I'm being scorched in the legs," which indeed is testified to the noses of all present by the smell of his worsted stockings.


The gentle Judy, having backed her grandfather a little way from the fire, and having shaken him up as usual, and having released his overshadowed eye from its black-velvet extinguisher, Mr. Smallweed again says, "Oh, dear me!


and looking about and meeting Mr. George's glance, again stretches out both hands.

He again stretches out both hands to Mr. George.


You never find that anything goes off here accidentally, do you, my dear friend?"

You never find that anything goes off accidentally, do you, my dear friend?"


adds Grandfather Smallweed, very ill at ease.


He--Oh, dear me!--he never lets anything off without meaning it, does he, my dear friend?"

He - Oh, dear me! - he never lets anything off without meaning to, does he, my dear friend?"


"He has never hurt anybody but himself," says Mr. George, smiling.


He seems to have hurt himself a good deal, and he might hurt somebody else," the old gentleman returns.

He seems to have hurt himself a good deal," the old gentleman returns.


"Mr. George, will you order him to leave his infernal fire-arms alone and go away?"


Obedient to a nod from the trooper, Phil retires, empty-handed, to the other end of the gallery.

Obedient to a nod from the trooper, Phil retires to the other end of the gallery.


Mr. Smallweed, reassured, falls to rubbing his legs.


he says to the trooper, squarely standing faced about towards him with his broadsword in his hand.

he says to the trooper, squarely standing with his broadsword in his hand.


"You are prospering, please the Powers?"


Mr. George answers with a cool nod, adding, "Go on.


"You are so sprightly, Mr. George," returns the venerable grandfather.


But that sword looks awful gleaming and sharp.


says the excellent old gentleman apart to Judy as the trooper takes a step or two away to lay it aside.

As the trooper steps away to lay it aside, the old gentleman says to Judy, "Curse him!


"He owes me money, and might think of paying off old scores in this murdering place.


I wish your brimstone grandmother was here, and he'd shave her head off."


Mr. George, returning, folds his arms, and looking down at the old man, sliding every moment lower and lower in his chair, says quietly, "Now for it!"

Mr. George, returning, folds his arms, and looking down at the old man, says quietly, "Now for it!"


cries Mr. Smallweed, rubbing his hands with an artful chuckle.


"For a pipe," says Mr. George, who with great composure sets his chair in the chimney-corner, takes his pipe from the grate, fills it and lights it, and falls to smoking peacefully.

"For a pipe," says Mr. George, who with great composure sets his chair in the chimney-corner, fills his pipe and lights it, and starts to smoke peacefully.


This tends to the discomfiture of Mr. Smallweed, who finds it so difficult to resume his object, whatever it may be, that he becomes exasperated and secretly claws the air with an impotent vindictiveness expressive of an intense desire to tear and rend the visage of Mr. George.

Mr. Smallweed, exasperated, secretly claws the air with impotent vindictiveness.


As the excellent old gentleman's nails are long and leaden, and his hands lean and veinous, and his eyes green and watery; and, over and above this, as he continues, while he claws, to slide down in his chair and to collapse into a shapeless bundle, he becomes such a ghastly spectacle, even in the accustomed eyes of Judy, that that young virgin pounces at him with something more than the ardour of affection and so shakes him up and pats and pokes him in divers parts of his body, but particularly in that part which the science of self-defence would call his wind, that in his grievous distress he utters enforced sounds like a paviour's rammer.

As the excellent old gentleman's nails are long, and his hands lean and veinous, and his eyes green and watery; and as he continues to slide down in his chair and to collapse into a shapeless bundle, he becomes such a ghastly spectacle that Judy pounces at him with extreme and not entirely affectionate vigour


When Judy has by these means set him up again in his chair, with a white face and a frosty nose (but still clawing), she stretches out her weazen forefinger and gives Mr. George one poke in the back.


The trooper raising his head, she makes another poke at her esteemed grandfather, and having thus brought them together, stares rigidly at the fire.


chatters Grandfather Smallweed, swallowing his rage.


"If you want to converse with me, you must speak out.

"If you want to converse with me," says Mr. George, "you must speak out.


I am one of the roughs, and I can't go about and about.


When you go winding round and round me," says the trooper, putting his pipe between his lips again, "damme, if I don't feel as if I was being smothered!"


And he inflates his broad chest to its utmost extent as if to assure himself that he is not smothered yet.


"If you have come to give me a friendly call," continues Mr. George, "I am obliged to you; how are you?


If you have come to see whether there's any property on the premises, look about you; you are welcome.

If you have come to see whether there's any property on the premises, look around; you are welcome.


If you want to out with something, out with it!"

If you want to say something, out with it!"


The blooming Judy, without removing her gaze from the fire, gives her grandfather one ghostly poke.


And why the devil that young woman won't sit down like a Christian," says Mr. George with his eyes musingly fixed on Judy, "I can't comprehend."


"She keeps at my side to attend to me, sir," says Grandfather Smallweed.


"I am an old man, my dear Mr. George, and I need some attention.


I can carry my years; I am not a brimstone poll-parrot" (snarling and looking unconsciously for the cushion), "but I need attention, my dear friend."


returns the trooper, wheeling his chair to face the old man.


"My friend in the city, Mr. George, has done a little business with a pupil of yours."


"He is a fine young soldier now, Mr. George, by the name of Carstone.

"A fine young soldier, Mr. George, by the name of Carstone.


Friends came forward and paid it all up, honourable."


"Do you think your friend in the city would like a piece of advice?"


"I advise him, then, to do no more business in that quarter.

I advise him to do no more business in that quarter.


The young gentleman, to my knowledge, is brought to a dead halt."


No, no, no, sir," remonstrates Grandfather Smallweed, cunningly rubbing his spare legs.

"No, no, my dear sir," remonstrates Grandfather Smallweed.


He has good friends, and he is good for his pay, and he is good for the selling price of his commission, and he is good for his chance in a lawsuit, and he is good for his chance in a wife, and--oh, do you know, Mr. George, I think my friend would consider the young gentleman good for something yet?"

He has good friends, and he is good for his pay, and he is good for the selling price of his commission, and he is good for his chance in a lawsuit, and he is good for his chance in a wife, and - do you know, Mr. George, I think my friend would consider the young gentleman good for something yet?"


says Grandfather Smallweed, turning up his velvet cap and scratching his ear like a monkey.

says Grandfather Smallweed, scratching his ear like a monkey.


Mr. George, who has put aside his pipe and sits with an arm on his chair-back, beats a tattoo on the ground with his right foot as if he were not particularly pleased with the turn the conversation has taken.

Mr. George drums his foot on the ground as if he were not pleased with the turn the conversation has taken.


"But to pass from one subject to another," resumes Mr. Smallweed.


"'To promote the conversation,' as a joker might say.


"'To pass, Mr. George, from the ensign to the captain."


asks Mr. George, pausing with a frown in stroking the recollection of his moustache.


says Mr. George with a low whistle as he sees both grandfather and granddaughter looking hard at him.


"My dear friend," returns the old man, "I was applied--Judy, shake me up a little!--I was applied to yesterday about the captain, and my opinion still is that the captain is not dead."

"My dear friend," returns the old man, "I was applied - Judy, shake me up a little! - I was applied to yesterday about the captain, and my opinion still is that the captain is not dead."


inquires the old man with his hand to his ear.


"Mr. George, of my opinion you can judge for yourself according to the questions asked of me and the reasons given for asking 'em.


"Now, what do you think the lawyer making the inquiries wants?"


"Can't be a lawyer, then," says Mr. George, folding his arms with an air of confirmed resolution.

"Can't be a lawyer, then," says Mr. George, folding his arms.


"My dear friend, he is a lawyer, and a famous one.


He wants to see some fragment in Captain Hawdon's writing.

He wants to see some of Captain Hawdon's handwriting.


He only wants to see it and compare it with a writing in his possession."

He only wants to compare it with a writing in his possession."


Happening to remember the advertisement concerning Captain Hawdon and any information that could be given respecting him, he looked it up and came to me--just as you did, my dear friend.

Happening to remember the advertisement concerning Captain Hawdon and any information that could be given about him, he came to me - just as you did, my dear friend.


I should have missed forming such a friendship if you hadn't come!"


says Mr. George again after going through the ceremony with some stiffness.


Well, I have nothing but Hawdon's signature.


Plague pestilence and famine, battle murder and sudden death upon him," says the old man, making a curse out of one of his few remembrances of a prayer and squeezing up his velvet cap between his angry hands, "I have half a million of his signatures, I think!

Plague, pestilence and famine upon him," says the old man angrily, "I have half a million of his signatures!


But you," breathlessly recovering his mildness of speech as Judy re-adjusts the cap on his skittle-ball of a head, "you, my dear Mr. George, are likely to have some letter or paper that would suit the purpose.

But you, my dear Mr. George, are likely to have some letter.


Anything would suit the purpose, written in the hand."

Anything would suit the purpose, written in his hand."


"Some writing in that hand," says the trooper, pondering; "may be, I have."

"Some writing in that hand," says the trooper, pondering; "I may have.


says Grandfather Smallweed, crest-fallen.


"But if I had bushels of it, I would not show as much as would make a cartridge without knowing why."

But I would not show it without knowing why."


"My dear Mr. George, I have told you why."


"Not enough," says the trooper, shaking his head.


My dear friend, will you come and see the gentleman?"


urges Grandfather Smallweed, pulling out a lean old silver watch with hands like the leg of a skeleton.

urges Grandfather Smallweed, pulling out a lean old silver watch.


"I told him it was probable I might call upon him between ten and eleven this forenoon, and it's now half after ten.

"I told him I might call upon him this morning.


Will you come and see the gentleman, Mr. George?"


Though why this should concern you so much, I don't know."


"Everything concerns me that has a chance in it of bringing anything to light about him.


Didn't he owe us immense sums, all round?


Who can anything about him concern more than me?


Not, my dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed, lowering his tone, "that I want YOU to betray anything.


"And you mean to say you're going to give me a lift to this place, wherever it is, without charging for it?"

You mean to say you're going to give me a lift to this place, wherever it is, without charging for it?"


Mr. George inquires, getting his hat and thick wash-leather gloves.

Mr. George inquires, getting his hat and gloves.


This pleasantry so tickles Mr. Smallweed that he laughs, long and low, before the fire.

This pleasantry so tickles Mr. Smallweed that he laughs long.


But ever while he laughs, he glances over his paralytic shoulder at Mr. George and eagerly watches him as he unlocks the padlock of a homely cupboard at the distant end of the gallery, looks here and there upon the higher shelves, and ultimately takes something out with a rustling of paper, folds it, and puts it in his breast.

But while he laughs, he glances over his shoulder at Mr. George and eagerly watches him as he unlocks a cupboard at the distant end of the gallery, takes something from the higher shelves with a rustling of paper, folds it, and puts it in his breast pocket.


Then Judy pokes Mr. Smallweed once, and Mr. Smallweed pokes Judy once.

Then Judy pokes Mr. Smallweed, and Mr. Smallweed pokes Judy.


"I am ready," says the trooper, coming back.


"Phil, you can carry this old gentleman to his coach, and make nothing of him."

"Phil, you can carry this old gentleman to his coach."


Are you sure you can do it carefully, my worthy man?"


Phil makes no reply, but seizing the chair and its load, sidles away, tightly hugged by the now speechless Mr. Smallweed, and bolts along the passage as if he had an acceptable commission to carry the old gentleman to the nearest volcano.

Phil makes no reply, but seizing the chair and its load, bolts along the passage as if he were carrying the old gentleman to the nearest volcano.


His shorter trust, however, terminating at the cab, he deposits him there; and the fair Judy takes her place beside him, and the chair embellishes the roof, and Mr. George takes the vacant place upon the box.

He deposits him in the cab; the fair Judy takes her place beside him, and Mr. George sits upon the box.


Mr. George is quite confounded by the spectacle he beholds from time to time as he peeps into the cab through the window behind him, where the grim Judy is always motionless, and the old gentleman with his cap over one eye is always sliding off the seat into the straw and looking upward at him out of his other eye with a helpless expression of being jolted in the back.

From time to time he peeps into the cab through the window behind him. The grim Judy is always motionless, and the old gentleman with his cap over one eye is always sliding off the seat into the straw and looking upward at him with a helpless expression.


It was three o'clock in the morning when the houses outside London did at last begin to exclude the country and to close us in with streets.

It was three o'clock in the morning when London at last began to close us in with streets.


We had made our way along roads in a far worse condition than when we had traversed them by daylight, both the fall and the thaw having lasted ever since; but the energy of my companion never slackened.

We had made our way along roads in a far worse condition than on the previous day; but my companion's energy never slackened.


It had only been, as I thought, of less assistance than the horses in getting us on, and it had often aided them.


They had stopped exhausted half-way up hills, they had been driven through streams of turbulent water, they had slipped down and become entangled with the harness; but he and his little lantern had been always ready, and when the mishap was set right, I had never heard any variation in his cool, "Get on, my lads!"

had stopped exhausted half-way up hills, or had slipped and become entangled with the harness, he and his little lantern had been always ready, and when the mishap was set right, he said the same cool, "Get on, my lads!"


The steadiness and confidence with which he had directed our journey back I could not account for.

I could not account for his confidence on our journey back.


Never wavering, he never even stopped to make an inquiry until we were within a few miles of London.

He never even stopped to make an inquiry until we were within a few miles of London.


A very few words, here and there, were then enough for him; and thus we came, at between three and four o'clock in the morning, into Islington.

Thus we came, between three and four o'clock in the morning, into Islington.


I will not dwell on the suspense and anxiety with which I reflected all this time that we were leaving my mother farther and farther behind every minute.

I will not dwell on the anxiety with which I reflected that we were leaving my mother farther and farther behind every minute.


I think I had some strong hope that he must be right and could not fail to have a satisfactory object in following this woman, but I tormented myself with questioning it and discussing it during the whole journey.

I hoped that he must be right in following this woman, but I tormented myself with questioning it during the whole journey.


What was to ensue when we found her and what could compensate us for this loss of time were questions also that I could not possibly dismiss; my mind was quite tortured by long dwelling on such reflections when we stopped.

I wondered what was to compensate us for this loss of time; my mind was quite tortured by dwelling on such reflections.


We stopped in a high-street where there was a coach-stand.

We stopped in a high-street by a coach-stand.


My companion paid our two drivers, who were as completely covered with splashes as if they had been dragged along the roads like the carriage itself, and giving them some brief direction where to take it, lifted me out of it and into a hackney-coach he had chosen from the rest.

My companion paid our two drivers, and giving them some brief directions about the carriage, lifted me out of it and into a hackney-coach.


But the melted snow had found its way into the carriage, and I had got out two or three times when a fallen horse was plunging and had to be got up, and the wet had penetrated my dress.


I assured him it was no matter, but the driver, who knew him, would not be dissuaded by me from running down the street to his stable, whence he brought an armful of clean dry straw.

I assured him it was no matter, but the driver ran down the street to his stable to fetch an armful of clean dry straw.


They shook it out and strewed it well about me, and I found it warm and comfortable.

They strewed it well about me, and I found it warm and comfortable.


"Now, my dear," said Mr. Bucket, with his head in at the window after I was shut up.


, "We're a-going to mark this person down.


It may take a little time, but you don't mind that.


You're pretty sure that I've got a motive.

You're pretty sure that I've got a reason.


I little thought what it was, little thought in how short a time I should understand it better, but I assured him that I had confidence in him.


"So you may have, my dear," he returned.


If you only repose half as much confidence in me as I repose in you after what I've experienced of you, that'll do.


I never see a young woman in any station of society--and I've seen many elevated ones too--conduct herself like you have conducted yourself since you was called out of your bed.

I never see a young woman conduct herself like you have.


You're a pattern, you know, that's what you are," said Mr. Bucket warmly; "you're a pattern."

You're a pattern, you know, that's what you are," said Mr. Bucket warmly.


I told him I was very glad, as indeed I was, to have been no hindrance to him, and that I hoped I should be none now.

I told him I was very glad to have been no hindrance to him.


"My dear," he returned, "when a young lady is as mild as she's game, and as game as she's mild, that's all I ask, and more than I expect.


She then becomes a queen, and that's about what you are yourself."


With these encouraging words--they really were encouraging to me under those lonely and anxious circumstances--he got upon the box, and we once more drove away.

With these encouraging words he got upon the box, and we once more drove away.


Where we drove I neither knew then nor have ever known since, but we appeared to seek out the narrowest and worst streets in London.

Where we drove I did not know, but we appeared to seek out the narrowest and worst streets in London.


Whenever I saw him directing the driver, I was prepared for our descending into a deeper complication of such streets, and we never failed to do so.


Sometimes we emerged upon a wider thoroughfare or came to a larger building than the generality, well lighted.

Sometimes we emerged upon a wider thoroughfare or came to a larger, well-lit building.


Then we stopped at offices like those we had visited when we began our journey, and I saw him in consultation with others.

Then we stopped at police offices, and I saw him in consultation with others.


Sometimes he would get down by an archway or at a street corner and mysteriously show the light of his little lantern.


This would attract similar lights from various dark quarters, like so many insects, and a fresh consultation would be held.


By degrees we appeared to contract our search within narrower and easier limits.

By degrees we appeared to contract our search within narrower limits.


Single police-officers on duty could now tell Mr. Bucket what he wanted to know and point to him where to go.


At last we stopped for a rather long conversation between him and one of these men, which I supposed to be satisfactory from his manner of nodding from time to time.

At last we stopped for a rather long conversation with a single police officer, which I supposed to be satisfactory from Mr. Bucket's manner of nodding.


When it was finished he came to me looking very busy and very attentive.

When it was finished he came to me looking very busy.


"Now, Miss Summerson," he said to me, "you won't be alarmed whatever comes off, I know.

"Now, Miss Summerson," he said to me, "you won't be alarmed whatever happens, I know.


It's not necessary for me to give you any further caution than to tell you that we have marked this person down and that you may be of use to me before I know it myself.

We have marked this person down, and you may be of use to me.


I don't like to ask such a thing, my dear, but would you walk a little way?"


Of course I got out directly and took his arm.


"It ain't so easy to keep your feet," said Mr. Bucket, "but take time."


Although I looked about me confusedly and hurriedly as we crossed the street, I thought I knew the place.


"And was christened so, my dear," said Mr. Bucket.


We turned down it, and as we went shuffling through the sleet, I heard the clocks strike half-past five.


We passed on in silence and as quickly as we could with such a foot-hold, when some one coming towards us on the narrow pavement, wrapped in a cloak, stopped and stood aside to give me room.

We passed on as quickly as we could, when someone coming towards us on the narrow pavement, wrapped in a cloak, stopped and stood aside to give me room.


In the same moment I heard an exclamation of wonder and my own name from Mr. Woodcourt.

I heard an exclamation of wonder and my own name; it was Mr. Woodcourt.


It was so unexpected and so--I don't know what to call it, whether pleasant or painful--to come upon it after my feverish wandering journey, and in the midst of the night, that I could not keep back the tears from my eyes.

It was so unexpected and so - I don't know what to call it, whether pleasant or painful - after my feverish wandering journey, and in the midst of the night, that I could not keep back the tears from my eyes.


It was like hearing his voice in a strange country.


"My dear Miss Summerson, that you should be out at this hour, and in such weather!"


He had heard from my guardian of my having been called away on some uncommon business and said so to dispense with any explanation.

He had heard from my guardian of my having been called away on some uncommon business.


I told him that we had but just left a coach and were going--but then I was obliged to look at my companion.

I told him that we had just left a coach and were going - I looked at my companion.


"Why, you see, Mr. Woodcourt"--he had caught the name from me--"we are a-going at present into the next street.

"Why, you see, Mr. Woodcourt" - he had caught the name from me - "we are a-going into the next street.


Mr. Woodcourt, disregarding my remonstrances, had hurriedly taken off his cloak and was putting it about me.

Mr. Woodcourt had hurriedly taken off his cloak and was putting it about me.


"That's a good move, too," said Mr. Bucket, assisting, "a very good move."

"That's a good move," said Mr. Bucket, assisting him.


, I don't know whether to me or to my companion.


exclaimed Mr. Bucket, taking the answer on himself.


It was all said in a moment, and they took me between them, wrapped in the cloak.

They took me between them, wrapped in the cloak.


"I have just left Richard," said Mr. Woodcourt.


"I have been sitting with him since ten o'clock last night."


"No, no, believe me; not ill, but not quite well.


He was depressed and faint--you know he gets so worried and so worn sometimes--and Ada sent to me of course; and when I came home I found her note and came straight here.

He was depressed and faint - you know he gets so worried and so worn sometimes - and Ada sent word to me.


Richard revived so much after a little while, and Ada was so happy and so convinced of its being my doing, though God knows I had little enough to do with it, that I remained with him until he had been fast asleep some hours.


His friendly and familiar way of speaking of them, his unaffected devotion to them, the grateful confidence with which I knew he had inspired my darling, and the comfort he was to her; could I separate all this from his promise to me?

His friendly and familiar way of speaking of them, his unaffected devotion to them, and the comfort he was to my darling; could I separate all this from his promise to me?


How thankless I must have been if it had not recalled the words he said to me when he was so moved by the change in my appearance: "I will accept him as a trust, and it shall be a sacred one!"

I recalled the words he said to me when he was so moved by the change in my appearance: "I will accept him as a sacred trust!"


We now turned into another narrow street.


"Mr. Woodcourt," said Mr. Bucket, who had eyed him closely as we came along, "our business takes us to a law-stationer's here, a certain Mr. Snagsby's.


He was so quick that he saw it in an instant.


"Yes, I know a little of him and have called upon him at this place."

"Yes, I know a little of him and have called upon him here."


"Then you will be so good as to let me leave Miss Summerson with you for a moment while I go and have half a word with him?"

"Then may I leave Miss Summerson with you for a moment while I go and have a word with him?"


The last police-officer with whom he had conferred was standing silently behind us.


I was not aware of it until he struck in on my saying I heard some one crying.

I was not aware of it until he struck in, on my saying I heard some one crying.


"Why, you see," said Mr. Bucket, "the girl's subject to fits, and has 'em bad upon her to-night.

"Why, you see," said Mr. Bucket, "the girl's subject to fits, and has 'em bad tonight.


A most contrary circumstance it is, for I want certain information out of that girl, and she must be brought to reason somehow."

A most contrary circumstance it is, for I want certain information out of that girl."


"At all events, they wouldn't be up yet if it wasn't for her, Mr. Bucket," said the other man.

"At all events, they wouldn't be up if it wasn't for her, Mr. Bucket.


"She's been at it pretty well all night, sir."

She's been at it pretty well all night, sir," said the other man.


All this passed in a whisper a door or two from the house in which I could faintly hear crying and moaning.

I could faintly hear crying and moaning from the house.


In the little round of light produced for the purpose, Mr. Bucket went up to the door and knocked.

Mr. Bucket went up to the door with his lantern and knocked twice.


The door was opened after he had knocked twice, and he went in, leaving us standing in the street.

The door was opened and he went in, leaving us standing in the street.


"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Woodcourt, "if without obtruding myself on your confidence I may remain near you, pray let me do so."

"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Woodcourt, "if I may remain near you without obtruding on your confidence, pray let me do so."


"I need wish to keep no secret of my own from you; if I keep any, it is another's."

"I wish to keep no secret of my own from you; if I keep any, it is another's."


Trust me, I will remain near you only so long as I can fully respect it."


"I know and deeply feel how sacredly you keep your promise."


After a short time the little round of light shone out again, and Mr. Bucket advanced towards us in it with his earnest face.

After a short time the door opened again, and Mr. Bucket advanced towards us.


"Please to come in, Miss Summerson," he said, "and sit down by the fire.


Mr. Woodcourt, from information I have received I understand you are a medical man.

Mr. Woodcourt, I understand you are a medical man.


Would you look to this girl and see if anything can be done to bring her round.

Would you look to this girl and see if anything can be done to bring her round?


She has a letter somewhere that I particularly want.


It's not in her box, and I think it must be about her; but she is so twisted and clenched up that she is difficult to handle without hurting."


We all three went into the house together; although it was cold and raw, it smelt close too from being up all night.

We all three went into the house together.


In the passage behind the door stood a scared, sorrowful-looking little man in a grey coat who seemed to have a naturally polite manner and spoke meekly.

Behind the door stood a scared, sorrowful-looking little man in a grey coat who spoke meekly and politely.


"Downstairs, if you please, Mr. Bucket," said he.


"The lady will excuse the front kitchen; we use it as our workaday sitting-room.


The back is Guster's bedroom, and in it she's a-carrying on, poor thing, to a frightful extent!"


We went downstairs, followed by Mr. Snagsby, as I soon found the little man to be.


In the front kitchen, sitting by the fire, was Mrs. Snagsby, with very red eyes and a very severe expression of face.

In the front kitchen, sitting by the fire, was Mrs. Snagsby, with very red eyes and a very severe expression.


"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, entering behind us, "to wave--not to put too fine a point upon it, my dear--hostilities for one single moment in the course of this prolonged night, here is Inspector Bucket, Mr. Woodcourt, and a lady."

"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, entering behind us, "here is Inspector Bucket, Mr. Woodcourt, and a lady."


She looked very much astonished, as she had reason for doing, and looked particularly hard at me.

She looked very much astonished, and looked particularly hard at me.


"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, sitting down in the remotest corner by the door, as if he were taking a liberty, "it is not unlikely that you may inquire of me why Inspector Bucket, Mr. Woodcourt, and a lady call upon us in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, at the present hour.

"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, sitting down by the door, "you may ask why Inspector Bucket, Mr. Woodcourt, and a lady call upon us at the present hour.


If I was to be informed, I should despair of understanding, and I'd rather not be told."


He appeared so miserable, sitting with his head upon his hand, and I appeared so unwelcome, that I was going to offer an apology when Mr. Bucket took the matter on himself.

He appeared so miserable, sitting with his head upon his hand, and I appeared so unwelcome, that I was going to offer an apology when Mr. Bucket spoke.


"Now, Mr. Snagsby," said he, "the best thing you can do is to go along with Mr. Woodcourt to look after your Guster--"

"Now, Mr. Snagsby," said he, "you go along with Mr. Woodcourt to look after your Guster-"


"And to hold the candle," pursued Mr. Bucket without correcting himself, "or hold her, or make yourself useful in any way you're asked.

"And hold the candle," pursued Mr. Bucket, "or make yourself useful in any way you're asked.


Which there's not a man alive more ready to do, for you're a man of urbanity and suavity, you know, and you've got the sort of heart that can feel for another.

You're a humane man, you know, and you've got the sort of heart that can feel for another.


Mr. Woodcourt, would you be so good as see to her, and if you can get that letter from her, to let me have it as soon as ever you can?"

Mr. Woodcourt, would you kindly see to her, and if you can get that letter from her, let me have it as soon as you can?"


As they went out, Mr. Bucket made me sit down in a corner by the fire and take off my wet shoes, which he turned up to dry upon the fender, talking all the time.

As they went out, Mr. Bucket made me sit down by the fire and take off my wet shoes, which he turned up to dry upon the fender, talking all the time.


"Don't you be at all put out, miss, by the want of a hospitable look from Mrs. Snagsby there, because she's under a mistake altogether.

"Don't you be put out, miss, by the lack of a hospitable look from Mrs. Snagsby there, because she's under a mistake altogether.


She'll find that out sooner than will be agreeable to a lady of her generally correct manner of forming her thoughts, because I'm a-going to explain it to her."

She'll find that out sooner than will be agreeable to a lady of her generally correct thinking, because I'm a-going to explain it to her."


Here, standing on the hearth with his wet hat and shawls in his hand, himself a pile of wet, he turned to Mrs. Snagsby.

Here, standing on the hearth with his wet hat and shawls in his hand, he turned to Mrs. Snagsby.


"Now, the first thing that I say to you, as a married woman possessing what you may call charms, you know--'Believe Me, if All Those Endearing,' and cetrer--you're well acquainted with the song, because it's in vain for you to tell me that you and good society are strangers--charms--attractions, mind you, that ought to give you confidence in yourself--is, that you've done it."

"Now, the first thing that I say to you, as a married woman possessing what you may call charms, you know - 'Believe Me, if All Those Endearing,' and cetra - charms that ought to give you confidence in yourself - is, that you've done it."


Mrs. Snagsby looked rather alarmed, relented a little and faltered, what did Mr. Bucket mean.

Mrs. Snagsby looked rather alarmed, and faltered, what did Mr. Bucket mean?


he repeated, and I saw by his face that all the time he talked he was listening for the discovery of the letter, to my own great agitation, for I knew then how important it must be; "I'll tell you what he means, ma'am.

he repeated, and I saw by his face that all the time he talked he was listening for the discovery of the letter. "I'll tell you what he means, ma'am.


"Because you'll come to that if you don't look out.


Why, at the very moment while I speak, I know what your mind's not wholly free from respecting this young lady.

Why, at this very moment, I know what your mind's not wholly free from respecting this young lady.


But shall I tell you who this young lady is?


Now, come, you're what I call an intellectual woman--with your soul too large for your body, if you come to that, and chafing it--and you know me, and you recollect where you saw me last, and what was talked of in that circle.

Now, come, you're what I call an intellectual woman. You know me, and you recollect where you saw me last, and what was talked of in that circle.


Mrs. Snagsby appeared to understand the reference better than I did at the time.

Mrs. Snagsby appeared to understand the reference better than I did.


"And Toughey--him as you call Jo--was mixed up in the same business, and no other; and the law-writer that you know of was mixed up in the same business, and no other; and your husband, with no more knowledge of it than your great grandfather, was mixed up (by Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased, his best customer) in the same business, and no other; and the whole bileing of people was mixed up in the same business, and no other.

"And the boy Jo was mixed up in the same business, and no other; and the law-writer that you know of was mixed up in the same business, and no other; and your husband, with no more knowledge of it than your great grandfather, was mixed up (by Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased) in the same business, and no other; and the whole throng of people was mixed up in the same business, and no other.


And yet a married woman, possessing your attractions, shuts her eyes (and sparklers too), and goes and runs her delicate-formed head against a wall.

And yet a married woman, possessing your attractions, shuts her eyes and goes and runs her delicate-formed head against a wall.


(I expected Mr. Woodcourt might have got it by this time.)"


Mrs. Snagsby shook her head and put her handkerchief to her eyes.


Another person mixed up in that business and no other, a person in a wretched state, comes here to-night and is seen a-speaking to your maid-servant; and between her and your maid-servant there passes a paper that I would give a hundred pound for, down.

Another person mixed up in that business and no other, a person in a wretched state, comes here tonight and is seen a-speaking to your maid-servant; and between her and your maid-servant there passes a paper that I would give a hundred pound for, down.


You hide and you watch 'em, and you pounce upon that maid-servant--knowing what she's subject to and what a little thing will bring 'em on--in that surprising manner and with that severity that, by the Lord, she goes off and keeps off, when a life may be hanging upon that girl's words!"

You hide and you watch 'em, and you pounce upon that maid-servant - knowing what a little thing will bring on her fits - with that severity that, by the Lord, she goes off and keeps off, when a life may be hanging upon that girl's words!"


He so thoroughly meant what he said now that I involuntarily clasped my hands and felt the room turning away from me.

He so thoroughly meant what he said that I involuntarily clasped my hands and felt the room turning away from me.


then Mr. Woodcourt came in, put a paper into his hand, and went away again.


"Now, Mrs. Snagsby, the only amends you can make," said Mr. Bucket, rapidly glancing at it, "is to let me speak a word to this young lady in private here.


And if you know of any help that you can give to that gentleman in the next kitchen there or can think of any one thing that's likelier than another to bring the girl round, do your swiftest and best!"

And if you know of any help that you can give to that gentleman in the next room or can think of anything that's likely to bring the girl round, do your best!"


In an instant she was gone, and he had shut the door.


"Now my dear, you're steady and quite sure of yourself?"

"Now, my dear, you're steady and quite sure of yourself?"


A pencil-writing, on a crushed and torn piece of paper, blotted with wet.

Pencil-writing, on a crushed and torn piece of paper, blotted with wet.


Folded roughly like a letter, and directed to me at my guardian's.

Folded, and addressed to me at my guardian's.


"You know the hand," he said, "and if you are firm enough to read it to me, do!

"If you are firm enough to read it to me, do!" he said.


It had been written in portions, at different times.


First, to see the dear one, if I could, once more--but only to see her--not to speak to her or let her know that I was near.

First, to see the dear one, if I could, once more - but only to see her - not to speak to her or let her know that I was near.


The other object, to elude pursuit and to be lost.


The assistance that she rendered me, she rendered on my strongest assurance that it was for the dear one's good.

She helped me on my strongest assurance that it was for the dear one's good.


The men's consent I bought, but her help was freely given.


That was written," said my companion, "when she rested there.

That was written when she rested there," said my companion.


I have wandered a long distance, and for many hours, and I know that I must soon die.


When I left, I had a worse, but I am saved from adding that guilt to the rest.


Cold, wet, and fatigue are sufficient causes for my being found dead, but I shall die of others, though I suffer from these.


It was right that all that had sustained me should give way at once and that I should die of terror and my conscience.

It was right that I should die of terror and my conscience.


Those, too, were written at another time.


I shall be soon forgotten so, and shall disgrace him least.

I shall be soon forgotten thus, and shall disgrace him least.


I have nothing about me by which I can be recognized.


The place where I shall lie down, if I can get so far, has been often in my mind.


Mr. Bucket, supporting me with his arm, lowered me gently into my chair.


Don't think me hard with you, my dear, but as soon as ever you feel equal to it, get your shoes on and be ready."

Don't think me hard with you, my dear, but as soon as you feel equal to it, get your shoes on and be ready."


I did as he required, but I was left there a long time, praying for my unhappy mother.


They were all occupied with the poor girl, and I heard Mr. Woodcourt directing them and speaking to her often.

They were all occupied with the poor girl, and I heard Mr. Woodcourt speaking to her.


At length he came in with Mr. Bucket and said that as it was important to address her gently, he thought it best that I should ask her for whatever information we desired to obtain.

At length he came in with Mr. Bucket and said that as it was important to address her gently, he thought it best that I should ask her for whatever information we desired.


There was no doubt that she could now reply to questions if she were soothed and not alarmed.

She could now reply to questions if she were soothed and not alarmed.


The questions, Mr. Bucket said, were how she came by the letter, what passed between her and the person who gave her the letter, and where the person went.


Holding my mind as steadily as I could to these points, I went into the next room with them.


Mr. Woodcourt would have remained outside, but at my solicitation went in with us.


The poor girl was sitting on the floor where they had laid her down.


They stood around her, though at a little distance, that she might have air.


She was not pretty and looked weak and poor, but she had a plaintive and a good face, though it was still a little wild.

She looked weak, but she had a plaintive and a good face, though it was still a little wild.


I kneeled on the ground beside her and put her poor head upon my shoulder, whereupon she drew her arm round my neck and burst into tears.


"My poor girl," said I, laying my face against her forehead, for indeed I was crying too, and trembling, "it seems cruel to trouble you now, but more depends on our knowing something about this letter than I could tell you in an hour."


She began piteously declaring that she didn't mean any harm, she didn't mean any harm, Mrs. Snagsby!


"Yes, dear lady, I will, and tell you true.


"I had been out on an errand, dear lady--long after it was dark--quite late; and when I came home, I found a common-looking person, all wet and muddy, looking up at our house.

"I had been out on an errand, quite late; and when I came home, I found a common-looking person, all wet and muddy, looking up at our house.


When she saw me coming in at the door, she called me back and said did I live here.

When she saw me coming in, she said did I live here.


And I said yes, and she said she knew only one or two places about here, but had lost her way and couldn't find them.


She didn't say any harm to me, and I didn't say any harm to her, indeed, Mrs. Snagsby!"


It was necessary for her mistress to comfort her--which she did, I must say, with a good deal of contrition--before she could be got beyond this.

It was necessary for her mistress to comfort her - which she did, I must say, with a good deal of contrition.


"She could not find those places," said I.


And she was so faint, and lame, and miserable, Oh so wretched, that if you had seen her, Mr. Snagsby, you'd have given her half a crown, I know!"

"She was so faint," cried the girl, "and lame, and miserable, oh so wretched, that if you had seen her, Mr. Snagsby, you'd have given her half a crown, I know!"


"Well, Guster, my girl," said he, at first not knowing what to say.

"Well, Guster, my girl," said he, not knowing what to say.


"And yet she was so well spoken," said the girl, looking at me with wide open eyes, "that it made a person's heart bleed.

"And yet she was well spoken," said the girl, looking at me with wide open eyes.


And so she said to me, did I know the way to the burying ground?

"And she said to me, did I know the way to the burying ground?


And so I told her I had been a poor child myself, and it was according to parishes.


But she said she meant a poor burying ground not very far from here, where there was an archway, and a step, and an iron gate."

And she said, the poor burying ground not very far from here, where there was an archway, and a step, and an iron gate."


As I watched her face and soothed her to go on, I saw that Mr. Bucket received this with a look which I could not separate from one of alarm.

As I soothed her to go on, I saw that Mr. Bucket received this with a look of alarm.


cried the girl, pressing her hair back with her hands.


She meant the burying ground where the man was buried that took the sleeping-stuff--that you came home and told us of, Mr. Snagsby--that frightened me so, Mrs. Snagsby.

She meant the burying ground where the man was buried that took the sleeping-stuff - that you told us of, Mr. Snagsby.


But don't be angry with me, that's a dear lady, because I have been so ill."

But don't be angry with me, that's a dear lady."


So she said, could I tell her how to find it, and I said yes, and I told her; and she looked at me with eyes like almost as if she was blind, and herself all waving back.

"So she said, could I tell her how to find it, and I said yes, and I told her; and she looked at me almost as if she was blind.


And so she took out the letter, and showed it me, and said if she was to put that in the post-office, it would be rubbed out and not minded and never sent; and would I take it from her, and send it, and the messenger would be paid at the house.

And so she took out the letter, and showed it me, and said would I take it from her, and send it.


And so I said yes, if it was no harm, and she said no--no harm.

And I said yes, if it was no harm, and she said no - no harm.


And so I took it from her, and she said she had nothing to give me, and I said I was poor myself and consequently wanted nothing.

And so I took it from her, and she said she had nothing to give me, and I said I was poor myself and wanted nothing.


And so she said God bless you, and went."


"Yes," cried the girl, anticipating the inquiry.


Then I came in, and Mrs. Snagsby came behind me from somewhere and laid hold of me, and I was frightened."


Mr. Bucket wrapped me up, and immediately we were in the street.


Mr. Woodcourt hesitated, but I said, "Don't leave me now!"


and Mr. Bucket added, "You'll be better with us, we may want you; don't lose time!"


I have the most confused impressions of that walk.


I recollect that it was neither night nor day, that morning was dawning but the street-lamps were not yet put out, that the sleet was still falling and that all the ways were deep with it.

I recollect that it was neither night nor day, that morning was dawning but the street-lamps were not yet put out, and that the sleet was still falling.


I recollect a few chilled people passing in the streets.


I recollect the wet house-tops, the clogged and bursting gutters and water-spouts, the mounds of blackened ice and snow over which we passed, the narrowness of the courts by which we went.

I recollect the clogged and bursting gutters and water-spouts, the mounds of blackened ice and snow over which we passed, the narrowness of the streets.


At the same time I remember that the poor girl seemed to be yet telling her story audibly and plainly in my hearing, that I could feel her resting on my arm, that the stained house-fronts put on human shapes and looked at me, that great water-gates seemed to be opening and closing in my head or in the air, and that the unreal things were more substantial than the real.

I remember the stained house-fronts put on human shapes and looked at me, that great water-gates seemed to be opening and closing in my head or in the air, and that the unreal things were more substantial than the real.


At last we stood under a dark and miserable covered way, where one lamp was burning over an iron gate and where the morning faintly struggled in.

At last we stood under a dark and miserable covered way, where one lamp was burning over an iron gate.


Beyond it was a burial ground--a dreadful spot in which the night was very slowly stirring, but where I could dimly see heaps of dishonoured graves and stones, hemmed in by filthy houses with a few dull lights in their windows and on whose walls a thick humidity broke out like a disease.

Beyond it was a burial ground, where I could dimly see heaps of dishonoured graves and stones, hemmed in by filthy houses with a few dull lights in their windows.


On the step at the gate, drenched in the fearful wet of such a place, which oozed and splashed down everywhere, I saw, with a cry of pity and horror, a woman lying--Jenny, the mother of the dead child.

On the step at the gate, drenched in the fearful wet of such a place, I saw, with a cry of pity and horror, a woman lying - Jenny, the mother of the dead child.


I ran forward, but they stopped me, and Mr. Woodcourt entreated me with the greatest earnestness, even with tears, before I went up to the figure to listen for an instant to what Mr. Bucket said.

I ran forward, but they stopped me, and Mr. Woodcourt entreated me with the greatest earnestness, even with tears, to listen for an instant to what Mr. Bucket said.


"Miss Summerson, you'll understand me, if you think a moment.


I could repeat the words in my mind, and I knew what they meant of themselves, but I attached no meaning to them in any other connexion.


"And one returned," said Mr. Bucket, "and one went on.


And the one that went on only went on a certain way agreed upon to deceive and then turned across country and went home.


I could repeat this in my mind too, but I had not the least idea what it meant.


I saw before me, lying on the step, the mother of the dead child.


She lay there with one arm creeping round a bar of the iron gate and seeming to embrace it.


She lay there, who had so lately spoken to my mother.


She lay there, a distressed, unsheltered, senseless creature.


She who had brought my mother's letter, who could give me the only clue to where my mother was; she, who was to guide us to rescue and save her whom we had sought so far, who had come to this condition by some means connected with my mother that I could not follow, and might be passing beyond our reach and help at that moment; she lay there, and they stopped me!

She who had brought my mother's letter, who could give me the only clue to where my mother was; she, who was to guide us to rescue my mother; she lay there, and they stopped me!


I saw but did not comprehend the solemn and compassionate look in Mr. Woodcourt's face.


I saw but did not comprehend his touching the other on the breast to keep him back.

I saw but did not comprehend his touching the inspector to keep him back.


I saw him stand uncovered in the bitter air, with a reverence for something.


But my understanding for all this was gone.


I even heard it said between them, "Shall she go?"

I heard it said between them, "Shall she go?"


Her hands should be the first to touch her.


I passed on to the gate and stooped down.


I lifted the heavy head, put the long dank hair aside, and turned the face.


When Mr. Woodcourt arrived in London, he went, that very same day, to Mr. Vholes's in Symond's Inn.

When Mr. Woodcourt arrived in London, he went the same day to Mr. Vholes's in Symond's Inn.


For he never once, from the moment when I entreated him to be a friend to Richard, neglected or forgot his promise.

For after I entreated him to be a friend to Richard, he never forgot or neglected his promise.


He had told me that he accepted the charge as a sacred trust, and he was ever true to it in that spirit.


He found Mr. Vholes in his office and informed Mr. Vholes of his agreement with Richard that he should call there to learn his address.

He found Mr. Vholes in his office and informed him that he had called there to learn Richard's address.


"Mr. C.'s address is not a hundred miles from here, sir, Mr. C.'s address is not a hundred miles from here.

"Mr. C.'s address is not a hundred miles from here.


Mr. Woodcourt thanked Mr. Vholes, but he had no business with him beyond what he had mentioned.

Mr. Woodcourt thanked Mr. Vholes, but he had no business beyond what he had mentioned.


I believe, sir," said Mr. Vholes, still quietly insisting on the seat by not giving the address, "that you have influence with Mr. C. Indeed I am aware that you have."

I am aware, sir," said Mr. Vholes, "that you have influence with Mr. C."


"I was not aware of it myself," returned Mr. Woodcourt; "but I suppose you know best."


"Sir," rejoined Mr. Vholes, self-contained as usual, voice and all, "it is a part of my professional duty to know best.

"Sir," rejoined Mr. Vholes, "it is a part of my professional duty to know best


It is a part of my professional duty to study and to understand a gentleman who confides his interests to me.


In my professional duty I shall not be wanting, sir, if I know it.

In my professional duty I shall not be wanting, sir."


I may, with the best intentions, be wanting in it without knowing it; but not if I know it, sir."


Mr. Woodcourt again mentioned the address.


Sir, Mr. C. is playing for a considerable stake, and cannot play without--need I say what?"

Mr. C. is playing for a considerable stake, and cannot play without money.


"Sir," said Mr. Vholes, "to be honest with you (honesty being my golden rule, whether I gain by it or lose, and I find that I generally lose), money is the word.


Now, sir, upon the chances of Mr. C.'s game I express to you no opinion, NO opinion.

Now, sir, upon the chances of Mr. C.'s game I express no opinion.


It might be highly impolitic in Mr. C., after playing so long and so high, to leave off; it might be the reverse; I say nothing.

It might be wise of him; it might not. I say nothing.


No, sir," said Mr. Vholes, bringing his hand flat down upon his desk in a positive manner, "nothing."

No, sir," said Mr. Vholes, bringing his hand flat down upon his desk, "nothing."


"You seem to forget," returned Mr. Woodcourt, "that I ask you to say nothing and have no interest in anything you say."


You shall not--shall not in my office, if I know it--do yourself an injustice.


You are interested in anything, and in everything, that relates to your friend.

You are interested in anything that relates to your friend."


I know human nature much better, sir, than to admit for an instant that a gentleman of your appearance is not interested in whatever concerns his friend."


"Well," replied Mr. Woodcourt, "that may be.


I am particularly interested in his address."


"The number, sir," said Mr. Vholes parenthetically, "I believe I have already mentioned.

"The number, sir," said Mr. Vholes, "I believe I have already mentioned.


If Mr. C. is to continue to play for this considerable stake, sir, he must have funds.


I ask for nothing; there are funds in hand.


But for the onward play, more funds must be provided, unless Mr. C. is to throw away what he has already ventured, which is wholly and solely a point for his consideration.

But for the onward play, more funds must be provided.


This, sir, I take the opportunity of stating openly to you as the friend of Mr. C. Without funds I shall always be happy to appear and act for Mr. C. to the extent of all such costs as are safe to be allowed out of the estate, not beyond that.

Without funds I shall always be happy to act for Mr. C. to the extent of all such costs as are safe to be allowed out of the estate.


I could not go beyond that, sir, without wronging some one.


I must either wrong my three dear girls or my venerable father, who is entirely dependent on me, in the Vale of Taunton; or some one.

my three dear girls or my venerable father, who is entirely dependent on me, in the Vale of Taunton.


Whereas, sir, my resolution is (call it weakness or folly if you please) to wrong no one."

Whereas, sir, my resolution is to wrong no one."


Mr. Woodcourt rather sternly rejoined that he was glad to hear it.


"I wish, sir," said Mr. Vholes, "to leave a good name behind me.


Therefore I take every opportunity of openly stating to a friend of Mr. C. how Mr. C. is situated.

Therefore I openly state how Mr. C. is situated."


As to myself, sir, the labourer is worthy of his hire.


If I undertake to put my shoulder to the wheel, I do it, and I earn what I get.


My name is painted on the door outside, with that object."


"And Mr. Carstone's address, Mr. Vholes?"


"Sir," returned Mr. Vholes, "as I believe I have already mentioned, it is next door.

"Sir," returned Mr. Vholes, "it is next door,


On the second story you will find Mr. C.'s apartments.


Mr. C. desires to be near his professional adviser, and I am far from objecting, for I court inquiry."

Mr. C. desires to be near his professional adviser."


Upon this Mr. Woodcourt wished Mr. Vholes good day and went in search of Richard, the change in whose appearance he began to understand now but too well.

Mr. Woodcourt wished Mr. Vholes good day and went in search of Richard, the change in whose appearance he began to understand now all too well.


He found him in a dull room, fadedly furnished, much as I had found him in his barrack-room but a little while before, except that he was not writing but was sitting with a book before him, from which his eyes and thoughts were far astray.

He found him in a dull, faded room, sitting with a book before him, from which his eyes and thoughts were far astray.


As the door chanced to be standing open, Mr. Woodcourt was in his presence for some moments without being perceived, and he told me that he never could forget the haggardness of his face and the dejection of his manner before he was aroused from his dream.

As the door chanced to be open, Mr. Woodcourt was in his presence for some moments without being perceived, and he told me that he never could forget the haggardness of his face and the dejection of his manner before he was aroused.


"Woodcourt, my dear fellow," cried Richard, starting up with extended hands, "you come upon my vision like a ghost."


"A friendly one," he replied, "and only waiting, as they say ghosts do, to be addressed.


"Badly enough, and slowly enough," said Richard, "speaking at least for my part of it."

"Badly enough, and slowly enough," said Richard, "at least


"I never heard," returned Mr. Woodcourt, shaking his head, "of its going well yet."


He brightened again in a moment and said with his natural openness, "Woodcourt, I should be sorry to be misunderstood by you, even if I gained by it in your estimation.


You must know that I have done no good this long time.

you must know that I have done no good this long time.


I have not intended to do much harm, but I seem to have been capable of nothing else.


It may be that I should have done better by keeping out of the net into which my destiny has worked me, but I think not, though I dare say you will soon hear, if you have not already heard, a very different opinion.

Maybe I should have kept out of the net, but I think not, though I dare say you will hear a very different opinion.


To make short of a long story, I am afraid I have wanted an object; but I have an object now--or it has me--and it is too late to discuss it.

I am afraid I have wanted an object; but I have an object now - or it has me - and it is too late to discuss it.


Take me as I am, and make the best of me."


You," returned Richard, "you can pursue your art for its own sake, and can put your hand upon the plough and never turn, and can strike a purpose out of anything.

You," returned Richard, "you can strike a purpose out of anything."


You and I are very different creatures."


He spoke regretfully and lapsed for a moment into his weary condition.


So you will take me as I am, and make the best of me?"


They shook hands upon it laughingly, but in deep earnestness.

They shook hands laughingly, but in deep earnestness.


I can answer for one of them with my heart of hearts.


"You come as a godsend," said Richard, "for I have seen nobody here yet but Vholes.


Woodcourt, there is one subject I should like to mention, for once and for all, in the beginning of our treaty.

Woodcourt, there is one subject I should like to mention.


You can hardly make the best of me if I don't.


You know, I dare say, that I have an attachment to my cousin Ada?"


Mr. Woodcourt replied that I had hinted as much to him.

Mr. Woodcourt replied that I had hinted as much.


"Now pray," returned Richard, "don't think me a heap of selfishness.


Don't suppose that I am splitting my head and half breaking my heart over this miserable Chancery suit for my own rights and interests alone.

don't suppose that I am splitting my head and half breaking my heart over this miserable Chancery suit for my own interests alone.


Ada's are bound up with mine; they can't be separated; Vholes works for both of us.


He was so very solicitous on this head that Mr. Woodcourt gave him the strongest assurances that he did him no injustice.


"You see," said Richard, with something pathetic in his manner of lingering on the point, though it was off-hand and unstudied, "to an upright fellow like you, bringing a friendly face like yours here, I cannot bear the thought of appearing selfish and mean.

"You see," said Richard, "to an upright fellow like you, I cannot bear the thought of appearing selfish and mean.


I want to see Ada righted, Woodcourt, as well as myself; I want to do my utmost to right her, as well as myself; I venture what I can scrape together to extricate her, as well as myself.

I want to see Ada righted, as well as myself!"


Afterwards, when Mr. Woodcourt came to reflect on what had passed, he was so very much impressed by the strength of Richard's anxiety on this point that in telling me generally of his first visit to Symond's Inn he particularly dwelt upon it.

Afterwards, when Mr. Woodcourt told me of this first visit to Symond's Inn, he particularly dwelt upon Richard's anxiety on this point.


It revived a fear I had had before that my dear girl's little property would be absorbed by Mr. Vholes and that Richard's justification to himself would be sincerely this.

It revived my fear that my dear girl's little property would be absorbed by Mr. Vholes.


It was just as I began to take care of Caddy that the interview took place, and I now return to the time when Caddy had recovered and the shade was still between me and my darling.

It was just as I began to take care of Caddy that the meeting took place; and I now return to the time when Caddy had recovered and the shade was still between me and my darling.


I proposed to Ada that morning that we should go and see Richard.


It a little surprised me to find that she hesitated and was not so radiantly willing as I had expected.

It surprised me to find that she hesitated.


"My dear," said I, "you have not had any difference with Richard since I have been so much away?"

"My dear," said I, "you have not had any quarrel with Richard since I have been so much away?"


Such tears in her eyes, and such love in her face.


No, Ada thought I had better not go by myself.


Yes, Ada thought she had better go with me.

No, Ada thought she had better go with me.


Well, I could not understand my darling, with the tears in her eyes and the love in her face!

Well, I could not understand my darling!


It was a sombre day, and drops of chill rain fell at intervals.


It was one of those colourless days when everything looks heavy and harsh.

: one of those colourless days when everything looks heavy and harsh.


The houses frowned at us, the dust rose at us, the smoke swooped at us, nothing made any compromise about itself or wore a softened aspect.


I fancied my beautiful girl quite out of place in the rugged streets, and I thought there were more funerals passing along the dismal pavements than I had ever seen before.


We were going to inquire in a shop when Ada said she thought it was near Chancery Lane.


"We are not likely to be far out, my love, if we go in that direction," said I.


So to Chancery Lane we went, and there, sure enough, we saw it written up.


"Or Mr. Vholes's office will do," I recollected, "for Mr. Vholes's office is next door."

"Mr. Vholes's office is next door," I recollected.


Upon which Ada said, perhaps that was Mr. Vholes's office in the corner there.

Upon which Ada said, perhaps that was Mr. Vholes's office in the corner.


Then came the question, which of the two next doors?


I was going for the one, and my darling was going for the other; and my darling was right again.


So up we went to the second story, when we came to Richard's name in great white letters on a hearse-like panel.

So up we went to the second storey, when we came to Richard's name in great white letters on a hearse-like panel.


I should have knocked, but Ada said perhaps we had better turn the handle and go in.


Thus we came to Richard, poring over a table covered with dusty bundles of papers which seemed to me like dusty mirrors reflecting his own mind.

Thus we found Richard, poring over a table covered with dusty bundles of papers.


Wherever I looked I saw the ominous words that ran in it repeated.

Wherever I looked I saw the ominous words repeated


He received us very affectionately, and we sat down.


"If you had come a little earlier," he said, "you would have found Woodcourt here.


There never was such a good fellow as Woodcourt is.


He finds time to look in between-whiles, when anybody else with half his work to do would be thinking about not being able to come.


And he is so cheery, so fresh, so sensible, so earnest, so--everything that I am not, that the place brightens whenever he comes, and darkens whenever he goes again."

And he is so cheery, so fresh, so sensible, so - everything that I am not, that the place brightens whenever he comes, and darkens whenever he goes again."


"God bless him," I thought, "for his truth to me!"


"He is not so sanguine, Ada," continued Richard, casting his dejected look over the bundles of papers, "as Vholes and I are usually, but he is only an outsider and is not in the mysteries.


He can't be expected to know much of such a labyrinth."


As his look wandered over the papers again and he passed his two hands over his head, I noticed how sunken and how large his eyes appeared, how dry his lips were, and how his finger-nails were all bitten away.

As his look wandered over the papers again, I noticed how sunken and large his eyes appeared, how dry his lips were, and how his finger-nails were all bitten away.


"Is this a healthy place to live in, Richard, do you think?"

"Is this a healthy place to live, Richard, do you think?"


"Why, my dear Minerva," answered Richard with his old gay laugh, "it is neither a rural nor a cheerful place; and when the sun shines here, you may lay a pretty heavy wager that it is shining brightly in an open spot.

"Why," answered Richard with his old gay laugh, "it is neither rural nor cheerful;


"Perhaps," I hinted, "a change from both--"

"Perhaps," I hinted, "a change from both-"


said Richard, forcing a laugh as he finished the sentence.


But it can only come in one way now--in one of two ways, I should rather say.

But it can only go one way now - one of two ways, I should say.


Either the suit must be ended, Esther, or the suitor.


But it shall be the suit, my dear girl, the suit, my dear girl!"

But it shall be the suit, my dear girl, the suit!"


These latter words were addressed to Ada, who was sitting nearest to him.


Her face being turned away from me and towards him, I could not see it.

, with her face turned away from me. She remained silent.


"We are doing very well," pursued Richard.


Vholes knows all their windings and turnings, and we are upon them everywhere.


We shall rouse up that nest of sleepers, mark my words!"


His hopefulness had long been more painful to me than his despondency; it was so unlike hopefulness, had something so fierce in its determination to be it, was so hungry and eager, and yet so conscious of being forced and unsustainable that it had long touched me to the heart.

His hopefulness had long been more painful to me than his despondency; it was so unlike hopefulness, had something so fierce in its determination to be it, was so hungry and eager, and yet so conscious of being forced.


But the commentary upon it now indelibly written in his handsome face made it far more distressing than it used to be.

But it was far more distressing now than it used to be.


I say indelibly, for I felt persuaded that if the fatal cause could have been for ever terminated, according to his brightest visions, in that same hour, the traces of the premature anxiety, self-reproach, and disappointment it had occasioned him would have remained upon his features to the hour of his death.

Even if the fatal cause could have been ended in that hour, I felt that the traces of the anxiety, self-reproach, and disappointment it had caused him would have remained upon his features to the hour of his death.


"The sight of our dear little woman," said Richard, Ada still remaining silent and quiet, "is so natural to me, and her compassionate face is so like the face of old days--"

"The compassionate face of our dear little woman," said Richard, "is so like the face of old days-"


"--So exactly like the face of old days," said Richard in his cordial voice, and taking my hand with the brotherly regard which nothing ever changed, "that I can't make pretences with her.

"-So exactly like the face of old days," said Richard cordially, "that I can't pretend with her.


Sometimes I hope, my dear, and sometimes I--don't quite despair, but nearly.

Sometimes I hope, my dear, and sometimes I - don't quite despair, but nearly.


I get," said Richard, relinquishing my hand gently and walking across the room, "so tired!"


He took a few turns up and down and sunk upon the sofa.

Walking across the room, he sunk upon the sofa.


"I get," he repeated gloomily, "so tired.


He was leaning on his arm saying these words in a meditative voice and looking at the ground when my darling rose, put off her bonnet, kneeled down beside him with her golden hair falling like sunlight on his head, clasped her two arms round his neck, and turned her face to me.

My darling rose, put off her bonnet, kneeled down beside him with her golden hair falling like sunlight on his head, clasped her two arms round his neck, and turned her face to me.


Oh, what a loving and devoted face I saw!


"Esther, dear," she said very quietly, "I am not going home again."


I am going to stay with my dear husband.


Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall never go home any more!"


With those words my darling drew his head down on her breast and held it there.


And if ever in my life I saw a love that nothing but death could change, I saw it then before me.


"Speak to Esther, my dearest," said Richard, breaking the silence presently.


I met her before she could come to me and folded her in my arms.


We neither of us spoke, but with her cheek against my own I wanted to hear nothing.


I was very fond of Richard, but the impulse that I had upon me was to pity her so much.

I was very fond of Richard, but still I pitied her so much.


"My dear," said I, "to doubt it for a moment is to do him a great wrong.

"My dear," said I, "do not doubt it for a moment."


I dried my sobbing darling's eyes and sat beside her on the sofa, and Richard sat on my other side; and while I was reminded of that so different night when they had first taken me into their confidence and had gone on in their own wild happy way, they told me between them how it was.

I dried my sobbing darling's eyes and sat beside her on the sofa, and Richard sat on my other side; and they told me between them how it was.


"All I had was Richard's," Ada said; "and Richard would not take it, Esther, and what could I do but be his wife when I loved him dearly!"


"And you were so fully and so kindly occupied, excellent Dame Durden," said Richard, "that how could we speak to you at such a time!

"And you were so fully occupied, excellent Dame Durden," said Richard, "that how could we speak to you at such a time!


And besides, it was not a long-considered step.


We went out one morning and were married."

So we went out one morning and were married."


"And when it was done, Esther," said my darling, "I was always thinking how to tell you and what to do for the best.

"And when it was done, Esther," said my darling, "I was always thinking how to tell you.


And sometimes I thought you ought to know it directly, and sometimes I thought you ought not to know it and keep it from my cousin John; and I could not tell what to do, and I fretted very much."

I did not know what to do, and I fretted very much."


How selfish I must have been not to have thought of this before!


I was so sorry, and yet I was so fond of them and so glad that they were fond of me; I pitied them so much, and yet I felt a kind of pride in their loving one another.


I never had experienced such painful and pleasurable emotion at one time, and in my own heart I did not know which predominated.

never had experienced such painful and pleasurable emotion at once.


But I was not there to darken their way; I did not do that.


When I was less foolish and more composed, my darling took her wedding-ring from her bosom, and kissed it, and put it on.

My darling took her wedding-ring from her bosom, and kissed it, and put it on.


Then I remembered last night and told Richard that ever since her marriage she had worn it at night when there was no one to see.

Then I remembered last night, and told Richard that since her marriage she had worn it at night when there was no one to see


Then Ada blushingly asked me how did I know that, my dear.


Then I told Ada how I had seen her hand concealed under her pillow and had little thought why, my dear.

- for I had seen her hand concealed under her pillow and had little thought why.


Then they began telling me how it was all over again, and I began to be sorry and glad again, and foolish again, and to hide my plain old face as much as I could lest I should put them out of heart.


Thus the time went on until it became necessary for me to think of returning.


When that time arrived it was the worst of all, for then my darling completely broke down.

return it was the worst of all, for then my darling completely broke down.


She clung round my neck, calling me by every dear name she could think of and saying what should she do without me!

She clung round my neck, saying what should she do without me!


Nor was Richard much better; and as for me, I should have been the worst of the three if I had not severely said to myself, "Now Esther, if you do, I'll never speak to you again!"


"Why, I declare," said I, "I never saw such a wife.


I don't think she loves her husband at all.


Here, Richard, take my child, for goodness' sake."


But I held her tight all the while, and could have wept over her I don't know how long.

But I held her tight, and could have wept over her I don't know how long.


"I give this dear young couple notice," said I, "that I am only going away to come back to-morrow and that I shall be always coming backwards and forwards until Symond's Inn is tired of the sight of me.

"I am only going away to come back tomorrow," said I, "and I shall be always coming backwards and forwards until Symond's Inn is tired of the sight of me.


For what would be the use of that, you know, when I am coming back so soon!"


I had given my darling to him now, and I meant to go; but I lingered for one more look of the precious face which it seemed to rive my heart to turn from.


So I said (in a merry, bustling manner) that unless they gave me some encouragement to come back, I was not sure that I could take that liberty, upon which my dear girl looked up, faintly smiling through her tears, and I folded her lovely face between my hands, and gave it one last kiss, and laughed, and ran away.

So I said (in a merry, bustling manner) that unless they gave me some encouragement to come back, I was not sure that I would, upon which my dear girl looked up, faintly smiling through her tears, and I folded her lovely face between my hands, and gave it one last kiss, and laughed, and ran away.


And when I got downstairs, oh, how I cried!


It almost seemed to me that I had lost my Ada for ever.

It almost seemed that I had lost my Ada for ever.


I was so lonely and so blank without her, and it was so desolate to be going home with no hope of seeing her there, that I could get no comfort for a little while as I walked up and down in a dim corner sobbing and crying.

I was so lonely and so blank without her, and it was so desolate to be going home without her there that for a little while I walked up and down in a dim corner sobbing and crying.


I came to myself by and by, after a little scolding, and took a coach home.


The poor boy whom I had found at St. Albans had reappeared a short time before and was lying at the point of death; indeed, was then dead, though I did not know it.


My guardian had gone out to inquire about him and did not return to dinner.

my guardian had gone out to inquire about him and did not return to dinner.


Being quite alone, I cried a little again, though on the whole I don't think I behaved so very, very ill.

Being quite alone, I cried a little again.


It was only natural that I should not be quite accustomed to the loss of my darling yet.


Three or four hours were not a long time after years.


But my mind dwelt so much upon the uncongenial scene in which I had left her, and I pictured it as such an overshadowed stony-hearted one, and I so longed to be near her and taking some sort of care of her, that I determined to go back in the evening only to look up at her windows.

But my mind dwelt so much upon the uncongenial scene in which I had left her, and I so longed to be near her and taking some sort of care of her, that I determined to go back in the evening only to look up at her windows.


It was foolish, I dare say, but it did not then seem at all so to me, and it does not seem quite so even now.

It was foolish, I dare say, but it did not seem so to me then.


I took Charley into my confidence, and we went out at dusk.


It was dark when we came to the new strange home of my dear girl, and there was a light behind the yellow blinds.

It was dark when we came to the new home of my dear girl, and there was a light behind the yellow blinds.


We walked past cautiously three or four times, looking up, and narrowly missed encountering Mr. Vholes, who came out of his office while we were there and turned his head to look up too before going home.

We walked past cautiously three or four times, looking up, and narrowly missed meeting Mr. Vholes, whose lank black figure came out of his office while we were there


The sight of his lank black figure and the lonesome air of that nook in the dark were favourable to the state of my mind.


I thought of the youth and love and beauty of my dear girl, shut up in such an ill-assorted refuge, almost as if it were a cruel place.

I thought of the youth and love and beauty of my dear girl, shut up in such an ill-assorted refuge.


It was very solitary and very dull, and I did not doubt that I might safely steal upstairs.

It was very solitary, and I did not doubt that I might safely steal upstairs.


I left Charley below and went up with a light foot, not distressed by any glare from the feeble oil lanterns on the way.

I left Charley below and went up with a light foot.


I listened for a few moments, and in the musty rotting silence of the house believed that I could hear the murmur of their young voices.


I put my lips to the hearse-like panel of the door as a kiss for my dear and came quietly down again, thinking that one of these days I would confess to the visit.


And it really did me good, for though nobody but Charley and I knew anything about it, I somehow felt as if it had diminished the separation between Ada and me and had brought us together again for those moments.

And it really did me good, for though nobody but Charley and I knew anything about it, I somehow felt as if it had diminished the separation between Ada and me.


I went back, not quite accustomed yet to the change, but all the better for that hovering about my darling.

I went back all the better for that hovering about my darling.


My guardian had come home and was standing thoughtfully by the dark window.


When I went in, his face cleared and he came to his seat, but he caught the light upon my face as I took mine.

When I went in, he caught the light upon my face.


"Little woman," said he, "You have been crying."

"Little woman," said he, "you have been crying."


"Why, yes, guardian," said I, "I am afraid I have been, a little.


Ada has been in such distress, and is so very sorry, guardian."


I put my arm on the back of his chair, and I saw in his glance that my words and my look at her empty place had prepared him.


I told him all about it and how her first entreaties had referred to his forgiveness.


But just as my first impulse had been to pity her, so was his.


Neither of us spoke after that, until he said with a sigh, "Well, well, my dear!


Though I was timid about saying it, I ventured because of the sorrowful tone in which he had spoken.

Though I was timid about saying it, I ventured because of his sorrowful tone.


"She will do all she can to make it happy," said I.


The letter had made no difference between us except that the seat by his side had come to be mine; it made none now.


He turned his old bright fatherly look upon me, laid his hand on my hand in his old way, and said again, "She will succeed, my dear.


Nevertheless, Bleak House is thinning fast, O little woman!"


I was sorry presently that this was all we said about that.

I was sorry presently that this was all we said.


I feared I might not quite have been all I had meant to be since the letter and the answer.


There is a hush upon Chesney Wold in these altered days, as there is upon a portion of the family history.

There is a hush upon Chesney Wold in these altered days.


The story goes that Sir Leicester paid some who could have spoken out to hold their peace; but it is a lame story, feebly whispering and creeping about, and any brighter spark of life it shows soon dies away.


It is known for certain that the handsome Lady Dedlock lies in the mausoleum in the park, where the trees arch darkly overhead, and the owl is heard at night making the woods ring; but whence she was brought home to be laid among the echoes of that solitary place, or how she died, is all mystery.

The handsome Lady Dedlock lies in the mausoleum in the park, where the trees arch darkly overhead, and the owl at night makes the woods ring; but where and how she died, is all mystery.


Some of her old friends, principally to be found among the peachy-cheeked charmers with the skeleton throats, did once occasionally say, as they toyed in a ghastly manner with large fans--like charmers reduced to flirting with grim death, after losing all their other beaux--did once occasionally say, when the world assembled together, that they wondered the ashes of the Dedlocks, entombed in the mausoleum, never rose against the profanation of her company.

Some of her old friends did occasionally say that they wondered that the ashes of the Dedlocks, entombed in the mausoleum, never rose against the profanation of her company.


But the dead-and-gone Dedlocks take it very calmly and have never been known to object.

But the dead-and-gone Dedlocks take it very calmly.


Up from among the fern in the hollow, and winding by the bridle-road among the trees, comes sometimes to this lonely spot the sound of horses' hoofs.

Winding by the bridle-road among the trees, comes sometimes to this lonely spot the sound of horses' hoofs.


Then may be seen Sir Leicester--invalided, bent, and almost blind, but of worthy presence yet--riding with a stalwart man beside him, constant to his bridle-rein.

Then may be seen Sir Leicester - bent, and almost blind, but of worthy presence yet - riding with a stalwart man beside him.


When they come to a certain spot before the mausoleum-door, Sir Leicester's accustomed horse stops of his own accord, and Sir Leicester, pulling off his hat, is still for a few moments before they ride away.

When they come to a certain spot before the mausoleum, Sir Leicester's horse stops of his own accord, and Sir Leicester, pulling off his hat, is still for a few moments before they ride away.


War rages yet with the audacious Boythorn, though at uncertain intervals, and now hotly, and now coolly, flickering like an unsteady fire.

War rages yet with the audacious Boythorn, though uncertainly, flickering like an unsteady fire.


The truth is said to be that when Sir Leicester came down to Lincolnshire for good, Mr. Boythorn showed a manifest desire to abandon his right of way and do whatever Sir Leicester would, which Sir Leicester, conceiving to be a condescension to his illness or misfortune, took in such high dudgeon, and was so magnificently aggrieved by, that Mr. Boythorn found himself under the necessity of committing a flagrant trespass to restore his neighbour to himself.

When Sir Leicester came down to Lincolnshire for good, Mr. Boythorn showed a desire to abandon his right of way and do whatever Sir Leicester wished. Sir Leicester was so magnificently aggrieved by this, that Mr. Boythorn found himself needing to commit a flagrant trespass to restore his neighbour to himself.


Similarly, Mr. Boythorn continues to post tremendous placards on the disputed thoroughfare and (with his bird upon his head) to hold forth vehemently against Sir Leicester in the sanctuary of his own home; similarly, also, he defies him as of old in the little church by testifying a bland unconsciousness of his existence.

So Mr. Boythorn continues to post tremendous placards on the disputed thoroughfare and to hold forth vehemently against Sir Leicester in his own home; he also defies him as of old in church by seeming blandly unconscious of his existence.


But it is whispered that when he is most ferocious towards his old foe, he is really most considerate, and that Sir Leicester, in the dignity of being implacable, little supposes how much he is humoured.

But when he is most ferocious towards his old foe, he is really most considerate, and Sir Leicester little supposes how much he is humoured.


As little does he think how near together he and his antagonist have suffered in the fortunes of two sisters, and his antagonist, who knows it now, is not the man to tell him.

Little, too, does he think how near together he and his antagonist have suffered in the fortunes of two sisters, and his antagonist is not the man to tell him.


So the quarrel goes on to the satisfaction of both.


In one of the lodges of the park--that lodge within sight of the house where, once upon a time, when the waters were out down in Lincolnshire, my Lady used to see the keeper's child--the stalwart man, the trooper formerly, is housed.

In one of the park lodges, within sight of the house, the stalwart man, the trooper formerly, is housed.


Some relics of his old calling hang upon the walls, and these it is the chosen recreation of a little lame man about the stable-yard to keep gleaming bright.

Some relics of his old calling hang upon the walls, and a little lame man about the stable-yard keeps these gleaming bright.


A busy little man he always is, in the polishing at harness-house doors, of stirrup-irons, bits, curb-chains, harness bosses, anything in the way of a stable-yard that will take a polish, leading a life of friction.

A busy little man he is, polishing anything that will take a polish


A shaggy little damaged man, withal, not unlike an old dog of some mongrel breed, who has been considerably knocked about.


A goodly sight it is to see the grand old housekeeper (harder of hearing now) going to church on the arm of her son and to observe--which few do, for the house is scant of company in these times--the relations of both towards Sir Leicester, and his towards them.

Good it is to see the grand old housekeeper going to church on her son's arm and to observe their manner towards Sir Leicester, and his towards them.


They have visitors in the high summer weather, when a grey cloak and umbrella, unknown to Chesney Wold at other periods, are seen among the leaves; when two young ladies are occasionally found gambolling in sequestered saw-pits and such nooks of the park; and when the smoke of two pipes wreathes away into the fragrant evening air from the trooper's door.

They have visitors in the high summer weather, when a grey cloak and umbrella are seen among the leaves; when two young ladies are occasionally found gambolling in the park; and when the smoke of two pipes wreathes away into the fragrant evening air from the trooper's door.


Then is a fife heard trolling within the lodge on the inspiring topic of the "British Grenadiers"; and as the evening closes in, a gruff inflexible voice is heard to say, while two men pace together up and down, "But I never own to it before the old girl.

Then is a fife heard within the lodge on the inspiring topic of the "British Grenadiers"; and a gruff voice is heard to say, while two men pace together up and down, "But I never own to it before the old girl.


The greater part of the house is shut up, and it is a show-house no longer; yet Sir Leicester holds his shrunken state in the long drawing-room for all that, and reposes in his old place before my Lady's picture.

The greater part of the house is shut up; yet Sir Leicester holds state in the long drawing-room, and reposes in his old place before my Lady's picture.


Closed in by night with broad screens, and illumined only in that part, the light of the drawing-room seems gradually contracting and dwindling until it shall be no more.

The light of the drawing-room seems gradually contracting and dwindling until it shall be no more.


A little more, in truth, and it will be all extinguished for Sir Leicester; and the damp door in the mausoleum which shuts so tight, and looks so obdurate, will have opened and received him.

Soon, in truth, it will be all extinguished for Sir Leicester; and the damp door in the mausoleum will have opened and received him.


Volumnia, growing with the flight of time pinker as to the red in her face, and yellower as to the white, reads to Sir Leicester in the long evenings and is driven to various artifices to conceal her yawns, of which the chief and most efficacious is the insertion of the pearl necklace between her rosy lips.

Volumnia reads to Sir Leicester in the long evenings and is driven to various artifices to conceal her yawns, of which the chief is the insertion of her pearl necklace between her rosy lips.


Long-winded treatises on the Buffy and Boodle question, showing how Buffy is immaculate and Boodle villainous, and how the country is lost by being all Boodle and no Buffy, or saved by being all Buffy and no Boodle (it must be one of the two, and cannot be anything else), are the staple of her reading.

Long-winded treatises on politics are the staple of her reading.


Sir Leicester is not particular what it is and does not appear to follow it very closely, further than that he always comes broad awake the moment Volumnia ventures to leave off, and sonorously repeating her last words, begs with some displeasure to know if she finds herself fatigued.

Sir Leicester does not appear to follow it very closely, although he always comes wide awake the moment Volumnia ventures to leave off, and begs with some displeasure to know if she finds herself fatigued.


However, Volumnia, in the course of her bird-like hopping about and pecking at papers, has alighted on a memorandum concerning herself in the event of "anything happening" to her kinsman, which is handsome compensation for an extensive course of reading and holds even the dragon Boredom at bay.

However, Volumnia, in the course of her bird-like hopping about and pecking at papers, has found a memorandum concerning herself in the event of "anything happening" to her kinsman, which is handsome compensation.


The cousins generally are rather shy of Chesney Wold in its dullness, but take to it a little in the shooting season, when guns are heard in the plantations, and a few scattered beaters and keepers wait at the old places of appointment for low-spirited twos and threes of cousins.


The debilitated cousin, more debilitated by the dreariness of the place, gets into a fearful state of depression, groaning under penitential sofa-pillows in his gunless hours and protesting that such fernal old jail's--nough t'sew fler up--frever.


The only great occasions for Volumnia in this changed aspect of the place in Lincolnshire are those occasions, rare and widely separated, when something is to be done for the county or the country in the way of gracing a public ball.

The only great occasions for Volumnia in this changed aspect of the place are the rare occasions of a public ball.


Then, indeed, does the tuckered sylph come out in fairy form and proceed with joy under cousinly escort to the exhausted old assembly-room, fourteen heavy miles off, which, during three hundred and sixty-four days and nights of every ordinary year, is a kind of antipodean lumber-room full of old chairs and tables upside down.

Then, indeed, she comes out in fairy form and proceeds with joy under cousinly escort to the exhausted old assembly-room, fourteen heavy miles off.


Then, indeed, does she captivate all hearts by her condescension, by her girlish vivacity, and by her skipping about as in the days when the hideous old general with the mouth too full of teeth had not cut one of them at two guineas each.

Then, indeed, she captivates all hearts by her girlish vivacity, and by her skipping about


Then does she twirl and twine, a pastoral nymph of good family, through the mazes of the dance.


Then do the swains appear with tea, with lemonade, with sandwiches, with homage.


Then is she kind and cruel, stately and unassuming, various, beautifully wilful.


Then is there a singular kind of parallel between her and the little glass chandeliers of another age embellishing that assembly-room, which, with their meagre stems, their spare little drops, their disappointing knobs where no drops are, their bare little stalks from which knobs and drops have both departed, and their little feeble prismatic twinkling, all seem Volumnias.


For the rest, Lincolnshire life to Volumnia is a vast blank of overgrown house looking out upon trees, sighing, wringing their hands, bowing their heads, and casting their tears upon the window-panes in monotonous depressions.

For the rest, Lincolnshire life to Volumnia is a vast blank of overgrown house looking out upon trees, sighing and wringing their hands in monotonous depressions.


A labyrinth of grandeur, less the property of an old family of human beings and their ghostly likenesses than of an old family of echoings and thunderings which start out of their hundred graves at every sound and go resounding through the building.


A waste of unused passages and staircases in which to drop a comb upon a bedroom floor at night is to send a stealthy footfall on an errand through the house.

; a waste of unused passages and staircases in which to drop a comb upon a bedroom floor at night is to send a stealthy footfall on an errand through the house.


A place where few people care to go about alone, where a maid screams if an ash drops from the fire, takes to crying at all times and seasons, becomes the victim of a low disorder of the spirits, and gives warning and departs.

A place where few people care to go about alone, where a maid screams if an ash drops from the fire, takes to crying at all times, becomes the victim of a low disorder of the spirits, and gives notice and departs.


With so much of itself abandoned to darkness and vacancy; with so little change under the summer shining or the wintry lowering; so sombre and motionless always--no flag flying now by day, no rows of lights sparkling by night; with no family to come and go, no visitors to be the souls of pale cold shapes of rooms, no stir of life about it--passion and pride, even to the stranger's eye, have died away from the place in Lincolnshire and yielded it to dull repose.

With so much of itself abandoned to darkness and vacancy; with so little change, so sombre and motionless always - no flag flying by day, no rows of lights sparkling by night; with no family to come and go, no visitors, no stir of life about it - passion and pride have died away from the place in Lincolnshire and yielded it to dull repose.


The long vacation saunters on towards term-time like an idle river very leisurely strolling down a flat country to the sea.

The long vacation saunters on like an idle river leisurely strolling down a flat country to the sea.


Mr. Guppy saunters along with it congenially.


He has blunted the blade of his penknife and broken the point off by sticking that instrument into his desk in every direction.

He has blunted the blade of his penknife by sticking it into his desk in every direction.


Not that he bears the desk any ill will, but he must do something, and it must be something of an unexciting nature, which will lay neither his physical nor his intellectual energies under too heavy contribution.


He finds that nothing agrees with him so well as to make little gyrations on one leg of his stool, and stab his desk, and gape.