him in at both ends, and I'd give him a quiet old ale ever to come up to me stand in here." Bradley looked down with a ghastly relish. "You run about the brink and run across it in this uncertain light on a few inches with the rotten wood," said he. "I wonder you have no thought of being drowned." "I can't be," said Ryderhood. "You can't be drowned?" "No," said Ryderhood, shaking his head with an air of thorough conviction. "It's well known. I've been brought out of drowning, and I can't be drowned. I wouldn't have that their busted blow bridge or wear on it, or if people might make it tell again the damages I mean to get. But it's well known that waterside characters like myself, that immerse as being brought out of drowning can never be drowned." Bradley smiled sourly at the ignorance he would have corrected in one of his pupils, and continued to look down into the water as if the place had a gloomy fascination for him. "You seem to like it," said Ryderhood. He took no notice, but stood looking down as if he had not heard the words. There was a very dark expression on his face, an expression at the rogue found it hard to understand. It was fierce and full of purpose, but the purpose might have been as much against himself as against another. If he had stepped back for a spring, taken a leap, and thrown himself in, it would have been no surprising sequel to the look. Perhaps his troubled soul set upon some violence, did hover for the moment between that violence and another. "Didn't you say?" asked Ryderhood after watching him for a while with a side-long glance, as you had come back for a couple of hours' rest. But even then he had to jog him with his elbow before he answered. "Hey?" "Yes." "Aren't you better come in and take your couple hours' rest?" "Thank you." "Yes." With a look of one just awakened, he followed Ryderhood into the lock-house, where the latter produced from a cupboard some cold salt-beef and half a loaf, some gin in a bottle, and some water in a jug. The last he brought in cool and dripping from the river. "There, Tatherist," said Ryderhood, stooping over him to put it on the table. "You better take a bite and a sap before you takes your snooze." The straddling ends of the red neckerchief caught the schoolmaster's eyes. Ryderhood saw him look at it. "Oh," thought that worthy, "you're a taking notice, are you?" "Come. You shall have a good squint at it, then." With which reflection, he sat down on the other side of the table, threw open his vest, and made a pretense of retying the neckerchief with much deliberation. Bradley ate and drank, as he sat at his platter and mug. Ryderhood saw him, again and yet again, still look at the neckerchief, as if he were correcting his slow observation and prompting his sluggish memory. "Why ain't you already for your snooze?" said that honest creature. "Chat yourself for my bed in a corner, Tatherist. It'll be broad day, for three. I'll call you early." "I shall require no calling," answered Bradley, and soon afterwards, divesting himself only of his shoes and coat, laid himself down. Ryderhood, leaning back in his wooden armchair with his arms folded on his breast, looked at him lying with his right hand clenched in his sleep and his teeth set, until a film came over his own sight, and he slept, too. He awoke to find that it was daylight, and that his visitor was already a stir, and going out to the riverside to cool his head. "Though I am blessed," muttered Ryderhood at the Lockhouse door, looking after him, "if I think there's water enough and all the Thames to do that for you." Within five minutes he had taken his departure, and was passing on into the calm distance as he had passed yesterday. Ryderhood knew and officially leaped by his starting and glancing round, "Locko! Lock!" at intervals all day, and "Locko! Lock!" thrice in the ensuing night, but no return of Bradley. The second day was sultry and oppressive. In the afternoon a thunderstorm came up, and had but newly broken into a furious sweep of rain when he rushed in at the door like the storm itself. "You've seen him with her," exclaimed Ryderhood, starting up. "I have... where?" At his journey's end, his boats hauled up for three days. I heard him give the order, and I saw him wait for her and meet her. I saw them. He stopped as though he was suffocating, and began again. "I... saw them," walking side by side, last night. "What did you do?" "Nothing. What are you going to do?" He dropped into a chair and laughed. Immediately afterwards a great spurt of blood burst from his nose. "How does that happen?" asked Ryderhood. "I don't know. I can't keep it back. It has happened twice, three times, four times. I don't know how many times since last night. I taste it, smell it, see it, it chokes me, and it breaks out like this." He went into the pelting rain again with his head bare, and bending low over the river, and scooping up the water with his two hands, washed the blood away. All beyond his figure, as Ryderhood looked from the door, was a vast, dark curtain in solemn movement towards one-quarter of the heavens. He raised his head and came back, wet from head to foot, but with the lower parts of his sleeves, where he had dipped into the river, streaming water. "Your face is like a ghost!" said Ryderhood. "Did you ever see a ghost?" was the solemn retort. "I'll mean a say, you're... quite wore out." "That may well be. I have had no rest since I left here. I don't remember that I have so much as sat down since I left here." "Ligh down now, then," said Ryderhood. "I will, if you'll give me somebody to quench my thirst first." The bottle and jug were again produced, and he mixed a week draft, and another, and drank both in quick succession. "You asked me something," he said then. "Now I didn't," replied Ryderhood. "I tell you," retorted Bradley, turning upon him in a wild and desperate manner. "You asked me something before I went out to wash my face on the river." "Oh, then," said Ryderhood, backing a little, "I asked you what you was I going to do." "How can a man in this state know?" He answered, protesting with both his tremulous hands, with an action so vigorously angry that he shook the water from his sleeves upon the floor, as if he had wrung them. "How can I plan anything if I haven't sleep?" "Why, that's what I, as good as he said," returned the other. "Didn't I say lie down?" "Well, perhaps you did." "Well, anyways," I said it again. "Sleep where you slept last. A sounder and longer you can sleep that bet you know all of it's what you're up to." His pointing to the chuckle-bed in the corner seemed gradually to bring that poor couch to Bradley's wandering remembrance. He slipped off his worn, downtrodden shoes, and cast himself heavily, all wet as he was, upon the bed. Ryderhood sat down in his wooden arm-chair, and looked through the window at the lightning, and listened to the thunder. But his thoughts were far from being absorbed by the thunder and the lightning, for again and again and again he looked very curiously at the exhausted man upon the bed. The man had turned up the color of the rough-cotey war to shelter himself from the storm, and had buttoned it about his neck. Unconscious of that, and of most things, he had left the coat so, both when he had laved his face in the river, and when he had cast himself upon the bed, though it would have been much easier to him if he had unloosed it. The thunder rolled heavily, and the fork-lighting seemed to make jagged rents in every part of the vast curtain without, as Ryderhood sat by the window, glancing at the bed. Sometimes he saw the man upon the bed by a red light, sometimes by a blue; sometimes he scarcely saw him in the darkness of the storm; sometimes he saw nothing of him in the blinding glare of palpitating white fire. Anon, the rain, would come again with the tremendous rush, and the river would seem to rise to meet it, and a blast of wind bursting open the door would flatter the hair and dress of the man, as if invisible messengers would come around the bed to carry him away. From all these phases of the storm, Ryderhood would turn, as if they were interruptions, rather striking interruptions possibly but interruptions still, of his scrutiny of the sleeper. "He sleeps sound," he said within himself, "yet he's that up to me, and that noticing of me, that my getting out of my chair may wake him when a rattling peel won't let alone my touching of him." He very cautiously rose to his feet. "Tatherist," he said in a low calm voice, "are you a lion easy? There's a chill in the air, Governor. Shall I put a coat over you?" "No answer." "That's about what it is already, you see?" muttered Ryderhood in a lower and a different voice. "A coat over you, a coat over you." The sleeper, moving an arm, he sat down again in his chair, and feigned to watch the storm from the window. It was at grand spectacle, but not so grand as to keep his eyes for half a minute together from stealing a look at the man upon the bed. It was at the concealer throat of the sleeper that Ryderhood so often looked so curiously, until the sleep seemed to deepen into the stupor of the dead tired in mind and body. Then Ryderhood came from the window cautiously and stood by the bed. "Poor man!" he murmured in a low tone with a crafty face and a very watchful eye and ready foot lest he should start up. "This year a coat of his must make him uneasy in his sleep. Shall I loosen it for him and make him more comfortable? Ah, I think I ought to do it, poor man. I think I will." He touched the first button with a very cautious hand and a step backwards. But the sleeper remaining in profound unconsciousness he touched the other buttons with a more assured hand and perhaps the more lightly on that account. Softly and slowly he opened the coat and drew it back. The straddling ends of a bright red neckerchief were then disclosed, and he had even been at the pains of dipping parts of it in some liquid to give it the appearance of having become stained by wear. With a much perplexed face, Ryderhood looked from it to the sleeper and from the sleeper to it, and finally crept back to his chair, and there with his hand to his chin sat long in a brown study, looking at both. End of book four, chapter one. Chapter two, the golden dustman rises a little. Mr. and Mrs. Lamel had come to breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Boffin. They were not absolutely uninvited, but had pressed themselves with so much urgency on the golden couple, a devotion of the honour and pleasure of their company would have been difficult if desired. They were in a charming state of mind where Mr. and Mrs. Lamel, and almost as fond of Mr. Mrs. Boffin as of one another. "My dear Mrs. Boffin," said Mrs. Lamel, "it imparts new life to me to see my Alfred in confidential communication with Mr. Boffin. The tool were formed to become intimate, so much simplicity combined with so much force of character, such natural sagacity united to such immubility and gentleness. These are the distinguishing characteristics of both." This being said aloud gave Mr. Lamel an opportunity, as it came with Mr. Boffin from the window to the breakfast table, of taking up his dear and honoured wife. "My Saphronia," said that gentleman, "your two partial estimate of your husband's character. No! Not too partial, Alfred!" urged the lady, tenderly moved. "Never say that!" "My child, your favourable opinion, then, of your husband. If you don't object to that phrase, darling, how can I, Alfred?" "Your favourable opinion, then, my precious, does less than justice to Mr. Boffin and more than justice to me." "To the first charge, Alfred, I plead guilty. But to the second, oh, no, no!" "Less than justice to Mr. Boffin and Saphronia," said Mr. Lamel, soaring into a tone of moral grandeur. "My guys, it represents Mr. Boffin as on my lower level, more than justice to me, Mr. Fironia, because it represents me as on Mr. Boffin's higher level. Mr. Boffin bears and forebears far more than I could. Far more than you could for yourself, Alfred?" "My love, that is not the question. Not the question, lawyer," said Mrs. Lamel, archery. "No!" did he ask Fironia. "From my lower level, I regard Mr. Boffin as too generous as possessed of too much clemency, as being too good to persons who are unworthy of him and ungrateful to him, to those noble qualities I can lay no claim. On the contrary, they rouse my indignation when I see them in action. How, Alfred?" "They rouse my indignation, idea, against the unworthy persons, and give me a combative desire to stand between Mr. Boffin and all such persons. Why? Because in my lower nature I am more worldly and less delicate. Not being so magnanimous as Mr. Boffin, I feel his injury is more than he does himself, and feel more capable of opposing his injurors. It struck Mrs. Lamel that it appeared rather difficult this morning to bring Mr. and Mrs. Boffin into agreeable conversation. Here had been several lures thrown out, and neither of them had uttered a word. Here were she, Mrs. Lamel, and her husband, discoursing at once effectively and effectively, but discoursing alone. Assuming that the dear old creatures were impressed by what they heard, still one would like to be sure of it, the more so as at least one of the dear old creatures was somewhat pointedly referred to. If the dear old creatures were too bashful or too dull to assume they required places in the discussion, why then it would seem desirable that the dear old creatures should be taken by their heads and shoulders and brought into it. "But is not my husband saying, in effect?" asked Mrs. Lamel, therefore, with an innocent air of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, that he becomes unmindful of his own temporary misfortune in his admiration of another whom he is burning to serve, and is not that making an admission at his nature is a generous one. I am wretched in argument, but surely this is so dear Mr. and Mrs. Boffin. Still neither Mr. and Mrs. Boffin said a word. He sat with his eyes on his plate, eating his muffins and ham, and she sat shyly, looking at the teapot. Mrs. Lamel's innocent peel was merely thrown into the air, to mingle with the steam of the urn. Glancing towards Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, she very slightly raised her eyebrows, as though inquiring of her husband, "Do I notice anything wrong here?" Mr. Lamel, who had found his chest effective on a variety of occasions, maneuvered his capacious shirt-front into the largest demonstration possible, and then smiling, retorted on his wife thus. "So very dear darling, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin will remind you of the old adage that self-prays is no recommendation." "Self-prays, Alfred, do you mean because we are one and the same?" "No, my dear child, I mean that you cannot fail to remember if you reflect for a single moment, but what you are pleased to compliment me upon feeling, in the case of Mr. Boffin, you have yourself confided to me as your own feeling, in the case of Mrs. Boffin." "I shall be beaten by this lawyer," Mrs. Lamel gaily whispered to Mrs. Boffin, "I am afraid I must admit it, if he praises me for it's damagingly true." Several white dints began to come and go upon Mr. Lamel's nose, as he observed that Mrs. Boffin merely looked up from the teapot for a moment with an embarrassed smile, which was no smile, and then looked down again. "Do you admit that your aunt Saphronia?" inquired Alfred in a rallying tone. "Really, I think," said Mrs. Lamel, still gaily, "I must throw myself on the protection of the court. Am I bound to answer that question, my lord?" "To Mr. Boffin." "You needn't, if you don't like it, Mom," was his answer. "It's not of the least consequence." Both husband and wife glanced at him very doubtfully. His manner was grave, but not coarse, and derived some dignity from a certain repressed dislike of the tone of the conversation. Again Mrs. Lamel raised her eyebrows for instruction from her husband. He replied in a slight nod, "try him again." "To protect myself against the suspicion of covert self-ordation, my dear Mrs. Boffin," said the airy Mrs. Lamel, therefore, "I must tell you how it was." "No!" prayed out. Mr. Boffin interposed. Mrs. Lamel turned to him laughingly. "The court objects!" "Mom," said Mr. Boffin, "the court—if I am the court—does object. The court objects for two reasons. First, because the court don't think it fair. Secondly, because the dear owl lady, Mrs. Court, if I am Mr, gets distressed by it." A very remarkable wavering between two bearings—between her propitatory bearing there, and her defined bearing at Mr. Tremlow's—was observable on the part of Mrs. Lamel, as she said, "What does the court not consider fair?" "Let him you go on," replied Mr. Boffin, nodding his head soothingly, as who should say, "We won't be harder on you than we can help. We'll make the best of it. It's not above board; it's not fair. When the old lady is uncomfortable, there should be good reason for it. I see she is uncomfortable. Now I plainly see this is the good reason, wherefore, have you, breakfasted mom?" Mrs. Lamel, settling into her defiant manner, pushed her plate away, looked at her husband and laughed, but by no means gaily. "Have you, breakfasted sir?" inquired Mr. Boffin. "Thank you," replied Alfred, showing all his teeth, "if Mrs. Boffin will oblige me, I'll take another cup of tea." He spilled a little of it over the chest, which ought to have been so effective, and which had done so little. But on the whole, drank it with something of an air, though the coming and going dints got almost as large the while as if they had been made by pressure of the teaspoon. "A thousand thanks," he then observed. "I have breakfasted." "Now which?" said Mr. Boffin softly, taking out a pocket-book. "Which of you, too, is cashier?" "Sifronia, my dear," remarked her husband, as he leaned back in his chair, waving his right hand towards her while he hung his left hand by the thumb and the armhole of his waistcoat, and it shall be your department. "I would rather," said Mr. Boffin, "that it was your husband's mom, because—how but never mind—because I would rather have to do with him. However, what I have to say, I will say with as little offence as possible, if I can say it without any, I shall be utterly glad. You, too, have done me a service—a very great service—in doing what you did. My old lady knows what it was, and I have put into this envelope a bank-note for £100. I consider the service well worth £100, and are well pleased to buy the money. Would you do me the favour to take it, and likewise, to accept my thanks?" With a haughty action, and without looking towards him, Mrs. Lammel held out her left hand, and into it Mr. Boffin put the little packet. When she had conveyed it to her bosom, Mr. Lammel had the appearance of feeling relieved, and breathing more freely, as not having been quite certain at the hundred pounds were his, until the note had been safely transferred out of Mr. Boffin's keeping into his own saphronias. "It is not impossible," said Mr. Boffin, addressing Alfred, "that you have had some general idea, sir, of replacing Rokesmith in course of time." "It is not," I scented Alfred, with a glittering smile and a great deal of nose, "not impossible." "And perhaps, ma'am," pursued Mr. Boffin, addressing Saphronia, "you have been so kind, as to take out my old lady in your own mind, and to do with the honour of turning the question over whether you mightened one of these days ever in charge like, whether you mightn't be a sort of misspeller woofer to her, and something more." "I should hope," returned Mr. Lammel, with a scornful look and in a loud voice, "that if I were anything to your wife, sir, I could hardly fail to be something more than misspeller woofer, as you call her." "What do you call her, ma'am?" asked Mr. Boffin. Mr. Lammel, disdain to reply, and set defiantly beating one foot on the ground. "Again, I think I'm I sorry. That's not impossible, is you, sir?" asked Mr. Boffin, turning to Alfred. "It is not," said Alfred, smiling ascent as before, "not impossible." "Now," said Mr. Boffin, gently, "it won't do. I don't wish to say a single word that might be afterwards remembered as unpleasant, but it won't do." "Sir, friend, yeah, my love," her husband repeated in a bantering manner, "you will hear us, it won't do." "Now," said Mr. Boffin, with his voice still dropped, "it really won't. You positively must excuse us. If you'll go your way, we'll go ours, and so I hope this'll fear ends to the satisfaction of all parties." Mrs. Lammel gave him the look of a decidedly dis-satisfied party to man the exemption from the category, but said nothing. "The best thing we can make of the affair," said Mr. Boffin, "is a matter of business, and as a matter of business, it's brought to a conclusion. You've done me a great service, a very great service, and I have paid for it. Is there any objection to the prize?" Mr. Mrs. Lammel looked at one another across the table, but neither could say that there was. Mr. Lammel shrugged his shoulders, and Mrs. Lammel sat rigid. "Very good," said Mr. Boffin, "we hope, my own lady and me, that you'll give us credit for taking the plainest and honestest shortcut that could be taken out of the circumstances. We have talked it over with the deal of care, my own lady and me, and we have felt that at all to lead you on, or even at all, to let you go on, of your own selves, wouldn't be the right thing. So I've openly given you to understand that." Mr. Boffin sought for a new turn of speech, but could find none, so expressive as his former one, repeated in a confidential tone, that he won't do. If I could have put the case more pleasantly, I would, but I out by having put it very unpleasantly, at all events I haven't meant to. "So," said Mr. Boffin by way of peroration, "wishing you well in the way you go, we now conclude with the observation that perhaps you go it." Mr. Lammel rose with an impudent laugh on his side of the table, and Mrs. Lammel rose with a disdainful frown on hers. At this moment a history foot was heard on the staircase, and Georgiana Potsnap broke into the room, unannounced, and in tears. "Oh, my dear Zafrunia," cried Georgiana, bringing her hands as she ran up to embrace her, "to think that you and Alfred should be fluent. Oh, my poor dear Zafrunia, do you think that you should have had a sale at your house after all your kindness to me? Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, pay forgive me for this intrusion, but you don't know how fond I was of Zafrunia and went par, wouldn't let me go there any more, or what I have felt for Zafrunia, since I heard remark of her having been brought low in the world. You don't. You can't. You never can think. How I have laid a week at night and cried for my good Zafrunia, my first and only friend." Mrs. Lammel's manner changed under the poor, silly girl's embraces, and she turned extremely pale, directing one appealing look, first to Mrs. Boffin, and then to Mr. Boffin. Both understood her instantly, with a more delicate subtlety and much better educated people whose perception came less directly from the heart could have brought to bear upon the case. "I haven't a minute," said poor little Georgiana, "to stay. I'm out shopping early with Marr, and I sit ahead a headache, and got Marr to leave me outside in the Theton, in Piccadilly, and ran round to Seckville Street, and here that Zafrunia was here, and then Marr came to see, 'Oh, such a dreadful old stony woman from the country in a turbanen, portland place, and I said I wouldn't go up with Marr, but would drive round and leave cards for the Boffins, which is taking liberty with the name, but oh, by goodness, I am distracted, and the faitons of the door, and what would pass if he knew it?" "Don't you?" "Be timid, my dear," said Mrs. Boffin. "You came in to see us." "Oh, no, I didn't!" cried Georgiana. "It's very impolite, I know, but I came to see my poor Zafrunia, my only friend. Oh, how I felt the separation, my dear Zafrunia, before I knew you were brought low in the world, and how much more I feel it now." There were actually tears in the bold woman's eyes, as the soft-headed and soft-hearted girl trying to her arms about her neck. "But I've come on, business," said Georgiana, sobbing and drying her face, and then searching in a little reticule, "and if I don't dispatch it, I shall have come for nothing, and oh, good gracious, what would pass if he knew of Seckville Street, and what would Marr say if he was kept waiting on the doorsteps of that gentle turban, and there never were such pouring horses as a house, and settling my mind every moment, more and more, when I want more mine than I've got, by pouring up Mr. Buffon Street, where they have no business to be. Oh, where is it? Where is it? Oh, I can't find it." All this time sobbing and searching in the little reticule. "What do you miss, my dear?" asked Mr. Buffon, stepping forward. "Oh, it's little enough," replied Georgiana, "because Marr always treats me as if I was in the nursery. I'm sure I wish I was, but I hardly ever spend it, and it is mounted up to fifteen pounds, Saphronia, and I hope three-five pound notes are better than nothing, though so little, so little, and now I have found that, oh my goodness, there's the other gun next. Oh, no, it isn't. Here it is." With that, always sobbing and searching in the reticule, Georgiana produced a necklace. "Marr says chits and jewels have no business together," pursued Georgiana, "and that's the reason why I have no trinkets except this. But I suppose my Aunt Hawkinson was of a different opinion, because she left me this, though I used to think she might just as well have buried it, for it's always kept in jewelers' cotton. However, here it is. I am thankful to say it, and if you sit last, and you'll sell it to your Saphronia and buy things with it." "And give it to me," said Mr. Buffon, gently taking it, "I'll see that it is properly disposed of." "Oh, are you such a friend of Saphronia's, Mr. Buffon?" cried Georgiana. "Oh, how good of you. Oh, by gracious, there was something else, and it's gone out of my head. Oh, no, it isn't. I remember what it was. My grandmother's property that'll come to me when I am phage, Mr. Buffon, will be all my own, and neither part nor more, nor anybody else, will have any control over it, and what I wish to do with it. So, make some of it over somehow to Saphronia and Alfred, by signing something somewhere that'll prevail on somebody to advance in something. I want them to have something handsome to bring them up in the world again. Oh, by goodness me, being such a friend of my dear Saphronia's, you won't refuse me, will you?" "No, no," said Mr. Buffon. "It shall be seen too." "Oh, thank you, thank you," cried Georgiana. "If my maid had a little notion and half a crown, I could run round to the pastry cooks to sign something, or I could sign something that the square for somebody would come and cough for me to let him in with the key, and would bring a pen and ink with him, and a bit of blotting paper. Oh, my gracious, I must tear myself away. A porn marvel both find out. Dear Saphronia, good-good-bye." The credulous little creature again embraced Mrs. Lamel most affectionately, and then held out her hand to Mr. Lamel. "Good-bye. Dear Mr. Lamel, I mean Alfred, you won't think after today that I've deserted you and Saphronia because you have been brought low in the world, will you? Oh me, oh me, I've been crying my eyes out of my head, and ma will be sure to ask me what's the matter. Oh, take me down, somebody please, please, please!" Mr. Buffon took her down, and saw her driven away, with her poor little red eyes and weak chin, peering over the great apron of the custard-coloured faiton, as if she had been ordered to expiate some childish misdemeanor by going to bed in the daylight, and were peeping over the counterpane in a miserable flutter of repentance and low spirits. Returning to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs. Lamel still standing on her side of the table, and Mr. Lamel on his. "I'll take care," said Mr. Buffon, showing the money, and the necklace, at these, are soon given back. Mrs. Lamel had taken up her parasol from a side table, and stood sketching with it on the pattern of the Damascus cloth, as she had sketched on the pattern of Mr. Tremlow's papoured wall. "You will not underseave her, I hope, Mr. Buffon," she said, turning her head towards him, but not her eyes. "No," said Mr. Buffon, "I mean, as to the worth and value of her friend," Mrs. Lamel explained in a measured voice, and with an emphasis on her last word. "No," he returned, "I may tartly give a hint at her home that she is in want of kind and careful protection, but I shall say no more than that to her parents, and I shall say nothing to the young lady herself." "Mr. and Mrs. Buffon," said Mrs. Lamel, still sketching and seeming to bestow great pains upon it, "there are not many people, I think, who, under the circumstances, would have been so considerate and sparing, as you have been to me just now. But do you care to be thanked?" "Thanks are always worth having," said Mrs. Buffon, in her ready good nature, "then thank you both." "Sefronia," asked her husband mockingly, "are you sentimental?" "Well, oh, our good sir," Mr. Buffon interposed, "it's a very good thing to think well of another person, it's a very good thing to be thought well of, by another person." Mrs. Lamel would be none the worse for it, if she is. Match obliged, but I asked Mrs. Lamel if she was. She stood sketching on the tablecloth with her face clouded and set, and was silent. "Because," said Alfred, "I am disposed to be sentimental myself on your appropriation of the jewels and the money, Mr. Buffon. As our little Georgiana said, three five pound notes are better than nothing, and if you sell a necklace you can buy things with the produce. If you sell it," was Mr. Buffon's comment, as he put it in his pocket. Alfred followed it with his looks, and also greedily pursued the notes until they vanished into Mr. Buffon's waistcoat pocket. Then he directed a look, half exasperated and hard during, at his wife. She still stood sketching, but, as she sketched, there was a struggle within her, which found expression in the depth of the few last lines the parasol point indented into the tablecloth, and then some tears fell from her eyes. "Why can't found the woman?" exclaimed Lamel. "She is sentimental." She walked to the window, flinching under his angry stare, looked out for a moment and turned round quite coldly. "You have had no former cause of complaint on the sentimental score, Alfred, and you will have none in future. It is not worth your noticing. We go abroad soon, with the money we have earned here." "You know we do. You know we must." "There is no fear of my taking any sentiment with me. I should soon be eased of it if I did. But it will be all left behind. It is, all left behind. Are you ready, Alfred?" "What did you have I been waiting for, but you, Saphronia?" "Let us go, then. I am sorry I have delayed our dignified departure." She passed out and he followed her. Mr. and Mrs. Boughton had the curiosity softly to raise a window and look after them as they went down the long street. They walked arm in arm, surely enough, but without appearing to interchange a syllable. It might have been fanciful to suppose that under their outer bearing there was something of the shamed air of two cheats who were linked together by concealed handcuffs, but not so to suppose that they were haggardly weary of one another, of themselves and of all this world. In turning the street corner they might have turned out of this world, for anything Mr. and Mrs. Boughton ever saw of them to the contrary, for they set eyes on the lamels nevermore." End of Book 4, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, The Golden Dustman Sinks Again The evening of that day being one of the reading evenings at the bar, Mr. Boughton kissed Mrs. Boughton after five o'clock dinner and trotted out, nursing his big stick in both arms so that, as of old, it seemed to be whispering in his ear. He carried so very attentive an expression on his countenance that it appeared as if the confidential discourse of the big stick required to be followed closely. Mr. Boughton's face was like the face of a thoughtful listener to an intricate communication, and in trotting along he occasionally glanced at that companion with the look of a man who was interposing the remark, "You don't mean it." Mr. Boughton and his stick went on alone together, until they arrived at certain crossways, where they would be likely to fall in with anyone coming at about the same time from Clark and Well to the Bower. Here they stopped, and Mr. Boughton consulted his watch. "It wants five minutes good to Venus's appointment," said he, "I'm rather early." But Venus was a punctual man, and even as Mr. Boughton replaced his watch in its pocket was to be described coming towards him. He quickened his pace on seeing Mr. Boughton already at the place of meeting and was soon at his side. "Thank you, Venus," said Mr. Boughton, "thank you, thank you, thank you." It would not have been very evident why he thanked the anatomist, but for his furnishing the explanation in what he went on to say. "All right, Venus. All right." "Now that you've been to see me and have consented to keep up the appearance before Weg, remain in it for a time, I've got a sort of a backer." "All right, Venus. Thank you, Venus. Thank you, thank you, thank you." Mr. Venus shook the prophet hand of the modest heir, and they pursued the direction of the bower. "Do you think Weg is likely to drop down upon me tonight, Venus?" inquired Mr. Boughton, wistfully, as they went along. "I think he is... Have you any particular reason for thinking so, Venus?" "Well, sir," returned that personage, "the fact is, he has given me another look in, so make sure of what he calls our stock in trade, being correct, and he has mentioned his intention that he was not to be put off beginning with you the very next time you should come, and this," hinted Mr. Venus delicately, "being the very next time, you know, sir." "Why, therefore you suppose he'll turn to at the grindstone, eh, Weg?" said Mr. Boughton. "Just so, sir." Mr. Boughton took his nose in his hand, as if it were already excoriated, and the sparks were beginning to fly out of that feature. "He is a terrible hello, Venus. He's an awful fellow. I don't know how ever I shall go through with it. You must stand by me, Venus, like a good man and true. You do all you can't understand by me, Venus, won't you?" Mr. Venus replied with the assurance that he would, and Mr. Boughton, looking anxious and dispirited, pursued the way in silence until they rang at the bower gate. The stumping approach of Weg was soon heard behind it, and as it turned upon its hinges, he became visible with his hand on the lock. "Mr. Boughton, sir," he remarked, "you're quite a stranger." "Yes, I've been otherwise occupied, Weg." "Have you indeed, sir?" returned the literary gentleman with a threatening sneer. "Ha! I've been looking for you, sir. Rather what I may call specially." "You don't say so, Weg." "Yes, I do say so, sir. And if you ain't come round to me tonight, dash my Weg, if I wouldn't have come round to you tomorrow." "Now, I tell you." "Nothing wrong, I hope, Weg." "Oh, no, Mr. Boughton!" was the ironic answer. "Nothing wrong. What should be wrong in Boughton's bower?" "Step in, sir." "If you'll count to the bower, I've shaded for you. You'll bear sharpie roses, or spangled with dew. Will you, will you, will you, will you, come to the bower? Oh, won't you, won't you, won't you, won't you, come to the bower?" An unholy glare of contradiction and offence shone in the eyes of Mr. Weg as he turned the key on his patron after ushering him into the yard with this vocal quotation. Mr. Boughton's air was crestfallen and submissive. whispered Weg to Venus as they crossed the yard behind him. "Look at the worm and minion," he down in the mouth already, whispered Venus to Weg. "That's because I've told him. I've prepared a way for you." Mr. Boughton entering the usual chamber laid his stick upon the settle, usually reserved for him, thrust his hands into his pockets and with his shoulders raised and his hat drooping back upon them looking disconsolately at Weg. "My friend and partner Mr. Venus gives me to understand," remarked that man of might, addressing him, "that you are aware of our power over you. Now, when you have took your hat off, we'll go into that pint." Mr. Boughton shook it off with one shake, so that it dropped on the floor behind him, and remained in his former attitude with his former, rueful look upon him. "First of all, I'm going to call you Boughton for short," said Weg. "If you don't like it, it's open to you to lamp it." "I don't mind it, Weg," Mr. Boughton replied. "That's lucky for you, Boughton. Now, do you want to be read to?" "I don't particularly care about it tonight, Weg." "Because, if you did want to," pursued Mr. Weg, the brilliancy of whose point was dimmed by his having been unexpectedly answered, "you wouldn't be. I've been your slave long enough. I'm not to be trampled down your foot by a dustman any more. With the single exception of the salary, I renounce the whole and total situation." "Since you say it is to be so, Weg," returned Mr. Boughton with folded hands, "I suppose it must be." "I suppose it must be," Weg retorted. "Next, to clear the ground before coming to business, you've priced in this yard a skulking, a sleeping, and a sniffing menial." "He hadn't a cold in his head when I sent him here?" said Mr. Boughton. "Boughing," retorted Weg. "I warn you not to attempt a joke with me." Here Mr. Venus interposed and remarked that he conceived Mr. Boughton to have taken the description literally. The rather, for as much as he, Mr. Venus, had himself supposed the menial to have contracted an affliction or a habit of the nose involving a serious drawback on the pleasures of social intercourse, until he had discovered that Mr. Weg's description of him was to be accepted as merely figurative. "Anyhow, and everyhow," said Weg. "He has been planted here, and easier. Now, I won't have him here. So I call upon Boughton, before I say another word, to fetch him in and sent in pecking to the right about." The unsuspecting sloppy was at that moment airing his many buttons within the view of the window. Mr. Boughton, after a short interval of impassive discomfort, opened a window and beckoned him to come in. "I'll call upon Boughton," said Weg, with one armour-kimbo, and his head on one side, like a bullying council, pausing for an answer from a witness, "to inform that menial that I am master here." In humble obedience, when the button gleaming sloppy entered Mr. Boughton said to him, "Stop me, my farm fellow. Mr. Weg is master here. He doesn't want you, and you ought to go from here." "For good," Mr. Weg severely stipulated. "For good," said Mr. Boughton. Sloppy stared, with both his eyes and all his buttons, and his mouth wide open, but was, without loss of time, escorted forth by Silas Weg, pushed out the yard gate by the shoulders, and locked out. "The M spear," said Weg, stumping back into the room again, a little reddened by his late exertion, "is now freer for the purposes of respiration." "Mr. Venus, sir, take the chair. Boughton, you may sit down." Mr. Boughton, still with his hands ruefully stuck in his pockets, sat on the edge of the saddle, shrunk into a small compass, and eyed the potent Silas with conciliatory looks. "This gentleman," said Silas Weg, pointing out Venus, "this gentleman, Boughton, is more milk and watery with you than I'll be, but he hasn't borne the Roman yoke, as I have, nor yet he hasn't been required to pend her to your depraved appetite for miserly characters." "I never meant my dear Weg," Mr. Boughton was beginning, when Silas stopped him. "How'd you tank, Boughton?" "Answer when you're called up on your answer. You'll find you've got quite enough to do. Now, you're aware, are you, that you're in possession of property, to which you've now right at all. Are you aware of that?" "Venus tells me so," said Mr. Boughton, glancing towards him for any support he could give. "I tell you so," returned Silas. "Now, here's my hat, Boughton, and here's my walking stick." Charfled with me, "and instead of making a bargain with you, I'll put on my hat, and take out my walking stick, and go out, and make a bargain with the rightful owner. Now, what do you say?" "I say," returned Mr. Boughton, leaning forward an alarmed appeal, with his hands on his knees, "that I am sure I don't want a trifle, Weg. I have said so to Venus." "You certainly have, sir," said Venus. "Your two milk and waltry with our friend, you are indeed," remonstrated Silas, with a disapproving shake of his wooden head. "Then, at once, you can fish yourself desirous to come to terms, do you, Boughton? Before your answer, keep this hat well in your mind, and also this walking stick." "I am willing, Weg, to come to terms." "Willin, won't do, Boughton. I won't take Willin. Are you desirous to camp the terms? Do you ask to be allowed as a favour to camp the terms?" Mr. Weg again planted his arm, and put his head on one side. "Yes." "Yes, what?" said the inexorable Weg. "I won't take yes. I'll have it out of you in full, bobbing." "Dear me," cried that unfortunate gentleman, "I'm so worrieded. I ask to be allowed to camp the terms, supposing your document is all correct?" "Don't you be afraid of that," said Silas, poking his head at him. "You should be satisfied by seeing it. Mr. Venus will show it you, and I'll hold you the while. Then you want to know what the terms are. Is that about a summoned substance of it? Will you or won't you answer, Boughton?" For he had paused a moment. "Dear me," cried that unfortunate gentleman again, "I am worrieded to that degree that I'm almost off my head. You hurry me so. Be so good as name the terms, Weg." "Now, Mark," Boughton returned Silas, marked them well, because they're the lowest terms and the only terms. You will throw your mound, but it will mound as comes to you anyway, into the general estate, and then you'll divide the old property into three parts, and you'll keep one, and end over the others." Mr. Venus's mouth screwed itself up, as Mr. Boughton's face lengthened itself. Mr. Venus not having been prepared for such a rapacious demand. "Now, wait a bit, Boughton," Weg proceeded, "there's something more. You've been a squandering this property, laying some without on yourself. That won't do. You've bought a house. You'll be charged for it. I shall be ruined, Weg." Mr. Boughton faintly protested. "Now, wait a bit, Boughton. There's something more. You leave me in sole custody of these mounds till they're all laid low. If any valuables shall be found in them, I'll take care of such valuables. You'll produce your contract for the sale of the mounds that we may note to a penny what they're worth, and you'll make out likewise an exact list of all the other property, when the mounds is cleared away to the last shovel full, the final division will come off." "Jedful! Jedful! Jedful! Heart of tiny workhouse!" cried the golden dustman, with his hands to his head. "Now, wait a bit, Boughton. There's something more. You've been, unlawfully, floating about this yard. You've been seen in the act of floating about this yard. Two pair of eyes, at the present moment, brought to bear upon you, have seen you dig up a Dutch bottle. "It was mine, Weg," protested Mr. Boughton. "I'll put it there, myself." "What was in it, Boughton?" inquired Silas. "Not cold, not silver, not bank-note, not jewels, nothing that you could turn in a money, Weg, upon my soul." Prepared, Mr. Venus, said Weg, turning to his partner with the knowing of superior air, for in a wazive answer, on the part of our dusty friendier, "I have hit out a little idea, which I think will meet your views. We charge that bottle against our dusty friend at a thousand pound. Mr. Boughton, do a deep groan. Now, wait a bit, Boughton, there's something more. In your employment, is an under-ended sneak, named Rokesmith. It won't answer to have him about, while this business of ours is about. He must be discharged." Rokesmith is already discharged," said Mr. Boughton, speaking in a muffled voice, with his hands before his face, as he rocked himself on the settle. "Or did he discharge, you see?" returned Weg, surprised. "Hello. Then, Boughton, I believe there's nothing more at present." The unlucky gentleman, continuing to rock himself to and fro, and to utter an occasional moan, Mr. Venus besought him to bear up against his reverses, and to take time to accustom himself to the thought of his new position. But his taking time was exactly the thing of all others that Silas Way could not be induced to hear of. "Yes, or no, and no half-mishes," was the motto which that object person many times repeated, shaking his fist at Mr. Boughton, and pegging his motto into the floor with his wooden leg, in a threatening and alarming manner. At length Mr. Boughton entreated to be allowed a quarter of an hour's grace, and a cooling walk of that duration in the yard. With some difficulty, Mr. Way granted this great favour, but only on condition, that he accompanied Mr. Boughton in his walk, as not knowing what he might fraudulently unearth, if he were left to himself. A more absurd sight than Mr. Boughton in his mental irritation, trotting very nimbly, and Mr. Wayg hopping after him, with great exertion, eager to watch the slightest turn of an eyelash, destitute, indicate a spot rich with some secret, assuredly, had never been seen in the shadow of the mounds. Mr. Wayg was much distressed when the quarter of an hour expired, and came hopping in a very bad second. "I can't help myself," cried Mr. Boughton, flouncing on the settle, in a full-on manner, with his hands deep in his pockets as if his pockets had sunk. "What's the good of my pretending to stand out, when I can't help myself? I must give in to the terms, but I should like to see the document." Wayg, who was all for clinching the nail, he had so strongly driven home, announced that Boughton should see it without an hour's delay. Taking him into custody for that purpose, or overshadowing him, as if he really were his evil genius in visible form, Mr. Wayg clapped Mr. Boughton's hat upon the back of his head, and walked him out by the arm, asserting a proprietorship over his soul and body, and was at once more grim and more ridiculous than anything in Mr. Venus's rare collection. That light-haired gentleman followed close upon their heels, at least backing up Mr. Boughton in a literal sense, if he had not had recent opportunities of doing so spiritually. While Mr. Boughton, trotting on as hard as he could trot, involved Silas Wayg and frequent collisions with the public, much as a preoccupied blind man's dog may be seen to involve his master. Thus they reached Mr. Venus's establishment, somewhat heated by the nature of their progress thither. Mr. Wayg, especially, was in a flaming glow, and stood in the little shop, penting and mopping his head with his pocket-hanker-chief, speechless for several minutes. Meanwhile Mr. Venus, who had left the dueling frogs to fight it out in his absence, by candlelight, for the public delectation, put the shutters up. When all were snug and the shop-door fastened, he said to the perspiring Silas, "I suppose Mr. Wayg may now produce the paper." "Hold on a minute, sir," replied that discreet character. "Hold on a minute. Will you obligently shove that box, which you mentioned on a former occasion as containing miscellaneous, towards me, in the midst of the shop here?" Mr. Venus did as he was asked. "Very good," said Silas, looking about. "Very good." "Will you hand me that chair, sir, to put a top of it?" Venus handed him the chair. "Now, boffin," said Wayg. "Mount Napier, and take your seat, will you?" Mr. Boughton, as if he were about to have his portrait painted, or to be electrified, or to be made of Freemason, or to be placed at any other solitary disadvantage, ascended the rostrum prepared for him. "Now, Mr. Venus," said Silas, taking off his coat, "when I catch his ar friend here, round the arms and body, and pins him tight to the back of the chair, he may show him what he wants to see. If you'll open it, and hold it well up in one answer, and a candle in the other, he can read it charming." Mr. Boughton seemed rather inclined to object to these precautionary arrangements, but being immediately embraced by Wayg resigned himself. Venus then produced the document, and Mr. Boughton slowly spelt it out aloud, so very slowly that Wayg, who was holding him in the chair with the grip of a wrestler, became again exceeding the worse for his exertions. "Say, when you put it safe back, Mr. Venus," he uttered with difficulty, "for the strain of this is terrimentius." At length the document was restored to its place, and Wayg, whose uncomfortable attitude had been that of a very persevering man, unsuccessfully attempting to stand upon his head, took his seat to recover himself. Mr. Boughton, for his part, made no attempt to come down, but remained aloft, disconsulate. "Well, Boughton," said Wayg, "as soon as he was in a condition to speak, "now you know." "Yes, Wayg," said Mr. Boughton, neatly, "now, I know." "You have no doubts about it, Boughton?" "No, Wayg, no, Wayg, none." "Was the slow and sad reply?" "Then take care, you," said Wayg, "that you stick to your conditions." "Mr. Venus, if only it's all a vicious occasion, you should happen to have a drop of anything, not quite so mild as tea in the house. I think I take the friendly liberty of asking you for a specimen of it." Mr. Venus, reminded of the duties of hospitality, produced some rum in answer to the inquiry. "Will you mix it, Mr. Wayg?" That gentleman pleasantly rejoined. "I think not so. On so all spacious an occasion, I'd prefer to take it in the form of a gum tickler." Mr. Boughton, declining rum, being still elevated on his pedestal, was in a convenient position to be addressed. Wegg, having eyed him with an impudent air, leisure, addressed him, therefore, while refreshing himself with his dram. "Bough, fin!" "Yes, Wayg," he answered, coming out of the fit of abstraction with a sigh. "I haven't mentioned one thing, because it's a detail that comes, of course. You must be followed up, you know. You must be kept under inspection." "I don't quite understand," said Mr. Boughton. "Down to you," sneered Wayg. "Where's your wits, Boughton?" "Till the mounds is down, and this business completed. You're accountable for all the property. I collect. Consider yourself accountable to me. Mr. Venus, here, being too milk and watery with you. I am the boy for you." "I have the meaner thinking," said Mr. Boughton, in a tone of despondency, "that I must keep the knowledge from my old lady." "The knowledge of the division, do you mean?" inquired Wayg, helping himself to a third gum tickler, for he had already taken a second. "Yes. If she was to die first, have us two, she might then think all her life, poor thing, that I had got the rest of the fortune still, and were saving it." "I suspect, Boughton," returned Wayg, shaking his head sagaciously, and bestowing a wooden wink upon him, "that you found out some account of some old chap, supposed to be a miser, who got himself the credit of having much more money than he had. However, I don't mind." "Don't you see, Wayg?" Mr. Boughton feelingly represented to him. "Don't you see? My old lady has got so used to the property it would be such a hard surprise." "I don't see it at all," blusted Wayg. "You'll have as much as I shall, and who are you?" "But then again," Mr. Boughton gently represented, "my old lady is very upright principles." "Ooze your old lady," returned Wayg, to set herself out for having upright a principle than mine. Mr. Boughton seemed a little less patient at this point than at any other of the negotiations, but he commanded himself, and said tamely enough, "I think it must be kept from my old lady, Wayg." "Well," said Wayg, contemptuously, though perhaps perceiving some hint of danger, otherwise, "Keebee from your old lady, I ain't going to tell her. I can have you under close inspection without that. I'm as good a man as you, and better. Ask me to dinner. Give me the run of your house. I was good enough for you and your old lady once, when I helped you out with your wheel and hammers. Also know, Mr. Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane and Uncle Parker, before you too." "Gently, Mr. Wayg, gently," Venus urged, "milk and waterily, you mean, sir," he returned, with some little thickness of speech and consequence of the gum ticklers having tickled it. "I've got him under inspection, and are inspecting." Along the line a signal, Anne, England expects as this present man will keep Boughton to his duty. "Boughton, I'll see you home." Mr. Boughton descended with an air of resignation, and gave himself up, after taking friend-believe of Mr. Venus. Once more, inspector and inspected went through the streets together, and so arrived at Mr. Boughton's door. But even there, when Mr. Boughton had given his keeper good-night, and had let himself in with his key, and had softly closed the door, even there and then, the all-powerful Silas must needs claim another assertion of his newly asserted power. "Boughton," he called through the keyhole, "yes, wayg," was the reply through the same channel, "come out. Show yourself again. They savour another look at you." Mr. Boughton, "Ah, how fond from the higher state of his honest simplicity, opened the door and obeyed. "Gow in. You may get a bed now," said Weg, with a grin. The door was hardly closed, when he again called through the keyhole, "Boughton." "Yes, wayg. This time Silas made no reply, but laboured with a will, a turning an imaginary grindstone outside the keyhole, while Mr. Boughton stooped at it within, he then laughed silently, and stumped home." End of Book 4, Chapter 3 Chapter 4, A Runaway Match Charubic Pa arose with as little noise as possible from beside majestic Ma, one morning early, having a holiday before him. Pa and the lovely woman had a rather particular appointment to keep. Yet Pa and the lovely woman were not going out together. Bella was up before four, but had no bonnet on. She was waiting at the foot of the stairs, was sitting on the bottom stair, in fact, to receive Pa when he came down. But her only object seemed to be to get Pa well out of the house. "Your breakfast is ready, sir," whispered Bella, after greeting him with a hug, "and all you have to do is to eat it up and drink it up and escape. How do you feel, Pa?" "To the best of my judgment, like a house-breaker, and you to the business, my dear, who can't make himself quite comfortable till he's off the premises." Bella tucked her arm in his with a merry, noiseless laugh, and they went down to the kitchen on Tiptoe. She, stopping on every separate stair, to put the tip of her forefinger on her rosy lips, and then lay it on his lips, according to her favourite petting way of kissing Pa. "How do you feel, my love?" asked R.W., as she gave him his breakfast. "I feel as if the fortune-teller was coming true, dear Pa, and the fair little man was turning out, as was predicted." "Oh, only the fair little man," said her father. Bella put another of those finger seals upon his lips, and then said, kneeling down by him as he sat at the table. "Now, look here, sir. If you keep well up to the mark this day, what do you think you deserve? What did I promise you should have, if you were good upon a certain occasion?" "Upon my word, I don't remember, precious." "Yes, I do, though. Wasn't it one of those beautiful traces, with his caressing hand upon her hair?" "Wasn't it two?" Return Bella, pretending to pout, upon my word. "Do you know, sir, that the fortune-teller would give five thousand guineas, if it was quite convenient to him, which it isn't, for the lovely piece I have cut off for you? You can form no idea, sir, of the number of times he kissed quite a scrubby little piece, in comparison, that I cut off for him, and he wears it too, round his neck, I can tell you, near his heart," said Bella, nodding. "Ah, very near his heart. However, you have been a good, good boy, and you are the best of all the dearest boys that ever were. This morning, and here's the chain I have made of it, Pa, and you must let me put it round your neck with my own loving hands." As Pa bent his head, she cried over him a little, and then said, after having stopped to dry her eyes on his white waistcoat, the discovery of which incongruous circumstance made her laugh, "Now, darling Pa, give me your hands that I may fold them together, and do you say, after me, my little Bella?" "My little Bella," repeated Pa. "I am very fond of you." "I am very fond of you, my darling," said Pa. "You mustn't say anything not dated to you, sir. You didn't do it in your response as a church, and you mustn't do it in your response as out of church." "I withdraw the darling," said Pa. "That's a pious boy. Now, again, you were always—" "You were always," repeated Pa. "A vexatious?" "No, you weren't," said Pa. "A vexatious. Do you hear, sir? A vexatious, precious, thankless, troublesome animal. But I hope you'll do better in the time to come, and I'll bless you and forgive you." Here she quite forgot that it was Pa's turn to make the response and tongue to his neck. "Dear Pa, if you knew how much I think this morning of what you told me once, about the first time of our seeing old Mr. Harmon, when I stamped and screamed and beat you with my detestable little bonnet, I feel as if I had been stamping and screaming and beating you with my hateful little bonnet ever since I was born darling." "None since my love, and as to your bonnets they have always been nice bonnets, for they have always become you, or you have become them. Perhaps it was that at every age." "Did I hurt you much, poor little Pa?" asked Bella, laughing, notwithstanding her repentance, with fantastic pleasure in the picture. "When I beat you with my bonnet?" "No, my child, wouldn't have hurt a fly." "I—but I am afraid I shouldn't have beat you at all unless I had meant to hurt you," said Bella. "Did I pinch your legs, Pa?" "Not much, my dear, but I think it's almost time I—oh, yes," cried Bella, "if I go on chattering, you'll be taken alive. Fly, Pa! Fly!" So they went softly up the kitchen stairs on tiptoe, and Bella, with her light hand, softly removed the fastening of the house door, and Pa, having received a parting hug, made off. When he had gone a little way, he looked back, upon which Bella set another of those finger seals upon the air, and thrust out a little foot expressive of the mark. Pa, in appropriate action, expressed fidelity to the mark, and made off as fast as he could. Bella walked thoughtfully in the garden for an hour and more, and then, returning to the bedroom, where Lavi, the irrepressible, still slumbered, put on a little bonnet of quiet, put on the whole of sly appearance, which she had yesterday made. "I'm going for a walk, Lavi," she said, as she stooped down and kissed her. The irrepressible with a bounce in the bed, and a remark that it wasn't time to get up yet, relapsed into unconsciousness, if she had come out of it. Behold, Bella, tripping along the streets, the dearest girl afoot under the summer sun. Behold, Pa, waiting for Bella, behind a pump, at least three miles from the parental roof tree. Behold, Bella, and Pa are bored an early steamboat for Greenwich. Were they expected at Greenwich? Probably. At least, Mr. John Rokesmith was on the pier looking out, about a couple of hours before the coolly, but to him, gold dusty, little steamboat, got her steam up in London? Probably. At least, Mr. Rokesmith seemed perfectly satisfied when he described them on board. Probably. At least, Bella no sooner stepped ashore, and she took Mr. John Rokesmith's arm, without a vinsing surprise, and the two walked away together with an ethereal air of happiness, which, as it were, wafted up from the earth, and drew after them a gruff and glum old pensioner to see it out. Two wooden legs had this gruff and glum old pensioner, and a minute before Bella stepped out of the boat, and drew that confiding little arm of her through Rokesmith's, he had had no object in life but tobacco, and not enough of that. Stranded was gruff and glum in a harbor of everlasting mud, when all in an instant Bella floated him, and away he went. Say, cherubic parent, taking the lead, in what direction do he steer first? With some such inquiry in his thoughts, gruff and glum, stricken by so sudden an interest, had he perked his neck and looked over the intervening people, as if he were trying to stand on tiptoe with his two wooden legs, took an observation of R.W. There was no first, in the case, gruff and glum made out. The cherubic parent was bearing down and crowding on direct for Greenwich Church to see his relations. For gruff and glum, though most events acted on him simply as tobacco stoppers, pressing down and condensing the quids within him, might be imagined to trace a family resemblance between the cherubs in the church architecture and the cherub in the white waistcoat. Some remembrance of old valentines were in a cherub, less appropriately attired for a proverbial uncertain climate, had been seen conducting lovers to the altar, might have been fancy to inflame the ardour of his timber toes. Be it as it might, he gave his moorings the slip and followed in chase. The cherub went before, all beaming smiles, Bella and John Rokesmith followed, gruff and glum stuck to them like wax. For years the wings of his mind had gone to look after the legs of his body, but Bella had brought them back for him per steamer, and they were spread again. He was a slow sailor on a wind of happiness, but he took a cross-cut for the rendezvous and pegged away as if he were scoring furiously at cribbage. When the shadow of the church porch swallowed them up, victorious gruff and glum likewise presented himself to be swallowed up. And by this time the cherubic parent was so fearful of surprise that but for the two wooden legs on which gruff and glum was reassuringly mounted, his conscience might have introduced in the person of that pensioner his own stately lady disguised, arrived at Greenwich in a car and griffins like the spiteful fairy at the christening of the princesses to do something dreadful to the marriage service. And truly he had a momentary reason to be pale of face, and to whisper to Bella, "You don't think that can be your bar, do you, my dear?" On account of a mysterious rustling, and a stealthy movement somewhere in the remote neighbourhood of the organ, though it was gone directly and was heard no more. Albeit it was heard of afterwards as will afterwards be read in this voracious register of marriage. Who taketh? I, John, and so do I, Bella. Who giveth? I, R, W, for as much gruff and glum as John and Bella have consented together in holy wedlock you may, in short, consider it done, and withdraw your two wooden legs from this temple. To the foregoing purport the minister speaking as directed by the rubric to the people, selectively represented in the present instance by G and G, about mentioned. And now the church porch having swallowed up Bella Will for forever and ever, had it not in its power to relinquish that young woman, but slid into the happy sunlight, Mrs. John Rokesmith, instead. And long on the bright steps stood gruff and glum, looking after the pretty bride, with the narcotic consciousness of having dreamed a dream, after which Bella took out from her pocket a little letter, and read it aloud to Pa and John, this being a true copy of the same. Dearest Ma, I hope you won't be angry, but I am most happily married to Mr. John Rokesmith, who loves me better than I can ever deserve except by loving him with all my heart. I thought it best not to mention it beforehand in case it should cause any little difference at home. Please tell darling Pa, with love to levy. Ever Dearest Ma, your affectionate daughter, Bella. P.S. Rokesmith. Then John Rokesmith put the Queen's countenance on the letter. When had her gracious majesty looked so benign as on that blessed morning, and then Bella popped it into the post office and said merrily, "Now Dearest Pa, you are safe, and will never be taken alive." Pa was, at first, in the stirred depths of his conscience, so far from sure of being safe yet, that he made out majestic matrons lurking in ambush among the harmless trees of Greenwich Park, and seemed to see a stately countenance tied up in a well-known pocket handkerchief, glooming down at him from a window of the observatory, where the familiars of the astronomer royal nightly out watch the winking stars, but the minutes passing on, and no Mrs. Wilver, in the flesh appearing, he became more confident, and so repaired with good heart and appetite to Mr. and Mrs. John Rokesmith's cottage on black-heath, where breakfast was ready. A modest little cottage, but a bright and a fresh, and on the snowy tablecloth the prettiest of little breakfasts. In waiting, too, like an attendant summer breeze, a fluttering young damsel, all pink and ribbons, brushing as if she had been married and set of Bella, and yet asserting the triumph of her sex over both John and Pa, in an exalting and exalted flurry, at who should say, "This is what you must all come to, gentlemen, when we choose to bring you to book." This same young damsel was Bella's serving made, and unto her did deliver a bunch of keys, commanding treasures in the way of dry sultry, groceries, jams and pickles, the investigation of which made pastime after breakfast when Bella declared that, "Pah must taste everything, John, dear, or it will never be lucky." And when Pa had all sorts of things poked into his mouth and didn't quite know what to do with them when they were put there, then they all three out for a charming ride, and for a charming stroll among heath in bloom, and there behold the identical gruff and glum with his wooden legs horizontally disposed before him, apparently sitting meditating on the vicissitudes of life, to whom said Bella in her light-hearted surprise, "Oh, how do you do again? What a dear old pensioner you are!" To which gruff and glum responded that he see her marry this morning, my beauty, and that if it weren't a liberty he wished her jive and the fairest of fair wind and weather, further in a general way requesting to know what cheer, and scrambling up on his two wooden legs to salute, hat in hand, shipshape, with the gallantry of a man of warsmen and a heart of oak. It was a pleasant sight, in the midst of the golden bloom, to see this salt-old gruff and glum waving his shovel hat at Bella, while his thin white hair flowed free, as if she had once more launched him into blue water again. "You are a charming old pensioner!" said Bella, "and I am so happy that I wish I could make you happy too!" answered gruff and glum, "Give me leave to kiss your hand, my lovely, and it's done." So it was done to the general contentment, and if gruff and glum didn't in the course of the afternoon splice the main brace, it was not for one to have the means of inflicting that outrage on the feelings of the infant bands of hope. But the marriage dinner was the crowning success, for what had bride and bride room plotted to do, but to have and to hold that dinner in the very room of the very hotel where par and the lovely woman had once dined together. Bella sat between par and John, and divided her attentions pretty equally, but felt it necessary, and that waiters absence before dinner, to remind par that she was his lovely woman no longer. "I am well aware of it, my dear," returned the cherub, "and I resign you willingly." "Willingly, sir, you ought to be broken-hearted." "So I should be, my dear, if I thought that I was going to lose you." "But you knew you were not, don't you, poor dear par? You knew that you have only made a new relation, who will be as fond of you and as thankful to you, for my stake and your own stake both, as I am, don't you, dear little par?" "Look here, par." Bella put her finger on her own lip, and then on par's, and then on her own lip again, and then on her husband's. "Now we are a partnership of three, dear par." The appearance of dinner here cut Bella short in one of her disappearances, the more effectual, because it was put on under the auspices, for solemn gentleman in black clothes and a white cravat, who looked much more like a clergyman than the clergyman, and seemed to have mounted a great deal higher in the church, not to say, scaled the steeple. This dignitary, conferring in secrecy with John Rokesmith on the subject of punch and wines bent his head as though stooping to the papistical practice of receiving auricular confession. Likewise, on John's offering a suggestion, which didn't meet his views, his face became overcast and reproachful as in joining penance. "What a dinner!" Specimens of all the fishes that swim in the sea surely had swam their way to it, and if samples of the fishes of diverse colors had made a speech in the Arabian nights, quite a ministerial explanation in respect of cloudiness, and then jumped out of the frying pan, were not to be recognised, it was only because they had all become a one hue by being cooked in batter among the white bait, and the dishes being seasoned with bliss, an article which they are sometimes out of at Greenwich, were of perfect flavour, and the golden drinks had been bottled in the golden age and hoarding up their sparkles ever since. The best of it was that Bella and John and the cherub had made a covenant that they would not reveal to mortal eyes any appearance whatever of being a wedding party. Now the supervising dignitary, the Archbishop of Greenwich, knew this as well as if he had performed the nuptial ceremony, and the loftiness with which his grace entered into their confidence without being invited and insisted on a show of keeping the waiters out of it was the crowning glory of the entertainment. There was an innocent young waiter of a slender form, and with weakish legs, as yet unversed in the wiles of waiterhood, and but too evidently of a romantic temperament, and deeply it were not too much to add hopelessly, in love with some young female, not aware of his merit. This guileless youth, describing the position of affairs, which even his innocence could not mistake, limited his waiting to languishing admiringly against the sideboard, when Bella didn't want anything, and swooping at her when she did. Him, his grace the Archbishop, perpetually obstructed, cutting him out with his elbow in the moment of success, dispatching him in degrading quest of melted butter, and when by any chance he got hold of any dish worth having, breathing him of it, and ordering him to stand back. "A prey excludes him, modern," said the Archbishop, in a low stately voice. "He is a very young man, unliking, and we don't like him." This induced John Rokesmith to observe by way of making the thing more natural, and Bella, my love, this is so much more successful than any of our past anniversaries, I think we must keep our future anniversaries here. We're until Bella replied, was probably the least successful attempt at looking matronly and ever was seen. "Indeed! I think so, John, dear." Here the Archbishop of Greenwich coughed a stately cough to attack the attention of three of his ministers present, and staring at them seemed to say, "I call upon you by your fealty to believe this." With his own hems he afterwards put on the dessert. As remarking to the three guests, the period has now arrived at which we can dispense with the assistance of those fellows who are not in our confidence, and would have retired with complete dignity, but for daring action, issuing from the misguided brain of the young man, unliking. He, finding, by ill fortune, a piece of orange flower, somewhere in the lobbies, now approached, undetected, with the same inner finger-glass, and placed it on Bella's right hand. The Archbishop instantly ejected and excommunicated him, that the thing was done. "I trust, modern," said his grace, returning alone, "that you will have the kindness to overlook it in consideration of it being the act of a very young man who was merely here unliking and who would never answer." With that he solemnly bowed and retired, and they all burst into laughter, long and merry. "Disguise, is of no use," said Bella, "they all find me out. I think it must be par and John, dear, because I look so happy." Her husband feeling it necessary at this point to demand one of those mysterious disappearances on Bella's part, she dutifully obeyed, saying in a softened voice from her place of concealment, "You remember how we talked about the ships that day par?" "Yes, my dear." "Isn't it strange now to think that there was no John in all the ships par?" "Not at all, my dear." "Oh, par! Not at all?" "No, my dear. How can we tell what coming people are aboard of the ships that may be sailing to us now from the unknown seas?" Bella remaining invisible and silent. Her father remained at his desert and wine, until he remembered it was time for him to get home to Holloway. "Though I positively cannot tear myself away," each abruptly added, "it would be a sin without drinking too many, many happy returns of this most happy day." "Here, ten thousand times," cried John, "I fill my glass and my precious wife's." "A gentleman," said the cherub, inaudibly addressing in his Anglo-Saxon tendency to throw his feelings into the form of a speech, the boys down below, who were bidding against each other to put their heads in the mud for sixpence. "Gentlemen, and Bella, and John, you will readily suppose that it is not my intention to trouble you with many observations on the present occasion. You will also at once infer the nature and even the terms of the toast, I am about to propose on the present occasion." "Gentlemen, and Bella, and John, the present occasion is an occasion fraught with feelings that I cannot trust myself to express. But, gentlemen, and Bella, and John, for the part I have had in it, for the confidence you have placed in me, and for the affectionate good nature and kindness with which you have determined not to find me in the way, when I am well aware that I cannot be otherwise than in it, more or less, I do most heartily thank you. "Gentlemen, and Bella, and John, my love to you, and may we meet as on the present occasion, on many future occasions, that is to say, gentlemen, and Bella, and John, on many happy returns of the present happy occasion." Having thus concluded his address, the amiable cherub embraced his daughter and took his fight to the steamboat, which was to convey him to London, and was then lying at the floating pier, doing its best to bump the same to bits. But the happy couple were not going to part with him in that way, and before he had been on board two minutes, there they were, looking down at him from the war forbove. "Pardier!" cried Bella, beckoning him with her parasol to approach the side, and bending gracefully to whisper, "Yes, my darling." "Did I be too much with that horrible little bonnet, Pa?" "Nothing to speak of, my dear." "Did I pinch your legs, Pa?" "Only nicely, my pet." "You're quite sure, you quite forgive me, Pa. Please, Pa, please forgive me quite." Half laughing at him, and half crying to him, Bella besought him in the prettiest manner, in a manner so engaging and so playful and so natural that her cherubic parent made a coaxing face as if she had never grown up and said, "What a silly little mouse it is." "But you do forgive me that, and everything else, don't you, Pa?" "Yes, my dearest." "And you don't feel solitary or neglected going away by yourself, do you, Pa?" "Lord, bless you, know my life." "Good-bye, dearest Pa. Good-bye." "Good-bye, my darling. Take her away, my dear John. Take her home." So, she leaning on her husband's arm, they turned homeward by a rosy path, which the grater's son struck out for them in its setting. "And oh, there are days in this life, worth life and worth death. And oh, what a bright old song it is that, oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round." End of Book 4, Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Concerning the mendicant's bride The impressive gloom with which Mrs. Wilfer received her husband on his return from the wedding, knocked so hard at the door of the cherubic conscience, and likewise so impaired the firmness of the cherubic legs, that the culprit's tottering condition of mind and body might have roused suspicion in less occupied persons than the grimly heroic lady, Miss Levenia, and that esteemed friend of the family, Mr. George Simpson. But the attention of all three being fully possessed by the main fact of the marriage, they had happily, none to bestow on the guilty conspirator; to which fortunate circumstance he owed the escape for which he was in no wise indebted to himself. "You do not, ah, W," said Mrs. Wilfer, from her stately corner, "inquire for your daughter, Bella." "Do be sure, my dear," he returned, with the most flagrant assumption of unconsciousness, "I did omit it. Ah, ooh, perhaps I should rather say where is Bella." "Not here," Mrs. Wilfer proclaimed, with folded arms. The cherub faintly muttered something to the abortive effect of, "Ooh, indeed, my dear." "Not here," repeated Mrs. Wilfer, in a stern sonorous voice, "in a word, R.W., you have no daughter Bella." "No, daughter Bella, my dear." "No, you daughter Bella," said Mrs. Wilfer, with a lofty air of never having had the least co-partnership in that young lady, of whom she now made reproachful mention as an article of luxury which her husband had set up entirely on his own account, and in direct opposition to her advice. "Your daughter Bella has bestowed herself upon a mendicant." "Good gracious, my dear." "Show your father his daughter Bella's letter, Lavinia," said Mrs. Wilfer, in her monotonous act of parliament tone, "and waving her hand, I think your father will admit it to be documentary proof of what I tell him. I believe your father is acquainted with his daughter Bella's writing, but I do not know he may tell you he is not—nothing will surprise me." "Posted at Greenwich, and dated this morning," said the irrepressible, flouncing at her father, in handing him the evidence, "hope smart, won't be angry, but is happily married to Mr. John Rook Smith, and didn't mention it beforehand to avoid words, and please tell darling you, and love to me, and I should like to know what you'd have said, if any other unmarried member of the family had done it." He read the letter, and faintly exclaimed, "Dear me! You may well say, dear me!" rejoined Mrs. Wilfer, in a deep tone. Upon which encouragement he said it again, though scarcely with the success he had expected, for this cornful lady then remarked with extreme bitterness, "You said that before." "It's a very surprising, but I suppose, my dear," hinted the cherub, as he folded the letter after a disconcerting silence, "that we must make the best of it. Would you object to my pointing out, my dear, that Mr. John Rook Smith is not so far as I am acquainted with him, strictly speaking, amndicant?" "Indeed," returned Mrs. Wilfer, with an awful air of politeness, "truly so. I was not aware that Mr. John Rook Smith was a gentleman of landed property, but I am much relieved to hear it." "I doubt, if you have heard it, my dear," the cherub submitted with hesitation. "Thank you," said Mrs. Wilfer, "I make false statements, it appears. So be it. If my daughter flies in my face, surely my husband may. The one thing is not more unnatural than the other. There seems a fitness in the arrangement, by all means. Assuming with a shiver of resignation, a deadly cheerfulness. But here the irrepressible skirmished into the conflict, dragging the reluctant form of Mr. Simpson after her." "Mar!" interposed the young lady. "I must say, I think it would be much better if you would keep to the point, and not hold forth about people's flying into people's faces, which is nothing more or less than impossible nonsense." "How?" exclaimed Mrs. Wilfer, knitting her dark brows. "Just impossible nonsense, Mar!" returned Levy, and George Simpson knows it is as well as I do. Mrs. Wilfer suddenly becoming petrified, fixed her indignant eyes upon the wretched George, who, divided between the support due from him to his love, and the support due from him to his love's mama, supported nobody, not even himself. "The true point is," pursued Lavigna, "that Bella has behaved in a most uncystily way to me, and might have severely compromised me with George and with George's family by making off and getting married in this very low, indestructible manner. With some pure opener rather, I suppose, for a bridesmaid, when she ought to have confided in me and ought to have said, "If, Levy, you consider it due to your engagement with George, that you should countenance the occasion by being present, then, Levy, I beg you to be present. Give me my secret from Marne, par! As a court I should have done." "As, of course, you would have done? In great," exclaimed Mrs. Wilfer. "Viper!" "I say, you know, Marne, upon my honour you mustn't," Mr. Sampson remonstrated, shaking his head seriously, with the highest respect for you, Marne, upon my life you mustn't. No, really, you know, when a man with the feelings that have her gentleman finds himself engaged to a young lady and it comes even on the part of a member of the family to vipers, you know, I would merely put it to her own good feeling, you know," said Mr. Sampson, in rather lame conclusion. Mrs. Wilfer's baleful stare at the young gentleman in acknowledgement of his obliging interference was of such a nature that Miss Levenia burst into tears and caught him round the neck for his protection. "My own unnatural mother," screamed the young lady, "wants to annihilate George, but you shan't be annihilated, George, I'll die first." Mr. Sampson, in the arms of his mistress, still struggled to shake his head at Mrs. Wilfer and to remark, "With every sentiment of respect for you, you know, Marne, vipers, really doesn't do you credit." "You shall not be annihilated, George," cried Miss Levenia. "Marne shall destroy me first, and then shall be contented. Oh, oh, oh, if I lure George to Miss Happy Home to expose him to this. George, dear, be free. Leave me, ever dear, as George to Marne and to my fate. If I have to your aunt, George, dear, and implore him not to curse the viper that has crossed your path and blighted your existence." The young lady, who, hysterically speaking, was only just come of age and had never gone off yet. Here fell into a highly creditable crisis, which regarded as a first performance was very successful. Mr. Sampson, bending over the body meanwhile, in a state of distraction, which induced him to address Mrs. Wilfer in the inconsistent expressions, "Demon, for the hardest respect for you, behold your work!" The cherub stood helplessly wrapping his chin and looking on. But on the whole was inclined to welcome this diversion as one in which, by reason of the absorbent properties of hysterics, the previous question would become absorbed. And so indeed had proved, for the irrepressible, gradually coming to herself and asking with wild emotion, "George, dear, are you safe?" And further, "George, love, what has happened? Where is Mar?" Mr. Sampson, with words of comfort, raised her prostrate form and handed her to Mrs. Wilfer, as if the young lady were something in the nature of refreshments. Mrs. Wilfer, with dignity, partaking of the refreshments, by kissing her once on the brow, as if accepting an oyster, Miss Lavi tottering returned to the protection of Mr. Sampson to whom she said, "George, dear, I am afraid I have been foolish, but I am still a little weak and giddy. Don't let go my hand, George!" And whom she afterwards greatly agitated at intervals, by giving utterance when least expected, to a sound between a sob and a bottle of soda water, has seemed to render the bosom of her frock. Among the most remarkable effects of this crisis may be mentioned, it's having, when peace was restored, an inexplicable moral influence of an elevating kind on Miss Laviña, Mrs. Wilfer, and Mr. George Sampson, from which R.W. was altogether excluded as an outsider and non-sympathizer. Miss Laviña assumed a modest air of having distinguished herself, Mrs. Wilfer, a serene air of forgiveness and resignation. Mr. Sampson, an air of having been improved and chastened. The influence pervaded the spirit in which they returned to the previous question. "But George, dear," said Lavi, with a melancholy smile, "after what has passed, I am sure Marl will tell Parr that he may tell Bella we shall all be glad to see her and her husband." Mr. Sampson said he was sure of it, too; murmuring how eminently he respected Mrs. Wilfer, and ever must, and ever would. Never more eminently he added than after what had passed. "For, beard, from me," said Mrs. Wilfer, making deep proclamation from her corner, "to run counter to the feelings of a child of mine and of her youth." Mr. Sampson hardly seemed to like that word. "Who is the object of her maiden preference? I may feel, nay, no, that I have been deluded and deceived. I may feel, nay, no, that I have been set aside and passed over. I may feel, nay, no, that after having so far overcome my repugnance towards Mr. and Mrs. Boughlin as to receive them under this roof and to consent to your daughter, Bella's." Here, turning to her husband, residing under theirs, it were well if your daughter, Bella," again, turning to her husband, "had profited in a worldly point of view by a connection so distasteful, so disreputable, I may feel, nay, no, that in uniting herself to Mr. Rick Smith she has united herself to one who is, in spite of shallow sophistry, amindicant. And I may feel well assured that your daughter, Bella," again, turning to her husband, "does not exalt her family by becoming amindicant spried. But I suppress what I feel and say nothing of it." Mr. Sampson murmured that this was the sort of thing you might expect from one who had ever in her own family been an example and never an outrage. And ever more so, Mr. Sampson added with some degree of obscurity, and never more so than in and through what had passed. He must take the liberty of adding that what was true of the mother was true of the youngest daughter, and that he could never forget the touching feelings that the conduct of both had awakened within him. In conclusion, he did hope that there wasn't a man with a beating heart who was capable of something that remained undescribed in consequence of Miss Levenia's stopping him as he reeled in his speech. "Therefore, are W," said Mrs. Wilfer, resuming her discourse and turning to her lord again, "let your daughter, Bella, come when she will, and she will be received. So," after short pause and an air having taken medicine in it, "so will her husband." "And I beg, Pa," said Levenia, "that you will not tell Bella what I have undergone. It can do no good, and it might cause her to reproach herself." "My dearest girl," urged Mr. Sampson, "she ought to know it." "No, George," said Levenia, in a tone of resolute self-denial. "No, dear is George. Let it be buried in oblivion." Mr. Sampson considered that too noble. "Nothing is too noble, dear is George," returned Levenia. "And, Pa, I hope you will be careful not to refer before Bella, if you can help it, to my engagement to George. It might seem like reminding her of her having cast herself away. And I hope, Pa, that you will think it equally right to avoid mentioning George's rising prospects when Bella is present. It might seem like a torch in her with her own poor fortunes. Let me ever remember that I am her younger sister and ever spare her painful contrasts, which could not but wound her sharply." Mr. Sampson expressed his belief as such with the demeanor of angels. Miss Lavi replied with solemnity, "No, dear is George. I am but too well aware, that I am merely human." Mrs. Wilfer, for her part, still further improved the occasion by sitting with her eyes fessent on her husband, like two great black notes of interrogation, severely inquiring, "Are you looking into your breast? Do you deserve your blessings? Can you lay your hand upon your heart and say that you are worthy of so hysterical a daughter? I don't ask you if you are worthy of such a wife. Put me out of the question, but are you sufficiently conscious of and thankful for the pervading moral grandeur of the family spectacle on which you are gazing?" These inquiries proved very harassing to R.W., who, besides being a little disturbed by wine, was in perpetual terror of committing himself by the utterance of stray words that would betray his guilty foreknowledge. However, the scene being over and, all things considered, well over, he sought refuge in a doze which gave his lady immense offence. "Can you think of your daughter Bella and sleep?" She disdainfully inquired. "To which he mildly answered, "Yes, I think I can, my dear." "Then," said Mrs. Wilfer, with solemn indignation, "I would recommend you if you have a human feeling to retire to bed." "Thank you, my dear," he replied, "I think it is the best place for me." And with these unsympathetic words very gladly withdrew. Within a few weeks afterwards, the mendicant's bride, arm in arm with the mendicant, came to tea in fulfillment of an engagement made through her father. And the way in which the mendicant's bride dashed at the unassailable position so considerably to be held by Miss Levy, and scattered the whole of the works in all directions in a moment was triumphant. "Dearest Ma!" cried Bella, running into the room with a radiant face. "How do you do, dearest Ma?" and then embraced her joyously. "And Levy, darling, how do you do, and how's George Sampson, and how is he getting on, and when are you going to be married, and how rich are you going to grow?" "You must tell me all about it, Levy, dear, immediately. John, love, kiss Ma and Levy, and then we shall all be at home and comfortable." Mrs. Wilfer stared, but was helpless. Miss Lavigna stared, but was helpless. Apparently with no compunction, and assuredly with no ceremony, Bella tossed her bonnet away, and sat down to make the tea. "Dearest Ma and Levy, you both take sugar I know, and par, you good little par, you don't take milk. John does. I didn't before I was married, but I do now, because John does. John, dear, did you kiss Ma and Levy? Oh, you did quite correct, John, dear, but I didn't see you do it, so I asked. Cut some bread and butter, John, that's a love. Ma likes it doubled. And now you must tell me, dearest Ma and Levy, upon your words and honours, didn't you for a moment just a moment, think I was a dreadful little wretch when I wrote to say I'd run away?" Before Mrs. Wilfer could wave her glows, the mendigan's bride and her merriest affectionate manner went on again. "I think it must have made you rather cross, dear Ma and Levy, and I know I deserved that you should be very cross, but you see, I had been such a heedless, heartless creature, and had led you so to expect that I should marry for money, and so to make sure that I was incapable of marrying for love, that I thought you couldn't believe me. Because you see, you didn't know how much of good, good, good, I had learned from John. Well, so I was sly about it, and ashamed of what you supposed me to be, and fearful that we couldn't understand one another and might come to words which we should all be sorry for afterwards, and so I said to John that if he liked to take me without any fast he might, and as he did like, I get him, and we married a Greenwich Church in the presence of nobody, except an unknown individual who dropped in. "Here, I sparkled more brightly, and half a pensioner, and now isn't it nice, dearest Ma and Levy, to know that no words have been said, which any of us can be sorry for, and that we are all the best friends at the pleasantest of teas." Having got up, and kissed them again, she slipped back to her chair, after a loop on the road to squeeze her husband round the neck, and again went on. "And now you will naturally want to know, dearest Ma and Levy, how we live, and what we have got to live upon. Well, and so we live on blackheath in the charmingest of dolls' houses, delightfully furnished, and we have a clever little servant who is decidedly pretty, and we are economical and orderly, and do everything by clockwork, and we have £150 a year, and we have all we want and more. And lastly, if you would like to know in confidence, as perhaps you may, what is my opinion of my husband, my opinion is, that I almost love him?" "And if you would like to know in confidence, as perhaps you may," said her husband, smiling, as he stood by her side, without her having detected his approach. "My opinion of my wife, my opinion is..." But Bella started up, and put her hand upon his lips. "So, sir, no, John, dear, seriously? Please, not yet a while. I want to be something so much worthier than the doll in the doll's house." "My darling, are you not?" "Not half, not a quarter so much worthier, as I hope you may someday find me. Try me through some reverse, John. Try me through some trial, and tell them after that. What do you think of me?" "I will, my life," said John. "I promise it." "That's my dear John. And you won't speak a word now, will you?" "And I won't," said John, with a very expressive look of admiration around him. I speak a word now. She laid her laughing cheek upon his breast to thank him, and said, looking at the rest of them sideways out of her bright eyes, "I'll go farther." "Parn, Ma, and Navi. John don't suspect it. He has no idea of it, but I quite love him." Even Mrs. Wilfer relaxed under the influence of her married daughter, and seemed, in a majestic manner, to imply, remotely, that if R.W. had been a more deserving object, she too might have condescended to come down from her pedestal for his beguignment. Miss Lavinea, on the other hand, had strong doubts at the policy of the course of treatment, and whether it might not spoil Mr. Simpson, if experimented on in the case of that young gentleman. R.W. himself, also his part, convinced that he was father of one of the most charming of girls, and that Rokesmith was the most favored of men, which opinion, if propounded to him, Rokesmith, would probably not have contested. The newly married pair left early, so that they might walk at leisure to their starting place from London, for Greenwich. At first they were very cheerful and talked much. But after a while, Bella Fencey, that her husband was turning somewhat thoughtful, so she asked him, "John, dear, what's the matter?" "Matter, my love." "Weren't you tell me?" said Bella, looking up into his face. "What are you thinking of?" "There's not much in the thought, my soul. I was thinking whether you wouldn't like me to be rich." "You were rich, John," repeated Bella, shrinking a little. "I mean, really rich, say, as rich as Mr. Boughton. Would you like that?" "I should be always afraid to try it, John, dear. Was he much the better for his wealth? Was I much the better for the little part I once had in it?" "But all people are not the worst for riches, my own." "Most people," Bella musingly suggested, with raised eyebrows, "nor even most people, it may be hoped. If you were rich, for instance, you would have a great power of doing good to others." "Yes, sir, for instance," Bella playfully rejoined, "but should I exercise the power for instance? And again, sir, for instance, should I, at the same time, have a great power of doing harm to myself?" Laughing and pressing her arm, he retorted, "but still, again, for instance, would you exercise that power?" "I don't know," said Bella, thoughtfully shaking her head, "I hope not. I think not, but it's so easy to hope not and think not without the riches." "Why don't you say, my darling, instead of that phrase, 'being poor,' he asked, looking earnestly at her?" "Why don't I say, 'being poor,' because I'm not poor? Do you, John, it's not possible that you suppose I think we are poor?" "I do, my love." "Oh, John!" "Understand me, sweetheart. I know that I am rich beyond all wealth in having you. But I think of you and think for you. In such a dress as you are wearing now, you first charmed me, and in no dress could you ever look to my thinking more graceful or more beautiful. But you have admired many finer dresses this very day, and is it not natural that I wish I could give them to you?" "It's very nice that you should wish it, John. It brings these tears of grateful pleasure into my eyes to hear you say so with such tenderness, but I don't want them." "Again," he pursued, "we are now walking through the muddy streets. I love those pretty feet so dearly that I feel as if I could not bear the dirt to soil the sole of your shoe. Is it not natural that I wish you could ride in a carriage?" "It's very nice," said Bella, glancing down when at the feet in question, "to know that you admire them so much, John dear. And since you do, I am sorry that these shoes are a full size too large, but I don't want a carriage, believe me." "You would like one, if you could have one, Bella?" "I shouldn't like it for its own sake, half so well as such a wish for it. Dear John, your wishes are as real to me as the wishes in the fairy story that were all fulfilled as soon as spoken. Wish me everything that you can wish for the woman you dearly love, and I have as good as got it, John. I have better than got it, John." They were not the less happy for such talk, and home was not the less home for coming after it. Bella was fast developing a perfect genius for home. All the loves and graces seemed, her husband thought, to have taken domestic service with her, and to help her to make home engaging. Her married life glided happily on. She was alone all day, for after an early breakfast her husband repaired every morning to the city, and did not return until their late dinner hour. "He was in a china house," he explained to Bella, which he found quite satisfactory without pursuing the china house into minuteary details than a wholesale vision of tea, vice, odd smelling silks, carved boxes, and tight-eyed people in more than double-sewed shoes, with her pigtails pulling their heads of hair off, painted on transparent porcelain. She always walked with her husband to the railroad, and was always there again to meet him. Her old, coquettish ways a little so but down, but not much, and her dress as daintily managed as if she managed nothing else. But John gone to business, and Bella returned home. The dress would be laid aside, trim little wrappers and aprons would be substituted, and Bella, putting back her hair with both hands, as if you were making the most business-like arrangements for going dramatically distracted, would enter on the household affairs of the day. Such weighing and mixing and chopping and grating, such dusting and washing and polishing, such snipping and weeding and troweling, and other small gardening, such making and mending and folding and airing, such diverse arrangements, and above all, such severe study. For Mrs. J. R., who had never been moaned to do much at home, as Mrs. B. W., was under the constant necessity of referring for advice and support to a sage volume entitled "The Complete British Family Housewife," which you would sit consulting, with her elbows on the table and her temples on her hands, like some perplexed enchantress pouring over the black art. This, principally because the complete British housewife however, sound of Britain at heart, was by no means an expert Britain at expressing herself with clearness in the British tongue, and sometimes might have issued her directions to equal purpose in the Cam's catch-in language. In any crisis this nature, Bella would suddenly exclaim aloud, "Oh, your ridiculous old thing, what do you mean by that? You must have been drinking." And having made this marginal note, would try the housewife again, with all her dimples screwed into an expression of profound research. There was likewise a coolness on the part of the British housewife, which Mrs. John Rokesmith found highly exasperating, she would say, "Take a cellamander!" As if a general should command a private to catch a tartar, or she would casually issue the order "through in a handful!" of something entirely unattainable. In these, the housewives' most glaring moments of unreason, Bella would shut her up, and knock her on the table, apostatising her with the compliment. "Oh, you are a stupid old donkey! Where am I to get it, do you think?" Another branch of study claimed the attention of Mrs. John Rokesmith for a regular period every day. This was the mastering of the newspaper, so that she might be close up with John on general topics when John came home. In her desire to be in all things his companion, she would have set herself with equal zeal to master algebra, or Euclid, if he had divided his soul between her and either. Wonderful was the way in which she would store up the city intelligence, and beamingly shedded upon John in the course of the evening, incidentally mentioning the commodities that were looking up in the markets, and how much gold had been taken to the bank, and trying to look wise and serious over it until she would laugh at herself most charmingly and would say, kissing him, "It all comes of my love, John dear." For a city man, John certainly did appear to care as little as might be for the looking up or looking down of things, as well as for the gold that got taken to the bank. But he cared beyond all expression for his wife, as the most precious and sweet commodity there was always looking up, and that never was worth less than all the gold in the world. And she, being inspired by her affection, and having a quick wit and a fine-ready instinct, made amazing progress in her domestic efficiency, though, as an endearing creature, she made no progress at all. This was her husband's verdict, and he justified it by telling her that she had begun her married life as the most endearing creature that could possibly be. "And you have such a cheerful spirit," he said fondly, "you're like a bright light in the house." "Am I truly, John?" "Are you truly?" "Yes, indeed, only much more and much better." "Do you know, John dear?" said Bella, taking him by a button of his coat, "that I sometimes, at odd moments, don't laugh, John, please." "Nothing should induce John to do it when she asked him not to do it." "That I sometimes think, John. I feel a little serious." "Are you too much alone, my darling?" "Oh, dear, no, John. The time is so short that I have not a moment too much in the week." "Why, serious, my life, then. When serious?" "When I laugh, I think," said Bella, laughing as she laid her head upon his shoulder. "You wouldn't believe it, sir, that I feel serious now. But I do." "And she laughed again, and something glistened in her eyes." "Would you like to be rich, pet?" he asked her coaxingly. "Rich, John, how can you ask such gusses questions?" "Do you regret anything, my love?" "Regret anything?" "No," Bella confidently answered. "But then, suddenly changing," she said, between laughing and glistening. "Oh, yes, I do, though. I regret Mrs. Boffin." "I, too, regret that separation very much. But perhaps it is only temporary. Perhaps things may so fall out as that you may sometimes see her again, as that we may sometimes see her again." Bella might be very anxious on the subject, but she scarcely seemed so at the moment. With an absent air, she was investigating that button on her husband's coat when Pa came in to spend the evening. Pa had his special chair and his special corner reserved for him on all occasions, and, without disparagement of his domestic joys, was far happier there than anywhere. It was always pleasantly droll to see Pa and Bella together. But on this present evening her husband thought her more than usually fantastic with him. "You are a very good little boy," said Bella, "to come unexpectedly as soon as you could get out of school. And how have they used you at school today, you dear?" "Well, my pet," replied the cherub, smiling and rubbing his hands as she sat him down in his chair, "I attend two schools. There's the Minsing Lane establishment, and there's your mother's academy. Which might you mean, my dear?" "Both," said Bella, "both, say." "Why, to say the truth, both have taken a little out of me today, my dear, but that was to be expected. There's no royal road to learning, and what is life but learning." "And what do you do with yourself when you have got your learning by heart, you silly child?" "Why, then, my dear," said the cherub, after a little consideration, "I suppose I die." "You are a very bad boy," retorted Bella, "to talk about dismal things and be out of spirits." "My Bella," rejoined her father, "I am not out of spirits. I am as gay as a lark. Which has faced confirmed." "Then, if you are sure, and certainly it's not you, I suppose it must be I," said Bella, "so I won't do so any more. John, dear, we must give this little fellow his supper, you know." "Of course, we must, my darling." "He has been grabbing and grabbing at school," said Bella, looking at her father's hand, and lightly slapping it, "til he's not fit to be seen. Oh, what a grubby little child." "Indeed, my dear," said her father, "I was going to ask to be allowed to wash my hands, only you find me out so soon." "Come here, sir," cried Bella, taking him by the front of his coat. "Come here and be washed directly. You are not to be trusted to do it for yourself. Come here, sir." The cherub, to his genial amusement, was accordingly conducted to a little washing room, where Bella soaked his face, and rubbed his face, and soaked his hands, and rubbed his hands, and splashed him, and rinsed him, and tolled him, until he was as rare as beetroot, even to his very ears. "Now, you must be brushed and combed, sir," said Bella, busily. "Hold the light, John. Shut your eyes, sir, and let me take hold of your chin, be good directly, and do as you're told." Her father, being more than willing to obey, she dressed his hair in her most elaborate manner, brushing it out straight, parting it, winding it over her fingers, sticking it up on end, and constantly falling back on John to get a good look at the effect of it. Who always received her on his disengaged arm, and detained her, while the patient cherub stood waiting to be finished. "There," said Bella, when she had at last completed the final touches. "Now you are something like a genteel boy; put your jacket on, and come and have your supper." The cherub, investing himself with his coat, was led back to his corner. Where, but for having no egotism in his pleasant nature, he would have answered well enough for that rage into those self-sufficient boy, Jack Horner. Bella, with her own hands, laid a cloth for him, and brought him his supper on a tray. "Stop a moment," said she. "We must keep his little clothes clean," and tied a napkin under his chin in a very methodical manner. While he took his supper, Bella sat by him, sometimes admonishing him to hold his fork by the handle, like a polite child, and at other times carving for him or pouring out his drink. Fantastic as it all was, and accustomed as she ever had been to make a plaything of her good father, ever delighted that she should put him to that account. Still there was an occasional something on Bella's part that was new. It could not be said that she was less playful, whimsical, or natural, than she always had been, but it seemed her husband thought, as if there were some rather graver reason than he had supposed for what she had so lately said, and as if throughout all this there were glimpses of an underlying seriousness. It was a circumstance in support of this view of the case, that when she had lighted her father's pipe and mixed him his glass of grog, she sat down on a stool between her father and her husband, leaning her arm upon the latter, and was very quiet. So quiet, that when her father rose to take his leave, she looked round with a start, as if she had forgotten his being there. "You go a little way with par, John?" "Yes, my dear. Do you?" "I have not written to Lizzie Hexum since I wrote and told her that I really had a lover, a whole one. I have often thought I would like to tell her how right she was, when she pretended to read in the live colds that I would go through fire and water for him. I am in the humour to tell her so tonight, John, and I will stay at home and do it." "You are tired?" "Not at all tired, John, dear, but in the humour to write to Lizzie. Good night, dear par. Good night, you dear, good gentle par." Left to herself, she sat down to write, and wrote Lizzie a long letter. She had but competed it and read it over, when her husband came back. "You are just in time, sir," said Bella. "I am going to give you your first curtain lecture. It shall be a parlor curtain lecture. You shall take the chair of mine, when I have folded my letter, and I will take the stool, though you ought to take it, I can tell you, sir, if it's the stool of repentance, and you will soon find yourself taken to task soundly." Her letter folded, sealed and directed, and her pen wiped, and her middle finger wiped, and her desk locked up and put away, and these transactions performed with an air of severe business sedateness which the complete British housewife might have assumed, and certainly would not have rounded off and broken down in with the musical laugh, as Bella did. She placed her husband in this chair and placed herself upon her stool. "Now, sir, to begin at the beginning. What is your name?" A question more decidedly rushing of the secret he was keeping from her could not have astounded him, but he kept his countenance and his secret, and answered, "John Rokesmith, my dear." "Good boy. Who gave you that name?" But the returning suspicion that something might have betrayed him to her, he answered interrogatively, "My godfathers and my godmothers, dear love." "Pretty good," said Bella, "not good as good because you hesitate about it. However, as you know your catechism fairly so far, I let you off the rest. Now, I am going to examine you out of my own head. John, dear, why did you go back this evening to the question you once asked me before? Would I like to be rich?" Again, his secret. He looked down at her as she looked up at him, with her hands folded on his knee, and he was as nearly told as ever secret was. "Having no reply ready, you could do no better than embrace her." "In short, dear John," said Bella, "this is the topic of my lecture. I want nothing on Earth, and I want you to believe it." "If that's all, the lecture may be considered over, for I do." "It's not all, John, dear," Bella hesitated, "it's only firstly. There's a dreadful secondly, and a dreadful thirdly to come, as I used to say to myself in sermon time, when I was a very small-sized sinner at church." "Let them come, my dears." "Are you sure, John, dear? Are you absolutely certain in your innermost heart of hearts?" "Which is not in my keeping," he rejoined. "No, John, but the key is. Are you absolutely certain that down at the bottom of that heart of hearts would you have given to me as I have given mine to you? There is no remembrance that I was what's very mercenary?" "Why, if there were no remembrance in me of the time you speak of," he softly asked her, with his lips to hers, "could I love you quite as well as I do? Could I have, in the calendar of my life, the brightest of its days? Could I whenever I look at your dear face or hear your dear voice see and hear my noble champion? It can never have been that which made you serious, darling." "No, John, it wasn't that. And still less was it Mrs. Boffin, though I love her. Wait a moment, and I'll go on with the lecture. Give me a moment because I like to cry for joy. It's so delicious, John, dear, to cry for joy." She did so on his neck, and, still clinging there, laughed a little when she said, "I think I am ready now for thirdly, John." "I am ready for thirdly," said John, "whatever it is." "I believe, John," pursued Bella, "that you believe, that I believe." "My dear child," cried her husband Gailie, "what a quantity of believing!" "Isn't there?" said Bella, with another laugh. "I never knew such a quantity. It's like verbs in an exercise, but I can't get on with less believing. I'll try again." "I believe, dear John, that you believe, that I believe, that we have as much money as we require, and that we want for nothing." "It is strictly true, Bella." "But if our money should, by any means, be rendered not so much, if we had to stint ourselves a little in purchases that we can afford to make now, would you still have the same confidence in my being quite contented, John?" "Precisely the same confidence, my soul." "Thank you, John, dear, thousands upon thousands of times, and I may take it for granted, no doubt, with a little faltering, that you would be quite as contented yourself, John. But yes, I know I may, for knowing that I should be so, how surely I may know that you would be so. You who are so much stronger and firmer and more reasonable and more generous than I am." "Harsh," said her husband, "I must not hear that. You're all wrong there, though otherwise as writers can be. And now I am brought to a little piece of news, my dearest, that now might have told you earlier in the evening. I have strong reason for confidently believing that we shall never be in the receipt of a smaller income than our present income." She might have shown herself more interested in the intelligence, but she had returned to the investigation of the coat button that had engaged her attention a few hours before, and scarce her seemed to heed what he said. "And now we have got to the bottom of it at last," cried her husband, rallying her. "And this is the thing that made you serious?" "No, dear," said Bella, twisting the button and shaking her head, "it wasn't this." "Why, then, Lord, bless this little wife of mine. There's a fourthly," exclaimed John. "This worried me a little, and so did secondly," said Bella, occupied with the button, "but it was quite another sort of seriousness, a much deeper and quieter sort of seriousness that I spoke of, John, dear." As he bent his face to hers, she raised hers to meet it, and laid her little right hand on his eyes and kept it there. "Do you remember, John, on the day we were married, par speaking of the ships that might be sailing towards us from the unknown seas?" "Perfectly, my darling." "I think, among them, there is a ship upon the ocean bringing to you and me a little baby, John." End of book 4, Chapter 5. Chapter 6 A Cry for Help The paper mill had stopped work for the night, and the paths and roads in its neighbourhood were sprinkled with clusters of people going home from their day's labour in it. There were men, women, and children in the groups, and there was no want of lively colour to flutter in the gentle evening wind. The mingling of various voices and the sound of laughter made a cheerful impression upon the ear, analogous to that of the fluttering colours upon the eye. Into the sheet of water reflecting the flushed sky in the foreground of the living picture, a knot of urchins were casting stones and watching the expansion of the rippling circles. So in the rosy evening one might watch the ever-widening beauty of the landscape, beyond the newly released workers' winding home, beyond the silver river, beyond the deep green fields of corn so prospering, at the loiterers and their narrow threads of pathway seemed to float immersed breast high, beyond the hedgerows and the clumps of trees, beyond the windmills on the ridge, a way to where the sky appeared to meet the earth, as if there were no immensity of space between mankind and heaven. It was a Saturday evening, and at such a time the village dogs always much more interested in the doings of humanity than in the affairs of their own species were particularly active. At the general shop, at the butchers, and at the public house, they have instanced in acquiring spirit never to be satiated. There a special interest in the public house would seem to imply some blatant rakishness in the canine character, for little was eaten there, and they, having no taste for beer or tobacco, Mrs. Hubbard's dog is said to have smoked, but proof is wanting, could only have been attracted by sympathy with loose, convivial habits. Moreover, a most wretched fiddle played within, a fiddle so unutterably vile that one lean, long-bodied Kerr with a better ear than the rest found himself under compulsion at intervals to go round the corner and howl, yet even he returned to the public house on each occasion with the tenacity of a confirmed drunkard. Fearful to relate, there was even a sort of little fair in the village. Some despairing gingerbread that had been vainly trying to dispose of itself all over the country, and had cast a quantity of dust upon its head and its mortification, again appeal to the public from an infirm booth. So did a heap of nuts, long, long exiled from Barcelona, and yet speaking English so indifferently as to call fourteen of themselves a pint. A peep show, which had originally started with the Battle of Waterloo, and had since made it every other battle of later date by altering the Duke of Wellington's nose, tempted the student of illustrated history. A fat lady, perhaps in part sustained upon postponed pork, her professional associate being a learned pig, displayed her life-size picture in a low dress, as she appeared when presented at court several yards round. All this was a vicious spectacle, as any poor idea of amusement on the part of the rougher hues of wood and drawers of water in this land of England ever is and shall be. They must not vary the rheumatism with amusement. They may vary it with fever and ague, or with as many rheumatic variations as they have joints, positively not with entertainment after their own manner. The various sounds arising from this scene of depravity, and floating away into the still evening air, made the evening at any point which they just reached fitfully, mellowed by the distance, more still by contrast. Such was the stillness of the evening to Eugene Rayburn, as he walked by the river with his hands behind him. He walked slowly, and with the measured step and preoccupied air of one who was waiting. He walked between the two points, an ozier bed at this end, and some floating lilies at that, and at each point stopped and looked expectantly in one direction. "It is very quiet," said he, "it was very quiet. Some sheep were grazing on the grass by the riverside, and it seemed to him that he had never before heard the crisp tearing sound with which they cropped it. He stopped idly, and looked at them." "You are stupid enough, I suppose, but if you are clever enough to get through life tolerably atial satisfaction, you have got the better of me, man as I am, and mutton as you are." A rustle in a field beyond the hedge attracted his attention. "What's here to do?" He asked himself, leisurely, going towards the gate and looking over, "No jealous paper miller. No pleasures of the Jews on this part of the country. Mostly fishing hereabouts." The field had been newly mown, and there were yet the marks of the scythe on the yellow-green ground, and the track of wheels where the hay had been carried. Following the tracks with his eyes, the view closed with the new haorick in a corner. Now, if he had gone on to the haorick and gone round it, but say that the event was to be as the event fell out, and how idle are such suppositions. Besides, if he had gone, what is there a warning and a bargeman lying on his face? A bird flying to the hedge was all he thought about it, and came back and resumed his walk. "If I had not a reliance on her being truthful," said Eugene, after taking some half-dozen turns, "I should begin to think she had given me the slip for the second time." But she promised, and she is a girl of her word. Turning again at the water lilies, he saw her coming, an advanced meter. "I was saying to myself, Lizzy, that you were sure to come, though you were late." "I had to linger through the village, as if I had no object before me, and I had to speak to several people in passing along Mr. Rayburn." "Ah, the lads of the village, and the ladies, such scandal mongers." He asked as he took her hand and drew it through his arm. She submitted to walk slowly on with downcast eyes. He put her hand to his lips, and she quietly drew it away. "Will you walk beside me, Mr. Rayburn, and not touch me?" For his arm was already stealing round her waist. She stopped again and gave him an earnest, supplicating look. "Well, Lizzy, well," said he in an easy way, though ill at ease with himself, "don't be unhappy. Don't be reproachful." "Ah, can it help being unhappy? But I do not mean to be reproachful, Mr. Rayburn. I implore you to go away from this neighbourhood, tomorrow morning." "Lizzy, lizzy, lizzy," he remonstrated, as well to be reproachful as wholly unreasonable. "I can't go away." "Why not?" "Faith," said Eugene, in his eerily candid manner, "because you won't let me. Mind, I don't mean to be reproachful either. I don't complain that you're designed to keep me here. But you do it. You do it." "Will you walk beside me and not touch me?" For his arm was coming about her again, while I speak to you very seriously, Mr. Rayburn. "I will do anything within the limits of possibility for you, Lizzy," he answered with pleasant gaiety as he folded his arms, "see here, Napoleon Bonaparte," at St. Helena. "When you spoke to me, as I came from the mill the night before last," said Lizzy, fixing her eyes upon him with the look of supplication which troubled his better nature, "you told me that you were much surprised to see me, and that you were on a solitary fishing-exclusion. Was it true?" "It was not," replied Eugene, composedly, "in the least true. I came here because I had information that I should find you here." "Can you imagine why I left London, Mr. Rayburn?" "I am afraid, Lizzy," he openly answered, "and that you left London to get rid of me. It is not flattering to myself love that I am afraid you did. I did. How could you be so cruel?" "Oh, Mr. Rayburn," she answered, suddenly breaking into tears, "is the cruelty on my side?" "Oh, Mr. Rayburn, Mr. Rayburn, is there no cruel in your been here tonight?" "In the name of all that's good. And that is not conjuring you in my own name, for heaven knows I am not good," said Eugene, "don't be distressed." "What else can I be?" "When I know the distance and the difference between us." "What else can I be? Like to tell me why you came here is to put me to shame," said Lizzy, covering her face. He looked at her with a real sentiment of remorseful tenderness and pity. It was not strong enough to impel him to sacrifice himself and spare her, but it was a strong emotion. "Lizzy, I never thought before that there was a woman in the world who could affect me so much by saying so little. Don't be hard in your construction of me. You don't know what my state of mind towards you is. You don't know how you haunt me and bewilder me. You don't know how the cursed carelessness that is over-a-ficious in helping me at every other turning of my life won't help me here. You have struck it dead, I think. And I sometimes almost wish you had struck me dead, along with it. She had not been prepared for such passionate expressions, and they awakened some natural sparks of feminine pride and joy in her breast. To consider, wrong as he was, that he could care so much for her, and that she had the power to move him so. "It grieves you to see me distressed, Mr. Rayburn. It grieves me to see you distressed. I don't reproach you. Indeed, I don't reproach you. You have not felt this as I feel it, being so different from me, and beginning from another point of view. You have not thought, but I entreat you to think now. Think now." "What am I to think of?" asked Eugene bitterly. "Think of me." "Tell me how not to think of you, Lizzie, and your change me altogether." "I don't mean in that way. Think of me as belonging to another station, and quite cut off from you in honour. Remember that I have no protector near me, unless I have one in your noble heart. Respect my good name. If you feel towards me, in one particular, as you might, if I was a lady, give me the full claims of a lady upon your generous behaviour. I am removed from you and your family by being a working girl. How to a gentleman to be as considerate of me as if I was removed by being a queen. He would have been based, indeed, to have stood untouched by her appeal. His face expressed contrition and indecision, as he asked. "Have I injured you so much, Lizzie?" "No. No. You may set me quite right. I don't speak of the past, Mr. Rayburn, but of the present and the future. Are we not here now? Because through two days you have followed me so closely, where there are so many eyes to see you, that I consented to this appointment as an escape." "Again, not very flattering to myself, love," said Eugene, moodily. "But yes, yes, yes." "Then, I'll beseech you, Mr. Rayburn. I beg and pray you. Leave this neighbourhood. If you do not, consider to what you will drive me." He did consider within himself for a moment or two, and then retorted, "Drive you. To what shall I drive you, Lizzie? You'll drive me away. I live here peacefully and respected, and I'm well employed here. You will force me to quit this place as I quit at London, and by following me again will force me to quit the next place, in which I may find refuge as I quit this." "Are you so determined, Lizzie? Forgive the word I am going to use for its literal truth to fly from a lover." "I am so determined," she answered resolutely, though trembling, "to fly from such a lover." There was a poor woman died here, but a little while ago, scores of years older than I am, whom I found by a chance, lying on the wet earth. You may have heard some account of her." "I think I have," he answered, if her name was Higdon. Her name was Higdon. Though she was so weak and old, she kept two to one purpose to the very last. Even at the very last, she made me promise that her purpose should be kept to, after she was dead. So settled was her determination. What she did, I can do. Mr. Rayburn, if I believed, but I do not believe that you could be so cruel to me as to drive me from place to place to worm me out, you should drive me to death and not do it. He looked full at her handsome face, and in his own handsome face there was a light of blended admiration, anger, and reproach, which she, who loved him so in secret, whose heart had long been so full, and he the cause of its overflowing, drooped before. She tried hard to retain her firmness, but he saw it melting away under his eyes. In the moment of its dissolution, and of his first full knowledge of his influence upon her, she dropped, and he caught her on his arm. Lizzy rests so a moment. Answer what I ask you. If I had not been what you call removed from you and cut off from you, would you have made us appeal to me to leave you? I don't know. I don't know. Don't ask me, Mr. Rayburn. Let me go back. I swear to you, Lizzy. You shall go directly. I swear to you. You shall go alone. I'll not accompany you. I'll not follow you if you will reply. How can I, Mr. Rayburn, how can I tell you what I should have done if you had not been what you are? If I had not been what you make me out to be? He struck in, skillfully, changing the form of words. Would you still have hated me? Oh, Mr. Rayburn. She replied, appealingly, and weeping, "You know me better than to think hard to go." If I had not been what you make me out to be, Lizzy, would you still have been indifferent to me? "Oh, Mr. Rayburn." She answered as before, "You know me better than that, too." There was something in the attitude of her whole figure as he supported it, and she hung her head, which besought him to be merciful and not force her to disclose her heart. He was not merciful with her, and he made her do it. If I know you better than quite to believe, unfortunate dog, though I am, that you hate me, or even that you are wholly indifferent to me, Lizzy. Let me know so much more from yourself before we separate. Let me know how you would have dealt with me if you had regarded me as being what you would have considered on equal terms with you. It is impossible, Mr. Rayburn. How can I think of you as being on equal terms with me? If my mind could put you on equal terms with me, you could not be yourself. How could I remember, then, the night when I first saw you, and when I went out of the room because you looked at me so attentively? Or the night that passed at the morning when you broke to me that my father was dead? Or the nights when you used to come to see me at my next home? Or, you're having known now uninstracted I was, and having caused me to be taught better? Or, I having so looked up to you, and wondered at you, and at first thought you so good to be at all mindful of me? Only, at first, thought me so good, Lizzy. What did you think of me after, at first? So bad. I don't say that. I don't mean that. But after the first wonder and pleasure of being noticed by one so different from anyone who had ever spoken to me, I began to feel that it might have been better if I had never seen you. Why? Because you were so different, she answered in a lower voice, because he was so endless, so helpless, spear me. "Did you think for me at all, Lizzy?" He asked as if you were a little stung. "Not much, Mr. Raven. Not much, until tonight." "Will you tell me why?" "I never suppose until tonight that you needed to be thought for. 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