 Chapter 60 of Dambi and Son. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dambi and Son by Charles Dickens. Recording by Cynthia Lyons. Chapter 60. Chiefly Matrimonial. The grand half-yearly festival holden by Dr. and Mrs. Blimber, on which occasion they requested the pleasure of the company of every young gentleman pursuing his studies in that genteel establishment, at an early party when the hour was half past seven o'clock and when the object was quadrills, had duly taken place about this time, and the young gentleman, with no unbecoming demonstrations of levity, had betaken themselves in a state of scholastic repletion to their own homes. Mr. Skettles had repaired abroad permanently to grace the establishment of his father, Sir Barnett Skettles, whose popular manners had obtained him a diplomatic appointment, the honors of which were discharged by himself and Lady Skettles to the satisfaction even of their own countrymen and countrywomen, which was considered almost miraculous. Mr. Tozer, now a young man of lofty stature in Wellington Boots, was so extremely full of antiquity as to be nearly on a par with the genuine ancient Roman in his knowledge of English, a triumph that affected his good parents with the tenderest emotions and caused the father and mother of Mr. Briggs, whose learning, like ill-arranged luggage, was so tightly packed that he couldn't get at anything he wanted to hide their diminished heads. The fruit laboriously gathered from the Tree of Knowledge by this latter young gentleman, in fact, had been subjected to so much pressure that it had become a kind of intellectual Norfolk biffin had nothing of its original form or flavor remaining. Master Bitherstone, now, on whom the forcing system had the happier and not uncommon effect of leaving no impression whatever when the forcing apparatus ceased to work, was in a much more comfortable plight, and, being then on ship-board bound for Bengal, found himself forgetting with such admiral rapidity that it was doubtful whether his declensions of noun-substantives would hold out to the end of the voyage. When Dr. Blimber, in pursuance of the usual course, would have said to the young gentleman on the morning of the party, gentlemen, we will resume our studies on the twenty-fifth of next month, he departed from the usual course, and said, gentlemen, when our friend Cincinnati's retired to his farm, he did not present to the Senate any Roman whom he sought to nominate as his successor. But there is a Roman here, said Dr. Blimber, laying his hand on the shoulder of Mr. Feter B.A., adolescence, impremis, gravus, a doctus, gentlemen, whom I, a retiring Cincinnati's, wish to present to my little Senate as their future dictator. Gentlemen, we will resume our studies on the twenty-fifth of next month, under the auspices of Mr. Feter B.A. At this, which Dr. Blimber had previously called upon all the parents and urbanely explained, the young gentleman cheered, and Mr. Tozer, on behalf of the rest, instantly presented the doctor with a silver ink-stand, in a speech containing very little of the mother tongue, but fifteen quotations from the Latin, and seven from the Greek, which moved the younger of the young gentlemen to discontent and envy. They remarking, Oh, ah, it was all very well for old Tozer, but they didn't subscribe money for old Tozer to show off with, they suppose, did they? What business was it of old Tozers more than anybody else's? It wasn't his ink-stand. Why couldn't he leave the boy's property alone, and murmuring other expressions of their dissatisfaction, which seemed to find a greater relief in calling him old Tozer than in any other available vent? Not a word had been said to the young gentleman, nor a hint dropped of anything like a contemplated marriage between Mr. Feter B.A. and the fair Cornelia Blimber. Dr. Blimber, especially, seemed to take pains to look as if nothing would surprise him more, but it was perfectly well known to all the young gentlemen nevertheless, and when they departed for the society of their relations and friends, they took leave of Mr. Feter with awe. Mr. Feter's most romantic visions were fulfilled. The doctor had determined to paint the house outside and put it in thorough repair and to give up the business and to give up Cornelia. The painting and repairing began upon the very day of the young gentleman's departure, and now, behold, the wedding morning was come and Cornelia, in a new pair of spectacles, was waiting to be led to the hymnial altar. The doctor, with his learned legs and Mrs. Blimber in a lilac bonnet and Mr. Feter B.A., with his long knuckles and his bristly head of hair, and Mr. Feter's brother, the reverend Alfred Feter M.A., who was to perform this ceremony, were all assembled in the drawing room, and Cornelia, with her orange flowers and bridesmaids, had just come down and looked, as of old, a little squeezed in appearance, but very charming, when the door opened and the weak-eyed young man in a loud voice made the following proclamation. Mr. and Mrs. Toots upon which there entered Mr. Toots grown extremely stout and on his arm a lady very handsomely and becomingly dressed and with very bright black eyes. Mrs. Blimber, said Mr. Toots, allow me to present my wife. Mrs. Blimber was delighted to receive her. Mrs. Blimber was a little condescending, but extremely kind. And, as you've known me for a long time, you know, said Mr. Toots, let me assure you that she is one of the most remarkable women that ever lived. My dear, remonstrated Mrs. Toots, upon my word and honor she is, said Mr. Toots, I assure you, Mrs. Blimber, she's a most extraordinary woman. Mrs. Toots laughed merrily, and Mrs. Blimber led her to Cornelia. Mr. Toots, having paid his respects in that direction and having saluted his old preceptor, who said in allusion to his conjugal state, well, Toots, well, Toots, so you are one of us, are you, Toots? Retired with Mr. Feeder, B.A., into a window. Mr. Feeder, B.A., being in great spirits, made a spa at Mr. Toots, and tapped him skillfully with the back of his hand on the breastbone. Well, old Buck, said Mr. Feeder with a laugh. Well, here we are, taken in and done for, A. Feeder, returned Mr. Toots, I give you joy, if you're as, as, as perfectly blissful in a matrimonial life as I am myself, you'll have nothing to desire. I don't forget my old friends, you see, said Mr. Feeder. I ask them to my wedding, Toots. Feeder replied Mr. Toots gravely, the fact that there were several circumstances which prevented me from communicating with you until after my marriage had been solemnized. In the first place, I had made a perfect brute of myself to you on the subject of Miss Dombie, and I felt that if you were asked to any wedding of mine, you would naturally expect that it was with Miss Dombie, which involved explanations that upon my word and honor at that crisis would have knocked me completely over. In the second place, our wedding was strictly private, there being nobody present but one friend of myself and Mrs. Toots, whose is a captain in. I don't exactly know in what, said Mr. Toots, but it's of no consequence, I hope, Feeder, that in writing a statement of what had occurred before Mrs. Toots and myself went abroad upon our foreign tour, I fully discharged the offices of friendship. Toots, my boy, said Mr. Feeder, shaking his hands. I was joking. And now, Feeder, said Mr. Toots, I should be glad to know what you think of my union. Capital, returned Mr. Feeder. You think it's capital, do you, Feeder? said Mr. Toots solemnly. Then how capital must it be to me? For you can never know what an extraordinary woman that is. Mr. Feeder was willing to take it for granted, but Mr. Toots shook his head and wouldn't hear of that being possible. You see, said Mr. Toots, what I wanted in a wife was, in short, was sense. Money, Feeder, I had. Sense, I had not, particularly. Mr. Feeder murmured, Oh, yes, you had Toots, but Mr. Toots said, No, Feeder, I had not. Why should I disguise it? I had not. I knew that sense was there, said Mr. Toots, stretching out his hand towards his wife, in perfect heaps. I had no relation to object or be offended on the score of station, for I had no relation. I have never had anybody belonging to me, but my guardian and him, Feeder. I have always considered as a pirate and a corsair. Therefore, you know it was not likely, said Mr. Toots, that I should take his opinion. No, said Mr. Feeder. Accordingly, resumed Mr. Toots, I acted on my own. Bright was the day on which I did so. Feeder, nobody but myself can tell what the capacity of that woman's mind is. If ever the rights of women and all that kind of thing are properly attended to, it will be through her powerful intellect. Susan, my dear, said Mr. Toots, looking abruptly out of the window curtains. Pray, do not exert yourself. My dear, said Mrs. Toots, I was only talking. But my love, said Mr. Toots, pray, do not exert yourself. You really must be careful. Do not, my dear Susan, exert yourself. She's so easily excited, said Mr. Toots, apart to Mrs. Blimber, and then she forgets the medical man altogether. Mrs. Blimber was impressing on Mrs. Toots the necessity of caution, when Mr. Feeder, B.A., offered her his arm and led her down to the carriages that were waiting to go to church. Dr. Blimber escorted Mrs. Toots. Mr. Toots escorted the Fair Bride around whose lambant spectacles two gauzy little bridesmaids fluttered like moths. Mr. Feeder's brother, Mr. Alfred Feeder, M.A., had already gone on, in advance, to assume his official functions. The ceremony was performed in an admirable manner. Cornelia, with her crisp little curls, went in, as the chicken might have said, with great composure, and Dr. Blimber gave her away like a man who had quite made up his mind to it. The gauzy little bridesmaids appeared to suffer most. Mrs. Blimber was affected, but gently so, and told the Reverend Mr. Alfred Feeder, M.A., on the way home, that if she could only have seen Cicero in his retirement at Tusculum, she would not have had a wish now ungratified. There was a breakfast afterwards, limited to the same small party, at which the spirits of Mr. Feeder, B.A., were tremendous, and so communicated themselves to Mrs. Toots that Mr. Toots was several times heard to observe across the table. My dear Susan, don't exert yourself. The best of it was that Mr. Toots felt it incumbent on him to make a speech, and in spite of a whole code of telegraphic dissuasion from Mrs. Toots appeared on his legs for the first time in his life. I really, said Mr. Toots, in this house where whatever was done to me in the way of of any mental confusion sometimes, which is of no consequence, and I impute to nobody, I was always treated like one of Dr. Blimber's family and had a desk to myself for a considerable period, can not allow my friend Feeder to be, Mrs. Toots suggested, married. It may not be inappropriate to the occasion or altogether uninteresting, said Mr. Toots with a delightful face, to observe that my wife is a most extraordinary woman and would do this much better than myself, allow my friend Feeder to be married, especially to, Mrs. Toots suggested, to Miss Blimber. To Mrs. Feeder, my love, said Mr. Toots in a subdued tone of private discussion, whom God hath joined, you know, let no man, don't you know, I cannot allow my friend Feeder to be married, especially to Mrs. Feeder, without proposing their toasts and may, said Mr. Toots, fixing his eyes on his wife as if for inspiration in a high flight. May the torch of hymen be the beacon of joy and may the flowers we have this day strewed in their path be the banishers of gloom. Dr. Blimber, who had a taste for metaphor, was pleased with this and said, Very good Toots, very well said indeed Toots, and nodded his head and padded his hands. Mr. Feeder made in reply a comic speech checkered with sentiment. Mr. Alfred Feeder M.A. was afterwards very happy on Dr. and Mrs. Blimber. Mr. Feeder B.A. scarcely less so, on the gauzy little bridesmaids. Dr. Blimber then, in a sonorous voice, delivered a few thoughts in the pastoral style relative to the rushes among which it was the intention of himself and Mrs. Blimber to dwell, and the bee that would hum around their cot. Shortly after which, as the doctor's eyes were twinkling in a remarkable manner, and his son-in-law had already observed that time was made for slaves, and had inquired whether Mrs. Toots sang for the discreet Mrs. Blimber dissolved the sitting and sent Cornelia away, very cool and comfortable, in a post shez, with the man of her heart. Mr. and Mrs. Toots withdrew to the Bedford. Mrs. Toots had been there before in old times under her maiden name of Nipper, and there found a letter which it took Mr. Toots such an enormous time to read that Mrs. Toots was frightened. My dear Susan, said Mr. Toots, fright is worse than exertion, pray be calm. Who is it from? asked Mrs. Toots. Why, my love, said Mr. Toots, it's from Captain Gills. Do not excite yourself. Walter and Miss Domby are expected home. My dear, said Mrs. Toots, raising herself quickly from the sofa, very pale. Don't try to deceive me, for it's no use. There come home, I see it plainly in your face. She's a most extraordinary woman, exclaimed Mr. Toots, in rapturous admiration. You're perfectly right, my love, they have come home. Miss Domby has seen her father and they are reconciled. Reconciled, cried Mrs. Toots, clapping her hands. My dear, said Mr. Toots, pray do not exert yourself. Do remember the medical man. Captain Gills says, at least he don't say, but I imagine, from what I can make out, he means, that Miss Domby has brought her unfortunate father away from his old house to one where she and Walter are living, and that he is lying very ill there, supposed to be dying, and that she attends upon him night and day. Mrs. Toots began to cry quite bitterly. My dearest Susan, replied Mr. Toots, do, do, if you possibly can, remember the medical man. If you can't, it's of no consequence, but do endeavor to. His wife, with her old manner suddenly restored, so pathetically entreated him to take her to her precious pet, her little mistress, her own darling, and the like that Mr. Toots, whose sympathy and admiration were of the strongest kind, consented from his very heart of hearts, and they agreed to depart immediately, to present themselves in answer to the captain's letter. Now some hidden sympathies of things, or some coincidences, had that day brought the captain himself, toward whom Mr. and Mrs. Toots were soon journeying into the flowery train of wedlock, not as a principal, but as an accessory. It happened accidentally, and thus. The captain, having seen Florence and her baby for a moment, to his unbounded content, and having had a long talk with Walter, turned out for a walk, feeling it necessary to have some solitary meditation on the changes of human affairs and to shake his glazed hat profoundly over the fall of Mr. Dombie, the generosity and simplicity of his nature were awakened in a lively manner. The captain would have been very low, indeed, on the unhappy gentleman's account, but for the recollection of the baby, which afforded him such intense satisfaction whenever it arose, that he laughed aloud as he went along the street, and indeed, more than once, in a sudden impulse of joy, threw up his glazed hat and caught it again, much to the amazement of the spectators. The rapid alternations of light and shade to which these two conflicting subjects of recollection exposed the captain were so very trying to his spirits that he felt a long walk necessary to his composure, and, as there is a great deal in the influence of harmonious associations, he chose, for the scene of his walk, his old neighborhood, down among the mast or and block makers, ship biscuit bakers, coal whippers, pitch kettles, sailors, canals, docks, swing bridges, and other soothing objects. These peaceful scenes, and particularly the region of Limehouse Hall and their abouts, were so influential in calming the captain that he walked on with restored tranquility and was, in fact, regaling himself under his breath with a ballad of lovely peg, when, on turning a corner, he was suddenly transfixed and rendered speechless by a triumphant procession that he beheld advancing towards him. This awful demonstration was headed by that determined woman, Mrs. Max Stinger, who, preserving a countenance of inexorable resolution and wearing conspicuously attached to her obdurate bosom a stupendous watch and appendages which the captain recognized at a glance as the property of Bunsby, conducted under her arm no other than that sagacious mariner, he, with the distraught and melancholy visage of a captain born into a foreign land, meekly resigning himself to her will. Behind them appeared the young Max Stingers in a body exulting. Behind them two ladies of a terrible and steadfast aspect, leading between them a short gentleman in a tall hat, who likewise exalted. In the wake appeared Bunsby's boy, bearing umbrellas. The whole were in good marching order and a dreadful smartness that pervaded the party would have sufficiently announced if the intrepid countenances of the ladies had been wanting that it was a procession of sacrifice and that the victim was Bunsby. The first impulse of the captain was to run away. This also appeared to be the first impulse of Bunsby, hopeless as its execution must have proved. But a cry of recognition proceeding from the party an Alexander Max Stinger running up to the captain with open arms the captain struck. Well, Captain Cuddle said Mrs. Max Stinger, this is indeed a meeting. I bear no malice now, Captain Cuddle. You needn't fear that I'm going to cast any reflections. I hope to go to the altar in another spirit. Here Mrs. Max Stinger paused and drawing herself up and inflating her bosom and breathing breath said in allusion to the victim, my husband, Captain Cuddle. The abject Bunsby looked neither to the right nor to the left nor at his bride nor at his friend, but straight before him at nothing. The captain putting out his hand, Bunsby put out his, but in answer to the captain's greeting, he spoke no word. Captain Cuddle said Mrs. Max Stinger, if you would wish to heal up past animosities and to see the last of your friend, my husband, as a single person, we should be happy of your company to chapel. Here is a lady here, said Mrs. Max Stinger, turning round to the more intrepid of the two, my bridesmaid, that will be glad of your protection, Captain Cuddle. The short gentleman in the tall hat, who it appeared was the husband of the other lady and who evidently exalted at the reduction of a fellow creature to his own condition, gave place at this and resigned the lady to Captain Cuddle. The lady immediately seized him and, observing that there was no time to lose, gave the word in a strong voice to advance. The captain's concern for his friend, not unmingled at first, with some concern for himself, for a shattery terror that he might be married by violence, possessed him until his knowledge of the service came to his relief and remembering the legal obligation of saying, I will, he felt himself personally safe so long as he resolved, if asked any questions, distinctly to reply, I won't, threw him into a profuse perspiration and rendered him for a time insensible to the movements of the procession of which he now formed a feature and to the conversation of his fair companion. But, as he became less agitated, he learned from this lady that she was the widow of a Mr. Bochum who had held an employment in the Custom House, that she was the dearest friend of Mrs. Max Stinger, whom she considered a pattern for her sex, that she had often heard of the captain and now hoped he had repented of his past life, that she trusted Mr. Bunsby knew what a blessing he had gained, but that she feared men seldom did not know what such blessings were until they had lost them, with more to the same purpose. All this time the captain could not but observe that Mrs. Bochum kept her eyes steadily on the bridegroom and that whenever they came near a court or other narrow turning which appeared favourable for flight, she was on the alert to cut him off if he attempted to escape. This lady, too, as well as her husband, the short gentleman with the tall hat, were plainly on guard according to a pre-concerted plan. And the wretched man was so secured by Mrs. Max Stinger that any effort at self-preservation by flight was rendered futile. This indeed was apparent to the mere populace who expressed their perception of the fact, and their tears and cries, to all of which the dread Max Stinger was inflexibly indifferent while Bunsby himself appeared in a state of unconsciousness. The captain made many attempts to accost the philosopher if only in a monosyllable or a signal, but always failed in consequence of the vigilance of the guard and the difficulty at all times peculiar to Bunsby's constitution of having his attention aroused by any outward and visible sign whatever. Thus they approached the chapel a neat whitewashed edifice recently engaged by the reverend Melchizedek Howler who had consented on very urgent solicitation to give the world another two years of existence but had informed his followers that then it must positively go. While the reverend Melchizedek was offering up some extemporary orisons the captain found an opportunity of growling in the bridegroom's ear. What cheer, my lad, what cheer! to which Bunsby replied with a forgetfulness of the reverend Melchizedek which nothing but his desperate circumstances could have excused. Bad! Jack Bunsby whispered the captain, do you do this here of your own free will? Mr. Bunsby answered, no. Why do you do it, then, my lad? inquired the captain, not unnaturally. Bunsby, still looking and always looking with an immovable countenance at the opposite side of the world, made no reply. Why not cheer off, said the captain. Eh! whispered Bunsby with a momentary gleam of hope. Cheer off, said the captain. Where's the good? retorted the forlorn sage. She'd captained me again. Try, replied the captain. Cheer up, come. Now's your time. Cheer off, Jack Bunsby. Jack Bunsby, however, instead of profiting by the advice, said in a doleful whisper. It all began in that their chest of yarn. Why did I ever convey her into the port that night? My lad faltered the captain. I thought, as you had come over her, not as she had come over you, a man as has got such opinions as you have. Mr. Bunsby merely uttered a suppressed groan. Come, said the captain, nudging him with his elbow. Now's your time. Cheer off. I'll cover your retreat. The time's a-flying. Bunsby, it's for liberty. Will you once? Bunsby was immovable. Bunsby, whispered the captain, will you twice? Bunsby wouldn't twice. Bunsby urged the captain, it's for liberty. Will you three times, now or never? Bunsby didn't then and didn't ever for Mrs. McStinger immediately afterwards married him. One of the most frightful circumstances of the ceremony to the captain was the deadly interest exhibited therein by Juliana McStinger and the fatal concentration of her faculties, with which that promising child, already the image of her parent, observed the whole proceedings. The captain saw in this a succession of mantraps stretching out infinitely, a series of ages of oppression and coercion through which the seafaring line was doomed. It was a more memorable sight than the unflinching steadiness of Mrs. Bochum and the other lady, the exultation of the short gentleman in the tall hat, or even the fell inflexibility of Mrs. McStinger. The master McStinger's understood of what was going on and cared less, being chiefly engaged during the ceremony in treading on one another's half-boots, but the contrast afforded by those wretched infants only set off and adorned the precocious woman in Juliana. Another year or two, the captain thought, and to lodge where that child was would be destruction. The ceremony was concluded by a general spring of the young family on Mr. Bunsby, whom they hailed by the endearing name of father, and from whom they solicited half-pants. These gushes of affection over, the procession was about to issue forth again when it was delayed for some little time by an unexpected transport on the part of Alexander McStinger. That dear child, it seemed, connecting a chapel with tombstones when it was entered for any purpose apart from the ordinary religious exercises, could not be persuaded, but that his mother was now to be decently interred and lost to him forever. In the anguish of this conviction he screamed with astonishing force and turned black in the face. However, touching these marks of a tender disposition were to his mother, it was not in the character of that remarkable woman to permit her recognition of them to degenerate into weakness. Therefore, after vainly endeavouring to convince his reason by shakes, pokes, ballings out, and similar applications to his head, she led him into the air and tried another method, which was manifested to the marriage party by a quick session of sharp sounds resembling applause and subsequently by their seeing Alexander in contact with the coolest paving stone in the court, greatly flushed and loudly lamenting. The procession, being then in a condition to form itself once more and to repair to break place where a marriage feast was in readiness, returned as it had come, not without the receipt by Bunsby of many humorous congratulations from the populace on his recently acquired happiness. The captain accompanied it as far as the house door, but being made uneasy by the gentler manner of Mrs. Bochum, who, now that she was relieved from her engrossing duty for the watchfulness and alacrity of the ladies sensibly diminished when the bridegroom was safely married, had great a leisure to show an interest in his behalf, there left it and the captive faintly pleading in appointment and promising to return presently. The captain had another cause for uneasiness in remorsefully reflecting that he had been the first means of Bunsby's entrapment, though certainly without intending it, and through his unbounded faith in the resources of that philosopher. To go back to old Saul Gills at the midshipments and not first go round and ask how Mr. Donby fared, albeit the house where he lay was out of London and away on the borders of a fresh heath was quite out of the captain's course. So he got a lift when he was tired and made out the journey gaily. The blinds were pulled down and the house so quiet that the captain was almost afraid to knock, but listening at the door he heard low voices within, very near it, and knocking softly was admitted by Mr. Toots. Mr. Toots and his wife had, in fact, just arrived there, having been at the midshipments to seek him and having there obtained the address. They were not so recently arrived, but that Mrs. Toots had caught the baby from somebody, taken it in her arms and sat down on the stairs, hugging and fondling it. Florence was stooping down beside her and no one could have said which Mrs. Toots was hugging and fondling most, the mother or the child, or which was the tenderer. Florence of Mr. Toots or Mrs. Toots of her or both of the baby, it was such a little group of love and agitation. And is your Pa very ill, my darling Miss Floyd? asked Susan. He is very, very ill, said Florence. But, Susan dear, you must not speak to me as you used to speak. And what this, said Florence, touching her clothes in amazement, your old dress, dear, your old cap, curls and all. Susan burst into tears and showered kisses on the little hand that had touched her so wonderingly. My dear Miss Domby, said Mr. Toots, stepping forward. I'll explain. She's the most extraordinary woman. There are not many to equal her. She has always said, she said before we were married and has said to this day, that whenever you came home she'd come to you in no dress but the dress she used to serve you in. For fear she might seem strange to you and you might like her less. I admire the dress myself, said Mr. Toots, of all things I adore her in it. My dear Miss Domby, she'll be your maid again, your nurse, all that she ever was and more. There's no change in her. But Susan, my dear, said Mr. Toots, who had spoken with great feeling and high admiration. All I ask is that you'll remember the medical man and not exert yourself too much. End of Chapter 60 Chapter 61 of Domby and Son This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Cynthia Lyons. Domby and Son by Charles Dickens. Chapter 61 Relenting Florence had need of help. Her father's need of it was sore and made the aid of her old friend invaluable. Death stood at his pillow. A shade already of what he had been shattered in mind and perilously sick in body. He laid his weary head down on the bed, his daughter's hands prepared for him and had never raised it since. She was always with him. He knew her generally, though, in the wandering of his brain he often confused the circumstances under which he spoke to her. Thus he would address her sometimes as if his boy were newly dead and would tell her that although he had said nothing of her ministering at the little bedside yet he had seen it, he had seen it and then would hide his face in sob and put out his worn hand. Sometimes he would ask her for herself, where is Florence? I am here, papa, I am here. I don't know her, he would cry. We have been parted so long that I don't know her and then a staring dread would be upon him until she could soothe his perturbation and recall the tears she tried so hard at other times to dry. He rambled through the scenes of his old pursuits through many where Florence lost him as she listened sometimes for hours. He would repeat that childish question what is money and ponder on it and think about it and reason with himself more or less connectedly for a good answer as if it had never been proposed to him until that moment. He would go on with amusing repetition of the title of his old firm twenty thousand times and at every one of them would turn his head upon his pillow. He would count his children one, two, stop and go back and begin again in the same way. But this was when his mind was in its most distracted state in all the other phases of its illness and in those to which it was the most constant it always turned on Florence. What he would oftenest do was this he would recall that night he had so recently remembered the night on which she came down to his room and would imagine that his heart smote him and that he went out after her and up the stairs to seek her then confounding that time with the latter days of the many footsteps he would be amazed at their number and begin to count them as he followed her. Here of a sudden was a bloody footstep going on among the others and after it there began to be at intervals doors standing open through which certain terrible pictures were seen in mirrors of haggard men concealing something in their breasts. Still among the many footsteps and the bloody footsteps here and there was this step of Florence. Still she was going on before. Still the restless mind went following and counting ever farther, ever higher as to the summit of a mighty tower that it took years to climb. One day he inquired if that were not Susan who had spoken a long while ago. Florence said, yes dear papa, and asked him would he like to see her. He said very much and Susan with no little trepidation showed herself at his bedside. It seemed a great relief to him he begged her not to go to understand that he forgave her what she had said and that she was to stay. Florence and he were very different now he said and very happy. Let her look at this. He meant his drawing the gentle head down to the pillow and laying it beside him. He remained like this for days and weeks at length lying the faint feeble semblance of a man upon his bed and speaking in a voice so low that they could only hear him by listening very near to his lips he became quiet. It was dimly pleasant to him now to lie there with the window open looking out at the summer sky and the trees and in the evening at the sunset to watch the shadows of the clouds and leaves and seemed to feel a sympathy with shadows. It was natural that he should to him life and the world were nothing else. He began to show now that he thought of Florence's fatigue and often taxed his weakness to whisper to her go and walk my dearest in the sweet air go to your good husband. One time when Walter was in his room he beckoned him to come near and to stoop down and pressing his hand whispered an assurance to him that he knew he could trust him with his child when he was dead. It chanced one evening towards sunset when Florence and Walter were sitting in his room together as he liked to see them that Florence, having her baby in her arms began in a low voice to sing to the little fellow and sang the old tune she had so often sung to the dead child. He could not bear it at the time he held up his trembling hand imploring her to stop but next day he asked her to repeat it and to deuce so often of an evening which she did. He, listening with his face turned away. Florence was sitting on a certain time by his window with her work basket between her and her old attendant who was still her faithful companion. He had fallen into a doze. It was a beautiful evening with two hours of light to come yet but then tranquility and quiet made Florence very thoughtful. She was lost to everything for the moment but the occasion when the so altered figure on the bed had first presented her to her beautiful mama when a touch from Walter leaning on the back of her chair made her start. My dear, said Walter, there is someone downstairs who wishes to speak to you. She fancied Walter look grave and asked him if anything had happened. No, no, my love, said Walter. I have seen the gentleman myself and spoken with him. Nothing has happened. Will you come? Florence put her arm through his and confiding her father to the black-eyed Mrs. Toots who sat as brisk and smart at her work as black-eyed woman could accompanied her husband downstairs. In the pleasant little parlour opening on the garden sat a gentleman who rose to advance towards her when she came in but turned off by reason of some peculiarity in his legs and was only stopped by the table. Florence then remembered Cousin Phoenix whom she had not at first recognized in the shade of the leaves. Cousin Phoenix took her hand and congratulated her upon her marriage. I could have wished I am sure, said Cousin Phoenix, sitting down as Florence sat, to have had an earlier opportunity of offering my congratulations. But in point of fact so many painful occurrences have happened, treading, as a man may say, on one another's heels that I have been in a devil of a state myself and perfectly unfit for every description of society. The only description of society I have kept has been my own and it certainly is anything but flattering to a man's good opinion of his own resources to know that, in point of fact, he has the capacity of boring himself to a perfectly unlimited extent. Florence divined from some indefinable constraint and anxiety in this gentleman's manner which was always a gentleman's in spite of the harmless little eccentricities that attached to it and from Walter's manner no less that something more immediately tending to some object was to follow this. I have been mentioning to my friend Mr. Gay if I may be allowed to have the honor of calling him so, said Cousin Phoenix, that I am rejoiced to hear that my friend Dombie is very decidedly mending. I trust my friend Dombie will not allow his mind to be too much preyed upon by any mere loss of fortune. I cannot say that I have ever experienced any very great loss of fortune myself never having had, in point of fact, any great amount of fortune to lose. But as much as I could lose, I have lost and I don't find that I particularly care about it. I know my friend Dombie to be a devilishly honorable man and it's calculated to console my friend Dombie very much to know that this is the universal sentiment. Even Tommy Scruiser, a man of an extremely billious habit with whom my friend Gay is probably acquainted, cannot say a syllable in disputation of the fact. Florence felt more than ever that there was something to come and looked earnestly for it, so earnestly that Cousin Phoenix answered as if she had spoken. The fact is, said Cousin Phoenix, that my friend Gay and myself have been discussing the propriety of entreating a favor at your hands and that I have the consent of my friend Gay who has met me in an exceedingly kind and open manner for which I am very much indebted to him. To solicit it, I am sensible that so amiable a lady as the lovely and accomplished daughter of my friend Dombie will not require much urging, but I am happy to know that I am supported by my friend Gay's influence and approval. As in my parliamentary time when a man had a motion to make of any sort, which happened seldom in those days, for we kept very tight in hand the leaders on both sides being regular martinettes, which was a devilish good thing for the rank and file like myself and prevented our exposing ourselves continually as a great many of us had a feverish anxiety to do, as in my parliamentary time I was about to say when a man had leave to let off any little private pop-gun it was always considered a great point for him to say that he had the happiness of believing that his sentiments were not without an echo in the breast of Mr. Pitt, the pilot in point of fact who had weathered the storm, upon which a devilish large number of fellows immediately cheered and put him in spirits. Though the fact is that these fellows being under orders to cheer most excessively whenever Mr. Pitt's name was mentioned became so proficient that it always woke him and they were so entirely innocent of what was going on otherwise that it used to be commonly said by Conversation Brown for Bottle Man at the Treasury Board with whom the father of my friend Gay was probably acquainted for it was before my friend Gay's time that if a man had risen in his place and said that he regretted to inform the house that there was an honourable member in the last stage of convulsions in the lobby and that the honourable member's name was Pitt the approbation would have been vociferous. This postponement of the point put Florence in a flutter and she looked from Cousin Phoenix to Walter in increasing agitation. My love, said Walter, there is nothing the matter. There is nothing the matter upon my honour, said Cousin Phoenix and I am deeply distressed at being the means of causing you a moment's uneasiness. I beg to assure you that there is nothing the matter. The favour that I have to ask is simply but it really does seem so exceeding singular that I should be in the last degree obliged to my friend Gay if he would have the goodness to break the in point of fact the ice, said Cousin Phoenix. Walter thus appealed to and appealed to no less in the look that Florence turned towards him said My dearest, it is no more than this that you will ride to London with this gentleman whom you know. And my friend Gay also, I beg your pardon interrupted Cousin Phoenix and with me and make a visit somewhere. To whom asked Florence looking from one to the other if I might entreat, said Cousin Phoenix, that you would not press for an answer to that question I would venture to take the liberty of making the request. Do you know Walter? Yes. And think it right? Yes, only because I am sure that you would too though there may be reasons I very well understand which make it better that nothing more should be said beforehand. If Papa is still asleep or can spare me if he is awake I will go immediately, said Florence and rising quietly and glancing at them with a look that was a little alarmed but perfectly confiding left the room. When she came back ready to bear them company they were talking together gravely at the window and Florence could not but wonder what the topic was that had made them so well acquainted in so short a time. She did not wonder at the look of pride and love with which her husband broke off as she entered for she never saw him but that rested on her. I will leave, said Cousin Phoenix, a card for my friend Dombie sincerely trusting that he will pick up health and strength with every returning hour and I hope my friend Dombie will do me the favor to consider me a man who has a devilish warm admiration of his character as in point of fact a British merchant and a devilish upright gentleman. My place in the country is in a most confounded state of dilapidation but if my friend Dombie should require a change of air and would take up his quarters there he would find it a remarkably healthy spot as it need be for its amazingly dull. If my friend Dombie suffers from bodily weakness and would allow me to recommend what has frequently done myself good as a man who has been extremely queer at times and who lived pretty freely in the days when men lived very freely I should say let it be in point of fact the yolk of an egg beat up with sugar and nutmeg in a glass of sherry and taken in the morning with a slice of dry toast. Jackson, who kept the boxing rooms in Bond Street man of very superior qualifications with whose reputation my friend Gay is no doubt acquainted used to mention that in training for the ring they substituted rum for sherry. I should recommend sherry in this case on account of my friend Dombie being in an involuted condition which might occasion rum to fly in point of fact to his head and throw him into a devil of a state. Of all this Cousin Phoenix delivered himself with an obviously nervous and discomposed air then giving his arm to Florence and putting the strongest possible constraint upon his willful legs which seemed determined to go out into the garden he led her to the door and handed her into a carriage that was ready for her reception. Walter entered after him and they drove away. Their ride was six or eight miles long. When they drove through certain dull and stately streets lying westward in London it was growing dusk. Florence had by this time put her hand in Walter's and was looking very earnestly and with increasing agitation into every new street into which they turned. When the carriage stopped at last before that house on Rock Street where her father's unhappy marriage had been celebrated Florence said Walter what's this? Who is here? Walter cheering her and not replying she glanced up at the house front and saw that all the windows were shut as if it were uninhabited. Cousin Phoenix had by this time alighted and was offering his hand. Are you not coming Walter? No I will remain here don't tremble there is nothing to fear dearest Florence. I know that Walter with you so near I am sure of that but the door was softly opened without any knock and Cousin Phoenix let her out of the summer evening air into the close dull house. More somber and brown than ever it seemed to have been shut up from the wedding day and to have hoarded darkness and sadness ever since. Florence ascended the dusky staircase trembling and stopped with her conductor at the drawing room door. He opened it without speaking and signed an entreaty to her to advance into the inner room while he remained there. Florence after hesitating an instant complied sitting by the window at a table where she seemed to have been writing or drawing was a lady whose head turned away towards the dying light was resting on her hand. Florence advancing doubtfully all at once stood still as if she had lost the power of motion the lady turned her head. Good Heaven she said what is this? No no cried Florence shrinking back as she rose up and putting out her hands to keep her off. Mama they stood looking at each other passion and pride had worn it but it was the face of Edith and beautiful and stately yet. It was the face of Florence and through all the terrified avoidance it expressed there was pity in it sorrow a grateful tender memory on each face wonder and fear were painted vividly each so still in silent looking at the other over the black gulf of the irrevocable past. Florence was the first to change bursting into tears she said from her full heart oh mama mama why do we meet like this why were you ever kind to me when there was no one else that we should meet like this Edith stood before her dumb and motionless her eyes were fixed upon her face I dare not think of that said Florence I am come from papa's sick bed we are never asunder now we never shall be any more if you would have me ask his pardon I will do it mama I am almost sure he will grant it now if I ask him may heaven grant it to you too and comfort you she answered not a word Walter I am married to him and we have a son said Florence timidly is at the door and has brought me here I will tell him that you are repentant that you are changed said Florence looking mournfully upon her and he will speak to papa with me I know is there anything but this that I can do Edith breaking her silence without moving eye or limb answered slowly the stain upon your name upon your husbands on your child's will that ever be forgiven Florence will it ever be mama it is freely freely both by Walter and by me if that is any consolation to you there is nothing that you may believe more certainly you do not you do not faltered Florence speak of papa but I am sure that you wish that I should ask him for his forgiveness I am sure you do she answered not a word I will said Florence I will bring it you if you will let me and then perhaps we may take leave of each other more like what we used to be to one another I have not said Florence very gently and drawing nearer to her I have not shrunk back from you mama because I fear you or because I dread to be disgraced by you I only wish to do my duty to papa I am very dear to him and he is very dear to me but I can never forget that you were very good to me oh pray to heaven cried Florence falling on her bosom pray to heaven mama to forgive you all this sin and shame and to forgive me if I cannot help doing this if it is wrong when I remember what you used to be Edith as if she fell beneath her touch sunk down on her knees and caught her around the neck Florence she cried my better angel before I am mad again before my stubbornness comes back and strikes me dumb believe me upon my soul I am innocent mama guilty of much, guilty of that which sets a waste between us ever more guilty of what must separate me through the whole remainder of my life from purity and innocence from you of all the earth guilty of a blind and passionate resentment of which I do not, cannot, will not even now repent but not guilty with that dead man before God upon her knees, upon the ground she held up both her hands and swore it Florence she said purest and best of natures whom I love whom might have changed me long ago and did for a time work some change even in the woman that I am believe me I am innocent of that and once more on my desolate heart let me lay this dear head for the last time she was moved and weeping had she been often her thus in older days she had been happier now there is nothing else in all the world she said that would have wrung denial from me no love, no hatred, no hope, no threat I said that I would die and make no sign I could have done so and I would if we had never met Florence I trust said Cousin Phoenix ambling in at the door and speaking half in the room and half out of it that my lovely and accomplished relative will excuse my having by a little stratagem effected this meeting I cannot say that I was at first wholly incredulous as to the possibility of my lovely and accomplished relative having very unfortunately committed herself with the deceased person with white teeth because in point of fact one does see in this world which is remarkable for devilish strange arrangements and for being decidedly the most unintelligible thing within a man's experience very odd conjunctions of that sort but as I mentioned to my friend Dombie I could not admit the criminality of my lovely and accomplished relative until it was perfectly established and feeling when the deceased person was in point of fact destroyed in a very devilish horrible manner that her position was a very painful one and feeling besides that our family had been a little to blame in not paying more attention to her and that we are a careless family so that my aunt, though a devilish lively woman had perhaps not been the very best of mothers I took the liberty of seeking her and friends and offering her such protection as a man very much out at elbows could offer upon which occasion my lovely and accomplished relative did me the honor to express that she believed I was in my way a devilish good sort of fellow and that therefore she put herself under my protection which in point of fact I understood to be a kind thing on the part of my lovely and accomplished relative as I am getting extremely shaky and have derived great comfort from her solicitude Edith, who had taken Florence to a sofa made a gesture with her hand as if she would have begged him to say no more my lovely and accomplished relative resumed Cousin Phoenix still ambling about at the door will excuse me if for her satisfaction and my own and that of my friend Dombie whose lovely and accomplished daughter we so much admire I complete the thread of my observations she will remember that from the first she and I have never alluded to the subject of her elopement my impression certainly has always been that there was a mystery in the affair which she could explain if so inclined but my lovely and accomplished relative being a devilish resolute woman I knew that she was not in point of fact to be trifled with and therefore did not involve myself in any discussions but observing lately that her accessible point did appear to be a very strong description of tenderness for the daughter of my friend Dombie it occurred to me that if I could bring about a meeting unexpected on both sides it might lead to beneficial results therefore we being in London in the present private way before going to the south of Italy there to establish ourselves in point of fact until we go to our long homes which is a devilish disagreeable reflection for a man I applied myself to the discovery of the residence of my friend Gay handsome man of an uncommon frank disposition who is probably known to my lovely and accomplished relative and had the happiness of bringing his amiable wife to the present place and now said Cousin Phoenix a real and genuine earnestness shining through the levity of his manner and his slipshod speech I do conjure my relative not to stop halfway but to set right as far as she can whatever she has done wrong not for the honor of her family not for her own fame not for any of those considerations which unfortunate circumstances have induced her to regard as hollow and in point of fact as approaching to humbug but because it is wrong and not right Cousin Phoenix's legs consented to take him away after this and leaving them alone together he shut the door Edith remained silent for some minutes with Florence sitting close beside her then she took from her bosom a sealed paper I debated with myself a long time she said in a low voice whether to write this at all in case of dying suddenly or by accident and feeling the want of it upon me I have deliberated ever since when and how to destroy it take it Florence the truth is written in it is it for papa asked Florence it is for whom you will she answered it is given to you and is obtained by you he never could have had it otherwise again they sat silent in the deepening darkness mama said Florence he has lost his fortune he has been at the point of death he may not recover even now is there any word that I shall say to him from you did you tell me asked Edith you were very dear to him yes said Florence in a thrilling voice tell him I am sorry that we ever met no more said Florence after a pause tell him if he asks that I do not repent of what I have done not yet for if it were to do again tomorrow I should do it but if he is a changed man she stopped there was something in the silent touch of Florence's hand that stopped her but that being a changed man he knows now it would never be tell him I wish it never had been may I say said Florence that you grieve to hear of the afflictions he has suffered not she replied if they have taught him that his daughter is very dear to him he will not grieve for them himself one day if they have brought that lesson Florence you wish well to him and would have him happy I am sure you would said Florence oh let me be able if I have the occasion at some future time to say so Edith sat with her dark eyes gazing steadfastly before her and did not reply until Florence had repeated her entreaty when she drew her hand within her arm and said with the same thoughtful gaze upon the night outside tell him that if in his own present he can find any reason to compassionate my past I sent word that I asked him to do so tell him that if in his own present he can find a reason to think less bitterly of me I asked him to do so tell him that dead as we are to one another never more to meet on this side of eternity he knows there is one feeling in common between us now that there never was before her sternness seemed to yield and there were tears in her dark eyes I trust myself to that she said for his better thoughts of me and mine of him when he loves his Florence most he will hate me least when he is most proud and happy in her and her children he will be most repentant of his own part in the dark vision of our married life at that time I will be repentant too let him know it then and think that when I thought so much of all the causes that he had made me what I was I needed to have allowed more for the causes that had made him what he was I will try then to forgive him his share of blame let him try to forgive me mine oh mama said Florence how it lightens my heart even in such a meeting and parting to hear this strange words in my own ears said Edith and foreign to the sound of my own voice but even if I had been the wretched creature I have given him occasion to believe me I think I could have said them still hearing that you and he were very dear to one another let him when you are dearest ever feel that he is most for bearing in his thoughts of me that I am most for bearing in my thoughts of him those are the last words I send him now goodbye my life she clasped her in her arms and seemed to pour out all her woman's soul of love and tenderness at once this kiss for your child this kisses for a blessing on your head my own dear Florence my sweet girl farewell to meet again cried Florence never again never again when you leave me in this dark room think that you have left me in the grave remember only that I was once and that I loved you and Florence left her seeing her face no more accompanied by her embraces and caresses to the last Carzan Phoenix met her at the door and took her down to Walter in the dingy dining room upon whose shoulders she laid her head weeping I am devilish sorry, said Carzan Phoenix lifting his wristbands to his eyes in the simplest manner possible and without the least concealment that the lovely and accomplished daughter of my friend Dombie an amiable wife of my friend Gay should had her sensitive nature so very much distressed and cut up by the interview which is just concluded but I hope and trust I have acted for the best and that my honorable friend Dombie will find his mind relieved by the disclosures which have taken place I exceedingly lament that my friend Dombie has got himself in point of fact into a devil's own state of conglomeration by an alliance with our family but I am strongly of opinion that if it hadn't been for the infernal scoundrel Barca man with white teeth everything would have gone on pretty smoothly in regard to my relative who does me the honor to have formed an uncommonly good opinion of myself I can assure the amiable wife of my friend Gay that she may rely on my being in point of fact a father to her and in regard to the changes of human life and the extraordinary manner in which we are perpetually conducting ourselves all I can say is with my friend Shakespeare a man who wasn't for an age but for all time with whom my friend Gay is no doubt acquainted that it's like the shadow of a dream End of Chapter 61 Chapter 62 of Dombie and Son This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Cynthia Lyons Dombie and Son by Charles Dickens Chapter 62 Final A bottle that has been long excluded from the light of day and is hoary with dust and cobwebs has been brought into the sunshine and the golden wine within it sheds a luster on the table It is the last bottle of the old Madeira You are quite right, Mr. Gills, says Mr. Dombie This is a very rare and most delicious wine The captain, who is of the party, beams with joy There is a very halo of delight round his glowing forehead We always promised ourselves, sir, observes Mr. Gills Ned and myself, I mean Mr. Dombie nods at the captain who shines more and more with speechless gratification That we should drink, this, one day or other to Walter safe at home though such a home we never thought of If you don't object to our old whim, sir let us devote this first glass to Walter and his wife to Walter and his wife, says Mr. Dombie Florence my child and turns to kiss her to Walter and his wife, says Mr. Toots to Walter and his wife, exclaims the captain Hurrah! and the captain exhibiting a strong desire to clink his glass against some other glass Mr. Dombie with a ready hand holds out his The others follow and there is a blithe and merry ringing as of a little peel of marriage bells Other buried wine grows older as the old Madeira did in its time and dust and cobwebs thicken on the bottles Mr. Dombie is a white-haired gentleman whose face bears heavy marks of care and suffering but they are traces of a storm that has passed on forever and left a clear evening in its track Ambitious projects trouble him no more His only pride is in his daughter and her husband He has a silent, thoughtful, quiet manner and is always with his daughter Miss Tox is not unfrequently of the family party and is quite devoted to it and a great favorite Her admiration of her once stately patron is and has been ever since the morning of her shock in Princess's place, platonic, but not weakened in the least Nothing has drifted to him from the wreck of his fortunes but a certain annual sum that comes he knows not how with an earnest entreaty that he will not seek to discover and with the assurance that it is a debt and an act of reparation He has consulted with his old clock about this who is clear it may be honorably accepted and has no doubt it arises out of some forgotten transaction in the times of the old house That hazel-eyed bachelor, a bachelor no more is married now and to the sister of the grey-haired junior He visits his old chief sometimes but seldom There is a reason in the grey-haired junior's history and yet a stronger reason in his name why he should keep retired from his old employer and as he lives with his sister and her husband they participate in that retirement Walter sees them sometimes Florence, too, and the pleasant house resounds with profound duets arranged for the piano forte and violin cello and with the labors of harmonious blacksmiths And how goes the wooden-mit shipment in these changed days? Why, here, he is still right leg foremost hard at work upon the hackney coaches and more on the alert than ever being newly painted from his cocked hat to his buckled shoes and up above him in golden characters these names shine refulgent gills and cuddle Not another stroke of business does the midshipman achieve beyond his usual easy trade but they do say in a circuit of some half-mile round the blue umbrella in Ledin Hall Market that some of Mr. Gills's old investments are coming out wonderfully well and that instead of being behind the time in those respects, as he supposed he was, in truth, a little before it and had to wait the fullness of the time and the design The whisper is that Mr. Gills's money has begun to turn itself and that it is turning itself over and over pretty briskly certain it is that standing at his shop door in his coffee-colored suit and with his chronometer in his pocket and his spectacles on his forehead he don't appear to break his heart at customers not coming but looks very jovial and contented and full as misty as of yore As to his partner, Captain Cuddle there is a fiction of a business in the captain's mind which is better than any reality The captain is as satisfied of the midshipman's importance to the commerce and navigation of the country as he could possibly be if no ship left the port of London without the midshipman's assistance his delight in his own name over the door is inexhaustible He crosses the street twenty times a day to look at it from the other side of the way and invariably says on these occasions Edward Cuddle, my lad if your mother could have known as you would ever be a man of science the good old creature would have been took aback indeed Here is Mr. Toots descending on the midshipman with violent rapidity and Mr. Toots' face is very red as he bursts into the little parlor Captain Gills says Mr. Toots and Mr. Salls I am happy to inform you that Mrs. Toots has had an increase to her family and it does her credit cried the captain Joy, Mr. Toots, says old Saul Thank ye, chuckles Mr. Toots I am very much obliged to you I knew that you'd be glad to hear and so I came down myself We're positively getting on, you know There's Florence and Susan and now here's another little stranger A female stranger inquires the captain Yes, Captain Gills, says Mr. Toots and I'm glad of it the oftener we can repeat that most extraordinary woman my opinion is the better Stand by, says the captain turning to the old case bottle with no throat for it is evening and the midshipman's usual moderate provision of pipes and glasses is on the board Here's to her and may she have ever so many more Thank ye, Captain Gills, says the delighted Mr. Toots I echo the sentiment if you'll allow me as my so-doing cannot be unpleasant to anybody under the circumstances I think I'll take a pipe Mr. Toots begins to smoke accordingly and in the openness of his heart is very loquacious of all the remarkable instances that that delightful woman has given of her excellent sense Captain Gills and Mr. Salls said toots I think none is more remarkable than the perfection with which she has understood my devotion to Miss Dombie both his auditors ascent Because you know, says Mr. Toots I have never changed my sentiments towards Miss Dombie They are the same as ever She is the same bright vision to me at present that she was before I made Walter's acquaintance When Miss Toots and myself first began to talk of in short of the tender passion you know, Captain Gills I am a lad, says the captain as makes us all slew round for which you'll overhaul the book I shall certainly do so, Captain Gills says Mr. Toots with great earnestness When we first began to mention such subjects I explained that I was what you may call a blighted flower, you know The captain approves of this figure greatly and murmurs that no flower as blows is like the rose But Lord bless me, pursues Mr. Toots She was as entirely conscious of the state of my feelings as I was myself There was nothing I could tell her She was the only person who could have stood between me and the silent tomb and she did it in a manner to command my everlasting admiration She knows that there's nobody in the world I look up to as I do to Miss Dombie She knows that there's nothing on earth I wouldn't do for Miss Dombie She knows that I consider Miss Dombie the most beautiful, the most amiable the most angelic of her sex What is her observation upon that? The perfection of sense My dear, you're right, I think so too And so do I, says the captain So do I, says Saul Gills Then, resumes Mr. Toots after some contemplative pulling at his pipe during which his visage has expressed the most contented reflection What an observant woman my wife is What sagacity she possesses What remarks she makes It was only last night when we were sitting in the enjoyment of cannubial bliss which, upon my word and honor a feeble term to express my feelings in the society of my wife that she said how remarkable it was to consider the present position of our friend Walters Here, observes my wife He is released from sea-going after that first long voyage with his young bride as you know he was, Mr. Saul's Very true, says the old instrument maker rubbing his hands Here he is, says my wife Released from that, immediately appointed by the same establishment to a post of great trust and confidence at home showing himself again worthy mounting up the ladder with the greatest expedition Beloved by everybody assisted by his uncle at the very best possible time Which, I think is the case, Mr. Saul's My wife is always correct Why? Yes, yes Some of our lost ships, freighted with gold have come home truly, returns old Saul Laughing Small craft, Mr. Toots But serviceable to my boy Exactly so, says Mr. Toots You'll never find my wife wrong Here he is, says that most remarkable woman so situated And what follows? What follows, observed Mrs. Toots Now pray remark, Captain Gills and Mr. Saul's the depth of my wife's penetration Why that? Under the very eye of Mr. Dombie there is a foundation going on upon which an edifice That was Mrs. Toots's word says Mr. Toots exultingly Is gradually rising perhaps to equal, perhaps excel that of which he was once the head and the small beginnings of which a common fault but a bad one, Mrs. Toots said escaped his memory Thus, said my wife from his daughter after all another Dombie and son will ascend No, rise, that was Mrs. Toots's word triumphant Mr. Toots, with the assistance of his pipe which he is extremely glad to devote to oratorical purposes as its proper use affects him with a very uncomfortable sensation Does such grand justice to this prophetic sentence of his wife's that the Captain throwing away his glazed hat in a state of the greatest excitement cries Saul Gills, you man of science and my old partner What did I tell Walter to overhaul on that there night when he first took to business Was it this here quotation Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London and when you are old you will never depart from it Was it them words Saul Gills It certainly was Ned replied the old instrument maker I remember well Then I tell you what says the Captain leaning back in his chair and composing his chest for a prodigious roar I'll give you lovely peg right through and stand by both on you for the chorus Buried wine grows older as the old Madeira did in its time and dust and cobwebs thicken on the bottles Autumn days are shining and on the sea beach there are often a young lady and a white-haired gentleman walks with them or near them are two children boy and girl and an old dog is generally in their company the white-haired gentleman walks with a little boy talks with him helps him in his play attends upon him watches him as if he were the object of his life if he be thoughtful the white-haired gentleman is thoughtful too sometimes when the child is sitting by his side and looks up in his face asking him questions he takes the tiny hand in his and holding it forgets to answer then the child says what, Grandpa? am I so like my poor little uncle again? yes, Paul but he was weak and you are very strong oh yes, I am very strong and he lay on a little bed beside the sea and you can run about and so they range away again busily for the white-haired gentleman likes best to see the child free and stirring and as they go about together the story of the bond between them goes about and follows them but no one except Florence the measure of the white-haired gentleman's affection for the girl that story never goes about the child herself almost wonders at a certain secrecy he keeps in it he hoards her in his heart he cannot bear to see a cloud upon her face he cannot bear to see her sit apart he fancies that she feels a slight when there is none he steals away to look at her in her sleep it pleases him to have her come and wake him in the morning he is fondest of her and most loving to her when there is no creature by the child says then sometimes dear grandpa why do you cry when you kiss me? he only answers little Florence little Florence smooths away the curls that shade her earnest eyes end of chapter 62 end of Dombie and Son by Charles Dickens recording by Cynthia Lyons