Our Mutual Friend

Our Mutual Friend_Part_4

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I can bring myself to promise nothing more tonight Lizzy. Except that I will try what I can do. There is but one means Mr. Rayburn of sparing yourself and of sparing me every way. Leave this neighborhood tomorrow morning. I will try. As he spoke the words in a grave voice she put her hand in his removed it and went away by the riverside. Now could Mortimer believe this? Mermaid Eugene still remaining after a while where she had left him. Can I even believe it myself? He referred to the circumstances that they were tears upon his hand as he stood covering his eyes. A most ridiculous position this to be found out in was his next thought. And his next struck its root in the little rising resentment against the cause of the tears. Yet I have gained a wonderful power over her too. Let her be as much in earnest as she will. The reflection brought back the yielding of her face and form as she had drooped under his gaze. Contemplating the reproduction he seemed to see for the second time in the appeal and in the confession of weakness a little fear. And she loves me. And so earnest a character must be very earnest in that passion. She cannot choose for herself to be strong in this fancy wavering in that and weak in the other. She must go through with her nature, as I must go through with mine. If mine exacts its pains and penalties all round, so must hers, I suppose. Pursuing the inquiry into his own nature, he thought. Now if I married her, if I were facing the absurdity of the situation in correspondence with M.R.F., I astonished M.R.F., to the utmost extent of his respected powers, by informing him that I had married her, how would M.R.F. reason with the legal mind? You wouldn't marry for some money and some station because you were fightfully likely to become bored. Are you less fightfully likely to become bored, marrying for no money and no station? Are you sure of yourself? Legal mind, in spite of forensic protestations, must secretly admit good reasoning on the part of M.R.F., not sure of myself. And the very act of calling this tone of levity to his aid, he felt it to be profligate and worthless, and asserted her against it. "And yet," said Eugene, "I should like to see the fellow Mortimer accepted who would undertake to tell me that this was not a real sentiment on my part, one out of me by her beauty and her worth, in spite of myself, and that I would not be true to her. I should particularly like to see the fellow tonight who would tell me so old, tell me anything that could be construed to her disadvantage, or I'm weirdly out of sorts with one Rayburn who cuts a sorry figure, and I would rather be out of sorts with somebody else." "Eugene, Eugene, Eugene, this is a bad business. Ah, so go the Mortimer Lightwood Bells, and they sound melancholy tonight." Strolling on, he thought of something else to take himself to task for. "Where is the analogy brute beast?" He said impatiently, between a woman whom your father coolly finds out for you, and a woman whom you have found out for yourself, and have ever drifted after with more and more of constancy, since you first set eyes upon her. "Ace, can you reason no better than that?" But again he subsided into a reminiscence of his first full knowledge of his power just now, and of her disclosure of her heart. To try no more to go away, and to try her again, was the retless conclusion it turned up almost, and yet again. "Eugene, Eugene, Eugene, this is a bad business, and I wish I could stop the Lightwood Peel for it sounds like a knell." Looking above, he found that the young moon was up, and that the stars were beginning to shine in the sky from which the tones of red and yellow were flickering out, in favour of the calm blue of a summer night. He was still by the river-side. Turning suddenly he met a man so close upon him that Eugene surprised, stepped back, to avoid a collision. The man carried something over his shoulder which might have been a broken oar, or spa, or bar, and took no notice of him, but passed on. "Hello, our friend," said Eugene, calling after him, "are you blind?" The man made no reply, but went his way. Eugene Rayburn went the opposite way with his hands behind him, and his purpose in his thoughts. He passed the sheep, and passed the gate, and came within hearing of the village sounds, and came to the bridge. The inn where he stayed, like the village in the mill, was not across the river, but on that side of the stream on which he walked. However, knowing the rushy bank and the backwater on the other side to be a retired place, and feeding out of humour for noise or company, he crossed the bridge, and salted on. Looking up at the stars as they seemed one by one to be kindled in the sky, and looking down at the river as the same stars seemed to be kindled deep in the water. A landing-place, overshadowed by a willow, and a pleasure-boat lying moored there among some stakes, caught his eye as he passed along. The spot was in such dark shadow that he paused to make out what was there, and then passed on again. The rippling of the river seemed to cause a correspondence stir in his uneasy reflections. He would have laid them to sleep if he could, but they were in movement, like the stream, and all tending one way with a strong current. As the ripple under the moon broke unexpectedly now and then, and palely flashed in a new shape, and with a new sound, so part of his thoughts started unbidden from the rest and revealed their wickedness. "Out of the question to marry her," said Eugene, "and out of the question to leave her. Ah, the crisis." He had sauntered far enough before turning to retrace his steps. He stopped upon the margin to look down at the reflected night. In an instant, with a dreadful crash, the reflected night turned crooked, flames shot jaggedly across the air, and the moon and stars came bursting from the sky. Was he struck by lightning? With some incoherent half-formed thought that effect, he turned under the blows that were blinding him and mashing his life, and closed with a murderer whom he caught by a red neckerchief, unless the raining down of his own blood gave it that hue. Eugene was light, active, and expert, but his arms were broken, or he was paralyzed, and could do no more than hang on to the man, with his head swung back, so that he could see nothing but the heaving sky. After dragging at the assailant, he fell on the bank with him, and then there was another great crash, and then a splash, and all was done. Lizzie Hexham, too, had avoided the noise and the Saturday movement of people in the straddling street, and chose to walk alone by the water until her tears should be dry, and she could so compose herself as to escape remark upon her looking ill or unhappy on going home. The peaceful serenity of the hour and place, having no reproaches or evil intentions within her breast to contend against, sang healingly into its depths. She had meditated and taken comfort. She, too, was turning homeward when she heard a strange sound. It startled her, for it was like a sound of blows. She stood still, and listened. It sickened her, for blows fell heavily and cruelly on the quiet of the night, as she listened, undecided, or were silent. As she yet listened, she heard a faint groan, and a fall into the river. Her old, bold life and habit instantly inspired her. Without vain waste of breath and crying for help, where there were none to hear, she ran towards the spot from which the sounds had come. It lay between her and the bridge, but it was more removed from her, as she had thought, the night being so very quiet, and sound travelling far with the help of water. At length she reached a part of the green bank, much and newly trodden, where there lay some broken, spinted pieces of wood and some torn fragments of clothes. Stooping, she saw that the grass was bloody. Following the drops and smears, she saw that the watery margin of the bank was bloody. Following the current with her eyes, she saw a bloody face turned up towards the moon and drifting away. Now merciful heaven be thanked for that old time and grant, O blessed Lord, that through thy wonderful workings it may turn to good at last, to whom so ever the drifting face belongs, be it man's or woman's, help my humble hands, Lord God, to raise it from death and restore it to someone to whom it must be dear. It was thought, fervently thought, but not for a moment did the prayer check her. She was away before it, welled up in her mind, away swift and true, yet steady above all, for without steadiness it could never be done, till the landing-place under the willow-tree where she also had seen the boat lying moored among the stakes. A sure touch of her old practised hand, a sure step of her old practised foot, a sure light balance of her body, and she was in the boat. A quick glance of her practised eye showed her, even through the deep, dark shadow, the skulls in a rack against the red-brick garden wall. Another moment, and she had cast off, taking the line with her, and the boat had shot out into the moonlight, and she was rowing down the stream as never other woman rode on English water. Intently over her shoulder, without slackening speed, she looked ahead for the driving-face. She passed the scene of the struggle, Yondred was, on her left, well over the boat's stern. She passed on her right, the end of the village-street, a hilly street that almost dipped into the river, it sounds her growing feigned again, and she slackened, looking as the boat drove everywhere, everywhere, for the floating-face. She merely kept the boat before the stream now, and rested on her oars, knowing well that if the face were not soon visible it had gone down, and she would overshoot it. An untrained sight would never have seen by the moonlight what she saw at the length of a few strokes of stern. She saw the drowning figure rise to the surface, slightly struggle, and as if, by instinct, turned over on its back to float, just so had she first dimly seen the face, which she now dimly saw again. Firm of luck, and firm of purpose, she intently watched it's coming on, until it was very near, then, with a touch, unshipped her skulls, and crept aft in the boat, between kneeling and crouching. Once she left the body of aid her, not being sure of her grasp, twice, and she had seized it by its bloody hair. It was insensible, if not virtually dead, it was mutilated, and streaked the water all about it with dark red streaks, and it could not help itself it was impossible for her to get it on board. She bent over the stern to secure it with the line, and then the river and its shores rang to the terrible cry she uttered. But, as if possessed by supernatural spirit and strength, she lashed it safe, resumed her seat, and rode in desperately for the nearest shallow water where she might run the boat aground. Desperately, but not wildly, for she knew that if she lost distinctness of intention, all was lost and gone. She ran the boat ashore, went into the water, released him from the line, and by main strength lifted him in her arms, and laid him in the bottom of the boat. He had fearful wounds upon him, and she bound them up with her dress torn into strips. Else, supposing him to be still alive, she foresaw that he must bleed to death before he could be landed at his inn, which was the nearest place for succor. This done very rapidly, she kissed his disfigured forehead, looked up and anguished to the stars, and blessed him and forgave him if she had anything to forgive. It was only in that instant that she thought of herself, and then she thought of herself only for him. Now merciful heaven be thanked for that old time, enabling me without a wasted moment to have got the boat afloat again and to roll back against the stream, and grant old blessed Lord God that through poor me he may be raised from death, and preserved to someone else to whom he may be dear one day, though never dearer than to me. She rode hard, rode desperately, but never wildly, and seldom removed her eyes from him in the bottom of the boat. She had so laid him there, as that she might see his disfigured face. It was so much disfigured that his mother might have covered it, but it was above and beyond disfigurement in her eyes. The boat touched the edge of the patch of inlorn, sloping gently to the water. There were lights in the windows, but the chance to be no one out of doors. She made the boat fast, and again by main strength took him up and never laid him down until she laid him down in the house. Surgeons were sent for, and she sat supporting his head. She had often times heard in days that were gone how doctors would lift the hand of an insensible wounded person and would drop it if the person were dead. She waited for the awful moment when the doctors might lift his hand, all broken and bruised, and let it fall. The first of the surgeons came and asked before proceeding to his examination. Who brought him in? "I brought him in, sir," answered Lizzy, a tomb all present looked. "You, my dear. You could not lift far less carriers' weight." "I think I could not at another time, sir, but I am sure I did." The surgeon looked at her with great attention and with some compassion. Having with the grave face touched the wounds upon the head and the broken arms he took the hand. "Oh, would he let it drop?" He appeared irresolute. He did not retain it, but laid it gently down. Took a candle, looked more closely at the injuries on the head and at the pupils of the eyes. That done he replaced the candle and took the hand again. Another surgeon then coming in, the two exchanged whisper, and the second took the hand. Neither did he let it fall at once, but kept it for a while and laid it gently down. "Attend to the poor girl," said the first surgeon then. "She is quite unconscious. She sees nothing, and hears nothing. All the better for her. Don't rouse her if you can help it. Only move her." "Poor girl. Poor girl. She must be amazingly strong of heart, but it is much to be feared that she has set her heart upon the dead. Be gentle with her." End of Book Four, Chapter Six. Chapter Seven, Better to be Able and Cane. Day was breaking at Plashwater We're Mill Lock. Stars were yet visible, but there was dull light in the east that was not the light of night. The moon had gone down and amissed crept along the banks of the river, seen through which the trees were the ghosts of trees and the water was the ghost of water. This earth looked spectral, and so did the pale stars. While the cold, eastern glare, expressionless as to heat or colour with the eye of the firmament quenched, might have been likened to the stare of the dead. Perhaps it was so likened by the lonely bargeman standing on the brink of the lock. For certain, badly headstone looked that way, when the chill air came up, and when it passed on, murmuring as if it whispered something that made the phantom trees and water tremble or threatened for fancy might have made it either. He turned away and tried the lockhouse door. It was fastened on the inside. "Is he afraid of me?" he muttered, knocking. Rogue ride-a-hood was soon roused, and soon undrew the bolt and let him in. "Why, Tatherist! I thought you'd been and got lost. Two nights away, I almost believed as you'd give me the slip, and I had as good as half a mind for we'll advertise you in the newspapers to come forward." Bradley's face turned so dark on this hint that ride-a-hood deemed it expedient to soften it into a compliment. "But not you, Gavner! Not you!" he went on, stolidly shaking his head. "For what did I say to myself? Or are I having amused myself with that very stretch of a complicated idea as a sort of a playful game? Why, I says to myself, he's a man of honour. That's why I says to myself, he's a man, a double honour." Very remarkably, ride-a-hood put no question to him. He had looked at him on opening the door, and he now looked at him again, stealthily this time, and the result of his looking was that he asked him no question. "He'll be for another forty on him, Gavner, as I judge, as a four-year-old you'll turn your mind a breakfast," said ride-a-hood, when his visitor sat down, resting his chin on his hand with his eyes on the ground, and very remarkably again, ride-a-hood feigned to set the scanty furniture in order, while he spoke, to have a show of reason for not looking at him. "Yes, I'd rather sleep, I think," said Bradley, without changing his position. "I, myself, should recommend it, Gavner," assented ride-a-hood, "mar you be anyways, dry?" "Yes, I should like a drink," said Bradley, but without appearing to attend much. Mr. Ride-a-hood got out his bottle, and fetched his jug full of water, and administered a quotation. Then he shook the coverlet of his bed and spread its smooth, and Bradley stretched himself upon it in the clothes he wore. Mr. Ride-a-hood poetically remarking that he would pick the bones of his night's rest in his wooden chair, sat in the window as before. But, as before, watched the sleeper narrowly until he was very sound asleep. Then he rose and looked at him close in the bright daylight on every side with great minuteness. He went out to his lock to sum up what he had seen. "All of his sleeves is tore right away below the elbow, and the tethers had a good rip at the shoulder. He's been hung on to pretty tight for his shirt's all tore out of the neck gatherers. He's been in the grass, and he's been in the water, and he's spotted, and I know with what, and with whose, of raw." Bradley slept long. Early in the afternoon a barge came down. Other barges had passed through both ways before it, but the lockkeeper hailed only this particular barge for news, as if he had made a time calculation with some nicety. The men on board told him a piece of news, and there was a lingering on their part to enlarge upon it. Twelve hours had intervened since Bradley's lying down when he got up. "Not that I swore it," said Ride-a-hood squinting at his lock when he saw Bradley coming out of the house as you've been asleep in all the time, old boy. Bradley came to him, sitting on his wooden lever, and asked what o'clock it was. Ride-a-hood told him it was between two and three. "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. You slept through your alarm, missed the train, and your record sandwich. Cool. Sounds like you could use some luck. I'm Victoria Cash, and Luckyland is where people go every day to get lucky. At Luckyland, you can play over a hundred casino-style games for free for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. Go to Luckylandslots.com and get lucky today. "No purchase necessary. P.G.W. Group, point where prohibited by law. 18 plus terms and conditions apply." "When are you relieved?" asked Bradley. "Die or tomorrow, Governor. Not sooner. Not inch, sooner, Governor." On both sides, importance seemed attached to this question of relief. Riderhood quite petted his reply, saying the second time and prolonging a negative role of his head, "Not inch, sooner, Governor." "Did I tell you I was going on tonight?" asked Bradley. "No, Governor," returned Riderhood, in a cheerful, affable, and conversational manner. "You did not tell me so, but most like you meant to it, forgot to it. How otherwise could a doubt of cummity or id about it, Governor?" "As the sun goes down, I intend to go on," said Bradley. "So much the more necessary is a pick," returned Riderhood. "Come in and have it, Taserist." The formality of spreading a tablecloth not being observed in Mr. Riderhood's establishment, the serving of the pick was the affair of a moment. It merely consisting in the handing down of a capacious baking dish, the three-fourths of an immense meat pie in it, and the production of two pocket knives, an earthenware mug, and a large brown bottle of beer. Both ate and drank, but Riderhood much the more abundantly. In lieu of plates that honest man kept two triangular pieces, from the thick crust of the pie, and laid them inside uppermost upon the table, the one before himself, and the other before his guest. Upon these platters he placed two goodly portions of the contents of the pie, thus imparting the unusual interest to the entertainment that each partaker scooped out the inside of his plate and consumed it with his other fare. Besides having the sport of pursuing the clots of congealed gravy over the plain of the table, and successfully taking them into his mouth at last from the blade of his knife, in case of the knocked first sliding off it. Bradley Headstone was so remarkably awkward at these exercises that the rogue observed it. "Look out, guitarist!" he cried. "You'll cut your hand!" But the caution came too late, for Bradley gashed it at the instant, and what was more unlucky in asking Riderhood to tie it up, and in standing close to him for the purpose, he shook his hand under the smart of the wound and shook blood over Riderhood's dress. When dinner was done, and when what remained of the platters and what remained of the congealed gravy had been put back into what remained of the pie, which served as an economical investment for all miscellaneous savings, Riderhood filled the mug with beer and took a long drink, and now he did look at Bradley and with an evil eye. "Tatherist!" he said hoarsely, as he bent across the table to touch his arm. "The news has gone down the river for you." "What news?" "Who do you think?" said Riderhood, with a hitch of his head, as if he disdainfully jerked the faint away, "Picked up the body." "Guess!" "I am not good at guessing anything." "She did." "Rawr!" "You had him there again." "She did." The convulsive twitching of Bradley Headstone's face, and the sudden hot humor that broke out upon it showed how grimly the intelligence touched him. But he said not a single word, good or bad. He only smiled in a lowering manner and got up and stood leaning at the window, looking through it. Riderhood followed him with his eyes. Riderhood cast down his eyes on his own besprinkled clothes. Riderhood began to have an air of being better at a guess than Bradley owned to being. "I have been so long in one of rest," said the schoolmaster, "that with your leave I'll lie down again." "And welcome, Tatherist!" was the hospitable answer of his host. He had laid himself down without waiting for it, and he remained upon the bed until the sun was low. When he arose and came out to resume his journey, he found his host waiting for him on the grass by the towing path outside the door. "Whenever it may be necessary that you and I should have any further communication together," said Bradley, "I will come back. Good night." "Well, since no better can be," said Riderhood, turning on his heel, "good night." But he turned again as the other set forth, and added under his breath, looking after him with a leer, "You wouldn't be let to go like that if my relief want as good as come. I'll catch you up in a mile." In a word, his real time of relief being that evening at sunset, his mate came lounging in within a quarter of an hour, not staying to fill up the utmost margin of his time, but borrowing an hour or so to be repaid again when he should relieve his reliever, Riderhood straight away followed on the track of Bradley Headstone. He was a better follower than Bradley. It had been the calling of his life to slink and skulk and dog and whey lay, and he knew his calling well. He affected such a forced march on leaving the lock house that he was close up with him, that is to say, as close up with him as he deemed it convenient to be, before another lock was passed. His man looked back pretty often as he went, but got no hint of him. He knew how to take advantage of the ground, and where to put the hedge between them, and where the wall, and when to duck, and when to drop, and had a thousand arts beyond the doomed Bradley's slow conception. But all his arts were brought to a standstill, like himself, when Bradley, turning into a green lane or riding by the riverside, a solitary spot run wild in nettles, briars, and brambles, and encumbered with the scathed trunks of a whole hedgerow of felled trees on the outskirts of a little wood, began stepping on these trunks and dropping down among them and stepping on them again, apparently as a schoolboy might have done, but assuredly with no schoolboy purpose or want of purpose. "What are you up to?" muttered Riderhood, down in the ditch, and holding the hedge a little open with both hands, and soon his actions made a most extraordinary reply. "By George and the Dragon!" cried Riderhood, "if he ain't a guy in a bathe." He had passed back, on and among the trunks of trees again, and has passed on to the water side, and had begun undressing on the grass. For a moment it had a suspicious look of suicide, arranged to counterfeit accident. "But you wouldn't have fetched a bundle under your arm from among that timber if such was your game," said Riderhood. Nevertheless it was a relief to him when the bather, after a plunge and a few strokes came out. "For I shouldn't," he said in a feeling manner, "have light to lose you till I've made more money out of you, neither." Proned in another ditch he had changed his ditch as his man had changed his position, and holding apart so small a patch of the hedge that the sharpest eyes could not have detected him, rogue Riderhood watched the bather dressing, and now gradually came the wonder that he stood up, completely clothed, another man, and not the bargeman. Said Riderhood, "Much as he was dressed at night, I see. You're a-taking me with you now. You're deep, but I know's a deeper." When the bather had finished dressing he kneeled on the grass, doing something with his hands, and again stood up with his bundle under his arm. Looking all around him with great attention, he then went to the river's edge and flung it in as far and yet as lightly as he could. It was not until he was so decidedly upon his way again as to be beyond the bend of the river, and for the time out of view that Riderhood scrambled from the ditch. "Now," was his debate with himself, "shall I follow you on, or shall I let you loose for this once and go afishing?" The debate continuing, he followed as a precautionary measure in any case and got him again in sight. "If I was to let you loose this once," said Riderhood then, still following, "I could make you count me again, or I could find you out in one way or another. If I wasn't a go afishing, now there's might, or I'll let you loose this once and go afishing." With that he suddenly dropped the pursuit and turned. The miserable man whom he had released for the time, but not for long, went on towards London. Bradley was suspicious of every sound he heard and of every face he saw, but was under a spell which very commonly falls upon the shadow of blood and had no suspicion of the real danger that lurked in his life and would have it yet. Riderhood was much in his thoughts. He'd never been out of his thoughts since the night adventure of their first meeting, but Riderhood occupied a very different place there from the place of pursuer, and Bradley had been at the pains of devising so many means of fitting that place to him and of wedging him into it that his mind could not compass the possibility of his occupying any other. And this is another spell against which the shadow of blood forever strives in vain. There are fifty doors by which discovery may enter. With infinite pains and cunning he double locks and bars forty-nine of them, and cannot see the fiftieth standing wide open. Now too was he cursed with a state of mind more wearing and more wearism than remorse. He had no remorse, but the evildoer who can hold that avenger at bay can't escape the slower torture of incessantly doing the evil deed again and doing it more efficiently. In the defence of declarations and pretended confessions of murderers, the pursuing shadow of this torture may be traced through every lie they tell. If I had done it as alleged, is it conceivable that I would have made this and this mistake? If I had done it as alleged, should I have left that unguarded place which that false and wicked witness against me so infamously deposed to? The state of that wretch who continually finds the weak spots in his own crime, and strives to strengthen them when it is unchangeable, is a state that aggravates the offence by doing the deed a thousand times instead of once. But it is a state, too, that tauntingly visits the offence upon a sullen, unrepentant nature with its heaviest punishment every time. Bradley toiled on, chained heavily to the idea of his hatred and his vengeance, and thinking how he might have satiated both in many better ways and the way he had taken. The instrument might have been better, a spot in the hour might have been better chosen. To batter a man down from behind in the dark and the brink of a river was well enough, but he ought to have been instantly disabled, whereas he had turned and seized his assailant, and so to end it before chance help came, and to be rid of him he had been hurriedly thrown backward into the river before the life was fully beaten out of him. Now, if it could be done again, it must not be so done. Supposing his head had been held down under water for a while. Supposing the first blow had been to her. Supposing he had been shot. Supposing he had been strangled. Supposing this way, that way, the other way. Supposing anything but getting unchained from the one idea, for that was inexorably impossible. The school reopened next day. The scholars saw little or no change in their master's face. For it always wore its slowly laboring expression. But, as he heard his classes, he was always doing the deed and doing it better. As he paused with his piece of chalk at the blackboard before writing on it, he was thinking of the spot, and whether the water was not deeper and a fall straighter, a little higher up or a little lower down. He had half a mind to draw a line or two upon the board and show himself what he meant. He was doing it again and improving on the manner at prayers in his mental arithmetic all through his questioning, all through the day. Charlie Hexham was a master now in another school, under another head. It was evening, and Bradley was walking in his garden, observed from behind a blind, by gentle little Miss Peter, who contemplated offering him a loan of her smelling salts for headache, when Mary Anne and faithful attendants held up her arm. "Yes, Mary Anne." "Young Mr. Hexham, if you please, Mom, coming to see Mr. Headstone." "Very good, Mary Anne." "Again, Mary Anne held up her arm." "He may speak, Mary Anne." "Mr. Headstone has beckoned Young Mr. Hexham into his house, Mom, and he has gone in himself without waiting for Young Mr. Hexham to come up, and now he has gone into, Mom, and to shut the door." "With all my heart, Mary Anne." "Again, Mary Anne's telegraphic arm worked." "What more, Mary Anne?" "They must find it rather dull and dark, Miss Peter, or the parlor blinds down, and neither of them pulls it up." "There is no accounting," said Good Miss Peter, with a little sad sigh, which she repressed by laying her hand on her neat, methodical bodice. "There is no accounting for tastes, Mary Anne." Charlie, entering the dark room, stopped short when he saw his old friend in its yellow shade. "Come in, Hexham, come in." Charlie advanced to take the hand that was held out to him, but stopped again short of it. The heavy, bloodshot eyes of the schoolmaster, rising to his face with an effort, met his look of scrutiny. "Mr. Edgestone, what's the matter?" "Matter? Where?" "Mr. Edgestone, have you heard the news? This news about the fellow, Mr. Eugene Riven, that he has killed?" "He is dead then," exclaimed Bradley. Young Hexham's standing look at him. He moistens his lips with his tongue, looked about the room, glanced at his former pupil, and looked down. "I heard of the outrage," said Bradley, trying to constrain his working mouth, "but I had not heard the end of it." "Where were you?" said the boy, advancing a step as he lowered his voice. "When it was done?" "Stop! I don't ask that. Don't tell me. If you fought your confidence upon me, Mr. Edgestone, I'll give up every word of it. Mind, take note of this, I'll give up it, and I'll give up you, I will." The wretched creature seemed to suffer acutely under this renunciation. A desolate air of utter and complete loneliness fell upon him, like a visible shade. "This, for me to speak, not you," said the boy, "if you do, you'll do it at your peril. I'm going to put your selfishness before you, Miss Edgestone. Your passionate, violent, and ungovernable selfishness, to show you why I can, and why I will have nothing more to do with you." He looked at young Hexam, as if he were waiting for a scholar to go on with a lesson that he knew by heart, and was deadly tired of. But he had said his last word to him. "If you had any part, I'd have to say what in this attack?" pursued the boy. "Or, if you know anything about it, I'd have to say how much, or if you know who did it, I'd go no closer. You did an injury to me, has never to be forgiven. You know that I took you with me to his chambers in the temple, when I told him my opinion of him, and made myself responsible for my opinion of you. You know that I took you with me when I was watching him, with a view to recovery my sister, and bringing her to her senses. You know that I have allowed myself to be mixed up with you, all through this business, in favouring your desire to marry my sister. And how do you know that? Pursuing the ends of your own violent temper, you have not laid me open to suspicion? He said, "You'll grant you to me, Miss Edgestone." Bradley sat looking steadily before him at the vacant air. As often as young Hexam stopped, he turned his eyes towards him, as if he were waiting for him to go on with the lesson, and get it done. As often as the boy resumed, Bradley resumed his fixed face. "I'm going to be playing with you, Miss Edgestone," said young Hexam, shaking his head in a half-threatening manner, "because this is no time for affecting not to know things that I do know, except certain things at which it might not be very safe for you to hint again. What I mean is this. If you were a good master, I was a good pupil. I have done you plenty of credit, and in improving my own reputation, I've improved yours quite as much. Very well then. Starting on equal terms, I want to put before you how you have shown your grant you to me for doing all I could to further your wishes with reference to my sister. You have compromised me by being seen about with me, and devouring to counteract this, Mr. Eugene Rayburn. Has the first thing you have done. If my character, and my now-dropping you, help me out of that, Mr. Headstone. The deliverance is to be attributed to me, and not to you, no thanks to you for it." The boy stopping again, he moved his eyes again. "I am going on, Miss Edgestone. Don't you be afraid? I am going on at the end, and I have told you beforehand what the end is. Now, you know my story. You are as well aware as I am, and I have had many disadvantages to leave behind me in life. You have heard me mention my father, and you are sufficiently acquainted with the fact at the home from which I, as I may say, escaped, might have been a more creditable one than it was. My father died, and then it might have been supposed that my way to respectability was pretty clear." "No. Well, then my sister begins." He spoke us confidently, and with his entire in absence of any telltale colour in his cheek, as if there were no softening old time behind him. Not wonderful, for there was none in his hollow, empty heart. What is there but self, for selfishness to see behind it?" "When I speak of my sister, I devoutly wish that you had never seen, no Miss Edstone. However, you did see her, and that's useless now. I confided in you about her. I explained her character to you, and how she interposed some ridiculous, fanciful notions in the way of our being as respectable as I tried for. You fell in love with her, and I favoured you with all my might. She could not be induced to favour you, and so we came into collision with this Mr. Eugene Rayburn. Now, what have you done? Why, you have justified my sister in being firmly set against you from first to last, and you have put me in the wrong again. And why have you done it? Because, Mr. Edstone, you are in all your passions so selfish, and so concentrated upon yourself that you have not yet bestowed one proper thought on me." The cool conviction with which the boy took up and held his position could have been derived from no other vice in human nature. 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. It is Ryan Seacrest here. There was a recent social media trend which consisted of flying on a plane with no music, no movies, no entertainment. But a better trend would be going to Chumbakocino.com. It's like having a mini social casino in your pocket. Chumbakocino has over 100 online casino-style games all absolutely free. It's the most fun you can have online and on a plane, so grab your free welcome bonus now at Chumbakocino.com. Sponsored by Chumbakocino. No purchase necessary. VGW Group. Void were prohibited by law. 18+ terms and conditions apply. It is. He went on, actually, with tears. An extraordinary circumstance, attending all my life. Every effort I make towards perfect respect but that is impeded by somebody else through no fault of mine. Not content with doing what I've put before you. You will drag my name in a note variety through dragging my sisters, which are pretty sure to do if my suspicions have any foundation at all. And the worse you prove to be, the harder it will be for me to detach myself from being associated with you in people's minds. When he had dried his eyes and heaved a sob over his injuries, he began moving towards the door. However, I have made up my mind that I will become respectable in the scale of society, and that I will not be dragged down by others. I have done with my sister, as well as with you. Since she cares so little for me as to get nothing for undermining my respectability, she should go away and I will go mine. My prospects are very good, and I need to follow them alone. Mr. Headstone, I don't say what you have got upon your conscience, for I don't know. Whatever lies upon it, I hope you will see the justice of keeping wide and clear of me, and will find a consolation in completely exonerating all but yourself. I hope, before many years are out, to succeed the master in my present school, and the mistress being a single woman, though some years older than I am, I might even marry her. If it is any comfort to you to know what plans I may work out by keeping myself strictly respectable in the scale of society, these are the plans at present occur in me. In conclusion, if you feel a sense of having injured me and a desire to make some small reparation, I hope you will think how respectable you might have been yourself, and will contemplate your blighted existence. Was it strange that the wretched man should take this heavily to heart? Perhaps he had taken the boy to heart first, through some long, laborious years. Perhaps through the same years he had found his drudgery lightened by communication with a brighter and more apprehensive spirit than his own. Perhaps a family resemblance of face and voice between the boy and his sister, smote him hard in the gloom of his fallen state. For which so ever reason, or for all, he duked his devoted head when the boy was gone, and shrank together on the floor, and groveled there, with the palms of his hands tight clasping his hot temples in a nuttable misery and unrelieved by a single tear. Rogue-riderhood had been busy with the river that day. He had fished with aciduity on the previous evening, but the light was short and he had fished unsuccessfully. He had fished again that day with better luck, and had carried his fish home to flashwater-weir mill lock-house in a bundle. End of Book 4 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 A Few Grains of Pepper The doll's dressmaker went "no more" to the business premises of pubcy and co. in St Mary Axe. After chance had disclosed to her, as she supposed, the flinty and hypocritical character of Mr. Ryer. She often moralized over her work on the tricks and the manners of that venerable cheat, but made her little purchases elsewhere, and lived a secluded life. After much consultation with herself, she decided not to put Lizzie Hexam on her guard against the old man, arguing that the disappointment of finding him out would come upon her quite soon enough. Therefore, in her communication with her friend by letter, she was silent on this theme, and principally dilated on the backslidings of her bad child, who every day grew worse and worse. "You wicked old boy," Miss Ren would say to him, with a menacing forefinger, "you'll force me to run away from you, after all, you will. And then you shake the bits, and there'll be nobody to pick up the pieces." At this foreshadowing of a desolate disease, the wicked old boy would whine and wimper, and would sit shaking himself into the lowest of low spirits, until such time as he could shake himself out of the house and shake another three-peneth into himself. But dead drunk or dead sober, he had come to such a pass that he was least alive in the latter state. It was always in the conscience of the paralytic scarecrow, that he had betrayed his sharp parent for sixty three-peniths of rum, which were all gone, and that her sharpness would infallibly detect his having done it sooner or later. All things considered, therefore, and addition made of the state of his body, to the state of his mind, the bed on which Mr. Dahl's reposed was a bed of roses, from which the flowers and leaves that entirely faded, leaving him to lie upon the thorns and stalks. On a certain day, Miss Ren was alone at her work, with the house door set open for coolness, and was tolling in a small, sweet voice a mournful little song, which might have been the song of the doll she was dressing, be moaning the brittleness and multi-bility of wax, when whom should she describe standing on the pavement looking in at her, but Mr. Fledgby? "I thought it was you," said Fledgby, coming up the two steps. "Did you?" Miss Ren retorted. "And I thought it was you, young man, quite a coincidence. You're not mistaken, and I'm not mistaken, how clever we are." "Well, and how are you?" said Fledgby. "I'm pretty much as usual, sir," replied Miss Ren. "A very unfortunate parent, worried out of my life and senses by a very bad child." Fledgby's small eyes opened so wide that they might have passed for ordinary-sized eyes, as he stared about him for the very young person who he was supposed to be in question. "But you are not a parent," said Miss Ren. "And consequently, it's of no use talking to you upon a family subject. To what am I to attribute the honour and favour?" "To wish to improve your acquaintance," Mr. Fledgby replied. Miss Ren, stopping to bite her thread, looked at him very knowingly. "We never meet now," said Fledgby. "Do we?" "No," said Miss Ren, chopping off the word. "So I had a mind," pursued Fledgby. "They can't even have a talk with you about our dodging friend, the child of Israel." "So he gave you my address, did he?" asked Miss Ren. "I got it out of him," said Fledgby, with a stammer. "You seem to see a good deal of him," remarked Miss Ren, with shrewd distrust. "A good deal of him, you seem to see, considering?" "Yes, I do," said Fledgby, considering. "Haven't you?" inquired the dressmaker, bending over the doll, in which her art was being exercised. "Darn it, interceding with him yet?" "No," said Fledgby, shaking his head. "La, been interceding with him all this time, and sticking to him still," said Miss Ren, busy with her work. "Sticking to him is the word," said Fledgby. Miss Ren pursued her occupation with a concentrated air, and asked after an interval of silent industry. "Are you in the army?" "Not exactly," said Fledgby, rather flattered by the question. "Navy," asked Miss Ren. "No," said Fledgby. He qualified these two negatives as if he were not absolutely in either service, which was almost in both. "What are you, then?" demanded Miss Ren. "I am a gentleman. I am," said Fledgby. "Oh!" Ascented Jenny, screwing up her mouth at an appearance of conviction. "Yes, to be sure. That accounts for having so much time to give to interceding. But don't you think how kind and friendly a gentleman you must be?" Mr. Fledgby found that he was skating round aboard marked dangerous and had better cut out of fresh track. "Let's go back to the dodgerist of the dodgers," did he? "What's he up to in the case of your friend, the handsome girl? He must have some object. What is object?" "Can it undertake to say, sir, I'm sure," returned Miss Ren, compositely. "He won't acknowledge where she's gone," said Fledgby, "and I have a fancy that I should like to have another look at her. Now, I know he knows where she is gone." "Can it undertake to say, sir, I'm sure," Miss Ren again rejoined. "And you know where she is gone?" hesitant Fledgby. "Can it undertake to say, sir, really," replied Miss Ren. The quaint little chin met Mr. Fledgby's gaze with such a baffling hitch that that agreeable gentleman was for some time to loss how to resume his fascinating part in the dialogue. "At length," he said, "Miss Jenny, not your name, if I don't mistake." "Probably you don't mistake, sir," was Miss Ren's cool answer, "because you had it on the best authority. Mine, you know." "Miss Jenny, instead of coming up and being dead, let's come out and look alive. It'll pay better, I assure you," said Fledgby, bestowing an emveagling twinkle to upon the dressmaker. "You'll find it pay better?" "Perhaps," said Miss Jenny, holding out her doll at arm's length, and critically contemplating the effect of her art with her scissors on her lips and her head thrown back, as if her interest lay there and not in the conversation. "Perhaps you'll explain your meaning, young man, which is Greek to me. You must have another touch of blue in your trimming, my dear." Having addressed the last remark to her fair client, Miss Ren proceeded to snip at some blue fragments that lay before her, among fragments of all colours, and to thread a needle from a skein of blue silk. "Look here," said Fledgby, "are you attending?" "I am attending, sir," replied Miss Ren, without the slightest appearance of so doing. "And now the touch of blue in your trimming, my dear." "Well, look here," said Fledgby, rather discouraged by the circumstances under which he found himself pursuing the conversation. "If you're attending." "Light blue, my sweet young lady," remarked Miss Ren, in a sprightly tone, "being best suited to your fair compaction and your facts and curves." "I say, if you're attending," proceeded Fledgby, "it'll pay better in this way. It'll lead in a round about manatee or bind, damage and waste of pubs in coe, at a nominal price or even getting it for nothing." "Aha," thought the dressmaker, "but you are not so round about little eyes, they don't notice your answering for pubzium coe after all." "Little eyes, little eyes, you're too cunning by half." "And I take it for granted," pursued Fledgby, "now to get the most of your materials for nothing would be well worth your while, Miss Jenny." "You may take it for granted," returned the dressmaker, with many knowing nods, "that it's always well worth my while to make money." "Now," said Fledgby, approvingly, "you're answering to a sensible purpose. Now you're coming out and looking alive. So I make so free, Miss Jenny, as to offer the remark that you and Judah were too thick together to last. You can't come to be intimate with such a deep file as Judah without beginning to see a little way into him, you know," said Fledgby with a wink. "I must own," returned the dressmaker with her eyes upon her work, "that we are not good friends at present." "I know, you're not good friends at present," said Fledgby. "I know all about it. I should like to pay off, Judah, by not letting him have his own deep way in everything, and most things he'll get it by hook or by crook, but hang it all. Don't let him have his own deep way in everything. That's too much." Mr. Fledgby said this with some display of indignant warmth, as if he was counsel and the cause for virtue. "How can I prevent his having his own way?" began the dressmaker, and deep away I called it," said Fledgby. "His own deep way in anything." "I'll tell you," said Fledgby. "I like to hear you ask it because it's looking alive. It's what I should expect to find in one of your surgacious understanding, now, candidly." "Hey?" cried Miss Jenny. "I said now, candidly," Mr. Fledgby explained, a little put out. "Oh! I should be glad to count of mine, him, respecting the handsome gal, your friend. He means something there. He may depend upon it. Judah means something there. He has a motive, and of course his motive is a dark motive. Now, whatever his motive is, it's necessary to his motive." Mr. Fledgby's constructive powers were not equal to the avoidance of some tortology here. "That it should be kept from me what he has done with her, so I put it to you who know. What has he done with her? I ask no more, and is that asking much when you understand that it will pay?" Miss Jenny Ren, who had cast her eyes upon the bench again, after her last interruption, said looking at it, needle in hand but not working, for some moments. She then bristly resumed her work, and said with a side-long glance of her eyes and chin at Mr. Fledgby, "Where do you live?" "Albany," pickadilly, replied Fledgby, "when are you at home?" "When you like." "But, Chris, time?" said Jenny in her abruptest and shortest manner. "No, but her time and the day," said Fledgby. "I'll look in upon you tomorrow, young man." "Those two ladies," pointed to Dolls, "have an appointment in Bond Street at ten precisely. When I've dropped them there, I'll drive round to you." With a weird little laugh, Miss Jenny pointed to her crutch stick as her equippage. "This is looking alive indeed," cried Fledgby, rising. "Mark, you, I promise you nothing." Said the Doll's dressmaker, dabbing two dabs at him with a needle as if he put out both his eyes. "Now, now, I understand," returned Fledgby, "a damage and waste question shall be settled first. It shall be made to pay, don't you be afraid?" "Good day, Miss Jenny." "Good day, young man." Mr. Fledgby's pre-possessing form withdrew itself, and the little dressmaker, clipping and snipping and stitching and stitching and snipping and clipping fell to work at a great rate, musing and muttering all the time. "Misty, misty, misty. Can't make it out. Little eyes and the wolf in a conspiracy, or little eyes and the wolf against one another. Can't make it out. My poor Lizzy, are they both designs against you either way? Can't make it out. His little eyes, pupsy, and the wolf, coe, can't make it out. Pups be true to coe and coe to pupsy. Pupsy falls to coe and coe to pupsy. Can't make it out. What said little eyes? Now, candidly. Ah, however the cat jumps, he's a liar. That's all I can make out of present, but you may go to bed in the almighty picadilly with that for your pillow, young man." Thereupon the little dressmaker again dabbed out his eyes separately, and making a loop in the air of her thread and deftly catching it into a knot with the needle seemed to bowstring him into the bargain. For the terrors undergone by Mr. Dolls that evening, when his little parent set profoundly meditating over her work, and when he imagined himself found out as often as she changed her attitude or turned her eyes towards him, there is no adequate name. Moreover, it was her habit to shake her head as that wretched old boy whenever she caught his eye as he shivered and shook. What are popularly called the trembles being in full force upon him that evening, and likewise what are popularly called the horrors, he had a very bad time of it, which was not made better by his being so remorseful as frequently to moan. "Sick thee, three parrots!" This imperfect sentence, not being at all intelligible as a confession, but sounding like a gargantuan order for a dram, brought him into new difficulties by occasionally his parent to pounce at him in a more than usually snepish manner and to overwhelm him with bitter approaches. What was a bad time for Mr. Dolls could not fail to be a bad time for the doll's dressmaker. However, she was on the alert next morning and drove to Bond Street and set down the two ladies punctually, and then directed her a quippage to conduct her to the Albany. A ride at the door of the house in which Mr. Fetchby's chambers were, she found a lady standing there in a travelling dress, holding in her hand of all things in the world, a gentleman's hat. "You want someone," said the lady in a stern manner. "I am going upstairs to Mr. Fetchby's." "You cannot do that at this moment. There is a gentleman with him. I am waiting for the gentleman. His business of Mr. Vegery will very soon be transacted, and then you can go up. Until the gentleman comes down, you must wait here." While speaking and afterwards, the lady kept watchfully between her and the staircase, as it prepared to oppose her going up by force. The lady being of a stature to stop her with her hand, and looking mightily determined, the dressmaker stood still. "Well, why do you listen?" asked the lady. "I'm not listening," said the dressmaker. "What do you hear?" asked the lady, altering her phrase. "Is it a kind of spluttering somewhere?" said the dressmaker, with an inquiring look. "Mr. Fetchby and his shower bath, perhaps?" remarked the lady, smiling. "And somebody is beating carpet, I think." "Mr. Fetchby's carpet, I dare say," replied the smiling lady. Miss Ren had a reasonably good eye for smiles, being well accustomed to them on the part of a young friend's, though their smiles mostly ran smaller than in nature. But she had never seen so singular a smile as that upon this lady's face. It twitched her nostrils open in a remarkable manner, and contracted her lips and eyebrows. It was a smile of enjoyment, too, though of such a fierce kind, that Miss Ren thought she would rather not enjoy herself and do it in that way. "Well," said the lady, watching her, "what now?" "I hope there is nothing the matter," said the dressmaker. "Where?" inquired the lady. "I don't know where," said Miss Ren, staring about her. "But I never heard such odd noises. Don't you think I'd better hold somebody?" "I think you had better not." Returned the lady with a significant frown and drawing closer. On this hint, the dressmaker relinquished the idea, and stood looking at the lady as hard as the lady looked at her. Meanwhile, the dressmaker listened with amazement to the odd noises which still continued, and the lady listened, too, under the coolness in which there was no trace of amazement. Soon afterwards came a slamming and banging of doors, and then came running downstairs, a gentleman with whiskers, and out of breath, who seemed to be red-hot. "Is your business done, Alfred?" inquired the lady. "Very thoroughly done," replied the gentleman, as he took his hat from her. "You can go up to Mr. Fledgeby as soon as you'd like," said the lady, moving hortily away. "Oh, and you can take these three pieces of stick with you," added the gentleman politely, "and say, if you please, they come from Mr. Alfred Lemmel with his compliments on leaving England, Mr. Alfred Lemmel. Be so good, it's not to forget the name." 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Forward were prohibited by law, 18 plus terms and conditions apply. The three pieces of stick were three broken and frayed fragments of a stout live cane. Miss Jenny taking them wonderingly and the gentleman repeating with a grin, "Mr. Alfred Lammel, if you'll be so good." Compliments, Unleaving England. The lady and gentleman walked away quite deliberately, and Miss Jenny and her crutch stick went upstairs. "Lammo, lammo, lammo." Miss Jenny repeated as she panted from stare to stare, "Where have I heard that name? Lammo, lammo. Oh, I know, sit me reacts." For the gleam of new intelligence and her sharp face, the doll's dressmaker pulled at Fledgeby's bell. No one answered, but from within the chambers had proceeded a continuous sputtering sound of a highly singular and unintelligible nature. "Good gracious! Is little eyes choking?" cried Miss Jenny. Pulling at the bell again and getting no reply, she pushed the outer door and found it standing ajar. No one being visible on her opening it wider and the sputtering continuing, she took the liberty of opening an inner door and then beheld the extraordinary spectacle of Mr. Fledgeby in a shirt, a pair of Turkish trousers and a Turkish cap, rolling over and over on his carpet and sputtering wonderfully. "O, Lord!" gasped Mr. Fledgeby. "Oh, my eyes! Stop thief! I'm strangling fire! Oh, my eye! A glass of water! Gimme a glass of water! Shut the door, murder our old lord!" And then rolled and spluttered more than ever. Hurrying into another room, Miss Jenny got a glass of water and brought it for Fledgeby's relief, who, gasping, sputtering and rattling in his throat between wiles, drank some water and laid his head faintly on her arm. "Oh, my eye!" cried Fledgeby, struggling anew. "It's old and snuff! It's up my nose! And down my throat! And in my windpipe!" And here, crowing fearfully with his eyes starting out of his head, appeared to be contending with every mortal disease incidental to poultry. "And oh, my eye! I'm so sore!" cried Fledgeby, starting over on his back in a spasmodic way that caused the dressmaker to retreat to the wall. "Oh, my smart soul! To put something on my back and arms and legs and shoulders! You just tell my throat again and can't come up! Oh, oh, oh! Oh, my smart soul!" Here Mr. Fledgeby bounded up and bounded down and went rolling over and over again. The doge dressmaker looked on until he rolled himself into a corner, with his Turkish slippers uppermost, and then, resolving in the first place to address administration to the salt and snuff, gave him more water and slept his back. But the latter application was by no means his success, causing Mr. Fledgeby to scream and to cry out, "Oh, my eye! Don't slap me! I'm covered with wheels and I smart so!" However, he gradually ceased to choke and crow, saving it intervals, and Miss Jenny got him into an easy chair, where, with his eyes red and watery, with his features swollen, and with some half-dozen livid bars across his face, he presented a most rueful sight. "Whatever possessed you, to take salt and snuff, young man!" inquired Miss Jenny. "I didn't take it," the dismal youth replied. "It was crammed into my mouth. Who crammed it?" asked Miss Jenny. "He did," answered Fledgeby, "that you sat in, yaml, ear-ubbed it into my mouth, and out my nose, and down my throat, ow, ow, ow, ow!" To prevent my crying out, and then cruelly assaulted me, "with this!" asked Miss Jenny, showing the pieces of cane. "That's the weapon," said Fledgeby, eyeing it with the air of an acquaintance. "He broke it over me. Oh, the smart so! How did you come by it?" When he went downstairs, and joined the lady he had left in the hall with his hat. Miss Jenny began. "Oh," groaned Mr. Fledgeby, writhing, "she was hot in his hat, was she? Ah, Marta, no, she was in it." When he came downstairs and joined the lady, who wouldn't let me come up, he gave me the pieces for you, and I was to say, "With Mr. Alfred Lemo's compliments on his leaving England." Miss Jenny said it with such spiteful satisfaction, and such a hitch of her chin and eyes, as might have added to Mr. Fledgeby's miseries, if he could have noticed either in his bodily pain with his hand to his head. "Should I go for the police?" inquired Miss Jenny, with an imbal start towards the door. "Stop! No, don't!" cried Fledgeby. "Don't please. We're better keep it quiet. Will you be so good a shut the door?" "Oh, I do smart so." In testimony of the extent to which he smarted, Mr. Fledgeby came wallowing out of the easy chair and took another roll on the carpet. "Now the door was shut," said Mr. Fledgeby, sitting up in anguish, with his Turkish cap half on and half off, and the bars on his face getting bluer. "Do me the kindness to look at my back and shoulders. They must be in an awful state, for I hadn't got my dressing gown on when the bloop came rushing in. Can't my shirt away from the collar? There's a pair of scissors on that table. Oh, oh," groaned Mr. Fledgeby, with his hand to his head again. "Hello, I do smart, to be sure." "There," inquired Miss Jenny, alluding to the back and shoulders. "Oh Lord, yes," moaned Fledgeby, rocking himself, "and it all over, everywhere." The busy little dressmaker quickly snipped the shirt away and laid bare the results of his furious and sound of thrashing as even Mr. Fledgeby merited. "You may well smart, young man," exclaimed Miss Jenny, and stealthily rubbed her little hands behind him and poked a few exultant pokes with her two four fingers over the crown of his head. "What do you think of vinegar and brown paper?" inquired the suffering Fledgeby, still rocking and moaning. "Don't it look as if vinegar and brown paper was the sort of application?" "Yes," said Miss Jenny, with a silent chuckle. "It looks as if it ought to be pickled," Mr. Fledgeby collapsed under the word pickled and groaned again. "My kitchen is on this floor," he said. "You'll find brown paper and address a draw there, and a pot of vinegar on a shelf. Would you have the kindness to make a few plasters and put them on? I can't be kept too quiet." "One, two, and five, six, you're one, six," said the dressmaker. "There's smart enough," said Mr. Fledgeby, groaning and writhing again, "for sixty." Miss Jenny repaired to the kitchen, scissors in hand, found a brown paper and found the vinegar, and skillfully cut out and steeped six large plasters. When they were all lying ready on the dresser, an eye-deer occurred to her as she was about to gather them up. "I think," said Miss Jenny, with a silent laugh, "he ought to have a little pepper. Just a few grains. I think the young man's tricks and manners make a claim upon his friends, for a little pepper." Mr. Fledgeby's evil star, showing her the pepper box on the chimney piece, she climbed upon a chair and got it down, and sprinkled all the plasters with a judicious hand. She then went back to Mr. Fledgeby and stuck them all on him. Mr. Fledgeby uttering a sharp howl as each was put in its place. "There, young man," said the doll's dressmaker, "now I hope you feel pretty comfortable." Apparently Mr. Fledgeby did not, for he cried by way of answer, "Oh, how I do smart!" Miss Jenny got his Persian gown upon him, extinguished his eyes crookedly with his Persian cap, and held him to his bed, upon which he climbed groaning. "A business between you and me being out of the question today, young man, and my time being precious," said Miss Jenny then. "I'll make myself scarce. Are you comfortable now?" "Ah, my eye!" cried Mr. Fledgeby. "No, I ain't. Oh, how I do smart!" The last thing Miss Jenny saw, as she looked back before closing the room door, was Mr. Fledgeby in the act of plunging and gambling all over his bed, like a porpoise or dolphin in its native element. She then shut the bedroom door and all the other doors, and going downstairs, and emerging from the Albany into the busy streets, took Omnibus for St. Mary Axe, pressing on the road all the gaily dressed ladies whom she could see from the window, and making them unconscious lay figures for dolls, while she mentally cut them out and basted them. In the Book IV, Chapter VIII. Chapter IX. Two Places Vacated set down by the Omnibus at the corner of St. Mary Axe, and trusting to her feet and her crutch-stick within its precincts, the doll's dressmaker proceeded to the place of business of Pubzy and Co. All there were sunny and quiet externally, and shady and quiet internally. Hiding herself in the entry outside the glass door, she could see from that post of observation the old man in his spectacles sitting writing at his desk. "Bull!" cried the dressmaker, popping in her head at the glass door. "Mr. Wolfert home!" The old man took his glasses off and mildly laid them down beside him. "Ah, Jenny, is it you? I thought you had given me up." "And so I had given up the treacherous wolf of the forest," she replied, "but, godmother, it strikes me you a comeback. I'm not quite sure because the wolf and you change forms. I want to ask you a question or two to find out whether you are really godmother or really wolf. May I?" "Yes, Jenny, yes." But Riah glanced towards the door, as if he thought his principal might appear there unseasonably. "If you were afraid of the fox," said Miss Jenny, "you made us miss all present expectations of seeing that animal, he won't show himself abroad for many a day." "What do you mean, my child?" "I mean, godmother," replied Miss Ren, sitting down beside the Jew, "that the fox has caught a famous flogging, and that if his skin bones are not tingling, aching and smarting at this present instant, new fox ever did tingle, ache and smart." Therewith, Miss Jenny related what had come to pass in the Albany, omitting the few grains of pepper. "Now, godmother," she went on, "I predicted that I wish to ask you what has taken place here since I left the wolf here, because I have an idea about the size of a marble rolling about in my little nodal. First and foremost, are you papsy and coe, or are you either upon your solemn word and honour?" The old man shook his head. "Secondly, isn't fledgery both papsy and coe?" The old man answered with a reluctant nod. "My idea," exclaimed Miss Ren, "is now about the size of an orange, but we won't get any bigger. Welcome back, dear godmother." The little creature folded her arms about the old man's neck with great earnestness and kissed him. "I amly beg your forgiveness, godmother. I'm truly sorry. I ought to have had more faith in you, but what could I suppose when you sit lovely for yourself, you know? I don't mean to offer that as a justification, but what could I suppose when you were a silent party to all he said? It did look bad, now, didn't it?" "It looked so bad, Jenny," responded the old man with gravity, "that I will straightway tell you what an impression it wrought upon me. I was hateful in my own eyes. I was hateful to myself in being so hateful to the debtor and to you, but more than that and worse than that, and to pass out far and broad beyond myself, I reflected that evening, sitting alone in my garden on the housetop, that I was doing dishonor to my ancient faith and race. I reflected clearly reflected for the first time, that in bending my neck to the yoke I was willing to wear. I bent the unwilling necks of the whole Jewish people, for it is not in Christian countries with the Jews as with other peoples. Men say this is a bad Greek, but there are good Greeks. This is a bad Turk, but there are good Turks. Not so with the Jews. Men find the bad among us easily enough, among what peoples are the bad not easily found, but they take the worst of us as samples of the best. They take the lowest of us as presentations of the highest, and they say all Jews are alike. If doing what I was content to do here, because I was grateful for the past and have small need of money now, I had been a Christian. I could have done it, compromising no one but my individual self. But doing it as a Jew, I could not choose but compromise the Jews of all conditions and all countries. It is a little hard upon us, but it is the truth. I would, that all our people remembered it, though I have little right to say so, seeing that it came home so late to me. The doll's dressmaker sat holding the old man by the hand and looking thoughtfully in his face. Thus I reflected, I say, sitting that evening in my garden on the housetop, and passing the painful scene of that day in review before me many times. I always saw that the poor gentleman believed the story readily, because I was one of the Jews, that you believed the story readily, my child, because I was one of the Jews. At the story itself first came into the invention of the originator thereof, because I was one of the Jews. This was the result of my having had you three before me, face to face, and seeing the thing visibly presented as upon a theatre. Wherefore I perceived that the obligation was upon me to leave this service. "But Jenny, my dear," said Riah, breaking off, "I promised that you should pursue your questions, and I obstruct them." On the contrary, Godmother, my idea is as large now as a pumpkin, and you know a pumpkin is, don't you? So you gave notice that you were going. Does that come next? Ask Miss Jenny with the look of close attention. I indicted a letter to my master. Yes, to that effect. "And what said tingling, tossing, aching, screaming, scratching, smarter?" Ask Miss Ren with an unspeakable enjoyment in the utterance of those honorable titles, and in the recollection of the pepper. He held me to certain months of servitude, which were his lawful term of notice. They expire tomorrow. Upon their expiration, not before, I had meant to set myself right with my Cinderella. "My idea is getting so immense now," cried Miss Ren, clasping her temples, that my head won't hold it. "Listen, Godmother, I'm going to expound. Little eyes, that screaming, scratching, smarter, owes you a heavy grudge for going. Little eyes, cast about how best to pay you off. Little eyes, thinks of Lucy. Little eyes, says to himself, "I'll find out where he has placed that girl, in arbitrary a secret because it's dear to him. Perhaps little eyes thinks, I'll make laugh to him myself, too, but I--that I can't swear. All the rest I can. So, little eyes comes to me, and I go to little eyes. That's the way of it, and now the murder's all out. I'm sorry," added the doll's dressmaker, rigid from head to foot with energy, as she shook her little fist before her eyes. "That I didn't give him cayenne, pepper, and chopped, pickled capsicum." This expression of regret, being but partially intelligible to Mr. Breyer, the old man reverted to the injuries that we had received, and hinted at the necessity of his at once going to tend to that beaten care. "Godmother, Godmother, Godmother!" cried Miss Ren irritably. "I really lose all patience with you. What within you believed in the Good Samaritan? How can you be so inconsistent?" "Jenny, dear," began the old man gently, "it is the custom of our people to help." "Oh, are they your people?" Interpose Miss Ren to the toss of her head. "If all people don't know better, and to go and help little eyes, it's a pity they have a good out of Egypt. Over and above that," she added. "He wouldn't take your help if you offered it. Too much ashamed, wants to give it close and quiet, and to keep you out of the way." They were still debating this point, when a shadow darkened the entry, and the glass door was opened by a messenger who brought a letter unceremoniously addressed, "Reyer," to which he said there was an answer wanted. 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. It is Ryan Seacrest here. There was a recent social media trend, which consisted of flying on a plane with no music, no movies, no entertainment. But a better trend would be going to Chumbakocino.com. It's like having a mini social casino in your pocket. Chumbakocino has over 100 online casino style games, all absolutely free. It's the most fun you can have online and on a plane. So grab your free welcome bonus now at Chumbakocino.com. Sponsored by Chumbakocino. No purchase necessary. VGW Group. Void where prohibited by law. 18 plus terms and conditions apply. The letter, which was scrawled in pencil, uphill and downhill, and round crooked corners, ran thus. Old Raya. Your accounts being all squared. Go. Shut up the place. Turn out directly and send me the key by bearer. Go. You are an unthankful dog of a Jew. Get out. F. The doll's dressmaker found it delicious to trace the screaming and smarting of little eyes in the distorted writing of this epistle. She laughed over it and jeered at it in a convenient corner to the great astonishment of the messenger, while the old man got his few goods together in a black bag. That done, the shutters of the upper windows closed, and the office blind pulled down, they issued forth upon the steps with the attendant messenger. There, while Miss Jenny held the bag, the old man locked the house door and handed over the key to him, who had once retired with the same. "Well, God, mother!" said Miss Ren, as they remained upon the steps, together, looking at one another. "Boom! So you're thrown upon the world!" "It would appear so, Jenny, and somewhat suddenly." "Where are you going to seek your fortune?" asked Miss Ren. The old man smiled, but looked about him for the look of having lost his way in life, which had not escaped the doll's dressmaker. "Very dear, Jenny," said he, "the question is to the purpose, and more easily asked than answered, but as I have experience of the ready good will and good help of those who have given occupation to Lizzie, I think I will seek them out for myself." "Gunfoot!" asked Miss Ren with a chop. "I," said the old man, "have I not my staff?" It was exactly because he had his staff, and presented so quaint an aspect that she mistrusted his making the journey. "The best thing you'll do," said Jenny, "for the time being, at all events, is to come home with me, Godmother. Now what is there but my bad child and Lizzie's lodging stands empty?" The old man, when satisfied, that no inconvenience could be entailed on any one by his compliance, readily complied, and the significantly assaulted couple once more went through the streets together. Now the bad child, having been strictly charged by his parent to remain at home in her absence, of course, went out, and, being in the very last stage of mental decrepitude, went out with two objects. Firstly, to establish a claim he conceived himself to have upon any licensed titular living, to be supplied with three penith of rum for nothing, and secondly to bestow some more than remorse on Mr. Eugene Rayburn and see what profit came of it. Stumblingly pursuing these two designs, they both meant rum, the only meaning of which he was capable. The degraded creature staggered into Covent Garden Market and their Bivou Act, to have an attack of the trembles succeeded by an attack of the horrors in a doorway. This market of Covent Garden was quite out of the creature's line of road, but it had the attraction for him which it has for the worst of the solitary members of the drunken tribe. It may be the companionship of the Knightly stir, or it may be the companionship of the gin and beer that slop about among carters and hucksters, or it may be the companionship of the trodden vegetable refuse, which is so like their own dress that perhaps they take the market for a great wardrobe. But be it what it may. You shall see no such individual drunkards on doorsteps anywhere as there. Of dosing women drunkards especially, you shall come upon such specimens there. In the morning sunlight, as you might seek out of doors in vain through London, such stale vapid rejected cabbage leaf and cabbage stalk dress, such damaged orange countenance, such squashed pulp of humanity, are open to the day nowhere else. So the attraction of the market drew Mr. Dolls to it, and he had out his two fits of trembles and horrors in a doorway on which a woman had had out her sodden nap a few hours before. There is a swarm of young savages always flitting about this same place, creeping off with fragments of orange chests and mouldy litter, heaven knows into what holes they can convey them having no home, whose bare feet fall with the blunt dull softness on the pavement as the policeman hunts them, and who are, perhaps for that reason, little heard by the powers that be, whereas in top-boots they would make a deafening clatter. These, delighting in the trembles and the horrors of Mr. Dolls as in a gratuitous drama, flocked about him in his doorway, butted at him, leapt at him, and pelted him. Hence, when he came out of his invalid retirement, and shook off that ragged train, he was much bespatled and in worse case than ever. But, not yet at his worst. For going into a public house, and being supplied in stress of business with his rum, and seeking to vanish without payment, he was collared, searched, found penniless, and admonished not to try that again by having a pail of dirty water cast over him. This application superinduced another fit of the trembles, after which Mr. Dolls, as finding himself in good cue for making a call on a professional friend, addressed himself to the temple. There was nobody at the chambers but young blight. That discreet youth, sensible of a certain incongruity in the association of such a client with the business that might be coming some day, with the best intentions, temporized with Dolls, and offered a shilling for coach higher home. Mr. Dolls, accepting the shilling, promptly laded out in two threpenswoths of conspiracy against his life, and two threpenswoths of raging repentance. Returning to the chambers of rich burden, he was described coming round into the court by the wary young blight watching from the window who instantly closed the outer door, and left the miserable object to expend his fury on the panels. The more the door resisted him, the more dangerous and imminent became that bloody conspiracy against his life. Force of police arriving, he recognized in them the conspirators, and laid about him hoarsely, fiercely, staringly, convulsively foamingly, a humble machine familiar to the conspirators and called by the expressive name of stretcher, being unavoidably sent for. He was rendered a harmless bundle of torn rags by being strapped down upon it, with voice and consciousness gone out of him, and life fast going. As this machine was born out at the temple gate by four men, the poor little doll's dressmaker and her Jewish friend were coming up the street. "Oh, let us see what it is," cried the dressmaker. "Let us make haste, and look, Godmother." The brisk little crutch stick was but too brisk. "Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen, he belongs to me." "Long see you," said the head of the party, stopping it. "Oh, yes, dear gentlemen, he's my child, out without leave, my poor bad bad boy, and he don't know me, he don't know me. Oh, what shall I do?" cried the little creature, wildly beating her hands together. "When my own child don't know me." The head of the party looked, as well he might, the old man for explanation. He whispered, as the doll's dressmaker bent over the exhausted form, and vainly tried to extract some sign of recognition from it. "It's her drunken father." As the load was put down in the street, Raya drew the head of the party aside, and whispered that he thought the man was dying. "Now, surely not," returned the other. But he became less confident on looking, and directed the bearers to "bring him in the nearest doctor's shop." That there he was brought, the window becoming from within a wall of faces, deformed into all kinds of shapes through the agency of globular red bottles, green bottles, blue bottles, and other colored bottles. A ghastly light shining upon him that he didn't need, the beast so furious but a few minutes gone, was quiet enough now. For the strange, mysterious writing on his face reflected from one of the great bottles, as if death had marked him mine. The medical testimony was more precise and more to the purpose than it sometimes is in a court of justice. You had better send for something to cover it, all's over. Therefore the police sent for something to cover it, and it was covered and borne through the streets, the people falling away. After it went the doll's dressmaker, hiding her face in the Jewish skirts, and clinging to them with one hand, while with the other she plied her stick. It was carried home, and, by reason that the staircase was very narrow, it was put down in the parlour, the little working bench being set aside to make room for it, and there, in the midst of the dolls, with no speculation in their eyes, lay Mr. Dolls, with no speculation in his. Many flaunting dolls had to be gaily dressed before the money was in the dressmaker's pocket to get mourning for Mr. Dolls, as the old man Riah, set by, helping her in such small ways as he could, he found it difficult to make out whether she really did realize that the deceased had been her father. "If my poor boy," she would say, "I've been brought up better. You might have done better. Not that I have approached myself. I hope I have no cause for that." "None indeed, Jenny. I am very certain." "Thank you, Godmother. It cheers me to hear you say so. But you see, it is so hard to bring up a child well when you work, work, work all day. When he was out of employment, I couldn't always keep him near me. He got fractures and nervous, and I was obliged to let him go into the streets, and he never did well in the streets. He never did well out of sight. How often it happens with children?" "Too often, even in this sad sense, thought the old man." "How can I say what I might have turned out myself, but for my back having been so bad and my leg so queer when I was young?" the dressmaker would go on. "I had nothing to do but work, and so I worked. I couldn't play, but my poor unfortunate child could play, and it turned out but worse for him." "And not for him alone, Jenny." "Well, I don't know, Godmother. He suffered heavily, did my unfortunate boy. He was very, very ill sometimes, and I called him a quantity of names." Shaking her head over her work and dropping tears, "I don't know that he's going wrong, was much the worst for me. If it ever was, let us forget it." "You are a good girl. You are a patient girl." "As for patience," she would reply with a shrug, "not much of that, Godmother. If I had been patient, I should never have called him names. But I hope I did it for his good. Besides, I thought my responsibility as a mother so much. I tried reasoning, and reasoning failed. I tried coaxing, and coaxing failed. I tried scolding and scolding failed. But I was bound to try everything, you know, with such a charge upon my hands. We would have been my duty to my poor lost boy, if I had not tried everything." With such talk, mostly in a cheerful tone on the part of the industrious little creature, the day work and the night work were beguiled, until enough of smart dolls had gone forth to bring into the kitchen, where the working bench now stood, the somber stuff that the occasion required, and to bring into the house the other somber preparations. "And now," said Miss Jenny, "having knocked off my rosy-cheeked young friends, I'll knock off my white-cheeked self." This referred to her making her own dress, which at last was done. "The disadvantage, and I in for yourself," said Miss Jenny, as she stood upon a chair to look at the result in the glass, "use that you can't charge anybody else for the job. And the advantage is that you haven't to go out to try on. Hmm, very fair indeed. If he could see me now, whoever he is, I hope he wouldn't repent of his bargain." The simple arrangements were of her own making, and were stated to Raya Thass. "I mean to go alone, Godmother, in my usual carriage, and he'll be so kind as keep house while I'm gone. It's not far off. And when I'll return, we'll have a cup of tea, and a chat of the future arrangements. It's a very plain, last house that I've been able to give my poor unfortunate boy. But he'll accept the will for the deed, if he knows anything about it. And if he doesn't know anything about it, with a sob and wiping her eyes, why, it won't matter to him. I see the service in the prayer book says that we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can take nothing out. It comforts me of not being able to hire a lot of stupid undertakers things for my poor child, unseeming as if I was trying to smuggle them out of this world with him. When, of course, I must break down in the attempt and bring them all back again. As it is, there'll be nothing to bring back but me, and that's quite consistent for I shortly brought back some day. After that, previous carrying of him in the streets, the wretched old fellow seemed to be twice buried. He was taken on the shoulders of half a dozen blossom-faced men who shuffled with him to the churchyard, and who were preceded by another blossom-faced man affecting a stately stalk as if he were a policeman of the death division, and ceremoniously pretending not to know his intimate acquaintances as he led the pageant. Yet the spectacle of only one little morner hobbling after caused many people to turn their heads with a look of interest. At last the troublesome deceased was gotten to the ground to be buried no more, and the stately stalker stalked back before the solitary dressmaker as if you were bound in honor to have no notion of the way home. Those furies, the conventionalities, being thus appeased, he left her. "I must have a very short cry, Godmother, before I cheer up for good," said the little creature, coming in, "because, after all, a child is a child, you know." It was a longer cry than might have been expected. How weird it wore itself out in a shadowy corner, and then the dressmaker came forth and washed her face and made the tea. "You wouldn't mind my cutting out something while you were at tea, would you?" She asked her Jewish friend with a coaxing air. "Sinderella, dear child," the old man expostulated, "will you never rest?" "Oh, it did not work. Cutting out a pattern isn't," said Miss Jenny, with her busy little scissors, already snipping at some paper. "A few days, Godmother, I want to fix it while I have it correct in my mind." "Have you seen it today, then?" asked Rire. "Yes, Godmother. So what just now? It's a surplus. That's what it is. Thing or clergyman wear, you know?" exclaimed Miss Jenny, in consideration of his professing another faith. "And what have you to do with that, Jenny?" "Why, Godmother," replied the dressmaker, "you must know that we professors who live upon our taste of invention or obliged to keep our eyes always open. And you know already that I have many extra expenses to meet just now. So it came into my head while I was weeping at my poor boy's grave. Something in my way might be done with a clergyman." "What can be done?" asked the old man. "Not a funeral, never fear," returned Miss Jenny, anticipating his objection with a nod. "The public don't like to be made melancholy. I know very well. I am seldom called upon to put my young friends in the morning. Not into real morning, that is, caught morning, they are rather proud of. But a dull clergyman, my dear. Clossy black curls and whiskers unite into of my young friends in matrimony," said Miss Jenny, shaking her forefinger, "is quite another affair. If you don't see those three at the ordering bond street in a chiffy, my name's Jack Robinson." With her expert little ways in sharp action, she had got a doll into whitey brown paper orders before the meal was over, and was displaying it for the edification of the Jewish mind but a knock was heard at the street door. Raya went to open it and presently came back, ushering in with the grave and courteous air that sat so well upon him, a gentleman. The gentleman was a stranger to the dressmaker, but even in the moment of his casting his eyes upon her, there was something in his manner which brought to her remembrance, Mr. Eugene Rayburn. 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BTW Group, no purchases are recorded by lossy terms and conditions, 18 plus. I am the doll's dressmaker, sir. Lizzie Hexham's friend. Yes, sir. Reply, Miss Jenny, instantly on the defensive. And Lizzie Hexham's friend? Here is a note from her, and treating you to accede to the request of Mr. Mortimer Lightwood, the bearer. Mr. Riah chances to know that I am Mr. Mortimer Lightwood, and will tell you so. Riah bent his head in corroboration. "Will you read the note?" "It's very short," said Jenny, with the look of wonder when she had read it. "There was no time to make it longer. Time was so very precious. My dear friend, Mr. Eugene Rayburn, is dying." The dress made it clasped her hands and added a little piteous cry. "Is dying," repeated Lightwood with emotion, "at some distance from here." "He is sinking under injuries received at the hands of a villain who attacked him in the dark." "I come straight from his bedside. He is almost always insensible. In a short restless interval of sensibility or partial sensibility, I made out that he asked for you to be brought to sit by him." Hardly relying on my own interpretation of the indistinct sounds he made, I caused Lizzie to hear them. We were both sure that he asked for you. The dressmaker with her hands still clasped, looked affrightly from the one to the other of her two companions. "If you delay, he may die with his request ungratified, with his last wish entrusted to me. We have long been much more than brothers, unfulfilled. I shall break down if I try to say more." In a few moments, the black bonnet and the crutch stick were on duty. The good Jew was left in possession of the house, and the doll's dressmaker, side by side in a chaise with Mortimer Lightwood, was posting out of town. End of Book 4 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 The doll's dressmaker discovers a word. A darkened and hushed room, the river outside the windows, flowing onto the vast ocean. A figure on the bed, swathed and bandaged and bound, lying helpless on its back with its two useless arms and splints at its sides. Only two days of usage so familiarized the little dressmaker with the scene that had held the place occupied two days ago by the recollection of years. He had scarcely moved since her arrival. Sometimes his eyes were open, sometimes closed. When they were open, there was no meaning in their unwinking stare at one spot straight before them. Unless for a moment the brow knitted into a faint expression of anger or surprise. Then Mortimer Lightwood would speak to him, and on occasions he would be so far roused as to make an attempt to pronounce his friend's name. But in an instant consciousness was gone again, and no spirit of Eugene was in Eugene's crushed outer form. They provided Jenny with materials for applying her work, and she had a little table placed at the foot of his bed. Sitting there with her rich shower of hair falling over the chair back, they hoped she might attract his notice. With the same object she would sing, just above her breath, when he opened his eyes, or saw his brow knit into that faint expression, so effervescent that it was like a shape made in water. But as yet he had not heated. The they, here mentioned, were the medical attendant, Lizzie, who was there in all her intervals of rest, and Lightwood, who never left him. The two days became three, and the three days became four. At length, quite unexpectedly, he said something in a whisper. What was it, my dear Eugene? Will you, Mortimer? Will I, send, for her? My dear fellow, she is here. Quite unconscious of the long blank, he supposed that they were still speaking together. The little dressmaker stood up at the foot of the bed, humming her song, and nodded to him brightly. "I can't shake hands, Jenny," said Eugene, with something of his old look, "but I'm very glad to see you." Mortimer repeated this to her, for it could only be made out by bending over him and closely watching his attempts to say it. In a little while he added, "Ask her if she has seen the children." Mortimer could not understand this, neither could Jenny herself, until he added, "Ask her if she has smelt the flowers." "Oh, I know," cried Jenny, "I understand him now." Then Lightwood yelled at his place to her quick approach, and she said, bending over the bed, with that better look. "You mean, my long, bright, slanting rows of children, who used to bring me ease and rest? You mean the children who used to take me up and make me light?" Eugene smiled, "Yes." "I've not seen them since I saw you. I never see them now, but I'm hardly ever in pain now." "It was a pretty fancy," said Eugene, "but I have heard my birds sing," cried the little creature, "and I have smelt my flowers. Yes, indeed I have, and both were most beautiful and most divine." "Stay and help to nurse me," said Eugene quietly, "I should like you to have the fancy here, before I die." She touched his lips with her hand, and shaded her eyes with that same hand, as she went back to her work and her little low song. He heard the song with evident pleasure, until she allowed it gradually to sink away into silence. "Mautama," my dear Eugene, "if you can give me anything to keep me here, only a few minutes, to give you here, Eugene, to prevent my wandering away. I don't know where, for I begin to be sensible, that I have just come back, and that I shall lose myself again. Do so, dear boy." Mortimer gave him such stimulants as could be given him with safety. They were always at hand ready, and bending over him once more was about to caution him when he said, "Don't tell me not to speak, for I must speak. If you knew the harassing anxiety that gnaws and wears me when I am wandering in those places, where are those endless places, Mortimer? They must be at an immense distance." He saw in his friend's face that he was losing himself, for he added after a moment, "Don't be afraid. I'm not gone yet. What was it?" "You wanted to tell me something, Eugene." My poor dear fellow, you wanted to say something to your old friend, to the friend who has always loved you, admired you, imitated you, founded himself upon you, be nothing without you, and who, God knows, would be here in your place if he could." Said Eugene, with a tender glance at the other, put his hand before his face, "I am not worth it. I acknowledge that I like it, dear boy, but I am not worth it." This attack, my dear Mortimer, this murder, his friend leaned over him with renewed attention, saying, "You and I suspect someone more than suspect, but Mortimer, while I lie here, and when I lie here no longer, I trust you that the perpetrator is never brought to justice. Eugene, her innocent reputation, would be ruined, my friend. She would be punished, not he. I have wronged her enough, in fact. I have wronged her, still mourning in intention. You recollect what pavement is at to be made of good intentions. It is made of bad intentions, too. Mortimer, I am lying on it, and I know. Be comforted, my dear Eugene. I will, when you have promised me, to her Mortimer, that my must never be pursued, if you should be accused you must keep him silent and save him, told to think of avenging me, think only of hushing the story, and protecting her. You can confuse the case and turn aside the circumstances. Listen to what I say to you. It was not the schoolmaster Bradley Headstone. Do you hear me? Twice. It was not the schoolmaster Bradley Headstone. Do you hear me? Three times. It was not the schoolmaster Bradley Headstone. He stopped, exhausted. His speech had been whispered, broken and indistinct, but by a great effort he had made it plain enough to be unmistakable. Dear fellow, I am wandering away. Stay for another moment, if you can. Lightwood lifted his head at the neck, and put a wine-glass to his lips. He rallied. I don't know how long ago it was done. What her weeks, days or hours, no matter. There is inquiry on foot and a pursuit. Say, is there not? Yes. Check it. Divert it. Don't let her be brought in question. Shield her. The guilty man brought it to justice. Would poison her name? Let the guilty man go unpunished. Lizzy, and my reparation before all promise me. Your gene, I do. I promise you. In the act of turning his eyes gratefully towards his friend, he wandered away. His eyes stood still and settled into that former intent on meaning stare. 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. 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She would regularly change the ice or the cooling spirit on his head and would keep her ear at the pillow between wiles, listening for any faint words that fell from him in his wanderings. It was amazing through how many hours at a time she would remain beside him in a crouching attitude attentive to his slightest moan. As he could not move a hand, he could make no sign of distress. But, through this close watching, if through no secret sympathy or power, a little creature attained an understanding of him that Lightwood did not possess. Mortimer'd often turned to her as if she were an interpreter between this sentient world and the insensible man, and she would change the dressing of a wound, or ease a ligature, or turn his face, or alter the pressure of the bedclothes on him with an absolute certainty of doing right. The natural lightness and delicacy of touch, which had become very refined by practice in her miniature work, no doubt was involved in this, but her perception was at least as fine. The one word, Lizzie, he muttered millions of times. In a certain phase of his distressful state, which was the worst to those who tended him, he would roll his head upon the pillow, incessantly repeating the name in a hurried and impatient manner, with the misery of a disturbed mind and the monotony of a machine. Equally, when he lay still and staring, he would repeat it for hours without cessation, but then always in a tone of subdued warning and horror. Her presence and her touch upon his breast or face would often stop this, and then they learned to expect that he would for some time remain still with his eyes closed, and that he would be conscious on opening them. But the heavy disappointment of their hope, revived by the welcome silence of the room, was that his spirit would glide away again and be lost in the moment of their joy that it was there. This frequent rising of a drowning man from the deep to sink again was dreadful to the beholders, but gradually the change stole upon him that it became dreadful to himself. His desire to impart something that was on his mind, his unspeakable yearning to have speech with his friend and make a communication to him, so troubled him when he recovered consciousness that its term was thereby shortened. As the man rising from the deep would disappear, the sooner for fighting with the water, so he in his desperate struggle went down again. One afternoon when he had been lying still, and Lizzy, unrecognized, had just stolen out of the room to pursue her occupation, he uttered Lightwood's name. "My dear Eugene, I'm here." "How long is this to last Mortimer?" Lightwood shook his head. "Still, Eugene, you are no worse than you were, but I know there's no hope. Yet I pray it may last long enough for you to do me one last service, and for me to do one last action. Keep me here a few moments, Mortimer. Try. Try." His friend gave him what aid he could, and encouraged him to believe that he was more composed, though even then his eyes were losing the expression they so rarely recovered. "Hold me here, dear fellow, if you can. Stop my wandering way. I am going." "Not yet, not yet. Tell me, dear Eugene, what is it I shall do?" "Keep me here for a single minute. I'm going away again. Don't let me go. Hear me speak first. Stop me. Stop me." "My poor Eugene, try to become. I do try. I try so hard. If you only knew how hard. Don't let me wander till I have spoken. Give me a little more wine." Lightwood complied. Eugene was the most pathetic struggle against the unconsciousness that was coming over him, and for the look of appeal that affected his friend profoundly said, "You can leave me with Jenny. Will you speak to her and tell her what I beseech of her? You can leave me with Jenny. Will you are gone? There's not much for you to do. You won't be long away." "No, no, no. But tell me what it is that I shall do, Eugene. I am going. You can't hold me." "Tell me in a word, Eugene." His eyes were fixed again, and the only word that came from his lips was the word millions of times repeated. "Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy." But the watchful little dressmaker had been vigilant as ever in her watch, and she now came up and touched Lightwood's arm as she looked down at his friend despairingly. "Hush!" she said with her finger on her lips. "His eyes are closing. You'll be conscious when he next opens them. Shall I give you a leading word to say to him?" "Oh, Jenny, if you could only give me the right word." "I can. Stooped down." He stooped, and she whispered in his ear. She whispered in his ear one short word of a single syllable. Lightwood started and looked at her. "Try it!" said the little creature, with an excited and exultant face. She then bent over the unconscious man, and for the first time, kissed him on the cheek, and kissed the poor maimed hand that was near us to her. Then she withdrew to the foot of the bed. Some two hours afterwards, Mortimer Lightwood saw his consciousness come back, and instantly but very tranquilly bent over him. "Don't speak, Eugene. Do no more than look at me and listen to me." You follow what I say? He moved his head in a cent. "I am going on from the point where he broke off. Is the word we should soon have come to? Is it wife?" "Oh, God bless you, Mortimer." "Harsh, don't be agitated. Don't speak. Hear me, dear Eugene. Your mind will be more at peace, lying here, if you make lizzy your wife. You wish me to speak to her and tell her so and entreat her to be your wife? You ask her to kneel at this bedside and be married to you, that your reparation may be complete. Is that so?" "Yes. God bless you. Yes." "It shall be done, Eugene. Trust it to me. I will have to go away for some few hours to give effect to your wishes. You see, this is unavoidable." "Dear friend, I said so." "True. But I had not the clue then. How do you think I got it?" Glancing wistfully around, Eugene saw Miss Jenny at the foot of the bed, looking at him with her elbows on the bed and her head upon her hands. There was a trace of his whimsical air upon him as he tried to smile at her. "Yes, indeed," said Lightwood. The discovery was hers. "Observe, my dear Eugene. While I am away, you will know that I have discharged my trust with lizzy by finding her here in my present place at your bedside to leave you no more." A final word before I go. This is the right course of a true man, Eugene. And I solemnly believe with all my soul that if Providence should mercifully restore you to us, you will be blessed with a noble wife in the preserver of your life whom you will dearly love. "Ah, men. I am sure of that. But I shall not come through it, Mortimer. You will not be the less hopeful or less strong for this, Eugene." "No. Touch my face with you always. In case, I should not hold out till you come back. I love you, Mortimer. Don't be uneasy for me while you are gone. If my dear brave girl will take me, I feel persuaded that I shall live long enough to be married, dear fellow." Miss Jenny gave up altogether on this parting taking place between the friends, and sitting with her back towards the bed in the bower made by her bright hair, wept heartily, though noiselessly. Mortimer Lightwood was soon gone. As the evening light lengthened, the heavy reflections of the trees in the river, another figure came with a soft step into the sick room. "Is he conscious?" asked the little dressmaker, as the figure took its station by the pillow. "For Jenny had given place to it immediately. I could not see the sufferer's face in the dark room from her new and removed position." 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. I'm Victoria Cash, and I want to invite you to a place called Lucky Land, where you can play over 100 social casino-style games for free for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. So what are you waiting for? The best way to discover your luck is to spin, so go to LuckyLandslots.com, that's LuckyLandslots.com, and get lucky today! At Lucky Land. "No purchase necessary, V.T.W. Group, boy prohibited by law, 18+ terms and conditions apply." "He is conscious, Jenny," remembered Eugene for himself. "He knows his wife." End of book 4, chapter 10. Chapter 11 Effect is given to the Dolls Dressmakers Discovery. Mrs. John Rokesmith sat at needlework in her neat little room, beside a basket of neat little articles of clothing, which presented so much of the appearance of being in the Dolls Dressmakers' way of business, that one might have supposed she was going to set up an opposition to Miss Ren. Whether the complete British family housewife had imparted Sage Council and end to them did not appear, but probably not, as that cloudy oracle was no way visible. For certain, however, Mrs. John Rokesmith stitched at them, with so dexterous a hand that she must have taken lessons of somebody. Love is in all things a most wonderful teacher, and perhaps love, from a pictorial point of view, with nothing on but a thimble, had been teaching this branch of needlework to Mrs. John Rokesmith. It was near John's time for coming home, but as Mrs. John was desirous to finish a special triumph of her skill before dinner, she did not go out to meet him. Placidly, though rather consequently smiling, she sat stitching away with a regular sound, like a sort of dimpled little charming Dresden-China clock by the very best-maker. A knock at the door, and a ring at the bell. Not John, or Bella would have flown out to meet him. Then who, if not John? Bella was asking herself the question when that fluttering little fool of a servant fluttered in, saying, "Mr. Lightwood, oh, good gracious!" Bella had but time to throw a handkerchief over the basket, when Mr. Lightwood made his bow. There was something amiss with Mr. Lightwood, for he was strangely grave, and looked ill. With a brief reference to the happy time, when it had been his privilege to know Mrs. Rokesmith as Miss Wilfer, Mr. Lightwood explained what was amiss with him and why he came. He came bearing Lizzy Hexham's earnest hope that Mrs. John Rokesmith would see her married. Bella was so flattered by the request, and by the short narrative he had feelingly given her, that there never was a more timely smelling-bottle than John's knock. "My husband," said Bella, "I bring him in." But that turned out to be more easily said than done. For the instant she mentioned Mr. Lightwood's name, John stopped with his hand upon the lock of the room door. "Come upstairs, my darling." Bella was amazed by the flush in his face, and by his sudden turning away. "What can it mean?" she thought, as she accompanied him upstairs. "Now, my life," said John, taking her on his knee. "Tell me all about it." "All very well to say, tell me all about it, but John was very much confused, his attention evidently trailed off now and then even while Bella told him all about it. Yet she knew he took a great interest in Lizzy and her fortunes. What could it mean?" "Well, you come to this marriage with me, John, dear?" "No, my life, I can't do that." "You can't do that, John." "No, my dear, it's quite out of the question, not to be thought of." "Am I to go alone, John?" "No, my dear. You will go with Mr. Lightwood." "Don't you think it's time you went down to Mr. Lightwood, John, dear?" Bella insinuated. "My darling, it's almost time you went, but I must ask you to excuse me to him altogether." "You never mean, John, dear, that you're not going to see him? Why, he knows you've come home. I told him so." "That's a little unfortunate, but it can't be helped. Unfortunate or fortunate, I positively cannot see him, my love." Bella cast about in her mind what could be his reason for this unaccountable behaviour. I said that on his knee, looking at him in astonishment and pouting a little, a weak reason presented itself. "John, dear, you never can be jealous of Mr. Lightwood?" "Why, my precious child," returned her husband, laughing out right, "how could I be jealous of him? Why should I be jealous of him?" "Because you know, John," pursued Bella, pouting a little more, "though he did rather admire me once. It was not my fault." "It was your fault that I admired you," returned her husband with a look of pride in her, "and why not your fault that he admired you. But I, jealous in that account, why I must go distracted for life if I turn jealous of everyone who used to find my wife beautiful and winning." "I am half angry with you, John, dear," said Bella, laughing a little, "and half pleased with you, because you are such a stupid old fellow, and yet you say nice things as if you've met them. Don't be mysterious, sir. What harm do you know, Mr. Lightwood?" "Non, my love." "What has he ever done to you, John?" "He has never done anything to me, my dear. I know no more against him than I know against Mr. Rayburn. He has never done anything to me, neither has Mr. Rayburn, and yet I have exactly the same objection to both of them." "Oh, John," bit ordered Bella, as if she were giving him up for a bad job, as she used to give up herself, "you're nothing better than a sphinx, and a married sphinx isn't a nice confidential husband," said Bella, in a tone of injury. "Bella, my life," said John Rokesmith, touching her cheek with a grave smile, as she cast down her eyes and pouted again. "Look at me. I want to speak to you." "In earnest, bluebeard of the secret chamber?" asked Bella, clearing her pretty face. "In earnest, and I confess to the secret chamber." "Don't you remember that you asked me not to declare what I thought of your higher qualities until you had been tried?" "Yes, John, dear, and I fully meant it, and I fully mean it." "The time will come, my darling. I am no prophet, but I say so, when you will be tried. The time will come, I think, when you will undergo a trial through which you will never pass quite triumphantly for me, unless you can put perfect faith in me." "Then you may be sure of me, John, dear, for I can put perfect faith in you, and I do, and I always, always will. Don't judge me by a little thing like this, John. In little things, I am a little thing myself, I always was. But in great things, I hope not. I don't mean to boast, John, dear, but I hope not." He was even better convinced of the truth of what she said, than she was, as he felt her loving arms about him. If the golden dustman's riches had been his to stake, he would have staked them to the last farthing on the fidelity through good and evil of her affectionate and trusting heart. "Now, I'll go down to and go away with Mr. Lightwood," said Bella, springing up. "You are the most creasing and tumbling, clumsy boots of a packer, John, that ever was. But if you're quite good and will promise never to do so anymore, though I don't know what you have done, you may pack me a little back for a night, while I get my bonnet on." He gaily complied, and she tied her dimpled chin up, and took her head into her bonnet, and pulled out the bows of her bonnet strings, and got her gloves on, finger by finger, and finally got them on her little plump hands, and bade him goodbye, and went down. Mr. Lightwood's impatience was much relieved when he found her dressed for departure. "Mr. Rokesmith goes with this," he said, hesitating with a look towards the door. "Oh, I forgot," replied Bella, "his best compliments, his face is swollen to the size of two faces, and he is to go to bed directly, poor fellow, to wait for the doctor who is coming to lance him." "It is curious," observed Lightwood, "that I have never yet seen Mr. Rokesmith, though we have been gaged in the same affairs." "Really?" said the unblushing Bella. "I begin to think," observed Lightwood, "that I never shall see him." "These things happen so oddly sometimes," said Bella with a steady countenance, "that this seems to kind of fatality in them, but I am quite ready, Mr. Lightwood." They started directly in a little carriage that Lightwood had brought with him, from never to be forgotten Greenwich, and from Greenwich they started directly for London. And in London they waited at a railway station until such time as the Reverend Frank Milvey and Margaretta his wife, with whom Mortimer Lightwood had been already in conference, should come and join them. That worthy couple were delayed by a portentous old parishioner of the female gender, who was one of the plagues of their lives, and with whom they bore with most exemplary sweetness and good humour, notwithstanding her having an infection of absurdity about her, that communicated itself to everything with which, and everybody with whom, she came in contact. She was a member of the Reverend Frank's congregation, and made a point of distinguishing herself in that body by conspicuously weeping at everything, however cheering, said by the Reverend Frank in his public ministration. Also by applying to herself the various lamentations of David, and complaining in a personally injured manner, much in a rear of the clerk and the rest of the respondents, that her enemies were digging pitfalls about her, and breaking her with rods of iron. Indeed, this old widow discharged herself of that portion of the morning and evening service, as if you were lodging a complaint on oath and applying for a warrant before a magistrate. But this was not her most inconvenient characteristic; that took the form of an impression, usually recurring in inclement weather and about daybreak, that she had something on her mind, and stood in immediate need of the Reverend Frank to come and take it off. Many a time had that kind creature got up, and gone out to Mrs. Spodgkin, such was the disciple's name, suppressing a strong sense of her comicality by his strong sense of duty, and perfectly knowing that nothing but a cold would come of it. However, beyond themselves the Reverend Frank Milvey and Mrs. Milvey seldom hinted that Mrs. Spodgkin was hardly worth the trouble she gave, but both made the best of her as they did of all their troubles. This very exacting member of the fold appeared to be endowed to the sixth sense, in regard of knowing when the Reverend Frank Milvey least designed her company, and with promptitude appearing in his little hall. Consequently, when the Reverend Frank had willingly engaged that he and his wife would accompany Lightwood back, he said as a matter of course, "We must make haste to get out, Margaret, her idea, or we shall be descended on by Mrs. Spodgkin," to which Mrs. Milvey replied in her pleasantly emphatic way, "Oh, yes, for she is such a marplot, Frank, and does worry so." Words that were scarcely uttered when their theme was announced as in faithful attendance below desiring counsel on a spiritual matter. The point on which Mrs. Spodgkin sought elucidation being seldom of a pressing nature as who begat whom or some information concerning the amorites. Mrs. Milvey on this special occasion was ordered to the device of buying her off with a present of tea and sugar and a loaf and butter. These gifts Mrs. Spodgkin accepted, but still insisted on dutifully remaining in the hall, to curtsy to the Reverend Frank as he came forth, who in cautiously saying in his genial manner, "Well, sir, sir, there you are." Involved himself in a discursive address from Mrs. Spodgkin, revolving around the result that she regarded tea and sugar in the light of myrrh and frankincense, and considered bread and butter identical with locusts and wild honey. Having communicated this edifying piece of information, Mrs. Spodgkin was left still unajurned in the hall, and Mr. Mrs. Milvey hurried in a heated condition to the railway station. All of which is here recorded to the honour of that good Christian pair, representatives of hundreds of other good Christian pairs as conscientious and as useful, who merge the smallness of their work in its greatness and feel in no danger of losing dignity when they adapt themselves to incomprehensible humbugs. Detained at the last moment by one who had a claim upon me, was the Reverend Frank's apology to Lightwood, taking no thought of himself, to which Mrs. Milvey added taking thought for him like the chomping little wife she was. Oh yes, detained at the last moment, but as to the claim, Frank, I must say that I do think you are over-considered at some times and allow that to be a little abused. Bella felt conscious in spite of her late pledge for herself, that her husband's absence would give disagreeable occasion for surprise to the Milvies. Nor could she be a quieter to ease when Mrs. Milvey asked, "How is Mr. Brooks with, and is she gone before us, or does he follow us?" It becoming necessary upon this to send him to bed again and hold him in waiting to be lanced again, Bella did it, but not half as well on the second occasion as on the first, for a twice-told white one seems almost to become a black one when you are not used to it. "Oh dear," said Mrs. Milvey, "I am so sorry. Mr. Rokesmith took such an interest at Lizzie Hexham when we were there before, and if we had only known of his face, we could have given him something that would have kept it down long enough for so short a purpose. By way of making the white one whiter, Bella hastened to stipulate that he was not in pain. Mrs. Milvey was so glad of it. "I don't know how it is," said Mrs. Milvey, "and I am sure you don't. Frank, but the clergy and their wives seem to cause swelled faces. Whenever I take notice of a child in the school, it seems to me as if its face swelled instantly. Frank never makes acquaintance with a new old woman, but she gets the face ache. And another thing is we do make the poor children sniff so. I don't know how we do it, and I should be so glad not to, but the more we take notice of them, the more they sniff. Just as they do when the text is given out. Frank, that's a schoolmaster. I have seen him somewhere." The reference was to a young man who reserved appearance in a coat and waistcoat of black and pantaloons of pepper and salt. He had come into the office of the station from its interior in an unsettled way. Immediately after Lightwood had gone out to the train, and he had been hurriedly reading the printed bills and notices on the wall. He had had a wandering interest in what was said among the people waiting there, and passing to and fro. He had drawn nearer at about the time when Mrs. Milvey mentioned Lizzy Hexham, and remained near since. They were always glancing towards the door by which Lightwood had gone out. He stood with his back towards them, and his gloved hands clasped behind him. There was now so evident of faltering upon him, expressive of indecision, whether or no he should express his having heard himself referred to, that Mr. Milvey spoke to him. "I cannot recall your name," he said, "but I remember to have seen you in your school." "My name is Bradley Headstone, sir," he replied, backing into a more retired place. "I ought to have remembered it," said Mr. Milvey, giving him his hand. "I hope you are well a little overworked. I am afraid." "Yes, I am overworked, just at present, sir." "Had no play in your last holiday time?" "No, sir. All the work and no play, Mr. Headstone, will not make a dunness. In your case, I dare say, but it will make dyspepsia, if you don't take care." "I will endeavour to take care, sir. Might I beg leave to speak to you outside a moment? By all means." It was evening, and the office was well lighted. The schoolmaster, who had never remitted his watch on Lightwood's door, now moved by another door to a corner without, where there was more shadow than light, and said, plucking at his gloves. "One of your ladies, sir, mention within my hearing a name that I am acquainted with. I may say well acquainted with the name of the sister of an old pupil of mine. He was my pupil for a long time, and has got on and gone upward rapidly. The name of Hexam." "The name of Lizzie?" Hexam. "He seemed to be a shy man, struggling against nervousness, and spoke in a very constrained way. The break he set between his last two sentences was quite embarrassing to his hearer." "Yes," replied Mr. Milvey, "we are going down to see her." "I gathered as much, sir. I hope there is nothing amiss with the sister of my old pupil. I hope no bereavement has befallen her. I hope she is in no affliction, has lost no relation." Mr. Milvey thought this a man with a very odd manner, and a dark downward look. But he answered in his usual open way. "I am glad to tell you, Mr. Headstone, that the sister of your old pupil has not sustained any such loss. You thought I might be going down to bury someone?" "That may have been the connection of ideas, sir, with your clerical character, but I was not conscious of it. Then you are not, sir." "A man with a very odd manner indeed, and with a lurking look that was quite oppressive." "No, in fact," said Mr. Milvey, "since you are so interested in the sister of your old pupil, I may as well tell you that I am going down to marry her." The schoolmaster started back. "Not to marry her, myself," said Mr. Milvey with a smile, "because I have a wife already, to perform the marriage service at her wedding." Badly Headstone caught hold of a pillar behind him. If Mr. Milvey knew an ashy face when he saw it, he saw it then. "You are quite ill, Mr. Headstone." "It is not much, sir." "It will pass over very soon." 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Then the train rattled among the housetops, and among the ragged sides of houses torn down to make way for it, and over the swarming streets, and under the fruitful earth, until it shot across the river, bursting over the quiet surface like a bombshell, and gone again as if it had exploded in the rush of smoke and steam and glare. A little more, and again it roared across the river, a great rocket, spurning the watery turnings and doublings with aneffable contempt, and going straight to its end, as far the time goes to his. To whom it is no matter what living waters run high or low, reflect the heavenly lights and darknesses, produce their little growth of weeds and flowers, turn here, turn there, are noisy or still, are toppled or at rest, for their course has one sure termination, though their sources and devices are many. Then a carriage ride succeeded, near the solemn river, stealing away by night, as all things steal away by night and by day, so quietly yielding to the attraction of the lodestone rock of eternity, and the nearer they do to the chamber, where Eugene lay, the more they fear that they might find his wanderings done. At last they saw its dim light shining out, and it gave him hope, though light would faltered as he thought, if he were gone she would still be sitting by him. But he lay quiet, half in stupor, half in sleep, Bella entering with a raised and monetary finger, kissed lacy softly, but said not a word. Neither did any of them speak, but all sat down at the foot of the bed, silently waiting. And now, in this night-watch mingling with the flow of the river and with the rush of the train, came the questions into Bella's mind again. What could be in the depths of that mystery of John's? Why was it that he had never been seen by Mr. Lightwood, whom he still avoided? When would that trial come, through which her faith in, and her duty to her dear husband, was to carry her, rendering him triumphant, for that had been his term? Her passing through the trial was to make the man she loved with all her heart, triumphant, term not to sink out of sight and Bella's breast. Far on in the night, Eugene opened his eyes. He was sensible, and said at once, "How does the time go? How's our Mortimer come back?" Lightwood was there immediately to answer for himself. "Yes, Eugene, and all is ready." "Dear boy," returned Eugene with a smile, "we both thank you heartily. Lizzy, tell them how welcome they are, and that I would be eloquent if I could." "There is no need," said Mr. Milvey. "We know it. Are you better, Mr. Rayburn?" "I am much happier," said Eugene, "much better too, I hope." Eugene turned his eyes towards Lizzy, as if to spare her, and answered nothing. Then they all stood round to bed, and Mr. Milvey, opening his book, began the service, so rarely associated with the shadow of death, so inseparable in the mind from a flush of life, and gaiety, and hope, and health, and joy. Bella thought how different from her own sunny little wedding, and wept. Mrs. Milvey overflowed with pity, and wept too. The doll's dressmaker, with her hands before her face, wept in her golden bower. Reading in a low, clear voice, and bending over Eugene, who kept his eyes upon him, Mr. Milvey did his office with suitable simplicity. As the bride room could not move his hand, they touched his fingers with the ring, and so put it on the bride. When the two plited their troth, she laid her hand on his, and kept it there. When the ceremony was done, and all the rest departed in the room, she drew her arm under his head, and laid her own head down upon the pillow by his side. "I draw the curtains, my dear girl," said Eugene, after a while, "and let us see our wedding day." The sun was rising, and his first rays stuck into the room as she came back, and put her lips to his. "I bless the day," said Eugene. "I bless the day," said Lizzy. "You have made a poor marriage of it, my sweet wife," said Eugene, "a shattered, graceless fellow, stretched at his length here, and next to nothing for you, when you are a young widow." "I made the marriage that I would have given all the world to dare to hope for," she replied. "You have thrown yourself away," said Eugene, shaking his head, "but you have followed the treasure of your heart. My justification is that you had thrown that away first, dear girl." "Now, I had given it to you." "The same thing, my poor Lizzy." "Hush, hush, a very different thing." "There were tears in his eyes, and she besought him to close them." "No," said Eugene, again shaking his head, "let me look at you, Lizzy, while I can. You brave, devoted girl, you heroine." Her own eyes filled under his praises, and when he mustered strength to move his wounded head a very little way, and laid on her bosom, the tears of both fell. "Lizzy," said Eugene, after silence, "when you see me wandering away from this refuge that I have so ill-deserved speak to me, by my name, and I think I shall come back." "Yes, dear Eugene." "There," he exclaimed, smiling, "I should have gone then, but for that." A little while afterwards, when he appeared to be sinking into insensibility, she said in a calm, loving voice, "Eugene, my dear husband," he immediately answered. "There, again, you see how you can recall me." And afterwards, when he could not speak, he still answered by a slight movement of his head upon her bosom. The sun was high in the sky when she gently disengaged herself to give him the stimulants and nourishment he required. The utter helplessness of the wreck of him that lay cast ashore there now alarmed her, but he himself appeared a little more hopeful. "My beloved Lizzy," he said faintly, "how shall I ever pay all I owe you if I recover?" "Don't be ashamed of me," she replied, "and you will have more than paid all." "It will require a life, Lizzy, to pay all more than a life." "Live for that, then. Live for me, Eugene. Live to see how hard I will try to improve myself and never to discredit you." "My darling girl," he replied, rallying more of his old manner than he had ever yet got together. On the contrary, I have been thinking whether it is not the best thing I can do to die. The best thing you can do to leave me with a broken heart. I don't mean that, my dear girl. I was not thinking of that. What I was thinking of was this, out of your compassion for me, in this maimed, at broken state. You make so much of me. You think so well of me. You love me so dearly." "Even knows I have you dearly, and Heaven knows I prize it." "Well, if I live, you'll find me out." "I shall find out that my husband has a mine of purpose and energy, and will turn it to the best account." "I hope so, dearest Lizzie," said Eugene wistfully, and yet somewhat whimsically, "I hope so. But I can't summon the vanity to think so. How can I think so, looking back on such a trifling, wasted youth as mine? I humbly hope it, that I don't believe it. There is a sharp, escaping in my conscience, that if I were to live, I should disappoint your good opinion, and my own, and that I ought to die, by dear." End of book 4, chapter 11. Chapter 12 The Passing Shadow The winds and tides rose and fell a certain number of times. The earth moved round the sun, a certain number of times. The ship upon the ocean made her voyage safely, and brought a baby bellow home. Then who so blessed and happy as Mrs. John Rokesmith, saving and accepting Mr. John Rokesmith? "Would you not like to be rich now, my darling?" "How can you ask me such a question, John dear? Am I not rich?" These were among the first words spoken near the baby bellow as she lay asleep. She soon proved to be a baby of wonderful intelligence, evincing the strongest objection to her grandmother's society, and being invariably seized with the painful acidity of the stomach when that dignified lady honoured her with any attention. It was charming to see Bella contemplating this baby, and finding out her own dimples in that tiny reflection as if you were looking in the glass without personal vanity. Her cherubic father, justly remarked to her husband, that the baby seemed to make her younger than before, reminding him of the days when she had a pet doll and used to talk to it as she carried it about. The world might have been challenged to produce another baby who had such a store of pleasant nonsense said and sung to it as Bella said and sung to this baby, or who was dressed and undressed as often in four and twenty hours as Bella dressed and undressed this baby, or who was held behind doors and poked out to stop its father's way when he came home as this baby was, or in a word who did half the number of baby things through the lively invention of a gay and proud young mother, and this inexhaustible baby did. The inexhaustible baby was two or three months old, and Bella began to notice a cloud upon her husband's brow. Watching it, she saw a gathering and deepening anxiety there which caused her great disquiet. More than once she woke him muttering in his sleep, and though he muttered nothing worse than her own name, it was plain to her that his restlessness originated in some load of care. Therefore, Bella at length put in her claim to divide this load, and hear her half of it. "You know, join dear," she said cheerily, reverting to their former conversation, "that I hope I may safely be trusted in great things, and it surely cannot be a little thing that causes you so much uneasiness. It's very considerate of you to try to hide from me that you are uncomfortable about something, but it's quite impossible to be done, John Love." "I admit that I am rather uneasy my own." "Then please, to tell me what about her?" "But no," he evaded that. "Never mind," thought Bella resolutely. "John requires me to put perfect faith in him, and he shall not be disappointed." She went up to London one day to meet him, in order that they might make some purchases. She found him waiting for her at her journey's end, and they walked away together through the streets. He was in gay spirits, though still harping on that notion of their being rich, and he said, "Now let them make believe that yonder fine carriage was theirs, and that it was waiting to take them home to a fine house they had. What would Bella, in that case, best like to find in the house?" "Well, Bella didn't know. Already having everything she wanted, she couldn't say. But, by degrees, she was led on to confess that she would like to have for the inexhaustible baby such a nursery as never was seen. It was to be a very rainbow for colours, as she was quite sure baby noticed colours, and the staircase was to be adorned with the most exquisite flowers, as she was absolutely certain baby noticed flowers. And there was to be an aviary somewhere of the loveliest little birds, as there was not the smallest out in the world that baby noticed birds. Was there nothing else? No, John dear. The predilections of the inexhaustible baby being provided for Bella could think of nothing else. They were chatting on in this way, and John had suggested, "No jewels for your own wear, for instance." And Bella had replied laughing, "Oh, if you came to that, yes, there might be a beautiful ivory case of jewels on her dressing table." When these pictures were in a moment darkened and blotted out. They turned a corner, and met Mr. Lightwood. He stopped, as if he were petrified by the sight of Bella's husband, who in the same moment had changed colour. "Mr. Lightwood and I have met before," he said. "Met before, John," Bella repeated in a tone of wonder, "Mr. Lightwood told me he had never seen you." "I did not then know that I had," said Lightwood, discomposed on her account. "I believe that I had only heard of Mr. Rooksmith with an emphasis on the name." When Mr. Lightwood saw me my love, observed her husband not avoiding his eye, but looking at him, my name was Julius Hanford. "Julius Hanford," the name that Bella had so often seen in old newspapers when she was an inmate of Mr. Boffin's house. Julius Hanford, who had been publicly entreated to appear and for intelligence of whom a reward had been publicly offered. "I would have avoided mentioning it in your presence," said Lightwood, to Bella delicately. "But since your husband mentions it himself, I must confirm his strange admission. I saw him as Mr. Julius Hanford and I afterwards, unquestionably to his knowledge, took great pains to trace him out." "Quite too. But it was not my object or my interest," said Rooksmith quietly, "to be traced out." Bella looked from the one to the other in amazement. "Mr. Lightwood," pursued her husband, "as chance has brought us face to face at last, which is not to be wondered at. Although wonder is that, in spite of all my pains to the contrary, chance has not confronted us together sooner. I have only to remind you that you have been at my house and to add that I have not changed my residence." "Sir," returned Lightwood with a meaning glance towards Bella, "my physician is a truly painful one. I hope that no compicity and a very dark transaction may attach to you, but you cannot fail to know that your own extraordinary conduct has laid you under suspicion." "I know it has," was all the reply. "My professional duty," said Lightwood, hesitating with another glance towards Bella, "is greatly at variance with my personal inclination. But I doubt, Mr. Hanford, or Mr. Rooksmith, whether I am justified in taking leave of you here with your whole course unexplained." Bella caught her husband by the hand. "Don't be alarmed, my darling." Mr. Lightwood will find that he is quite justified in taking leave of me here, at all events. added Rooksmith, he will find that I mean to take leave of him here. "I think, sir," said Lightwood, "you can scarcely deny that when I came to your house on the occasion to which you have referred, you avoided me of a set purpose. Mr. Lightwood, I assure you I have no disposition to deny it, or intention to deny it. I should have continued to avoid you in pursuing some of the same set purpose for a short time longer, if we had not met now. I am going straight home, and shall remain at home tomorrow until noon, here after I hope we may be better acquainted. Good day." Lightwood stood a resolute, but Bella's husband passed him in the steadiest manner with Bella on his arm, and they went home without encountering any further reminestron or molestation from anyone. When they had died and were alone, John Rooksmith said to his wife, who had preserved her cheerfulness, "and you don't ask me, my dear, why I bore that name?" "No, John Love. I should dearly like to know, of course," which her anxious face confirmed, "but I wait until you can tell me of her own free will. You ask me if I could have perfect faith in you, and I said yes, and I meant it." It did not escape Bella's notice that he began to look triumphant. She wanted no strengthening in her firmness, but if she had had need of any, she would have derived it from his kindling face. "You cannot have been prepared, my dearest, for such a discovery as that, this mysterious Mr. Hanford, was identical with your husband." "No, John, dear, of course not. But you told me to prepare to be tried, and I prepared myself." He drew her to Nestle closer to him, and told her it would soon be over, and the truth would soon appear. "And now," he went on, "lay stress, my dear, on these words that I am going to add. I stand in no kind of peril, and I can by possibility be hurt at no one's hand." "You're quite, quite sure of that, John, dear." "Not a hair of my head." 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No, John. cried Bella, laying her hand upon his lips with a proud look. Never to me. But circumstances, he went on. I can, and I will, disperse them in a moment, have surrounded me with one of the strangest suspicions ever known. You heard Mr. Lightwood speak of a dark transaction. "Yes, John." You are prepared to hear explicitly what he meant. "Yes, John." My life, he meant the murder of John Harmon. You're a lot at husband. With a fast, palpitating heart, Bella Graspin by the arm. "You cannot be suspected, John." "Dear love, I can be, for I am." There was silence between them, as she sat looking in his face, with the colour quite gone from her own face and lips. "How dare they?" She cried at length, in a burst of generous indignation. "My beloved husband, how dare they?" He caught her in his arms as she opened hers and held her to his heart. "Even knowing this, you can trust me, Bella." "I can trust you, John, dear, with all my soul. If I could not trust you, I should fall dead at your feet." The kindling triumph in his face was bright indeed. As he looked up and rapturously exclaimed, "What had he done to deserve the blessing of this dear, confiding creature's heart?" Again she put her hand upon his lips, saying, "Hush!" And then told him, in her own little, natural, pathetic way, that if all the world were against him, she would be for him, that if all the world repudiated him, she would believe him, and that if he were infamous in other eyes, he would be honoured in hers, and that, under the worst unmerited suspicion, she could devote her life to consoling him and imparting her own faith in him to their little child. A twilight calm of happiness then succeeding to their radiant noon. They remained at peace. Until a strange voice in the room startled him both. The room being by that time dark, the voice said, "Don't let the lady be alarmed by my striking alight." And immediately a match rattled and glimmered in a hand. The hand, and the match, and the voice, were then seen by John Rokesmith to belong to Mr. Inspector, once meditatively active in this chronicle. "I take the liberty," said Mr. Inspector in a business-like manner, "to bring myself to the recollection of Mr. Julius Hanford, who gave me his name and address down at our place a considerable time ago. Would the lady object to my lighting the pair of candles on the chimney piece to throw a further light upon the subject?" "No, thank you, Mom. Now we look cheerful." Mr. Inspector, in a dark blue buttoned-up frock coat and pantaloons, presented a serviceable, half-pay, royal arms kind of appearance, as he applied a pocket-handkerchief to his nose and bowed to the lady. "You favored me, Mr. Hanford," said Mr. Inspector, "by writing down your name and address. And I produced the piece of paper on which you wrote it, comparing the same with the writing on the flyer leaf of this book on the table, and a sweet, pretty volumities. I find the writing of the entry, Mrs. John Rokesmith from a husband on a birthday, and very gratifying to the feelings such memorials are, to correspond exactly. Can I have a word with you?" "Certainly. Here, if you please," was the reply. "Why?" Retorted Mr. Inspector again, using his pocket-handkerchief. "Though there's nothing for the lady to be at all alarmed, and still, ladies are apt to take alarm at matters of business. Being of that fragile sex set there not to custom to them when not of a strictly domestic character, and I do generally make it a rule to propose retirement on the presence of ladies before entering upon business topics." "Or, perhaps," Mr. Inspector hinted, "if the lady was to step upstairs and take a look at baby now." Mrs. Rokesmith, her husband was beginning, and Mr. Inspector, regarding the words as an introduction, said, "Ape, I'm sure to have the honour," and bowed with gallantry. Mrs. Rokesmith, resumed her husband, "is satisfied that you can have no reason for being alarmed, whatever the business is." "Really?" "Is that so?" said Mr. Inspector, "but it's a sex to live and learn from, and there's nothing a lady can't accomplish when she wants fully gives her mind to it. It's the case with my own wife." "Well, Arm, this good gentleman of yours, has given rise to a rather large amount of trouble, which might have been avoided if he had come forward and explained himself." "Well, you see, he didn't come forward and explain himself. Consequently, now that we meet, him and me, you'll say, and say right, that there's nothing to be alarmed at in my proprosing to him to come forward, or putting the same meaning in another form to come along with me and explain himself." When Mr. Inspector put it in that other form to come along with me, there was a relishing role in his voice and his eye beamed with an official luster. "Do you propose to take me into custody?" inquired John Ruggsmith very coolly. "Why argue?" returned Mr. Inspector in a comfortable sort of remonstrance. "Aint it enough that I propose that you shall come along with me." "For what reason?" "Lord bless my soul and body," returned Mr. Inspector. "I wonder at it in a manner of your education." "Why argue?" "What do you charge against me?" "I wonder at you before a lady," said Mr. Inspector, shaking his head reproachfully. "I wonder, brought up as you have been. You haven't a more delicate mind. I charge you, then, with being somewhere concerned in the arm and murder. I don't see whether before or in or after the fact. I don't see whether with having some knowledge of it that hasn't come out." "You don't surprise me. I foresaw your visit this afternoon." "Don't," said Mr. Inspector, "why? Why argue? It's my duty to inform you that wherever you say will be used against you. I don't think it will. But I tell you it will," said Mr. Inspector. "Now, having received a caution, do you still say that you foresaw my visit this afternoon?" "Yes. And I will say something more if you will step with me into the next room." With a reassuring kiss on the lips of the frightened bellow, her husband, to whom Mr. Inspector obligingly offered his arm, took up a candle and withdrew with that gentleman. They were a full half hour in conference. When they returned, Mr. Inspector looked considerably astonished. "I have invited this worthy officer, my dear," said John, "to make a short excursion with me in which you shall be a shearer. He will take something to eat and drink, I dare say, on your invitation, while you are getting your bonnet on." Mr. Inspector declined eating, but ascended to the proposal of a glass of brandy and water. Mixing this cold and pensively consuming it, he broke it intervals into such soliloquies, as that he never did know such a move, that he never had been so grappled, and that what a game was this to try the sort of stuff a man's opinion of himself was made of. Concurrently with these comments, he more than once burst out a laughing, with the half-enjoying and half-peaked air of a man who had given up a good conundrum after much guessing and being told the answer. Bellow was so timid of him that she noted these things in a half-shrinking, half-perceptive way, and similarly noted that there was a great change in his manner towards John. That, coming along with him deportment, was now lost in long-musing looks at John and at herself, and sometimes in slow, heavy rubs of his hand across his forehead, as if he were ironing out the creases which his deep pondering made there. He had had some coughing and whistling satellites secretly gravitating towards him about the premises, but they were now dismissed, and he eyed John as if he had meant to do him a public service, but had unfortunately been anticipated. Whether Bellow might have noted anything more, if she had been less afraid of him, she could not determine, but it was all inexplicable to her, and not the faintest flash of the real state of the case broke in upon her mind. Mr. Inspector's increased notice of herself, and knowing way of raising his eyebrows when their eyes, by any chance, met, as if he put the question, "Don't you see?" Augmented her timidity, and, consequently, her perplexity. For all these reasons, when he and she and John, at towards nine o'clock of a winter evening, went to London, and began driving from London Bridge, among low-lying water-side wars and docks and strange places, Bellow was in the state of a dreamer, perfectly unable to account for her being there, perfectly unable to forecast what would happen next, or whether she was going, or why, certain of nothing in the immediate present, but that she confided in John, and that John seemed somehow to be getting more triumphant. But what a certainty was that. They alighted at last at the corner of a court, where there was a building with a bright lamp and wicked gate. Its orderly appearance was very unlike that of the surrounding neighbourhood, and was explained by the inscription "Police Station." "We are not going in here, John," said Bellow, clinging to him. "Yes, my dear, but of our own accord, which will come out again as easily, never fear." The whitewashed room was pure white as of old. The methodical bookkeeping was in peaceful progress as of old, and some distant howlow was banging against the cell door as of old. The sanctuary was not a permanent abiding place, but a kind of criminal pickfords. The lower passions and vices were regularly ticked off in the books, warehoused in the cells, carted away as per accompanying invoice, and left little mark upon it. Mr. Inspector placed two chairs for his visitors before the fire, and communed an low voice with the brother of his order, also of a half-pay and royal arms aspect, who, judged only by his occupation at the moment, might have been a writing master, setting copies. Their conference done, Mr. Inspector returned to the fireplace, and, having observed that he would step round to the fellowships and see how matters stood, went out. He soon came back again, saying, "Nothing could be better, for there is supper with Miss Abby in the bar." And then they all three went out together. Still, as in a dream, Bella found herself entering a snug, old-fashioned public house, and found herself smuggled into a little three-cornered room, nearly opposite the bar of that establishment. Mr. Inspector achieved the smuggling of herself and John into this queer room, called cozy, in an inscription on the door, by entering in the narrow passage first in order, and suddenly turning round upon them with extended arms, as if they had been too sheep. The room was lighted for their reception. "Now," said Mr. Inspector to John, turning the gas-lower, "I'll mix with them in a casual way, and when I say identification, perhaps you'll show yourself." John nodded, and Mr. Inspector went alone to the half-door of the bar. From the dim doorway of cozy, within which Bella and her husband stood, they could see a comfortable little party of three persons, sitting at supper in the bar, and could hear everything that was said. The three persons were Miss Abby and two male guests, to whom collectively Mr. Inspector remarked that the weather was getting sharp for the time of year. "Here, me, Richard, to suit your wits, sir," said Miss Abby. "What have you got in hand now?" "Thinking you for your compliment, not much, Miss Abby," was Mr. Inspector's rejoinder. "Who have you got in the cozy?" asked Miss Abby, only her gentleman and his wife, Miss. "And who are they?" "If one may ask it, without detriment to your deep plans in the interest of the honest public," said Miss Abby, proud of Mr. Inspector as an administrative genius. "They are strangers in this part of the town, Miss Abby. They are waiting till I shall want the gentleman to show himself somewhere for half a moment." "While they're waiting," said Miss Abby. "Couldn't you join us?" Mr. Inspector immediately slipped into the bar, and sat down at the side of the half-door, with his back towards the passage, and directly facing the two guests. "Ah, don't take my supper till later in the night," said he, "and therefore I won't disturb the compactness of the table. But I'll take a glass of flip, if that's a flip in the jug in the fender." "That's flip," replied Miss Abby, "and it's my making, and if even you can find out better, I should be glad to know where." Filling him with hospitable hands, a steaming tumbler, Miss Abby replaced the jug by the fire. The company not having yet arrived at the flip stage of their supper, but being as yet skirmishing with strong ale. "Ah," cried Mr. Inspector, "that's the smack. There's not a detective in the force, Miss Abby, that could find out better stuff than that." "Glad of here, you say so," rejoined Miss Abby. "You ought to know, if anybody does." "Mr. Job Potlesson," Mr. Inspector continued, "I drink your elf." "Mr. Jacob Kibble, I drink yours." "What you have made a prosperous voyage, or, gentlemen, both?" "Mr. Kibble, an anxious broad man, a few words, and many mouthfuls," said more briefly than pointedly, raising his ale to his lips. "Sign, may you," Mr. Job Potlesson, a semi-cefaring man of obliging demeanor, said. "Thank you, sir." "Lord, bless my soul and body," cried Mr. Inspector, "talk of trees, Miss Abby, and the way they set their marks on men." A subject which nobody had approached. "Ooh, wouldn't nor your brother to be a steward." "There's a bright and ready twinkling his eye. There's a neatness in his action. There's a smartness in his figure. There's an air of reliability about him in case you want to be some which points out the steward and Mr. Kibble into your passenger all over. While there's that mercantile crut upon him which would make you happy to give him credit for £500, don't you see the salt sea shining on him too?" "You do, I dare say," returned Miss Abby, "but I don't. And as for stewarding, I think it's time my brother gave that up and took his house in hand on his sister's retiring." "The house will go to pieces if he don't. I wouldn't sell it for any money that could be told out to a person I couldn't depend upon to be a lord of the porters as I had been." "There you're right, Miss," said Mr. Inspector. "A better kept house is not known to arm in." "What do I say?" "Half so well a kept house is not known to arm in." "Sure the force, the six jolly fellowship porters, and the force, to a constable, will show you a piece of perfection, Mr. Kibble." That gentleman with a very serious shake of his head subscribed the article. "And talk of time slipping by you, as if it was an animal at rustic sports with its tail sooped," said Mr. Inspector, again a subject which nobody had approached. "Why, well you may, well you may. How has it slipped by us since the time when Mr. Job Poterson here present, Mr. Jacob Kibble here present, and an officer of the force here present first came together on a matter of identification." Bella's husband stepped softly to the half-door of the bar and stood there. "How has time slipped by us?" Mr. Inspector went on slowly, with his eyes narrowly observant of the two guests, since we three very men at an inquest in this very house. Mr. Kibble, taken ill, sir. Mr. Kibble had staggered up, with his lower jaw dropped, catching Poterson by the shoulder, and pointing to the half-door, he now cried out, "Poterson, look, look there!" Poterson started up, started back, and exclaimed, "Heavenly fame-ness! What's that?" Bella's husband stepped back to Bella, took her in his arms, for she was terrified by the unintelligible terror of the two men, and shut the door of the little room. A hurry of voice has succeeded, in which Mr. Inspector's voice was busiest, it gradually slackened and sank, and Mr. Inspector reappeared. "Sharps the word, sir," he said, booking in with a knowing wink, "we'll get your lady out at once." Immediately Bella and her husband were under the stars, making their way back alone to the vehicle they had kept in waiting. All this was most extraordinary, and Bella could make nothing of it, but that John was in the right. How in the right, and how suspected of being in the wrong, she could not divine. Some vague idea that he had never really assumed the name of Hanford, and that there was a remarkable likeness between him and that mysterious person was her nearest approach to any definite explanation. But John was triumphant, that much was made apparent, and she could wait for the rest. "When John came home to dinner next day," he said, sitting down on the sofa by Bella and baby Bella, "my dear, I have a piece of news to tell you. I have left the China House." As he seemed to like having left it, Bella took it for granted that there was no misfortune in the case. "In a word, my love," said John, "the China House is broken up and abolished. There is no such thing anymore." "Then, are you already in another house, John?" "Yes, my darling. I am in another way of business, and I am rather better off." The inexhaustible baby was instantly made to congratulate him, and to say, with appropriate action on the part of a very limp arm and a speckled fist, three cheers, ladies and gentle morams, hooray. "I am afraid in my life," said John, "that you have become very much attached to this cottage." "Afraid I have, John? Of course I have." "The reason why I said afraid," returned John, "is because we must move." "Oh, John!" "Yes, my dear, we must move. We must have our headquarters in London now. In short, there is a dwelling-house, rent-free, attached to my new position, and we must occupy it." "Oh, that's again, John!" "Yes, my dear, it is undoubtedly again." He gave her a very blithe look, and a very sly look, which occasioned the inexhaustible baby to square at him with the speckled fists, and demand in a threatening manner what he meant. "My love," you said it was again, and I said it was again, a very innocent remark, surely. "I vote," said the inexhaustible baby, "allow you to make game of my venerable ma." At each division administering a soft-facer with one of the speckled fists. "John, having stooped down to receive these punishing visitations, Bella asked him would it be necessary to move soon?" "Why, yes indeed," said John, "he did propose that they should move very soon." "Taking the furniture with them, of course," said Bella. "Why no," said John. "The fact was that the house was in a sort of a kind of a way furnished already." The inexhaustible baby hearing this resumed the offensive and said, "But there's no nursery for me, sir. What do you mean, marble-hearted parent?" 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Sign up now at chumbaughassino.com. Sponsored by Chumba Casino, no purchase necessary. VGW Group. Voidware prohibited by law. 18-plus terms and conditions apply. Returned the inexhaustible, administering more punishment. What do you take before? And was then turned over on its back in Bella's lap and smothered with kisses. "But really John Deere," said Bella. Flushed in quite a lovely manner by these exercises. "Well, the new house, just as it stands, don't for baby. That's the question." "I felt that to be the question," he returned, "and therefore I arranged that you should come with me and look at it tomorrow morning." Appointment made, accordingly, for Bella to go up with him tomorrow morning, John kissed, and Bella delighted. When they reached London in pursuance of their little plan, they took a coach and drove westward. Not only drove westward, but drove into that particular westward division, which Bella had seen last, when she turned her face from Mr. Boffin's door. Not only drove into that particular division, but drove at last into that very street. Not only drove into that very street, but stopped at last at that very house. "John Deere," cried Bella, booking out a window in a flutter. "Do you see where we are?" "Yes, my love," the coachman's quite right. The house door was opened without any knocking or ringing, and John promptly helped her out. The servant, who stood holding the door, asked no question of John, neither did he go before them or follow them as they went straight upstairs. It was only her husband's encircling arm urging her on that prevented Bella from stopping at the foot of the staircase. As they ascended, it was seen to be tastefully ornamented with most beautiful flowers. "Oh, John!" said Bella faintly. "What does this mean?" "Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on." Going on a little higher, they came to a charming aviary, in which a number of topical birds, more gorgeous in colour than the flowers, were flying about. And among those birds were gold and silverfish and mosses and water lilies and a fountain and all manner of wonders. "Oh, my dear John," said Bella, "what does this mean?" "Nothing, my darling, nothing. Let us go on." They went on, until they came to a door. As John put out his hand to open it, Bella caught his hand. "I don't know what it means, but it's too much for me. Hold me, John Love." John caught her up in his arm and lightly dashed into the room with her. "Behold, Mr. and Mrs. Buffon, beaming. Behold, Mrs. Buffon, clapping her hands in an ecstasy, running to Bella with tears of joy pouring down her cumbly face and folding her to her breast with the words. My teary, teary, teary girl and naughty in me saw married and couldn't wish joy to or so much as speak to. My teary, teary, teary wife of John and mother of his little child, my loving, loving, bright, bright, pretty, pretty. Welcome to your house and home, my teary." End of book four, chapter twelve. Chapter thirteen, showing how the golden dustman helped to scatter dust. In all the first bewilderment of her wonder, the most bewilderingly wonderful thing to Bella was the shining countenance of Mr. Buffon. That his wife should be joyous, open-hearted, and genial, or that her face should express every quality that was large and trusting, and no quality that was little or mean was accordant with Bella's experience. But that he, with a perfectly beneficent air and a plump, rosy face, should be standing there looking at her and John like some jovial good spirit was marvellous. For how had he looked when she last saw him in that very room? It was the room in which she had given him that piece of her mind at parting. And what had become of all those crooked lines of suspicion, avarous and distressed, had twisted his visage then? Mrs. Buffon seated Bella on the large ottoman, and seated herself beside her, and John, her husband, seated himself on the other side of her, and Mr. Buffon understood beaming at every one and everything he could see, with surpassing jollity and enjoyment. Mrs. Buffon was then taken with a laughing fit of clapping her hands and clapping her knees, and rocking herself to and fro, and then with another laughing fit of embracing Bella, and rocking her to and fro, both fits of considerable duration. "Oh, lady, oh, lady," said Mr. Buffon at length, "if you don't begin, somebody else must." "I'm again a begin naughty, my dear," returned Mrs. Buffon, "only it isn't easy for a person to know where to begin, when a person is in this state of delight and happiness, Bella, my dear." "Tell me, who's this?" "Who's this?" repeated Bella. "My husband." "Ah, but tell me his name, dearie," cried Mrs. Buffon. "Rook Smith, now it ain't!" cried Mrs. Buffon, clapping her hands and shaking her head, "not a bit of it." "Handford, then," suggested Bella. "No, it ain't!" cried Mrs. Buffon, again clapping her hands and shaking her head, "not a bit of it." "At least, his name is John, I suppose," said Bella. "Ah, I should think so, dearie," cried Mrs. Buffon, "I should hope so. Many and many is a time I've called him by his name of John." "But what is other name? It's true of the name. Give a guess, my pretty." "I can't guess," said Bella, turning her pale face from one to another. "I could," cried Mrs. Buffon, "and what small I did. I found him out, all in the flashes I might say one night, didn't I, Noddy?" "I, that the old lady did," said Mr. Buffon, with stout pride in the circumstance. "Harky, to me, dearie," pursued Mrs. Buffon, taking Bella's hands between her own and gently beating on them from time to time. It was after particular night when John had been disappointed as he thought in his affections. It was after night when John had made an offer to a certain young lady, and the certain young lady had refused it. It was after a particular night when he felt himself cast away like and had made up his mind to go stick his fortune. It was the very next night. "My Noddy wanted a paper out of his secretary's room, and I says to Noddy, 'I'm going by the door, and I'll ask him for it.' I tapped at his door, and he didn't hear me. I looked in, and saw him as sitting lonely by his fire, brooding over it. Each answer looked up, with a pleased kind of smile in my company when he saw me. And then, in a single moment, every grain of the gunpowder that had been lying sprinkled thick about him ever since office, that eyes upon him as a man at the power took fire. Too many a time had I seen him sitting lonely when he was a poor child to be pitied at an end. Too many a time had I seen him in need of being brightened up with a comforting word. Too many and too many a time to be mistaken when that glimpse of him came at last. 'No, no, I just makes out a cry. I know you know, you're John, and he catches me as I drops.' 'So what?' says Mrs. Boffin, breaking off in the rush of her speech to smile most ragingly. 'Why do you think, by this time, that your husband's name was dear?' 'Not,' returned Bella, with quivering lips, 'Not Harmon. That's not possible. Don't tremble. Why not possible, dearie, when so many things are possible,' demanded Mrs. Boffin, in a soothing tone. 'He was killed,' gasped Bella, thought to be,' said Mrs. Boffin, 'but they've ever John Harmon drew the breath of life on earth, that he's certainly John Harmon's arm round your waist now, my pretty. If ever John Harmon had a wife on earth, that wife is certainly you. If ever John Harmon and his wife had a child on earth, that child is certainly this.' By a masterstroke of secret arrangement, the inexhaustible baby here appeared at the door, suspended in midair by invisible agency. Mrs. Boffin, plunging at it, brought it to Bella's lap, where both Mrs. and Mr. Boffin, as the saying is, took it out of the inexhaustible in a shower of caresses. It was only this timely appearance that kept Bella from swooning. This and her husband's earnestness in explaining further to her how it had come to pass that he had been supposed to be slain, and had even been suspected of his own murder. Also, how he had put a pious fraud upon her, which had preyed upon his mind, as the time for its disclosure approached, thus she might not make full allowance for the object with which it had originated, and in which it had fully developed. 'That blessed see my beauty,' cried Mrs. Boffin, ticking up short at this point, with another hearted clap of her hands, 'it wasn't John only that was in it. We was all of us in it.' 'I don't,' said Bella, looking vacantly from one to another, 'yet understand. Of course you don't, my dearie,' exclaimed Mrs. Boffin, 'how can you till you're told?' 'So now I'm going to tell you. So you put your two ends between my two ends again,' cried the comfortable creature, embracing her, with that blessed little picture, lying on your lap, and you shall be told all the story. Now I'm going to tell the story. Once, twice, three times, and the horses is off. Here they go. When I cry about that night, I know you now, you're John, which was my exact words, wasn't they, John? 'You're exact words,' said John, laying his hand on hers. 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. 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That's capital, said Mrs. Buffon, giving it a kiss. Seems quite a family building, don't it? But the horses is off. Well, when I cries out that night, I know you now, you're John. John catches of me, it's true, but I ain't a lightweight. Bless you, and he's forced to let me down. Noddy, he is a noise, and any trots, and as soon as I anyways comes to myself, I'll call to him, Noddy, well I might say as I did say, that night at the bower. For the Lord be thankful, this is John. On which he gives Eve, and down he goes likewise, with his head under the writing table. This brings me round comfortable, and that brings him round comfortable. And then John, and him, and me, we all fall a cry in for joy. Yes, they cry for joy, my darling. Her husband struck in, you understand. These too, whom I come to life, to disappoint and dispossess, cry for joy. Bella looked at him confusedly, and looked again at Mrs. Buffon's radiant face. "That's right, my dear, type of you, mind him," said Mrs. Buffon, sick to me. "Well, then we sit down, gradually gets cool, and holds a confabulation. John, he tells us how he is despairing in his mind on accounts of a certain fair young person. And ow, if I hadn't found him out, he was going away to seek his fortune far and wide, and had fully meant never to count a life, but to leave the property as our wrongful inheritance for ever in a day. At which you never see a man so frightened, as my Noddy was, thought to think that he should have come into the property wrongful, however innocent, and, more than that, might have gone on keeping it to his dying day, turned him whiter than chalk. "And you too," said Mr. Buffon, "tell you mind him neither, my dearie," resumed Mrs. Buffon, sick to me. This brings out my confabulation, regarding the certain fair young person. When Noddy, he gives it as his opinion, that she is a deary creature. "She might be a little spoiled, a naturally spoiled," he says, by certain stances, "but that's only the surface. In our lame life," he says, "that she's the true golden gold at art." "So did you," said Mr. Buffon. "Don't you mind him a single morsel, my dear?" proceeded Mrs. Buffon, "but stick to me." "Then," says John, "oh, if he could prove so, then we both of us absent says that minute prove so." With a start, Bellant directed a hurried glance towards Mr. Buffon, but he was sitting thoughtfully smiling at that broad brown hand of his, and either didn't see it or would take no notice of it. "Prove it, John," he says, repeated Mrs. Buffon, "prove it and overcome your doubts with time, and be happy for the first time in your life and for the rest of your life." This puts John in a state, to be sure. Then we says, "What will content you?" If she was to stand up for you when he was slighted, if she was to show herself of a generous mind when he was oppressed, if she was to be truest to you when he was poorest and friendliest, and all this against her own seeming interest, how would that do? "Do," says John, "it would raise me to the skies." "Then," says my naughty, "might your preparations for the ascent, John, it be in my firm belief that up you go." Bellant caught Mr. Buffon's twinkling eye for half an instant, but he got it away from her, and restored it to his broad brown hand. "From the first he was always a special favourite of notties," said Mrs. Buffon, shaking her head. "Oh, you were. And if I had been inclined to be jealous, I don't know what I might have done to you. But as I wasn't, why my beauty? With a hearty laugh and an embrace, I made you a special favourite of my own, too. But the horses is coming round the corner. Well, then," says my naughty, shaking his side, Stoopers fit to make a make again. 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So sign up now at Chumbakasino.com to claim your free welcome bonus at Chumbakasino.com and live the Chumbalife." Sponsored by Chumbakasino, no purchase necessary, VGW Group, for where prohibited by law, 18-plus terms and conditions apply. "Gried Mrs. Boffin, in an ecstasy of admiration. Lord bless you, then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?" Bella looked half-rightened, and yet half laughed. "That bless you," pursued Mrs. Boffin. "If you could have seen him of a night at that time of it, the way he'd sit and chuckle over himself, the way he'd say, 'I've been a regular brown bear today,' and take himself in his arms and hug himself at the thoughts of the brute he had pretended. But every night he says to me, 'Better and better, our lady. What did we say of her? She'll come through it, the true golden gold. This will be the happiest piece of work we've ever done. And then he'd say, 'I'll be a grizzly-er, I'll growl at tomorrow.' And laugh he would, till John and me was often forced to slap his back and bring it out of his windpipes, with a little water. Mr. Boffin, with his face bent over his heavy hand, made no sound, but rolled his shoulders when thus referred to, as if he were vastly enjoying himself. 'And so, my good and pretty,' pursued Mrs. Boffin, 'you was married. And there was we, hid up in the church organ by this asband of yours, for he wouldn't let us out with it then, as was first meant.' 'No,' he says, 'she so unselfish and contented that I can't afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer.' Then, when Baby was expected, he says, 'she's such a cheerful, glorious housewife that I can't afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer.' Then, when Baby was born, he says, 'she's so much better than she ever was that I can't afford to be rich yet. I must wait a little longer.' 'And so he goes on and on, till I says outright. Now, John, if you don't fix a time for setting her up in her own house and home, and letting us walk out of it, are turning former.' Then he says, 'you'll only wait to try and be on what we ever thought possible, and to show her to us better than even we ever supposed.' And he says, 'she shall see me, and a suspicion of having murdered myself, and you shall see our trust in our two shall be.' 'Well, Nadion me agreed to that, and he was right. And here you are, and the horses is in, and the story is done, and God bless you, my beauty, and God bless us all.' 'The pile of hands dispersed, and Bella and Mrs. Boughton took a good long hug of one another, to the apparent peril of the inexhaustible baby, lying staring in Bella's lap.' 'But is the story done?' said Bella, pondering. 'Is there no more of it?' 'What more of it should there be, dearie?' 'Return, Mrs. Boughton, full of glee. 'Are you sure you've left nothing out of it?' 'I, Bella.' 'I don't think I have,' said Mrs. Boughton, archery. 'John, dear,' said Bella, 'you're a good nurse. Will you please help, baby?' Having deposited the inexhaustible in his arms of those words, Bella looked hard at Mr. Boughton, who had moved to a table where he was leaning his head upon his hand with his face turned away, and quietly settling herself on her knees at his side, and drawing one arm over his shoulder said, 'Please, I beg your pardon, and I made a small mistake of a word when I took leave of you last. Please, I think you are better, not worse, than Hopkins. Better, not worse than dancer. Better, not worse than Blackberry Jones. Better, not worse than any of them. Please, something more,' cried Bella with an exultant ringing laugh, as she struggled with him, and forced him to turn his delighted face to hers. 'Please, I have found out something not yet mentioned. Please, I don't believe you are a hard-hearted miser at all, and please, I don't believe you ever for one single minute were.' At this Mrs. Boughton fairly screamed with rapture, and sat beating her feet upon the floor, clapping her hands and bobbing herself backwards and forwards like a demented member of some Mandarin's family. 'Oh, I understand you now, sir,' cried Bella, 'I want neither you, nor anyone else to tell me the rest of the story. I can tell it to you now, if you'd like to hear it.' 'Can you, my dear,' said Mr. Boughton, 'tell it then.' 'What?' cried Bella, holding in prison by the coat with both hands. 'When you saw what a greedy little wretch you were the patron of, you determined to show her how much misused and misprised riches could do, and often had done, to spoil people. Did you? Not caring what you thought of you, and goodness knows that was of no consequence. You showed her, in yourself, the most detestable sides of wealth, saying in your own mind, 'This shallow creature would never work the tooth out of her own weak soul if she had a hundred years to do it in, but a glaring instance kept before her may open even her eyes and set her thinking. That was what you said to yourself, was it, sir?' 'I never said anything of the sort,' Mr. Boughton declared on state of the highest enjoyment. '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. Hey, it's Ryan Seacrest. Life comes at you fast, which is why it's important to find some time to relax a little you time. 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"You can't be heard by Council, sir," returned Bella. "You must speak for yourself, confess, instantly." "Well, my dear," said Mr. Buffon, "the truth is, the one we did go in for the little scheme that my old lady has pointed out. I did put it to John, what did you think of going in for some such general scheme as you have pointed out? But I didn't, in any way, so wording, because I didn't, in any way, so mean it. I only said to John, wouldn't it be more consistent me going in for being a regular brown bear, respecting him to go in as a regular brown bear all round?" "Confess this minute, sir," said Bella, "that you did it to correct and amend me." "Certainly, my dear child," said Mr. Buffon, "I didn't do it to arm you, you may be sure of that, and I did hope it might just hint a caution. Still, it ought to be mentioned, and no sooner had my old lady found out John, and John made known to her and me, that he had had his eye upon a thankless person, by the name of Silas Wäg. Partly for the punishment of which Wäg, by leading him on, in a very unanswerman and in game that he was playing, then books that you and me bought, so many off together, and, by the by my dear, he wasn't Blackberry Jones but Blueberry, was read aloud to me by that person of the name of Silas Wäg a foresaid." Bella, who was still on her knees at Mr. Buffon's feet, gradually sank down into a sitting posture on the ground, as she meditated more and more thoughtfully with her eyes upon his beaming face. "Still," said Bella, after this meditative pause, "there remain two things, but I can't understand. Mrs. Buffon never supposed any part of the change in Mr. Buffon to be real, did she? You never did, did you?" asked Bella, turning to her. "No," returned Mrs. Buffon, with a most rotund and glowing negative. "And yet you took it very much to heart," said Bella, "I remember it's making you very uneasy indeed." "He got. You see, Mrs. John, at a sharp eye, John," cried Mr. Buffon, shaking his head of the admiring air. "You're right, my dear. The old lady nearly blower us at the shivers and smithers many times." "Why?" asked Bella. "How did that happen when she was in your secret?" "Why? It was a weakness in the old lady," said Mr. Buffon, "and yet they tell you the old truth, and nothing but the truth. I'm rather proud of it. My dear, the old lady, think so high of me, as she couldn't have been at a sea near me, coming out as a regular brown one. Couldn't a better mate believe, as I meant it, in consequence of which we was ever lastingly in danger with her?" Mrs. Buffon laughed heartily at herself, but a certain glistening in her honest eyes revealed that she was by no means cured of that dangerous propensity. 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"Never thought of it before the moment, my dear," he observed to Bella, "when John said, 'If he had been so happy, as to win your affections, and possess your art, it come into my head, to turn round upon him, with winnow affections, and possess her heart, mille, says the cat, quack, says the duck, and bow well, wow, says the dog. I couldn't tell you, how it came into my head, away from." 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. Hey it is Ryan Seacrest. There's something so thrilling about playing Chumba Casino. Maybe it's the simple reminder that with a little luck, anything is possible. Chumbak Casino.com has hundreds of social casino style games to choose from with new game releases each week. Play for free anytime, anywhere, for your chance to redeem some serious prizes. Join me in the fun. Sign up now at Chumbak Casino.com, sponsored by Chumba Casino. No purchase necessary. VGW Group, void where prohibited by law, 18 plus terms and conditions apply. "But it had so much the sound of a raspa that I owned you, it astonished myself. I was awful gnarbursting out an offering though, when it made John stare." "You said my pretty," Mrs. Boffin reminded Bella, "that there was one other thing you couldn't understand." "Oh yes," cried Bella, covering her face with her hands. "But that I never shall be able to understand as long as I live. It is how John could love me so when I so little deserved it, and how you, Mr. Mrs. Boffin, could be so forgetful of yourselves and take such pains and trouble to make me a little better, and after all to help him to so unworthy a wife. But I am very, very grateful." It was John Harmon's turn then. John Harmon now for good, and John Rokesmith for nevermore, to plead with her quite unnecessarily in behalf of his deception, and to tell her over and over again that it had been prolonged by her own winning graces in her supposed station of life. This led on to many interchanges of endearment and enjoyment on all sides, in the midst of which the inexhaustible being observed staring in the most imbecile manner, on Mrs. Boffin's breast, was pronounced to be supernaturally intelligent as to the whole transaction, and was made to declare to the ladies and gimple morons with a wave of the speckled fist with difficulty detached from an exceedingly short waste. I have already informed my venerable ma that I know all about it." Then, said John Harmon, would Mrs. John Harmon come and see her house? And a dainty house it was, and a tastefully beautiful, and they went through it in procession. The inexhaustible on Mrs. Boffin's bosom still staring, occupying the middle station, and Mr. Boffin bringing up the rear. And on Beller's exquisite toilet table was an ivory casket, and in the casket were jewels a like of which he had never dreamed of, and a loft on an upper floor was a nursery garnished as with rainbows. "Though we were hard put to it," said John Harmon, to get it done in so shorter time. The house inspected, emissaries removed the inexhaustible, who was shortly afterwards heard screaming among the rainbows, whereupon Beller would do herself from the presence and knowledge of gimple morons, and the screaming ceased, and smiling peace associated herself with that young olive branch. "Come and look in, naughty," said Mrs. Boffin, to Mr. Boffin. Mr. Boffin, submitting to be led on tiptoe to the nursery door, looked in with immense satisfaction, although there was nothing to see but Beller, an amusing state of happiness, seated in a low chair upon the hearth with her child in her fair young arms, and her soft eyelashes, shading her eyes from the fire. "It looks as if the old man's spirit had found rest at last, don't it?" said Mrs. Boffin. "Yes, old lady." "And, as if his money had turned bright again after long, long rust in the dark, and was it last a beginning to sparkle in the sunlight?" "Yes, old lady. And it makes it pretty, and a promising picture, don't it?" "Yes, old lady." But aware at the instant of a fine opening for a point, Mr. Boffin quenched that observation in this delivered in the grisliest growling of the regular brown bear, a pretty and hopeful picture, mew, quack, quack, bowow, and then trotted silently downstairs with his shoulders in a state of the liveliest commotion. End of Book 4, Chapter 13 Chapter 14, Checkmate to the Friendly Move Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon had so timed their taking possession of their rightful name and their London house. At the event befell on the very day when the last wagon load of the last mound was driven out at the gates of Boffin's bar. As it jolted away, Mr. Weg felt that the last load was correspondingly removed from his mind and hailed the auspicious season when that black sheep Boffin was to be closely sheared. Over the whole slow process of levelling the mounds, Silas had kept watch with rapacious eyes. But eyes no less rapacious had watched the growth at the mounds in years bygone and had vigilantly sifted the dust of which they were composed. No valuables turned up. How should there be any, seeing that the old hard jail of harmony jail had coined every waif and stray into money long before? Hey Amazon Prime members, why pay more for groceries when you can save big on thousands of items at Amazon Fresh? 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Though disappointed by this bare result, Mr. Weg felt too sensibly relieved by the close of the labour to grumble to any great extent. A former representative of the dust contractors, purchases of the mounds, had worn Mr. Weg down to skin and bone. This supervisor of the proceedings asserting his employer's rights to cart off by daylight, nightlight, torchlight, when they would, must have been the death of Silas if the work had lasted much longer. Seeming never to need sleep himself, he would reappear with a tied up broken head in fan-tail hat and velveteen smalls like an accursed goblin at the most unholy and untimely hours. Tired out by keeping close water over a long day's work in fog and rain, Silas would have just crawled to bed and be dozing when a horrid shake and rumble under his pillow would announce an approaching train of carts escorted by this demon of unrest to fall to work again. At another time he would be rumbled up out of his sound asleep in the dead of the night, at another would be kept at his post eight and forty hours on end. The more his persecutor besought him not to trouble himself to turn out, the more suspicious was the crafty Weg that indications had been observed of something hidden somewhere, and that attempts were on foot to circumvent him. So continually broken was his rest through these means that he led the life of having wagered to keep ten thousand dog-watches in ten thousand hours, and look pitiously upon himself as always getting up and yet never going to bed. So gaunt and haggard had he grown at last, that his wooden leg showed disproportionate, and presented a thriving appearance in contrast to the rest of his plagued body which might always have been termed chubby. However, Weg's comfort was that all his disagreeables were now over, and that he was immediately coming into his property. Of late the grindstone did undoubtedly appear to have been whirling at his own nose rather than Boffin's, but Boffin's nose was now to be sharpened fine. Thus far Mr. Weg had let his dusty friend off lightly, having been balked in that amiable design of frequently dining with him by the machinations of the sleepless dustman. He had been constrained to depute Mr. Venus to keep their dusty friend Boffin under inspection while he himself turned lank and lean at the vower. To Mr. Venus's museum Mr. Weg repaired, and at length the mounds were down and gone. It being evening he found that gentleman, as he expected, seated over his fire, but did not find him, as he expected, floating his powerful mind in tea. "Why, you smell rather comfortable here?" said Weg, seeming to take it ill and stopping and sniffing as he entered. "I am rather comfortable, sir," said Venus. "You don't use lemon in your business, do you?" asked Weg, sniffing again. "No, Mr. Weg," said Venus, "when I use it at all, I mostly use it in cobbler's punch. What do you call cobbler's punch?" demanded Weg in a worse humour than before. "It's difficult to impart the receipt for it, sir," returned Venus, "because, however particular you may be in a lot in your materials, so much will still depend upon the individual gifts, and there being a feeling thrown into it, but the groundwork is gin." "In a Dutch bottle," said Weg gloomily, as he sat himself down, "very good, sir, very good," cried Venus. "Would you partake, sir?" "Will I partake?" returned Weg, very certainly. "Why, of course I will. Will a man partake, as there's been tormenting out of his five senses by another last investment with his head tied up? Will he, too, as if he wouldn't?" "Don't let it put you out, Mr. Weg. You don't see me in your usual spirits." "If you count to that, you don't see me in your usual spirits," growled Weg. "You seem to be setting up for lively." The circumstance appeared, in his then state of mind, to give Mr. Weg uncommon offence. "And here we now in your ear-cut," said Weg, missing the usual dusty shock. "Yes, Mr. Weg, but don't let that put you out, either." "And I am blessed if you ain't getting fat," said Weg, with culminating discontent. "What are you going to do next?" "Well, Mr. Weg," said Venus, smiling in a spitely manner, "I suspect you could hardly guess what I'm going to do next." "I don't want a guess," retorted Weg. "All I've got to say is that it's well for you, at the division of labor, as been what it has been. It's well for you to have had so light a part in this business, when mine has been so heavy. You haven't had your rest broke, I'll be bound." "Not all, sir," said Venus, "never rested so well in all my life. I thank you." Grumbled Weg. "You should have been me. If you had been me, and had been fitted out of your bed, and your sleep, and your meals, and your mind, for a stretch of months together, it had been out of condition and out of sorts." "Certainly, it has trained you down, Mr. Weg," said Venus, contemplating his figure with an artist's eye, "trained you down very low, it has. So wheezing and yellow is a carving upon your bones, that one might almost fancy you would camp to give a look in upon the French gentleman in the corner, instead of me." Hang 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. I'm Victoria Cash. Thanks for calling the Lucky Land Hotline. If you feel like you do the same thing every day, press 1. If you're ready to have some serious fun, for the chance to redeem some serious prizes, press 2. We heard you loud and clear, so go to luckylandslots.com right now and play over 100 social casino style games for free. Get Lucky Today at luckylandslots.com. No purchase necessary. VGW Group, boy prohibited by law. 18 plus, terms of condition supply. Mr. Wagg, glancing in great dungeon towards the French gentleman's corner, seemed to notice something new there, which induced him to glance at the opposite corner, and then to put on his glasses and stare at all the nooks and corners of the dim shop in succession. "Why? You've been having a place cleaned up," he exclaimed. "Yes, Mr. Wagg, why the hand of adorable woman?" "In. What are you going to do next?" I suppose, "is to get married." "That's it, sir." Silas took off his glasses again, finding himself too intensely disgusted by the sprightly appearance of his friend and partner to bear a magnified view of him and made the inquiry. "To the old party?" "Mr. Wagg," said Venus, with a sudden flush of wrath, "her lady in question is not an old party." "I meant," exclaimed Wagg testily, "to the party is formally objected." "Mr. Wagg," said Venus, "in a case of so much delicacy I must trouble you to say what you mean. There are strings that must not be played upon, no, sir, not sounded, unless in most respectful and tuneful manner of such melodious strings is Miss Pleasant Riderhood formed." "Then it is the lady as formally objected," said Wagg. "Sir," returned Venus with dignity, "I accept the altered phrase. It is the lady as formally objected." "When is it to come off?" asked Silas. "Mr. Wagg," said Venus with another flush, "I cannot permit it to be put in the form of a fight, unasked temporarily but firmly call upon you, sir, to amend that question." "When is the lady," Wagg reluctantly demanded, constraining his ill-tempered remembrance of the partnership and its stockin trade, "are going to give her and where she has already give her art?" "Sir," returned Venus, "I again accept the altered phrase and with pleasure. The lady is going to give her and where she has already given her art next Monday." "Then the lady's objection has been met," said Silas. "Mr. Wagg," said Venus, "as I did name for you, I think, on a former occasion, if not on former occasions." "On former occasions," interrupted Wagg, "what?" pursued Venus, "what a nature of the lady's objection was. I may impart, without violating any of the tender confidences since sprung up between the lady and myself, are it as been met, through the kind interference of two good friends of mine, one previously acquainted with the lady and one not. The pint was thrown out, sir, while those two friends, when they did me the great service of waiting on the lady, to try if a union betwixt the lady and me could not be brought to bear. The pint, I say, was thrown out by them, sir, whether, if, after marriage, I can farm myself to the articulation of men, children, and the lower animals. It might not relieve the lady's mind of her feeling respecting being as a lady, regarded in a bony light. It was Abbey thought, sir, and it took root. It, would say, Mr. Venus, observed Wagg with a touch of distrust, that you are flash of friends. "Pretty Walter," that gentleman answered in a tone of pasted mystery, "so, so, sir, pretty well." "However," said Wagg, after eyeing him with another touch of distrust, "I wish you joy." "One man spends his fortune one way, and another in another. You are going to try a matrimony? I'll meet a try travelling." "Indeed, Mr. Wagg." "Change of air, sea scenery, and my natural rest, I hope, may bring me round after the persecutions I've undergone, and the dustman, with his head tied up, which I just now mentioned." "The tough job being ended, and the mounds lay low. The hour is come for boffin' to stump up. Would tent a morrow morning suit you partner, for finally bringing boffin's nose to the grindstone?" "Tent a morrow morning, would quite suit Mr. Venus, for that excellent purpose." "You have had him well under inspection, I hope," said Silas. Mr. Venus had had him under inspection pretty well every day. "Suppose he was just to step round tonight, then, and give him orders from me. I say from me, because he knows I won't be played with, to be ready with his papers, his accounts, and his cash, at that time in the morning," said Wagg. "And as a matter of form, which will be agreeable to your own feelings, before we go out, for I'll walk with you part of the way. Though my leg gives under me with weariness, let's have a look at the stocking trade." 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. Looking for excitement? Chumba Casino is here. Play anytime, play anywhere. Play on the train, play at the store, play at home, play when you're bored. 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The streets were so unusually slushy, muddy, and miserable in the morning, at Wagg Road to the scene of action, arguing that a man who was, as it were, going to the bank, to draw out a handsome property could well afford that trifling expense. Venus was punctual, and Wagg undertook to knock at the door and conduct the conference. Door knocked at, door opened. Buffrin had owned. The servant replied that Mr. Buffrin was at home. "He'll do," said Wagg, though it ain't what I'd call him. The servant inquired if they had any appointment. "Now, I'll tell you what, young fellow," said Wagg, "I won't have it. This won't do for me. I don't want meanie-alls. I won't, Buffrin." They were shown into a waiting room, where the all-powerful Wagg wore his hat, and whistled, and with his forefinger stirred up a clock that stood upon the chimney-piece until he made it strike. In a few minutes they were shown upstairs into what used to be Buffrin's room, which, besides the door of entrance, had foaling doors in it to make it one of a suite of rooms when occasion required. Here Buffrin was seated at a library table, and here Mr. Wagg, having impiriously motioned the servant to withdraw, drew up a chair, and seated himself in his hat, close beside him. Here also Mr. Wagg instantly underwent the remarkable experience of having his hat twitched off his head, and thrown out of a window, which was opened, and shut for the purpose. "May careful what insolent liberties you take in that gentleman's presence," said the owner of the hand which had done this, "or I will throw you," after it. Waggon voluntarily clapped his hand to his bare head, and stared at the secretary; for it was he addressed him with a severe countenance, and who had come in quietly by the folding doors. "Oh," said Wagg, as soon as he recovered his suspended power of speech, "very good. Our guy directions, for you to be dismissed, and he ain't gone, ain't you? Oh, will you look at this presently? Very good." "Now, nor I ain't gone," said another voice. Somebody else had come in quietly by the folding doors. Turning his head, Wagg beheld his persecutor the ever-wakeful dustman, a-cuttered-with-fantail-hat and velveteen-smalls-complete, who, and tying his tide at broken head, revealed a head that was whole, and a face that was sloppies. "Ha-ha-ha-ha, gentlemen," roared Sloppy in a peel of laughter, and with a measurable relish. "He ain't ever short, as I could sleep standing, and often done it when I'm not turned from Mrs. Hicken. He ain't ever thought, as I used to give Mrs. Hicken a police news in different voices. But I did lead him alive, or through it, gentlemen. I hope, I really, and truly did." Here, Mr. Sloppy, opening his mouth to a quite alarming extent, and throwing back his head to peel again revealed uncalculable buttons. "Oh," said Wagg, slightly discomforted, but not much as yet. "One and one is too, not dismissed as it, barfing. Just let me ask a question. Who set this chap on in this dress when the cartonine began? Who employed this fellow?" "I say," ruminstrated Sloppy, joking his head forward, "now fellows, or I'll throw you out of window." Mr. Buffon appeased him with a wave of his hand and said, "I employed him, Wagg." "Oh, you employed him, Buffon?" "Very good. Mr. Venus, we raise our tomes, and we can't do better than proceed to business. Barfing. I want the room clear to these two scum." "That's not going to be done, Wagg," replied Mr. Buffon, sitting composedly on the library table at one end, while the secretary sat composedly on it at the other. Barfing. Not going to be done." 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. 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"No, Weg," said Mr. Boffin, shaking his head good home with Lee, "nor it my peril, and not on any other terms." Weg reflected the moment, and then said, "Mr. Venus, will you be so good, as envy over that same document?" "Certainly, sir," replied Venus, handing it to him with much politeness. "There it is." "Eri now, sir, part with it, I wish to make a small observation. Not so much because it is, anyway, is necessary, or expresses any new doctrine or discovery, as because it is a comfort to my mind. Silas Weg, you're a precious old rascal." Mr. Weg, who, as if anticipating a compliment, had been beating time with the paper to the other's politeness until this unexpected conclusion came upon him, stopped rather abruptly. "Silas Weg," said Venus, "now that I took the liberty of taking Mr. Boffin into our concern as a sleeping partner at a very early period of our firm's existence." "Quite true," said Mr. Boffin, "and I tested Venus by making him a pretended proposal or two. I found him on the whole, a very honest man Weg." "So, Mr. Boffin, in his indulgence, is pleased to say," Venus remarked, "though, in the beginning of this dirt, my hands were not for a few hours quite as clean as I could wish, but I hope I made early and full amends." "Venus, you did," said Mr. Boffin, "certainly, certainly, certainly." Venus inclined his head with respect and gratitude. "Here, you, sir. I might oblige to you, sir, for all, for your good opinion now, for your way of receiving and encouraging me, when I first put myself in a communication with you, and for the influence since so kindly brought to bear upon a certain lady, both by yourself, then by Mr. John Arman, to whom, when thus making mention of him, he also bowed. Weg followed the name with sharp ears, and the action with sharp eyes. Under certain cringing air was infusing itself into his bullying-air, when his attention was reclaimed by Venus. "Everything else? Between you and me, Mr. Weg?" said Venus, "now explains itself. And you can now make out, sir, without further words from me. But, totally, to prevent any unpleasantness or mistake that might arise on what I consider an important point to be made quite clear at the close of our acquaintance, I beg the leave of Mr. Boffin and Mr. John Arman to repeat an observation which I have already had the pleasure of bringing under your notice. You are a precious old rascal." "You're a fool," said Weg, with the snap of his fingers, "and I'd have got rid of you before now, if I could have struck out any way of doing it. I thought it over and tell you. You may go, and welcome. You leave them all for me, because, as you know," said Weg, dividing his next observation between Mr. Boffin and Mr. Harman, "I'm worth my price, and I'm keen to have it. This getting off is all very well in its way, and it tells with such an anatomical pump as this one," pointing out Mr. Venus, "that it won't do with a man. I am here to be bought off, and I have named my figure. Now, buy me or leave me." "I leave you, Weg," said Mr. Boffin, laughing, as far as I might say. "Boffin," replied Weg, turning upon him with a severe air, "I understand your new-born boldness. I see the brass underneath your silver plating. You have got your nose out of joint, knowing that you've nothing at stake. You can afford to come the independent game. Why, you're just so much smearing glass to see through, you know. But Mr. Harman is in another situation. What Mr. Harman risks is quite another pair of shoes. Now I've heard something lately about this being Mr. Harman. I make out now some hints that I've met on that subject in the newspaper, and I drop you Boffin as beneath my notice. I ask Mr. Harman whether he has any idea of the contents of this present paper." "It is a will of my late fathers of more recent dates, and the will proved by Mr. Boffin, address whom again as you have addressed him already, and I'll knock you down." Leaving the whole of his property to the crown, said John Harman, with as much indifference as was compatible with extreme sternness. "Vite, you are!" cried Weg. "Then!" screwing the weight of his body upon his wooden leg, and screwing his wooden head very much on one side, and screwing up one eye, "Then I'll put the question to you. What's this paper worth?" "Nothing," said John Harman. Weg had repeated the word of the sneer, and was entering on some sarcastic retort. When, to his boundless amazement, he found himself gripped by the cravat, shaken until his teeth chatted, shoved back, staggering, into a corner of the room, and pinned there. "You scoundrel," said John Harman, whose seafaring hold was like that of a vice. "Ew, not in my head against the wall," heard Silas Pinkley. 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VGW Group, void where prohibited by law, 18 plus terms and conditions apply. Return John Harmon, suiting his action to his words with the heartiest goodwill. And I give a thousand pounds for leave to knock your brains out. Listen, you scoundrel, and look at that Dutch bottle. Sloppy held it up for his edification. That Dutch bottle scoundrel contained the latest will of the many wills made by my unhappy self-tomenting father. That will give everything absolutely to my noble benefactor and yours, Mr. Buffon. Excluding and reviling me and my sister, then already dead of a broken heart, by name. That Dutch bottle was found by my noble benefactor and yours after he entered on possession of the estate. That Dutch bottle distressed him beyond measure. Because though I and my sister were both no more, it cast a slur upon our memory, which he knew we had done nothing in our miserable youth to deserve. That Dutch bottle, therefore, he buried in the mound belonging to him. And there it lay, while you, you thankless wretch, were prodding and poking, often very near it, I dare say. His intention was that it should never see the light. But he was afraid to destroy it, lest to destroy such a document even with his great, generous motive might be an offensive law. After the discovery was made here who I was, Mr. Buffon, still restless on the subject, told me upon certain conditions impossible for such a hound as you to appreciate the secret of that Dutch bottle. I urged upon him the necessity of its being dug up, and the paper being legally produced and established. The first thing you saw him do, and the second thing has been done without your knowledge. Consequently, the paper now rattling in your hand as I shake you, and I should like to shake them life out of you, is worth less than the rotten cork of the Dutch bottle. Do you understand?" Judging from the fallen countenance of Silas as his head wagged backwards and folds in the most uncomfortable manner, he did understand. "Now scoundrel," said John Harman, taking another sailor-like turn on his cravat and holding him in his corner at arm's length, "I shall make two more short speeches to you, because I hope they will torment you." Your discovery was a genuine discovery, such as it was, for nobody had thought of looking into that place. Neither did we know you had made it, until Venus spoke to Mr. Buffon, though I kept you under good observation from my first appearance here, and though sloppy has long made it the chief occupation and delight of his life to attend you like your shadow. I tell you this, that you may know we knew enough of you to persuade Mr. Buffon to let us lead you on, deluded to the last possible moment in order that your disappointment might be the heaviest possible disappointment. That's the first short speech. Do you understand?" Here John Harman assisted his comprehension with another shake. "Now scoundrel," he pursued, "I am going to finish. You suppose me just now to be the possessor of my father's property? So I am. But through any act of my father's, or by any right I have, no, through the magnificence of Mr. Buffon. The conditions that he made with me before parting with the secret of the Dutch bottle were that I should take the fortune, and that he should take his mound and know more. I owe everything I possess solely to the disinterestedness, uprightness, tenderness, goodness, there are no words to satisfy me of Mr. and Mrs. Buffon. And when, knowing what I knew, I saw such a mudworm as you, presumed to rise in this house against this noble soul, the wonder is, added John Harman through his clenched teeth, and with a very ugly turn indeed on Wegsk of Att, that I didn't try to twist your head off and fling that out of the window. So that's the last short speech. Do you understand?" Silas released, put his hand to his throat, cleared it, and looked as if he had a rather large fishbone in that region. Simultaneously, with this action on his part in his corner, a singular and on the surface an incomprehensible movement was made by Mr. Sloppy, who began backing towards Mr. Weg along the wall in the manner of a porter or heaver who was about to lift a sack of flour or coals. "I'm sorry, Weg," said Mr. Buffon in his clemency, "that my old lady and I can't have a better opinion of you and a bad one we are forced to entertain. But I shouldn't like to leave you, after all said and done, worse off in life than I found you. Therefore, say in a word, before we part, what it'll cost to set you up in another stall." "And in another place," John Harman struck in, "you don't come outside these windows." "Mr. Buffon," returned Weg in Averish's humiliation, "when I first had the honour of my inure acquaintance, I got together a collection of ballads which was, I may say, above price. Then they can't be paid for," said John Harman, "and you'd better not try, my dear sir." "Pardon me," Mr. Buffon resumed Weg with a malignant glance in the last speaker's direction, "I was putting the case to you. Who, if my censor did not deceive me, put the case to me? I had a very choice collection of ballads, and there was a new stock of gingerbread and a tinbox. I say no more, but would rather leave it to you." "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. 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"There was also," Mr. Weg went on in a meditative manner, errant connection in which I was much respected, but I were not wished to be deemed covetous, and I would rather leave it to you, Mr. Boffin. "Upon my word, I don't know what to put it at," the golden dustman muttered. "There was, likewise," presumed Weg, "a peer of trestles, of which alone an Irish person who was deemed a judge of trestles, of which five and six, a sum I would not year of, or I should have lost by it, and it was a stool, an umbrella, clothes-horse, and a tray, but I leave it to you, Mr. Boffin." The golden dustman seeming to be engaged in some abstruce calculation, Mr. Weg assisted him with the following additional items. "There was further," Mr. Elizabeth, "Master George, Aunt Jane, and Uncle Parker." Ah, when a man thinks of the loss of such pipe-renage as that, when a man finds so fair a garden rooted up by pigs, he finds it hard, indeed, without going high to work it into money. But I'll leave it only to you, sir." Mr. Sloppy still continued his singular and on-the-surface's incomprehensible movement. "Leading on, as been mentioned," said Weg, with a melancholy air, "and it's not easy to say how far that tone of my mind may have been lowered by an elstom reading on the subject of Mises, when he was leading me and others on to think he was one yourself. All I can say is, it all felt my tone of mind are lowering at the time, and now when a man put a price upon his mind. There was likewise a hat, just now. Far leave the hole to you, Mr. Boffin." "Come," said Mr. Boffin. "Here's a couple of pound." "Een justice to me, self. I couldn't take it, sir." The words were but out of his mouth, when John Harmon lifted his finger, and Sloppy, who was now close to Weg, backed to Weg's back, stooped, grasped his coat colour behind with both hands, and deftly strung him up, like the sack of flour or coals before mentioned. A countenance of special discontent and amazement, Mr. Weg exhibited in this position, with his buttons almost as prominently on view as Sloppy's own, and with his wooden leg in a highly unaccommodating state. But not for many seconds was his countenance visible in the room, for Sloppy lightly trotted out with him and trotted down the staircase. Mr. Venus attending to open the street door, Mr. Sloppy's instructions had been to deposit his burden in the road. But a scavenger's cart happening to stand unattended at the corner, with his little ladder planted against the wheel, Mr. S. found it impossible to resist the temptation of shooting Mr. Siler's Weg into the cart's contents. A somewhat difficult feat, achieved with great dexterity, and with a prodigious splash. 4. Chapter 14 Chapter 15. What was caught in the traps that were set? How badly headstone had been racked and driven in his mind since the quiet evening when by the riverside he had risen, as it were, out of the ashes of the bargemen, none but he could have told. Not even he could have told, for such misery can only be felt. First he had to bear the combined weight of the knowledge of what he had done, of that haunting reproach that he might have done it so much better, and of the dread of discovery. This was load enough to crush him, and he laboured under it day and night. It was as heavy on him in his scanty sleep as in his red-eyed waking hours. It bore him down with the dread unchanging monotony in which there was not a moment's variety. The overweighted beast of burden, or the overweighted slave, can, for certain instance, shift the physical load and find some slight respite even in enforcing additional pain upon such a set of muscles or such a limb. Not even that poor mockery of relief could the wretched man obtain, under the steady pressure of the infernal atmosphere into which he had entered. Time went by, and no visible suspicion dogged him. Time went by, and in such public accounts of the attack as were renewed at intervals, he began to see Mr. Lightwood, who acted as lawyer for the injured man, straying further from the fact, going wider of the issue, and evidently slackening in his zeal. By degrees a glimmering of the cause of this began to break on badly sight. Then came the chance meeting with Mr. Milvey at the railway station, where he often lingered in his leisure hours as a place where any fresh news of his deed would be circulated or any placard referring to it would be posted. And then he saw in the light what he had brought about. For then he saw that through his desperate attempt to separate those two forever, he had been made the means of uniting them, that he had dipped his hands in blood to mark himself a miserable fool and tool. Yet Eugene Rayburn, for his wife's sake, set him aside and left him to crawl along his blasted course. He thought of fate, or providence, or be the directing power at night as having put a fraud upon him, overreached him, and in his impotent mad rage bit and tore, and had his fit. New assurance of the truth came upon him in the next few following days, when it was put forth how the wounded man had been married on his bed, and to whom, and how, though always in a dangerous condition, he was a shade better. Bradley would far rather have been seized for his murder than he would have read that passage, knowing himself spared, and knowing why. But not to be still furthered, ifroded, and overreached, which he would be, if implicated by ridehood, and punished by the law for his abject failure as though it had been a success, he kept close in his school during the day, ventured out wearily at night, and went no more to the railway station. He examined the advertisements in the newspapers for any sign that ridehood acted on his hinted threat of so summoning him to renew their acquaintance, but found none. Having paid him handsomely for the support and accommodation he had had at the lock house, and knowing him to be a very ignorant man who could not write, he began to doubt whether he was to be feared at all, or whether they need ever meet again. All this time his mind was never off the rack, and his raging sense of having been made to fling himself across the chasm which divided those two and bridged over for their coming together never cooled down. This horrible condition brought on other fits. He could not have said how many, or when, but he saw in the faces of his pupils, that they had seen him in that state, and that they were possessed by a dread of his relapsing. One winter day, on a slight fall of snow, was feathering the sills and frames of the schoolroom windows, he stood at his blackboard, crayon in hand, about to commence with a class. When, reading in the countenances of those boys, that there was something wrong, and that they seemed in alarm for him, he turned his eyes to the door towards which they faced. He then saw a slouching man of forbidding appearance standing in the midst of the school with a bundle under his arm, and saw that it was ride-a-hood. He sat down on a stool which one of his boys put for him, and he had a passing knowledge that he was in danger of falling, and that his face was becoming distorted, but the fit went off for that time, and he wiped his mouth and stood up again. "Bag your pardon, Gaffner! Buy your leave!" said Ride-a-hood, knuckling his forehead with a chuckle and a leer. "What place may this be?" "This is a school." "Where your young folks' lunes walks right!" said Ride-a-hood, gravely nodding. "Bag your pardon, Gaffner! Buy your leave! But who teaches this school?" "I do. You're the master, are you, learned, Gaffner?" "Yes, I am the master." "And a lovely thing it must be!" said Ride-a-hood. "For to learn, young folks, what's right, and what I know, what they know, what you do it!" "Bag your pardon, learned, Gaffner! Buy your leave! That they're blackboard! What's it for?" "It is for drawing on, or writing on." "Is it, though?" said Ride-a-hood. "Who'd have thought it from the looks on it?" "Would you be so kind, as right your name upon it, learned, Gaffner?" in a weadling tone. Bradley hesitated for a moment, but placed his usual signature enlarged upon the board. "I ain't a learned character myself," said Ride-a-hood, surveying the class, "but I do admire learning in others. I should dearly like to hear these year-young folks read that their name off from their writing." The arms of the class went up. At the miserable master's nod, the shrill chorus arose. "Bradley Headstone!" "No!" cried Ride-a-hood. "You don't mean it! Headstone!" "Why, that's in a church, you're not! Hurrah!" for another turn. Another tossing of arms, another nod, and another shrill chorus. "Bradley Headstone." "Oh, I've got it now," said Ride-a-hood, after tentatively listening and internally repeating, "Bradley." "I see. Chris'in' name." "Bradley," similar to Rodger, "which is my own." "Right?" "Family name. Headstone," similar to Ride-a-hood, "which is my own, eh?" "Sure, chorus." "Yes." "More you be acquainted, learned Governor," said Ride-a-hood, "with a person of about your own heart and breadth, and what would pull down in the scale about your own weight, aren't into a name sounding summit-like, Totherist?" With a desperation in him had made him perfectly quiet, though his jaw was heavily squared. With his eyes upon Ride-a-hood, and with traces of quickened breathing in his nostrils, the schoolmaster replied in a suppressed voice after a pause. "I think I know the man you mean." "I thought you'd know the man I mean, learned Governor. I want the man." With a half glance around him at his pupils, badly returned. "Do you suppose he's here?" "Baking your pardon, learned Governor, and why you'll leave," said Ride-a-hood, with a laugh. "How could I suppose he's here?" "When he's now ready, but you and me, and these young lambs what you're learning on, but he is most excellent company that man, and I want him to come and see me at my lock at the river." "I'll tell him so. Do you think you'll come?" asked Ride-a-hood. "I'm sure he will." "Having got your word for him," said Ride-a-hood, "are sure count upon him. Perhaps you'd so for oblige me, learned Governor, as tell him that if we don't come precious soon, I'll look him up." "He shall know it." "Thank ye." "As I said, it is a while ago," pursued Ride-a-hood, changing his horse-tone and leering round upon the class again. "Oh, not I learn it, character me own self. I do with my learning in others, to be sure. Be in here, and have in met with your kind attention, master. My eye, a four-eye go, ask a question of these ye young lambs of your own." "If it is in the way of school," said Bradley, all were sustaining his dark look at the other, and speaking in a suppressed voice, "you may." "Oh, easy in the way of school," cried Ride-a-hood. "I'll pound it, master, to be in the way of school." "What's the divisions of water, my lambs?" "What sorts of water is there on the land?" shrill chorus, seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds. Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds," said Ride-a-hood. "They've got all a lot, master. Slowly, if I shouldn't have left out lakes, never having clapped eyes upon one to my knowledge. Seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds. What is it, lambs, as they catches, in seas, rivers, lakes, and ponds?" "Shall chorus, with some contempt for the ease of the question. Fish." "Good again," said Ride-a-hood. "But what else is it, my lambs, as they sometimes catches in rivers?" "Chorus at a loss." "One shrill voice." "Weed." "Good again," cried Ride-a-hood. "But it ain't weed, neither." "You'll never guess, my dears. What is it, besides fish, as they sometimes catches in rivers?" "Well, I'll tell you. It's suits at clothes." Bradley's face changed. "Least ways, lambs," said Ride-a-hood, observing him out of the corners of his eyes. "That's what I, me own self, sometimes catches in rivers. For strike me, blind my lambs. If I didn't catch in a river, they'll worry bundle, and to my arm." The class looked at the master, as if appealing from the irregular entrapment of this mode of examination. The master looked at the examiner, as if he would have torn him to pieces. "I ask your pardon, learning, Governor," said Ride-a-hood, smearing his sleeve across his mouth as he laughed to the relish, "Chained for it, to the lambs I know. It was a bit of fan of mine. But upon my soul, I draw, do you see, a bundle, however, river? It's a bargement, suit at clothes. You see, it had been sank there. By the man has wore it, and I got it up." "How do you know it was sunk by the man who wore it?" asked Bradley. "Cause I seem to eat," said Ride-a-hood. They looked at each other. Bradley, slowly withdrawing his eyes, turned his face to the blackboard, and slowly wiped his name out. "I weep, thanks, master," said Ride-a-hood, "for restoring so much of your time, and of the lambs's time, upon a man who hasn't got no other recommendation to you, than being honest man. Wishing to see at my lock up the river, the person has weaved spoke of, and as you've answered for, I tikes my leave of the lambs, and of their learned governor both." With those words, he slouched out of the school, leaving the master to get through his weary work as he might, and leaving the whispering pupils to observe the master's face, until he fell into the fit which had been long impending. The next day but one was Saturday and a holiday. Bradley rose early, and set out on foot for Plashwater Weir Milllock. He rose so early that it was not yet light when he began his journey. Before extinguishing the candle by which he had dressed himself, he made a little parcel of his decent silver watch, and its decent guard, and wrote inside the paper, kindly take care of these for me. He then addressed the parcel to Miss Peter, and left it on the most protected corner of the little seat in her little porch. It was a cold, hard, easterly morning when he latched the garden gate and turned away. The light snowfall which had feathered his schoolroom windows on the Thursday still lingered in the air, and was falling white while the wind blew black. The tardy day did not appear until he had been on foot two hours and had traversed a greater part of London from east to west. Such breakfast as he had, he took at the comfortless public house, where he had parted from ride-a-hood on the occasion of their night walk. He took it, standing at the littered bar, and looked loweringly at a man who stood where ride-a-hood had stood that early morning. He out-walked the short day, and was on the towing path by the river, somewhat foot-saw, when the night closed in. Still two or three miles short of the lock, he slackened his pace then, but went steadily on. The ground was now covered with snow, though thinly, and there were floating lumps of ice in the more exposed parts of the river, and broken sheets of ice under the shelter of the banks. He took heed of nothing but the ice, the snow, and the distance, until he saw a lighter head which he knew gleamed from the lock house window. It arrested his steps, and he looked all round. The ice, and the snow, and he, and the one light, had absolute possession of the dreary scene. In the distance before him, lay the place where he had struck the worse than useless blows that mocked him with Lizzie's presence there as Eugene's wife. In the distance behind him, lay the place where the children with point in arms had seemed to devote him to the demons in crying out his name. Within there, where the light was, was the man who, as to both distances, could give him up to ruin, to these limits, had his world shrunk. He mended his pace, keeping his eyes upon the light with the strange intensity as if he were taking aim at it. When he approached it so nearly as that it parted into rays, they seemed to fasten themselves to him and draw him on. When he struck the door with his hand, his foot followed so quickly on his hand that he was in the room before he was bitten to enter. The light was the joint product of a fire and a candle. Between the two, with his feet on the iron fender, set riderhood pipe in mouth. He looked up with a surly nod when his visitor came in. His visitor looked down with a surly nod. His outer clothing removed, the visitor then took a seat on the opposite side of the fire. "No, a smoker, I think," said riderhood, pushing a bottle to him across the table. "No." They both lapsed into silence with their eyes upon the fire. "You don't need to be told, I am here," said Bradley length. "Who has to begin?" "I'll begin," said riderhood, "when I smoke to see a pipe out." He finished it with great deliberation, knocked out the ashes on the hob and put it by. "I'll begin," he then repeated. "Bradley, edge down, master, if you wish it." "Wish it? I wish to know what you want with me." "And so you shall." Riderhood had looked hard at his hems and his pockets, apparently as a precautionary measure as he should have any weapon about him. But he now leaned forward, turning the collar of his waistcoat with an inquisitive finger and asked, "Why, where's your watch?" "I have left it behind." "I want it, but it can be fetched." I took a fancy to it. Bradley answered with a contemptuous laugh. "I want it," repeated riderhood in a louder voice, "and I mean, damn it." "That is what you want of me, is it?" "No," said riderhood, still louder. "It's only part of what I want of you, I want money of you." "Anything else?" "Everything else," roared riderhood in a very loud and furious way. "Answer me like that, and I won't talk to you at all." Bradley looked at him. "Don't so much as look at me like that, or I won't talk to you at all," vociferated riderhood. "But instead of talking, I'll bring my hand down upon you with all its weight," heavily smiting the table with great force, and smash you. "Go on," said Bradley, after moistening his lips. "Oh, I'm going on. Don't you fear, but I'll go on full fast enough for you, and fear enough for you without your telling. Look here, Bradley, Edgestone, Master. You might have split the tether going at the chips and wedges without my caring, except that I might have come upon you for a glass or so now and then. Else, why have to do with you at all?" "But when you copied my clothes, when you copied my neck and kenkature, and when you shook blood upon me after you had done the trick, you did what I'll be paid for, and paid heavy for. If it can't be thrown upon you, you was to be ready to sew it upon me, was you?" "Where else but in flashwater we're mill-lock, or is there a man dressed according as described? Where else but in flashwater we're mill-lock, or is there a man as I had words with him coming through in his boat? Look at the lock-keeper, in flashwater we're mill-lock, in them same answering clothes, and with that same answering redneck and kenkature, and see whether his clothes happens to be bloody or not. "Yes, they do happen to be bloody. Ha ha, you sly devil." "Bradley, very white, sat looking at him in silence." "But, too, don't play at your game," said Riderhood, snapping his fingers at him half a dozen times. "And I played it long ago, long before you tried your clumsy hand at it, in days when you hadn't begun cropping your lectors or whatnot in your school. I know to figure out how you'd done it, where you stole away, I could steal away, aren't you, and do it knowinger than you. I know how you'd come away from London in your own clothes, and where you'd change your clothes and hid your clothes. I see you with my own eyes take your own clothes when they're hiding place among them filled trees, and take a dip in a rear to account for your dress in yourself, to anyone that might come by. I see you rise up, Bradley Edston, master, where you sat down, Bargeman. I see you pitch your Bargeman's bundle into the river. I hooked your Bargeman's bundle out of the river. I've got your Bargeman's clothes tore this way in that, with a scuffle, stained green with a grass, and spat it all over with what bust from the blows. I've got them, and I've got you. I don't care a coose for the Tather Gunner, alive or dead, but I care a many cooses for me home self. And as you laid your plots again me, and was a sly devil again me, I'll be paid for it, I'll be paid for it, I'll be paid for it till I've drained you dry. Bradley looked at the fire with a working face, and was silent for a while. At last he said with what seemed an inconsistent composure of voice and feature, "You can't get blood out of a stone, Ryder Hood." "I can get money out of a school, master, though." "You can't get out of me what is not in me. You can't rest to me what I've not got. Mine is but a poor calling. You've had more than two giddies from me already. Do you know how long it has taken me, allowing for a long and arduous training to earn such a sum?" "I don't know. You're hard, okay? Yours is a spectacle calling. To save your spectability, it's worth your while to pawn every article, clothes you got, sell every stick in your house, and beg and borrow every penny you can get trusted with. When you've done that, an handed over, I'll leave you, not a fool." "How do you mean you'll leave me?" "I mean, as I'll keep you company, wherever you go, when you go away from here. Let the lock take care of yourself. I'll take care of you, once I've got you." "Bradley again looked at the fire, eyeing him aside, by the hood took up his pipe, refilled it, lighted it, and sat smoking. Bradley leaned his elbows on his knees and his head upon his hands, and looked at the fire with the most intent abstraction." "Ride heard," he said, raising himself in his chair after a long silence, and drawing out his purse and putting it on the table. "Say, I part of this, which is all the money I have. Say, I let you have my watch. Say that every quarter, when I draw my salary, I pay you a certain portion of it." "Say, nothing of the sort!" Bradley tried to hurt, shaking his head as he smoked. "You've got the way once, and I won't run the chance again. I've had trouble enough to find you, and shouldn't have found you if I hadn't seen you slipping along the street overnight, and watched you till you were safe housed. I'll have one settlement with you, for good and all." "Ride heard. I am a man who has lived a retired life. I have no resources beyond myself. I have absolutely no friends." "That's a lie," said Ride heard. "You've got one friend, as I knows of. One has his good for a savings bank book, or arm a blue monkey." Bradley's face darkened, and his hand slowly closed on the purse and drew it back, as he sat listening for what the other should go on to say. "I went into the wrong shop first, last Thursday," said Ride heard, "found myself among the young ladies behind George. Over the young ladies I see a Mrs. That Mrs is sweet enough upon you, master, to sell herself up, slap, to get you out of trouble. Micah, do it then." Bradley stayed at him so very suddenly that Ride heard not quite knowing how to take it, affected to be occupied with the encircling smoke from his pipe, fanning it away with his hand, and blowing it off. "You have spoke to the mistress, did you?" inquired Bradley, with that former composure of voice and feature, that seemed inconsistent and with the vertid eyes. "Yes," said Ride heard, withdrawing his attention from the smoke. "I spoke to her. I didn't say much to her. She was putting a fluster, but I'm out dropping in among the young ladies. I would have had it sit up for a ladies man. She took me into her parlour to hope, as there was nothing wrong. Our tells her, 'Oh, no, nothing wrong. The master is my very good friend.' But I see how the land laid, and as she was campf'dable off." Bradley put the purse in his pocket, grasped his left wrist with his right hand, and sat rigidly contemplating the fire. "She couldn't live more handy to you than she does," said Ride heard, "and when I go home with you, as of course I am going, I recommend you to clean her out without loss of time. You can marry her, Arthur, you and me have come to a settlement. She's nice looking, and I know you can't be keeping company with no one else, having been so lately dissipated in another quarter." Not one other word did Bradley utter all that night. Not once did he change his attitude or loosen his hold upon his wrist. Ridded before the fire, as if it were a charmed flame that was turning him old, he sat, with the dark lines deepening in his face, its stare becoming more and more haggard, its surface turning whiter and whiter, as if it were being overspread with ashes, and the very texture and colour of his hair to generating. Not until the late daylight made the window transparent. Did this decaying statue move? Then it slowly arose and sat in the window, looking out. Ride heard, had kept his chair all night. In the earlier part of the night he had muttered twice or thrice that it was bitter cold or that the fire burnt fast when he got up to mend it, but as he could elicit from his companion neither sound nor movement, he had afterwards held his peace. He was making some disorderly preparations for coffee, when Bradley came from the window and put on his outer coat and hat. "And us, but have a bit of breakfast before we start," said Ride heard, "it ain't good to freeze, I am a stomach master." Without a sign to show that he heard, Bradley walked out of the lock-house. Catching up from the table a piece of bread and taking his bargemen's bundle under his arm, Ride heard immediately followed him. Bradley turned towards London. Ride heard caught him up and walked at his side. The two men trudged on, side by side, in silence, full three miles. Suddenly, Bradley turned to retrace his course. Instantly, Ride heard turned likewise and they went back, side by side. Bradley re-entered the lock-house, so did Ride heard. Bradley sat down in the window, Ride heard warmed himself at the fire. After an hour or more, Bradley abruptly got up again and again went out, but this time turned the other way. Ride heard was close after him, caught him up in a few paces and walked at his side. This time, as before, when he found his attendant not to be shaken off, Bradley suddenly turned back. This time, as before, Ride heard turned back along with him. But not this time, as before, did they go into the lock-house. For Bradley came to a stand on the snow-covered turf by the lock, looking up the river and down the river. Navigation was impeded by the frost, and the scene was a mere white and yellow desert. "Come, come, master!" urged Ride heard it aside. "This is a dry game, and where's the good of it? You can't get rid of me, except by coming to a settlement. Am I going along with you? Wherever you go!" Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over the wooden bridge on the lock-gates. "Why, there's even less sense in this move than other," said Ride heard, following. "The wheel is there, and you'll have to come back, you know." Without taking the least notice, Brad leaned his body against the post in a resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. "Been broad, yeah," said Ride heard gruffly. "I'll turn it to some use, while changing me gates." With a rattle and a rush of water, he then swung to the lock-gates that were standing open before opening the others, so both sets of gates were, for the moment closed. "You better by far be reasonable, Bradley Headstone, master," said Ride heard passing him, "or I'll drain you, all a dryer, for it, when we do settle. Ah, would you?" Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with an iron ring. They were on the brink of the lock, about midway between the two sets of gates. "Let go," said Ride heard, "or I'll get my knife out and slash you wherever I can cut you. Let go!" Bradley was drawing to the lock-edge. Ride heard was drawing away from it. It was a strong grapple and a fierce struggle, arm and leg. Bradley got him round as back to the lock, and still worked him backward. "Let go!" said Ride heard, "Stop! Why are you trying that? You can't drown me. I ain't all told you that the man has come through drowning and never be drowned. I can't be drowned." "I can be," returned Bradley, in a desperate, touched voice, "I am resolved to be. I'll hold you living and I'll hold you dead come down." Ride heard went over into the smooth pit backward, and Bradley headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates, Ride hoods hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upwards. But he was girdled still with Bradley's iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight. End of Book 4. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Persons and Things in General Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon's first delightful occupation was to set all matters right that had strayed in any way wrong, or that might, could, would, or should, have strayed in any way wrong, while their name was in obeience. In tracing out affairs for which John's fictitious death was to be considered in any way responsible, they used a very broad and free construction, regarding, for instance, the doll's dressmaker as having a claim on their protection because of her association with Mrs. Eugene Rayburn, and because of Mrs. Eugene's old association, in her turn, with the dark side of the story. It followed the old man, Raya, as a good and serviceable friend to both, was not to be disclaimed, nor even Mr. Inspector as having been tree-panned into an industrious hunt on a false scent. It may be remarked, in connection with that worthy officer, that a rumour shortly afterwards pervaded the force to the effect that he had confided to Miss Abby Poterson over a jug of mellow-flip and a bar of the six jolly fellowship porters, but he didn't stand to lose a farthing through Mr. Harmon's coming to life, but was quite as well-satisfied as if that gentleman had been barbarously murdered, and he, Mr. Inspector, had pocketed the government reward. In all their arrangements of certain nature, Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon derived much assistance from their eminent solicitor, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood, who laid about him professionally with such unmoaned dispatching intention that a piece of work was vigorously pursued as soon as it cut out, whereby young Blight was acted on as by that transatlantic dram which had poetically named an eye-opener, and found himself staring at real clients instead of out of window. The accessibility of Raya proving very useful as to a few hints towards the disentanglement of Eugene's affairs, Lightwood applied himself with infinite zest to attacking and harassing Mr. Fledgeby, who, discovering himself in danger of being blown into the air by certain explosive transactions in which he had been engaged, and having been sufficiently flayed under his beating, came to a parley, and asked for quarter. The harmless tremolo, profited by the conditions entered into, though he little thought it, Mr. Raya unaccountably melted, waited in person on him over the stable yard in Duke Street St. James's, no longer ravening but mild, to inform him that payment of interest as heretofore, but henceforth that Mr. Lightwood's officers would appease his Jewish rancor, and departed with the secret that Mr. John Harmon had advanced the money and become the creditor. Thus was the sublime Snicksworth's wrath averted, and thus did he snort no larger amount of moral grandeur at the Corinthian column in the printover of the fireplace than was normally in his and the British constitution. Mrs. Wilfer's first visit to the mendicant's bride, the new abode of mendicancy, was a grand event. Pa had been sent for into the city on the very day of taking possession, and had been stunned with astonishment, and brought to and led about the house by one ear to behold its various treasures, and had been enraptured and enchanted. Pa had also been appointed secretary, and had been enjoined to give instant notice of resignation to chicks even nearing in stables, for ever and ever. But Ma came later, and came, as was her due, in state. The carriage was sent for Ma, who entered it with a bearing worthy of the occasion, a company rather than supported by Miss Levinia, who altogether declined to recognise the maternal majesty. Mr. George Sampson meekly followed. He was received in the vehicle by Mrs. Wilfer, as if admitted to the honour of assisting at a funeral in the family, and she then issued the order, "Onward!" to the mendicant's menial. "I wish to goodness Ma," said Lavie, throwing herself back among the cushions of their arms to ask, "that you'd loll a little?" "How?" repeated Mrs. Wilfer. "Loll?" "Yes, Ma." "I hope," said the impressive lady, "I am incapable of it." "I am sure you look so, Ma, but why one should go out to dine with one's own daughter or sister, as if one's underpaid occurred with a blackboard? I do not understand." "Neither do I understand," retorted Mrs. Wilfer, with deep scorn, "how a young lady can mention the garment in the name of which you have indulged. I blush for you." "Thank you, Ma," said Lavie, yawning, "but I can do it for myself, I'm obliged to you when there's any occasion." Here Mr. Sampson, with the view of establishing harmony, which he never under any circumstances succeeded in doing, said with an agreeable smile. "After all, you know, ma'am, we know it's there," and immediately felt that he had committed himself. "We know it's there," said Mrs. Wilfer, glaring. "Really, George?" Ramonstrated Miss Levenia, "I must say that I don't understand your illusions, and I think you might be more delicate and less personal." "Go it," cried Mr. Sampson, becoming, on the shortest notice, a prey to despair. "Oh, yes, go it," Miss Levenia Wilfer. "What, you by me and George Sampson, by your omnivores driving expressions, I cannot pretend to imagine, neither," said Miss Levenia. "Mr. George Sampson, do I wish to imagine? It is enough for me to know, in my own heart, that I am not going to—" Having imprudently got into a sentence without providing a way out of it, Mr. Levenia was constrained to close with, "going to it." A weak conclusion, which, however, derives some appearance of strength from disdain. "Oh, yes," cried Mr. Sampson with bitterness, "that's it, ever is. I never—" "If you mean to say," Miss Levenia cut him short, "that you never brought up a young gazelle. You receive yourself the trouble, because nobody in this carriage supposes that you ever did. We know you better." As if this were a home thrust. "Levenia," returned Mr. Sampson in a dismal vein, "I did not mean to say so. What I did mean to say was that I never expected to retain my favourite place in this family, after fortune shed her beams upon it. "Why do you take me?" said Mr. Sampson, to the glittering halls with which I could never compete, and then taunt me with my moderate salary. Is it generous? Is it kind?" The stately lady, Mrs. Wilfer, perceiving her opportunity of delivering a few remarks from the throne, here took up the altercation. "Mr. Sampson," she began, "I cannot permit you to misrepresent the intentions of a child of mine." "Let it be so ma—" Miss Levenia deposed with porthiers, "It is indifferent to me what he says or does." "Nay, Levenia," quote Mrs. Wilfer, "this touches the blood of the family." "If Mr. George Sampson attributes even to my youngest daughter." "I do not see why you should use the word 'even,' ma—" Miss Levenia deposed, "because I am quite as important as any of the others." "Peace," said Mrs. Wilfer solemnly, "I repeat. If Mr. George Sampson attributes to my youngest daughter, groveling motives, he attributes them equally to the mother of my youngest daughter. That mother repudiates them in demands of Mr. George Sampson as a youth of honor what he would have. I may be mistaken nothing is more likely, but Mr. George Sampson," preceded Mrs. Wilfer, majestically waving her gloves, "appears to me to be seated in a first-class equippage. Mr. George Sampson appears to me to be on his way by his own admission to a residence that may be termed 'pilatial.' Mr. George Sampson appears to me to be invited to participate in the, shall I say, the elevation which has descended on the family was which he is ambitious, shall I say to Mingle, whence then this tone and Mr. Sampson's pot?" "It is only, ma'am," Mr. Sampson explained in exceedingly low spirits, "because, in a pecuniary sense, I am painfully conscious of my unworthiness. The vineyard is now highly connected. Can I hope that she will still remain the same Levenia as of old? And is it not pardonable if I feel sensitive when I see a disposition on her part to take me up short?" "If you are not satisfied with your positions, sir," observed Miss Levenia with much politeness, "we can set you down at any turning you may please to indicate to my sister's coachmen." "Dear Este Levenia," urged Mr. Sampson pathetically, "I adore you." "Then, if you can't do it in a more agreeable manner," returned the young lady, "I wish you wouldn't." "I also," pursued Mr. Sampson, "respect you, ma'am, to an extent which must ever be below your merits. I am well aware, but still, have to earn common mark. Bear with a wretch, Levenia, bear with a wretch, ma'am, who feels the noble sacrifices you make for him, but is goaded almost to madness." Mr. Sampson slapped his forehead, when he thinks of competing with the rich and influential. "When you have to compete with the rich and influential, it will probably be mentioned to you," said Miss Levenia, "in good time. At least it will, if the case is my case." Mr. Sampson immediately expressed his fervent opinion at this was, "mother than human," and was brought upon his knees at Miss Levenia's feet. It was the crowning addition indispensable to the full enjoyment of both mother and daughter. To bear Mr. Sampson, a grateful captive into the glittering halls he had mentioned, and to berate him through the same, at once a living witness of their glory, and a bright instance of their condescension. Ascending this staircase, Miss Levenia permitted him to walk at her side with the air of saying, "Not withstanding all these surroundings, I am yours as yet, George. How long it may last is another question, but I am yours as yet." She also benignly intimated to him, allowed, the nature of the objects upon which he looked, until which he was unaccustomed, as, "Exotic George, an aviary George, an omeleu clock George," and the like, while to the whole of the decorations Mrs. Wilfer led the way with the bearing of a savage chief, who would feel himself compromised by manifesting the slightest token of surprise or admiration. Indeed, the bearing of this impressive woman throughout the day was a pattern to all impressive women under similar circumstances. She renewed the acquaintance of Mrs. Wilfer as if Mr. and Mrs. Wilfer had said of her what she had said of them, and as if time alone could quite wear her injury out. She regarded every servant who approached her as her sworn enemy, expressly intending to offer her affronts with the dishes, and to pour forth outrageous on her moral feelings from the decanters. She sat erect at the table, on the right hand of her son-in-law, as half suspecting poison in the veens, and as bearing up with native force of character against other deadly ambushes. Her carriage towards Bella was as a carriage towards a young lady of good position, whom she had met in society a few years ago. Even when, slightly thawing under the influence of sparkling champagne, she related to her son-in-law some passages of domestic interest concerning her papa, she infused into the narrative such arctic suggestions of her having been an unappreciated blessing to mankind, since her papa's days, and also of that gentleman's having been a frosty impersonation of a frosty race, a struck cold to the very souls of the feet of the heroes. The inexhaustible being produced, staring, and evidently intending a weak and washy smile shortly, no sooner beheld her than it was stricken spasmodic and inconsolable. When she took her leave at last, it would have been hard to say whether it was with the air of going to the scaffold herself, or of leaving the inmates of the house for immediate execution. Yet John Harmon enjoyed it all merrily, and told his wife, when he and she were alone, that her natural ways had never seen so dearly natural as beside this foil, and that although he did not dispute her being her father's daughter, he should ever remain steadfast in the faith that she could not be her mother's. This visit was, as has been said, a grand event. Another event, not grand but deemed in the house a special one, occurred at about the same period, and this was the first interview between Mr. Sloppy and Miss Ren. The doll's dressmaker, being at work for the inexhaustible upon a full-dressed doll, some two sizes larger than that young person, Mr. Sloppy undertook to call for it, and did so. "Come in, sir," said Miss Ren, who was working at a bench. "And who, might you be?" Mr. Sloppy introduced himself, by name and buttons. "Oh, indeed," cried Jenny. "Ah, I've been looking forward to knowing you. I heard of your distinguishing yourself." "Gee-joom-bish," grinned Sloppy. "I'm sure I'm glad to hear it, but I don't know how." "Picking somebody into a mad cart," said Miss Ren. "Oh, that way," cried Sloppy, "yes, Miss," and threw back his head and laughed. "Pee-joom-bish," exclaimed Miss Ren with a start, "don't open your mouth as wide as that young man, or it'll catch so and not shut again some day." Mr. Sloppy opened it, if possible, wider, and kept it open until his laugh was out. "Why, you'll art the giant," said Miss Ren, when he came home in the land of Beanstalk and wanted Jack for supper. "Was he good-looking, Miss?" asked Sloppy. "No," said Miss Ren. "Atly," her visited glanced round the room, which had many comforts in it now, that had not been in it before, and said, "This is your pretty place, Miss." "Claire, you think so, sir?" returned Miss Ren. "And what do you think of me?" The honesty of Mr. Sloppy, being severely taxed by the question, he twisted the button, grinned, and faltered. "Out with it," said Miss Ren for an arch-look, "don't you think me a queer little comicality?" In shaking her head at him, after asking the question, she shook her hair down. cried Sloppy in a burst of admiration. "What a lot can what a colour!" Miss Ren, with her usual expressive hitch, went on with her work, but left her hair as it was, not displeased by the effect it had made. "You don't live here for long, do you, Miss?" asked Sloppy. "No," said Miss Ren, with a chop. "Look here, with my very godmother." "With," Mr. Sloppy couldn't make it out, "with, oh, did you shameish?" "Well," replied Miss Ren more seriously, "with my second father, or with my first, for that matter." And she shook her head, and drew a sigh. "If you had known a poor child I used to have here," she added, "you'd have understood me, but you didn't, and you can't, all the better." "You must have been taught a long time," said Sloppy, glancing at the array of dolls in hand, "before you came to work so neatly, Miss, and with such a pretty taste." "You've always taught a stick, young man," returned the dressmaker, tossing her head, "just gobbled and gobbled, till I found out how to do it, badly enough at first, but better now." "And here, have I," said Sloppy, in something of a self-approachable tone, "playing, a learning, an learning, and eerage Mr. Boughan being a pain and pain, he was so long." "I've heard what your trade is," observed Miss Ren. "It's cabinet making," Mr. Sloppy nodded. "Now a mound is done where it is. I'll tell you what, Miss. I should like to make you something." "Much obliged, but what?" "I could make you," said Sloppy, surveying the room, "I could make you a handy set of nests, to light a doll's in, or I could make you a handy little set of jaws to keep your silks and your threads and scraps in, or are they too near a handle for that clutch stick if it belongs to him you call your father?" "It belongs to me," returned the little creature with a quick flush of her face and neck. "I'm lame," poor Sloppy flushed too, for there was an instinctive delicacy behind his buttons, and his own hand had struck it. He said, perhaps the best thing in the way of a man's that could be said. "I'm very glad it's yours, because I'd rather ornament eat for you and for anyone else. Please, may I look at it?" Miss Ren was in the act of handing it to him over the bench, when she paused. "But you'd better see me use it," she said sharply. "This is the way. Of a dick-a-kitty, peg-pig-pig, not pretty is it?" "It seems to me that you hardly wanted it all," said Sloppy. The little dressmaker sat down again and gave it into his hand, saying, "with that better look upon her and with a smile." "Thank you." "And as contuning in estch, in your jaws," said Sloppy, after measuring the handle on his sleeve and softly standing the stick-a-side against the wall, "why, it would be a real pressure to me. All of you tell that you can sing much beautiful, and I should be better paid with a song and with any money, for I always have delights of that, and often give Mrs. Eakton and Johnny a common song myself with spoken in it. Though that's not your short long wager." "You are very kind, young man," turned the dressmaker. "A really kind, young man. I accept your offer. I suppose you won't mind," she added as an afterthought, training her shoulders, "and if he does, he may." "Meaning, him, are you called your father, Miss?" "Are Sloppy." "No, no," replied Miss Tren. "M, him, him." "M, him, him," repeated Sloppy, staring about as if for him. "M, who is coming to court and marry me?" returned Miss Tren. "Timmy, I'm slurry one." "Oh, him," said Sloppy, and seemed to turn thoughtful and a little troubled. "Oh, I never thought of him. When is he coming, Miss?" "What a question!" cried Miss Tren. "How's she doing now?" "Where is he coming from, Miss?" "Why, couldn't he, gracious? How can you tell? He's coming from somewhere, rather I suppose, and he is coming some day or other I suppose? I don't know, any more about him at present." This tickled Mr Sloppy as an extraordinarily good joke, and he threw back his head, and laughed with meshless enjoyment. At the sight of him laughing in that absurd way, the doll dressmaker laughed very heartily indeed, so they both laughed till they were tired. "There, there, there," said Miss Tren. "But couldn't you say, stop, giant, or I should be swallowed up alive before I know it?" "And at this minute you haven't said what you come for." "I have come for a little Mr. Hommons' doll," said Sloppy. "I thought as much," remarked Miss Wren. "And here is little Miss Hommons' doll waiting for you. She's folded up itself a paper, you see, as if she was wrapped from head to foot in new banknotes. Take care of her, and there's my hand, and thank you again." "I'll take more care of her than if she was a gold image." said Sloppy, "and is both my hinged mesh, and are soon compact again." "But the greatest event of all in the new life of Mr. Mrs. John Harmon was a visit from Mr. Mrs. Eugene Rayburn. Sadly one and one was a once-gallon to Jean, and walked rustic on his wife's arm and leaning heavily upon a stick. But he was daily growing stronger and better, and it was declared by the medical attendants that he might not be much disfigured by and by." It was a grand event, indeed, when Mr. Mrs. Eugene Rayburn came to stay at Mr. Mrs. John Harmon's house. Where, by the way, Mr. Mrs. Boffin, exquisitely happy and daily cruising about to look at shops, were likewise staying indefinitely. To Mr. Eugene Rayburn, in confidence, did Mrs. John Harmon impart what she had known of the state of his wife's affections in his reckless time. And to Mrs. John Harmon, in confidence, did Mr. Eugene Rayburn impart that, "Please, God, she should see how his wife had changed him." "I make no protestations," said Eugene, "who dares? Who means them? I have made a resolution." "But would you believe, Bella?" interposed his wife, coming to resume her nurse's place at his side, for he never got on well without her. At our wedding day, he told me he almost thought the best thing he could do was to die. "As I didn't do it, Lizzy," said Eugene, "I'll do that better thing you suggested, for your sake." That same afternoon, Eugene lying on his couch in his own room upstairs, Lightwood came to chat with him, while Bella took his wife out for a ride. "Nothing short of force will make her go," Eugene had said, so Bella had playfully forced her. "Dear old fellow," Eugene began with Lightwood, reaching up his hand. "You couldn't have come at a better time, for my mind is full, and I want to empty it. First, of my present, before I touch upon my future, M.R.F., who is a much younger cavalier than I, and a professed my beauty, was so affable as to remark the other day, he paid us a visit of two days up the river there, and much objected to the accommodation of the hotel, and that Lizzy ought to have her portrait painted, which, coming from M.R.F., may be considered equivalent to a melodramatic blessing. "You are getting well," said Mortimer with a smile. "Really," said Eugene, "I mean it. When M.R.F. said that, and followed it up by rolling the claret, for which he called, and I paid, in his mouth, and saying, 'My dear son, why do you drink this trash?' It was tantamount in him, to a paternal benediction on our union, accompanied with a gush of tears. The calmness of M.R.F. is not to be measured by ordinary standards." "True enough," said Lightwood, "that's all," pursued Eugene, "that I shall ever hear from M.R.F. on the subject, and he will continue to saunter through the world with his hat on one side." "My marriage, being thus solemnly recognised at the family altar, I have no further trouble on that score. Next you really have done wonders for me Mortimer, in easing my money perplexities, and with such a guardian and steward beside me as the preserver of my life. I'm hardly strong yet, you see, for I am not man enough to refer to her without a trembling voice. She is so inexpressibly dear to me, Mortimer. The little that I can call my own will be more than it ever has been. It need be more, for you know what it always has been in my hands. Nothing. Worse than nothing, I fancy Eugene. My own small income, I devoutly wish that my grandfather had left it to the ocean rather than to me, has been an effective something in the way preventing me from turning to at anything, and I think yours has been much the same." "There spake the voice of wisdom," said Eugene, "we are shepherds both. In turning to at last we turn to an earnest. Let us say no more of that for a few years to come." "Now I have an idea, I'm Mortimer, of taking myself and my wife to one of the colonies, and working at my vocation there. I should be lost without you, Eugene. But you may be right." "No," said Eugene emphatically. "Not right. Wrong." He said with such a lively, almost angry flash that Mortimer showed himself greatly surprised. "You think this thumped head of mine is excited?" Eugene went on with a high look. "Not so. Believe me. I can say to you, of the healthful music of my pulse, what Hamlet said of his. My blood is up, but wholesomely up when I think of it. Tell me, shall I turn coward to Lizzie and sneak away with her, as if I were ashamed of her. Where would your friend's part in this world be, Mortimer, if she had turned coward to him, and on a measurably better occasion?" "Honorable and staunch," said Lightwood, "and yet, Eugene, and yet, what, Mortimer?" "And yet, are you sure that you might not feel, for her sake, I say, for her sake, any slight coldness towards her on the part of society?" "You and I may well stumble at the word," returned Eugene, laughing. "Do we mean, our tippins?" "Perhaps we do," said Mortimer, laughing also. "Faith we do," returned Eugene with great animation. "We may hide behind the bush and beat about it, but we do." Now, my wife is something nearer to my heart, Mortimer, than tippins is, and I owe her a little more than I owe to tippins, and I'm rather proud of her than I ever was of tippins. Therefore, I will fight it out to the last gasp, with her, and for her, here in the open field. When I hide her, or strike for her, faint heartedly in a whole lot of corner, do you whom I love next best upon earth tell me what I shall most righteously deserve to be told, that she would have done well to turn me over with her foot that night when I lay bleeding to death, and spat in my dastard face. The glow that shone upon him as he spoke the words so radiated his features, that he looked for the time as though he had never been mutilated. His friend responded as Eugene would have had him respond, and they discussed of the future until Lizzy came back. After resuming her place at his side, and tenderly touching his hands on his head, she said, "You chained, dear. You made me go out, but I ought to have stayed with you. You're more flushed than you've been for many days. What have you been doing?" "Nothing," replied Eugene, "but looking forward to your coming back." "And talking to Mr. Lartwood," said Lizzy, turning to him with a smile, "but it cannot have been society at the stir of you." "Faith, my dear love," we taught at Eugene in his old airy manner as he laughed and kissed her, "I rather think it was society, though." The word ran so much in Mortimer Lightwood's thoughts as he went home to the temple at night, that he resolved to take a look at society, which he had not seen for a considerable period. End of Book 4, Chapter 16. Chapter 17, The Voice of Society We hoved Mortimer Lightwood, therefore, to answer a dinner card from Mr. and Mrs. Veneering, requesting the honor, and to signify that Mr. Mortimer Lightwood will be happy to have the other honor. The Veneerings have been, as usual, indefotigably dealing dinner cards to society, and whoever desires to take a hand, had best be quick about it. For it is written in the books of the insolvent fates that Veneering shall make a resounding smash next week. Yes, having found out the clue to that great mystery how people can contrive to live beyond their means, and having over-jobbed his jobberies, as legislator, deputed to the universe by the pure electors of pocket-britches, it shall come to pass next week that Veneering will accept the children hundreds, that the legal gentleman in Britannia's confidence will again accept the pocket-britches, thousands, and that the Veneerings will retire to Calais, here to live on Mrs. Veneering's diamonds, in which Mr. Veneering, as a good husband, has from time to time invested considerable sums. And to relate to Neptune and others how that, before Veneering retired from Parliament, the House of Commons was composed of himself, and the 657 dearest and oldest friends he had in the world. It shall likewise come to pass, at as nearly as possible the same period, a society will discover that it always did despise Veneering, and distrust Veneering, and that when it went to Veneering's to dinner it always had misgivings, though very secretly at the time it would seem, and in a perfectly private and confidential manner. The next week's book of the insolvent fates, however, being not yet opened, there is the usual rush to the Veneerings of the people who go to their house to dine with one another and not with them. There is Lady Tippens, there are Podsnap the Great, and Mrs. Podsnap, there is Twemlow, there are buffer boots and brewer, there is the contractor who is providence to 500,000 men, there is the chairman travelling three thousand miles per week, there is the brilliant genius who turned the shares into that remarkably exact sum of 375,000 pounds, no shillings, and no pence. To whom, add Mortimer Lightwood, coming in among them with a resumption of his old languid air, founded on Eugene, and belonging to the days when he told the story of the man from somewhere. That fresh fairy, Tippens, all but screams at sight of her false swain, she summons the deserter to her with her fan, but the deserter pre-determined not to come talks Britain with Podsnap. Podsnap always talks Britain, and talks as if he were a sort of private watchman employed in the British interests against the rest of the world. "We know what Russia means, sir," says Podsnap, "we know what France wants, we see what America is up to, but we know what England is. That's enough for us." However, when dinner is served, and Lightwood drops into his old place over against Lady Tippens, she can be fended off no longer. "Long bearless Robinson Crusoe," says the charmer, exchanging salutations. "How did you leave the island?" "Thank you," says Lightwood. "It made no complaint of being in pain anywhere." "Say, how did you leave the savages?" asks Lady Tippens. "They were becoming civilized when I left one, Fernandez," says Lightwood. "At least they were eating on another, which looked like it." "Talmentor," returns the dear young creature, "you know what I mean, and you trifle with my impatience. It held me something immediately about the married pair you were at the wedding." "Was I, by the way?" Mortimer pretends at great leisure to consider. "Oh, as I was. How was the bride addressed in rowing costume?" Mortimer looks gloomy and declines to answer. "I hope she steered herself, skiffed herself, pedalled herself, lab-ordered and star-boarded herself, or whatever the technical term may be to the ceremony," proceeds the playful tippens. "However, she got to it, she graced it," says Mortimer. Lady Tippens, with a skittish little scream, attracts the general attention. "Graced it, take care of me if I faint for nearing. He means to tell us that a horrid female waterman is graceful. Pardon me. I mean to tell you nothing, Lady Tippens," replies Lightwood, and keeps his word by eating his dinner with a show of the utmost indifference. "You shall not escape me in this way, you morris, backwardsmen," retorts Lady Tippens. "You shall not survey the question to screen your friend Eugene, who has made this exhibition of himself. The knowledge shall be brought home to you, that such a ridiculous affair is condemned by the voice of society. My dear Mrs. Vendering, do let us resolve ourselves into a committee of the whole house on the subject." Mrs. Veneering, always charmed by this rattling silk cries, "Oh, yes, do let us resolve ourselves into a committee of the whole house. So delicious." Veneering says, "As many as are of that opinion say I, contrary, no, the eyes have it, but nobody takes the slightest notice of this joke." "Now I am chairwoman of committees," cries Lady Tippens. "What spirits she has," exclaims Mrs. Veneering, to whom likewise nobody attends. "And this," pursues the sprightly one, "is a committee of the whole house to what you may call it, a real visit, I suppose, the voice of society. The question before the committee is, whether a young man of very affair, family, good appearance and some talent, makes of all or a wise man of himself in marrying a female waterman turned factory girl." "Hardly so, I think," the stubborn mortimer strikes in, "I take the question to be, whether such a man as you describe, Lady Tippens, does right or wrong in marrying a brave woman. I say nothing of her beauty, who has saved his life with a wonderful energy and address, whom he knows to be virtuous and possessed of remarkable qualities, whom he has long admired and who is deeply attached to him." "Right, excuse me," says Potsnap with his temper and his shirt collar about equally rumpled, "or is this young woman ever a female waterman?" "Never, but you sometimes rode in a boat with her father, I believe." "General sensation against the young woman." Brewer shakes his head, boots shakes his head, buffer shakes his head. "And now, Mr. Lightwood, was she ever," pursues Potsnap with his indignation rising high into those hairbrushes of his, "a factory girl?" "Never, but you had some employment in a paper mill, I believe?" "General sensation repeated." Brewer says, "O dear," boots says, "O dear," buffer says, "O dear," all in a rumbling tone of protest. "Then, all I have to say is this," returns Potsnap, putting the thing away with his right arm, "that my God rises against such a marriage, that it offends and disgusts me, that it makes me sick, and that I desire to know no more about it." "Now, I wonder," thinks Mortimer amused, "whether you are the voice of society." "Here, here, here," cries Lady Tippins, "your opinion of this Mess Alliance, honorable colleagues of the honorable member who has just sat down?" Mrs. Potsnap is of opinion that in these matters there should be an equality of station and fortune, and that a man accustomed to society should look out for a woman accustomed to society and capable of bearing her part in it, with an ease and elegance of carriage that Mrs. Potsnap stops there, delicately intimating that every such man should look out for a fine woman as nearly resembling herself as he may hope to discover. "Now, I wonder," thinks Mortimer, "whether you are the voice." Lady Tippins next canvases the contractor of 500,000 Power. It appears to this potentate that what the man in question should have done would have been to buy the young woman a boat and a small annuity and set her up for herself. These things are a question of beef steaks and porter. "You buy the young woman a boat." "Very good. You buy her at the same time, a small annuity. You speak of that annuity in pounds sterling, but it is in reality so many pounds of beef steaks and so many pints of porter. On the one hand, the young woman has the boat. On the other hand, she consumes so many pounds of beef steaks and so many pints of porter. Those beef steaks and that porter are the fuel to that young woman's engine. She derives, therefore, a certain amount of power to roll the boat. That power will produce so much money. You add that to the small annuity and, thus you get at the young woman's income. That, it seems to the contractor, is the way of looking at it." The fair enslaver, having fallen into one of her gentle sleeps during the last exposition, nobody likes to wake her. Fortunately, she comes to wake of herself and puts the question to the wandering chairman. The wanderer can only speak of the case as if it were his own. If such a young woman, as the young woman described, had saved his own life, he would have been very much obliged to her, wouldn't have married her, and would have got her a berth in an electric telegraph office where young women answer very well. What does the genius of the 375,000 pounds no shillings and no pence think? He can't say what he thinks, without asking, had the young woman any money? "No," says Lightwood, in an uncompromising voice, "no money." Madness and moonshine is then the compressed verdict of the genius. A man may do anything lawful for money, but for no money, Bosch. What does Bootes say? Bootes says he wouldn't have done it under twenty thousand pound. What does Brewer say? Brewer says what Bootes says. What does Buffer say? Buffer says he knows a man who married a bathing woman and bolted. Lady Tippens, fancies she has collected the suffragers of the whole committee. Nobody dreamed of asking the veneerings for their opinion. When looking round the table through her eyeglass, she perceives Mr. Tremlow with his hand to his forehead. "Oh, good gracious, my Tremlow forgotten, my dearest, my own. What is his vote?" Tremlow has the air of being ill at ease, as he takes his hand from his forehead and replies, "I am disposed to think," says he, "that this is a question of the feelings of a gentleman. A gentleman can have no feelings to contract such a marriage," Flushes Podsnap. "Pardon me, sir," says Tremlow, "rather less mildly than usual. I don't agree with you if this gentleman's feelings of gratitude, of respect, of admiration and affection induced him, as I presume they did, to marry this lady. This lady," echoes Podsnap, "sir," returns Tremlow with his wristbands bristling a little. "You repeat the word. I repeat the word this lady. What else would you call her if the gentlemen were present?" This being somewhat in the nature of a poser for Podsnap, he merely waves it away with a speechless wave. "I say," resumes Tremlow, "if for such feelings on the part of this gentleman, induced this gentleman to marry this lady, I think he is the greater gentleman for the action and makes her the greater lady. I beg to say that when I used the word gentleman, I use it in the sense in which the degree may be attained by any man. The feelings of a gentleman I hold sacred, and I confess I am not comfortable when they are made the subject of sport or general discussion. "I should like to know," sneers Podsnap, "whether your noble relation would be of your opinion." "Mr. Podsnap," retorts Tremlow, "permit me. He might be. Or he might not be. I cannot say. But I could not allow even him to dictate to me on a point of great delicacy on which I feel very strongly." Somehow a canopy of wet blanket seems to descend upon the company, and Lady Tippens was never known to turn so very greedy or so very cross. Mortimer Lightwood alone brightens. He has been asking himself, as to every other member of the committee in turn, I wonder whether you are the voice. But he does not ask himself the question after Tremlow has spoken, and he glances at Tremlow's direction as if he were grateful. When the company disperses, by which time Mr. and Mrs. Veneering have had quite as much as they want of the honour, and the guests have had quite as much as they want of the other honour, Mortimer sees Tremlow home, shakes hands with him cordially at parting, and fares to the temple, gaily. When I devised this story, I foresaw the likelihood that a class of readers and commentators would suppose that I was at great pains to conceal exactly what I was at great pains to suggest. Namely, that Mr. John Harmon was not slain, and that Mr. John Rokesmith was he. Pleaseing myself with the idea that the supposition might in part arise out of some ingenuity in the story, and thinking it worthwhile, in the interest of art, to hint to an audience that an artist, of whatever denomination, may perhaps be trusted to know what he is about in his vocation if they will concede him a little patience. I was not alarmed by the anticipation. To keep for a long time unsuspected, yet always working itself out, another purpose originating in that leading incident, and turning it to a pleasant and useful account at last, was at once the most interesting and the most difficult part of my design. Its difficulty was much enhanced by the mode of publication. For it would be very unreasonable to expect that many readers, pursuing a story in portions from month to month through nineteen months, will, until they have it before them complete, perceive the relations of its finer threads to the whole pattern, which is always before the eyes of the story weaver at his loom. Yet, that I hold the advantages of the mode of publication to outweigh its disadvantages, may be easily believed of one who revived it in the pickwick papers after long disuse, and has pursued it ever since. There is sometimes an odd disposition in this country to dispute as improbable in fiction what are the commonest experiences in fact. Therefore I note here, though it may not be at all necessary, that there are hundreds of will cases, as they are called, far more remarkable than that fancied in this book, and that the stores of the prerogative office team with instances of testators who have made, changed, contradicted, hidden, forgotten, left cancelled, and left uncancelled, each many more wills than were ever made by the elder Mr. Harmon of Harmony Jail. In my social experiences, since Mrs. Betty Higdon came upon the scene and left it, I have found circumlocutional champions disposed to be warm with me on the subject of my view of the poor law. My friend, Mr. Boundaby, could never see any difference between leaving the coke town hands, exactly as they were, and requiring them to be fed with turtle soup and venison out of gold spoons. Idiotic propositions of a parallel nature have been freely offered for my acceptance, and I have been called upon to admit that I would give poor law relief to anybody, anywhere, anyhow. Putting this nonsense aside, I have observed a suspicious tendency in the champions to divide into two parties, the one contending that there are no deserving poor who prefer death by slow starvation and bitter weather, to the mercies of some relieving officers and some union houses, the other admitting that there are such poor but denying that they have any cause or reason for what they do. The records in our newspapers, the late exposure by the Lancet, and the common sense and senses of common people, furnish two abundant evidence against both defenses. But that my view of the poor law may not be mistaken or misrepresented, I will state it. I believe there has been in England since the days of the stewards. No law so often infamously administered. No law so often openly violated. No law habitually so ill-supervised. In the majority of the shameful cases of disease and death from destitution that shock the public and disgrace the country, the illegality is quite equal to the inhumanity, and known language could say no more of their lawlessness. On Friday the 9th of June, in the present year, Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, in their manuscript dress of receiving Mr. and Mrs. Lamel at breakfast, were on the southeastern railway with me in a terribly destructive accident. When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed back into my carriage, nearly turned over a viaduct, and caught a slant upon the turn to extricate the worthy couple. They were much soiled, but otherwise unhurt. The same happy result attended Miss Bella Wilfa on her wedding day, and Mr. Ryderhood inspecting Bradley Headstone's red neck-achieve as he lay asleep. I remember with devout thankfulness that I can never be much nearer parting company with my readers forever than I was then, until there shall be written against my life, the two words with which I have this day closed this book, The End. September 2nd, 1865 End of Postscript End of Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens 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. Itty is Ryan C. Crest here. People always say it's good to unwind, but that's easier said than done. The exception? Chumba Casino. They actually make it easier done than said, or at least the same. 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