 56. Several people delighted and the game-chicken disgusted. The midshipman was all alive. Mr. Toots and Susan had arrived at last, Susan had run upstairs like a young woman bereft of her senses, and Mr. Toots and the chicken had gone into the parlour. Oh, my own pretty darling, sweet Miss Floyd! cried the nipper, running into Florence's room. To think that it should come to this, and I should find you here, my own dear dove, with nobody to wait upon you and know how to call your own, but never-never will I go away again, Miss Floyd, for though I may not gather mosques, I am not a rolling stone, nor is my art a stone, or else it would bust as it is busted now, oh dear, oh dear! Pouring out these words, without the faintest indication of a stop of any sort, Miss Nipper, on her knees beside her mistress, hugged her close. Oh, love! cried Susan. I know all that's past, I know it all might end a bit, and I'm a choking. Oh, give me air! Susan, dear good Susan, said Florence. Oh, bless her! I that was a little maid when she was a little child, and is she really, really truly going to be married? exclaimed Susan in a burst of pain and pleasure, pride and grief, and heaven knows how many other conflicting feelings. Who told you so? said Florence. Oh, gracious me! that innocentest creature toots! returned Susan hysterically. I knew he must be right, my dear, because he took on so. He's the devotedest, innocentest infant, and is my darling, pursued Susan, with another close embrace and burst of tears, really, really going to be married. The mixture of compassion, pleasure, tenderness, protection, and regret, with which the Nipper constantly recurred to this subject, and at every such once raised her head to look in the young face and kiss it, and then laid her head again upon her mistress's shoulder, caressing her and sobbing, was as womanly and good a thing in its way as ever was seen in the world. There, there! said the soothing voice of Florence presently. Now you'll quite yourself, dear Susan. Miss Nipper, sitting down upon the floor to her mistress's feet, laughing and sobbing, holding her pocket handkerchief to her eyes with one hand, and patting diogenes with the other as he licked her face, confessed to being more composed, and laughed and tried a little more in proof of it. I—I—I never did see such a creature as that toots! said Susan, in all my born days never. So kind, suggested Florence, and so comic! Susan sobbed, the way he's been going on inside with me with that disrespectful chicken on the box. About what, Susan? inquired Florence timidly. Oh! about left in it waters, and Captain Killson, you, my dear, Miss Florian, the silent tune! He said, Susan, the silent tune! repeated Florence. He says— Here, Susan burst into a violent hysterical laugh. That he'll go down into it now immediately, and quite comfortable, but bless you all, my dear Miss Florian, won't! He's a great deal too happy and seeing other people happy for that. He may not be a Solomon. pursued the Nipper with her usual volubility, nor do I say he is, but this I do say, a self-resubin creature human nature never knew. Miss Nipper, being still hysterical, laughed immoderately after making this energetic declaration, and then informed Florence that he was waiting below to see her, which would be a rich repayment for the trouble he had had in his late expedition. Florence entreated Susan to beg of Mr. Toots as a favour, that she might have the pleasure of thanking him for his kindness, and Susan, in a few moments, produced that young gentleman, still very much dishevelled in appearance and stammering exceedingly. Miss Domby, said Mr. Toots, to be again permitted to gaze, at least not to gaze, but I don't exactly know what I was going to say, but it's of no consequence. I have to thank you so often, returned Florence, giving him both her hands, with all her innocent gratitude beaming in her face. That I have no words left and don't know how to do it. Miss Domby, said Mr. Toots, in an awful voice, if it was possible that you could, consistently with your angelic nature, curse me, you would, if I may be allowed to say so, flaw me infinitely less than by these underserved expressions of kindness. Their effect upon me is—but, said Mr. Toots abruptly, this is a digression, and of no consequence at all. As there seem to be no means of replying to this, but by thanking him again, Florence thanked him again. I could wish, said Mr. Toots, to take this opportunity, Miss Domby, if I might, of entering into a word of explanation. I should have had the pleasure of returning with Susan at an earlier period, but in the first place we didn't know the name of the relation to whose house she had gone, and in the second, as she had left that relation, and gone to another at a distance, I think that scarcely anything short of the sagacity of the chicken would have found her out in the time. Florence was sure of it. This, however, said Mr. Toots, is not the point that the company of Susan has been, I assure you, Miss Domby, a consolation and satisfaction to me, in my state of mind, more easily conceived than described. The journey has been its own reward, that, however, still is not the point. Miss Domby, I have before observed that I know I am not what is considered a quick person, I am perfectly aware of that. I don't think anybody could be better acquainted with his own, if it was not too strong an expression, I should say with the thickness of his own head, than myself. But, Miss Domby, I do not withstanding perceive the state of things with Lieutenant Walters. Whatever agony that state of things may have caused me, which is of no consequence at all. I bound to say that Lieutenant Walters is a person who appears to be worthy of the blessing that has fallen on his zid, on his brow. May he wear it long and appreciate it as a very different and very unworthy individual that is, of no consequence to name, would have done. That, however, still is not the point, Miss Domby. Captain Gilles is a friend of mine, and during the interval that is now elapsing, I believe it would afford Captain Gilles' pleasure to see me occasionally coming backwards and forwards here. It would afford me pleasure so to come, but I cannot forget that I once committed myself, fatally, at the corner of the square at Brighton. And if my presence will be in the least degree unpleasant to you, I only ask you to name it to me now, and assure you that I shall perfectly understand you. I shall not consider it at all unkind, and shall only be too delighted and happy to be honoured with your confidence. Mr. Toots, return, Florence, if you, who are so old and true a friend of mine, were to stay away from this house now, you would make me very unhappy. It can never, never give me any feeling but pleasure to see you. Miss Domby, said Mr. Toots, taking out his pocket-hanger chief, if I shed a tear, it is a tear of joy. It is of no consequence, and I am very much obliged to you. I may be allowed to remark, after what you have so kindly said, that it is not my intention to neglect my person any longer. Florence received this intimation with the prettiest expression of perplexity possible. I mean, said Mr. Toots, that I shall consider it my duty as a fellow-creature, generally, until I am claimed by the silent tomb, to make the best of myself and to have my boots as brightly polished as circumstances will admit of. This is the last time, Miss Domby, of my intruding any observation of a private and a person of nature. I thank you very much indeed, if I am not, in a general way, as sensible as my friends could wish me to be, or as I could wish myself, I really am, upon my word and honour, particularly sensible of what is considerate and kind, I feel, said Mr. Toots, in an impassioned tone, as if I could express my feelings at the present moment in a most remarkable manner, if I could only get a start. Appearing not to get it, after waiting a minute or two to see if it would come, Mr. Toots took a hasty leave, and went below to seek the captain whom he found in the shop. Captain Gilles, said Mr. Toots, what is now to take place between us, takes place under the sacred seal of confidence. It is the sequel, Captain Gilles, of what has taken place between myself and Miss Domby upstairs. Hello and aloft, eh, my lad? murmured the captain. Exactly so, Captain Gilles, said Mr. Toots, whose fervour of acquiescence was greatly heightened by his entire ignorance of the captain's meaning. Miss Domby, I believe, Captain Gilles, is to be shortly united to Lieutenant Walters. Why, I, my lad, we're all shipments here. Waller and sweetheart will be joined together in the house of bondage as soon as the askings is over, whispered Captain Cattle in his ear. The askings, Captain Gilles, repeated Mr. Toots. In the church, down yonder, said the captain, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. Oh, yes, returned Mr. Toots. And then, said the captain, in his hoarse whisper, and tapping Mr. Toots on the chest to the back of his hand, and falling from him with a look of infinite admiration, what followers, that their pretty creature, as delicately brought up as a foreign bird, goes away upon the roar and mane with Waller on a voyage to China. Lord Captain Gilles, said Mr. Toots. Aye, not at the captain. The ship must took him up when he was wrecked in the hurricane, that adrover clean out of her course was a choiner trader, and Waller made the voyage and got into fiver, board, and ashore. Being as smart and good a lad as ever stepped, and so the supercargo dying at Canton, he got made, having acted as clerk before, and now his supercargo aboard another ship, same owners. And so, you see, repeated the captain thoughtfully, the pretty creature goes away upon the roar and mane with Waller on a voyage to China. Mr. Toots and Captain Cattle heaved a sigh in concert. What then, said the captain, she loves him true, he loves her true. Them as should have loved and tended of her, treated of her like the beasts as perish. When she cast out of home, coming in to me, and dropped upon them planks, her wounded heart was broke. I know it, I, Eddard Cattle, see it. There is an out, but true, kind, steady love as can ever piece it up again. If so be, I didn't know that, and didn't know as Waller was her true love, brother, and she is. I'd have these here blue arms and legs chopped off before I let her go. But I know it. And what then? Boy, then I say, Heaven go with them both, and so it will. Amen. Captain Gills, said Mr. Toots, let me have the pleasure of shaking hands. You've a way of saying things that gives me an agreeable warmth all up my back. I say amen. You are aware, Captain Gills, that I too have adored Miss Dumpney. Cheer up, said the captain, laying his hand on Mr. Toots' shoulder. Stand by, boy. It is my intention, Captain Gills, pretend the spirited Mr. Toots, to cheer up, also to stand by, as much as possible. When the silent tune shall yawn, Captain Gills, I shall be ready for burial, not before, but not being certain just at present of my power over myself. What I wish to say to you, and what I shall take it as a particular favour, if you will mention to Lieutenant Walters, is as follows. Is as follows, I bid the captain, steady. Miss Dumpney, being so inexpressibly kind, continued Mr. Toots with watery eyes, as to say that my present is the reverse of disagreeable to her, and you and everybody here being no less forbearing and tolerant towards one who certainly, said Mr. Toots, with momentary dejection, would appear to have been born by mistake. I shall come backwards and forwards of an evening, during the short time we can all be together. But what I ask is this, if at any moment I find that I cannot endure the contemplation of Lieutenant Walters' bliss, and should rush out, I hope, Captain Gills, that you and he will both consider it as my misfortune, and not my fault or the want of inward conflict, that you'll feel convinced I bear no malice to any living creature, least of all to Lieutenant Walters himself, and that you'll casually remark that I have gone out for a walk, or probably to see what o'clock it is by the royal exchange. Captain Gills, if you could enter into this arrangement and could answer for Lieutenant Walters, it would be a relief to my feelings that I should think cheap at the sacrifice of a considerable portion of my property. My lad, returned the captain, say no more. There ain't no colour you can run up, as won't be made out, an answer to, by Waller and self. Captain Gills, said Mr. Toots, my mind is greatly relieved. I wish to preserve the good opinion of all here. I mean, well, upon my honour, however badly, I may show it, you know, said Mr. Toots. It's as exactly as Burgess and Coe wished to oblige a customer with the most extraordinary pair of trousers, and could not cut out what they had in their minds. With this apposite illustration, of which he seemed a little proud, Mr. Toots gave Captain Cuttle his blessing, and departed. The honest captain, with his heart's delight in the house, and Susan tending her, was a beaming and a happy man. As the days flew by, he grew more beaming and more happy every day. After some conferences with Susan, for whose wisdom the captain had a profound respect, and whose valiant precipitation of herself on Mrs. Max Stinger, he could never forget. He proposed to Florence that the daughter of the elderly lady, who usually sat under the blue umbrella in Leddenhall Market, should, for prudential reasons and considerations of privacy, be superseded in the temporary discharge of the household duties, by someone who was not unknown to them, and in whom they could safely confide. Susan, being present, then named, in furtherance of a suggestion she had previously offered to the captain, Mrs. Richards. Florence brightened at the name, and Susan, setting off that very afternoon to the Toodle Domicile, to sound Mrs. Richards, returned in triumph the same evening, accompanied by the identical, rosy-cheeked, apple-faced Polly, whose demonstrations, when brought into Florence's presence, were hardly less affectionate than those of Susan Nipper herself. This piece of generalship accomplished, from which the captain derived uncommon satisfaction, as he did, indeed, from everything else that was done, whatever it happened to be. Florence had next to prepare Susan for their approaching separation. This was a much more difficult task, as Miss Nipper was of a resolute disposition, and had fully made up her mind that she had come back never to be parted from her old mistress any more. As to wages, dear Miss Floyd, she said, you wouldn't end and wrong me, so as to think of naming them, for I put money by and wouldn't sell my love and duty to them like this, even if the Savings Bank and me were total strangers, or the banks were broke to pieces. But you never been without me, darling, from the time your poor D-mar was took away, and though I'm nothing to be boasted of, you're used to me, and oh, my own dear Mr. Sue, so many years don't think of going anywhere without me, for it mustn't it can't be. Dear Susan, I'm going on a long, long voyage. Well, Miss Floyd, and what of that? The more you want me. Lengths of voyages aren't an object in my eyes, thank God," said the impetuous Susan Nipper. But Susan, I'm going with Walter, and I would go with Walter anywhere, everywhere. Walter is poor, and I'm very poor, and I must learn now both to help myself and help him. Dear Miss Floyd," cried Susan, bursting out afresh and shaking her head violently, it's nothing new to you to help yourself and others too, and be the patientest and twoest of noble hearts. But let me talk to Mr. Walter Gay and settle it with him, or suffer you to go away across the world alone, I cannot, and I won't. Alone, Susan, returned Florence, alone, and Walter taking me with him. Ah, what a bright, amazed and raptured smile was on her face. He should have seen it. I am sure you will not speak to Walter if I ask you not," she added tenderly, and prayed, don't, dear. Susan sobbed, Why not, Miss Floyd? Because, said Florence, I'm going to be his wife, to give him up my whole heart, and to live with him and die with him. He might think, if you said to him what you have said to me, that I'm afraid of what is before me, or that you have some cause to be afraid for me. Why, Susan, dear, I love him. Miss Nipper was so much affected by the quiet fervour of these words, and the simple heart-felt, all-pervading earnestness expressed in them, and making the speaker's face more beautiful and pure than ever, that she could only cling to her again crying. Was her little mistress really, really going to be married, and pitying, caressing, and protecting her as she had done before? But the Nipper, though susceptible of womanly weaknesses, was almost as capable of putting constraint upon herself as of attacking the redoubtable Max Stinger. From that time, she never returned to the subject, but was always cheerful, active, bustling, and hopeful. She did indeed inform Mr. Toots privately that she was only keeping up for the time, and that when it was all over, and Miss Donby was gone, she might be expected to become a spectacle distressful. And Mr. Toots did also express that it was his case too, and that they would mingle their tears together. But she never otherwise indulged her private feelings in the presence of Florence, or within the precincts of the Midshipmen. Limited and plain as Florence's wardrobe was, what a contrast to that prepared for the last marriage in which she had taken part. There was a good deal to do in getting it ready, and Susan Nipper worked away at her side all day with a concentrated zeal of fifty semstresses. The wonderful contributions Captain Cuttle would have made to this branch of the outfit, if he had been permitted, as pink parasols, tinted silk stockings, blue shoes, and other articles no less necessary on shipboard, would occupy some space in the recital. He was induced, however, by various fraudulent representations, to limit his contributions to a work-box and dressing-case, of each of which he purchased the very largest specimen that could be got for the money. For ten days, or a fortnight afterwards, he generally sat, during the greater part of the day, gazing at these boxes, divided between extreme admiration of them, and dejected misgivings that they were not gorgeous enough, and frequently diving out into the street to purchase some wild article that he deemed necessary to their completeness. But his master's droguas, the bearing of them both off suddenly one morning, and getting the two words Florence Gaye, engraved upon a brass heart inlaid over the lid of each. After this, he smoked four pipes successively in the little parlor by himself, and was discovered chuckling at the exploration of as many hours. Walter was busy and away all day, but came there every morning early to see Florence, and always past the evening with her. Florence never left her high rooms, but to steal downstairs to wait for him when it was his time to come, or sheltered by his proud and circling arm to bear him company to the door again, and sometimes peep into the street. In the twilight they were always together. Oh, blessed time! Oh, wandering heart addressed! Oh, deep, exhaustless, mighty well of love, in which so much was sung! The cruel mark was on her bosom yet. It rose against her father with the breath she drew. It lay between her and her lover when he pressed her to his heart. But she forgot it. In the beating of that heart for her, and in the beating of her own for him, all harsher music was unheard, all stern, unloving hearts forgotten. Fragile and delicate she was, but with the might of love within her, that could, and did, create a world to fly to, and to rest in, out of his one image. How often did the great house and the old days come before her in the twilight time, when she was sheltered by the arm so proud, so fond, and creeping closer to him, shrunk within it at the recollection. How often, from remembering the night when she went down to that room and met the never-to-be-forgotten look, did she raise her eyes to those that watched her with such loving earnestness, and weep with happiness in such a refuge. The more she clung to it, the more the dear, dead child was in her thoughts. But as if the last time she had seen her father had been when he was sleeping and she kissed his face, she always left him so, and never in her fancy passed that hour. Walter, dear, said Florence one evening when it was almost dark, do you know what I've been thinking today? Thinking how the time is flying on and how soon we shall be upon the sea, sweet Florence? I don't mean that, Walter, though I think of that, too. I've been thinking what a charge I am to you. A precious, sacred charge, dear heart. Why, I think that sometimes. You're laughing, Walter. I know that's much more in your thoughts than mine, but I mean a cost. A cost, my own? In money, dear. All these preparations that Susan and I are so busy with, I have been able to purchase very little for myself. You were poor before, but how much poorer I shall make you, Walter! And how much richer Florence! Florence laughed and shook her head. Besides, said Walter, long ago, before I went to see, I had a little purse presented to me, which had money in it. Ah! returned Florence, laughing sorrowfully. Very little, very little, Walter. But you must not think. And here she laid her light hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face, that I regret to be this burden on you. No, dear love, I am glad of it. I am happy in it. I wouldn't have it otherwise for all the world. Nor I, indeed, dear Florence. I, but Walter, you can never feel it as I do. I am so proud of you. It makes my heart swell with such delight to know that those who speak of you must say you married a poor, disowned girl who had taken shelter here, who had no other home, no other friends, who had nothing, nothing. Oh, Walter, if I could have brought you millions, I never could have been so happy for your sake as I am. And you, dear Florence, are you nothing? he returned. No, nothing, Walter, nothing but your wife. The light hand stole about his neck, and the voice came nearer, nearer. I am nothing any more, that is not you. I have no earthly hope any more, that is not you. I have nothing, dear, to me any more, that is not you. Oh, well, might Mr. Toots leave the little company that evening, and twice go out to correct his watch by the royal exchange, and wants to keep an appointment with the banker which he suddenly remembered, and wants to take a little turn to Aldgate Pump and back. But before he went upon these expeditions, or indeed before he came and before lights were brought, Walter said, Florence, love, the lading of our ship is nearly finished, and probably on the very day of our marriage, she will drop down the river. Shall we go away that morning and stay in Kent until we go on board at Graves End within a week? If you please, Walter, I shall be happy anywhere, but— Yes, my life. You know, said Florence, that we shall have no marriage party, and that nobody will distinguish us by our dress from other people, as we leave the same day, will you take me somewhere that morning, Walter, early, before we go to church? Walter seemed to understand her as so true a lover so truly loved should, and confirmed his ready promise with a kiss, with more than one perhaps. Or two, or threes, or five, or six. And in the grave, peaceful evening, Florence was very happy. Then into the quiet room came Susan Nipper and the candles. Shortly afterwards the tea, the captain, and the excursive Mr. Toots, who, as above mentioned, was frequently on the move afterwards, and passed but a restless evening. This, however, was not his habit, for he generally got on very well by dint of playing at cribbage with the captain, under the advice and guidance of Miss Nipper, and distracting his mind of the calculations incidental to the game, which he found to be a very effectual means of utterly confounding himself. The captain's visage on these occasions presented one of the finest examples of combination and succession of expression ever observed. His instinctive delicacy, and his chivalrous feeling towards Florence, taught him that it was not a time for any boisterous jollity or violent display of satisfaction. Floating reminiscences of lovely peg, on the other hand, were constantly struggling for event, and urging the captain to commit himself by some irreparable demonstration. A none, his admiration of Florence and Walter, well matched, truly and full of grace and interest in their youth and love and good looks as they sat apart, would take such complete possession of him that he would lay down his cards and beam upon them, dabbing his head all over with his pocket-hanger-chief, until warned, perhaps by the sudden rushing forth of Mr. Toots, that he had unconsciously been very instrumental indeed in making that gentleman miserable. This reflection would make the captain profoundly melancholy, until the return of Mr. Toots, when he would fall to his cards again with many side-winks and nods, and polite waves of his hook at Miss Nipper, importing that he wasn't going to do so any more. The state that ensued on this was perhaps his best. For then, endeavouring to discharge all expression from his face, he would sit staring round the room, with all these expressions conveyed into it at once, and each wrestling with the other. Delighted admiration of Florence and Walter always overthrew the rest, and remained victorious and undisguised, unless Mr. Toots made another rush into the air, and then the captain would sit, like a remorseful culprit, until he came back again, occasionally calling upon himself in a low, reproachful voice to stand by, or growling some remonstrance to, Edward Cuddle, my lad, on the want of caution, observable in his behaviour. One of Mr. Toots' hardest trials, however, was of his own seeking. On the approach of the Sunday which was to witness the last of these askings in church, of which the captain had spoken, Mr. Toots thus stated his feelings to Susan Nipper. Susan? said Mr. Toots. I am drawn towards the building. The words which cut me off from Miss Domby forever will strike upon my ears like a knell, you know, but upon my word and honour I feel that I must hear them. Therefore, said Mr. Toots, will you accompany me tomorrow to the sacred edifice? Miss Nipper expressed her readiness to do so, if that would be any satisfaction to Mr. Toots, but sought him to abandon his idea of going. Susan? returned Mr. Toots with much solemnity. Before my whiskers began to be observed by anybody but myself, I adored Miss Domby. While yet a victim to the thraldom of blimber, I adored Miss Domby. When I could no longer be kept out of my property in a legal point of view and accordingly came into it, I adored Miss Domby. The bands which consign her to Lieutenant Walters and me too, to gloom, you know, said Mr. Toots, after hesitating for a strong expression. May be deadful, will be deadful, but I feel that I should wish to hear them spoken. I feel that I should wish to know that the ground was certainly cut from under me, and that I hadn't a hope to cherish or a leg in short to go upon. Susan Nipper could only commiserate Mr. Toots's unfortunate condition, and agree under these circumstances to accompany him, which he did next morning. The church Walter had chosen for the purpose was a mouldy old church and a yard, hemmed in by a labyrinth of back streets and courts, with a little burying-ground round it, and itself buried in a kind of vault, formed by the neighbouring houses, and paved with echoing stones. It was a great, dim, shabby pile, with high, old, oaken pews, among which about a score of people lost themselves every Sunday, while the clergyman's voice drowsily resounded through the emptiness, and the organ rumbled and rolled as if the church had got the colic, for want of a congregation to keep the wind and damp out. But so far was this city-church from languishing for the company of other churches, that spires were clustered round it as the masts of shipping cluster on the river. It would have been hard to count them from its steeple-top, they were so many. In almost every yard and blind place near, there was a church. The confusion of bells when Susan and Mr. Toots betook themselves towards it on the Sunday morning was deafening. There were twenty churches close together, clamouring for people to come in. The two stray sheep in question were penned by a beetle and a commodious pew, and, being early, sat for some time counting the congregation, listening to the disappointed bell high up in the tower, or looking at a shabby little old man in the porch behind the screen who was ringing the same, like the bull in Cock Robin with his foot in a stirrup. Mr. Toots, after a lengthened survey of the large books on the reading desk, whispered Miss Nipper that he wondered where the bands were kept. But that young lady merely shook her head and frowned, propelling for the time all approaches of a temporal nature. Mr. Toots, however, appearing unable to keep his thoughts from the bands, was evidently looking out for them during the whole preliminary portion of the service. As the time for reading them approached, the poor young gentleman manifested great anxiety and trepidation, which was not diminished by the unexpected apparition of the captain in the front row of the gallery. When the clerk handed up a list that clergyman, Mr. Toots, being then seated, held on by the seat of the pew. But when the names of Walter Gaye and Florence Dombie were read aloud, as being in the third and last stage of that association, he was so entirely conquered by his feelings as to rush from the church without his hat, followed by the beadle, and pew-opener, and two gentlemen of the medical profession, who happened to be present, of whom the first named presently returned for that article, informing Ms. Nipper in a whisper that he was not to make herself uneasy about the gentleman, as the gentleman said his indisposition was of no consequence. Ms. Nipper, feeling that the eyes of that integral portion of Europe, which lost itself weekly among the high-backed pews were upon her, would have been sufficiently embarrassed by this incident, though it had terminated here. The more so as the captain in the front row of the gallery was in a state of unmitigated consciousness, which could hardly fail to express to the congregation that he had some mysterious connection with it. But the extreme restlessness of Mr. Toots painfully increased, and protracted the delicacy of her situation. That young gentleman, incapable in his state of mind of remaining alone in the churchyard, prayed a solitary meditation, and also desireous, no doubt, of testifying his respect for the office he had in some measure interrupted, suddenly returned, not coming back to the pew, but stationing himself on a free seat in the aisle, between two elderly females who were in the habit of receiving their portion of a weekly bowl of bread, then set forth on a shelf in the porch. In this conjunction Mr. Toots remained, greatly disturbing the congregation, who felt it impossible to avoid looking at him, until his feelings overcame him again when he departed silently and suddenly. Not venturing to trust himself in the church any more, and yet wishing to have some social participation in what was going on there, Mr. Toots was, after this, seen from time to time, looking in with a lawn aspect at one or other of the windows. And as there were several windows accessible to him from without, and as his restlessness was very great, it not only became difficult to conceive at which window he would appear next, but likewise became necessary, as it were, for the whole congregation to speculate upon the chances of the different windows during the comparative leisure afforded them by the sermon. Mr. Toots's movements in the church yard were so eccentric that he seemed generally to defeat all calculation, and to appear like the conjurious figure where he was least expected. And the effect of these mysterious presentations was much increased by its being difficult to him to see in, and easy to everybody else to see out, which occasioned his remaining every time longer than might have been expected with his face close to the glass, until he all at once became aware that all eyes were upon him, and vanished. These proceedings on the part of Mr. Toots, and the strong individual consciousness of them that was exhibited by the captain, rendered Ms. Nipper's position so responsible a one that she was mightily relieved by the conclusion of the service, and was hardly so affable to Mr. Toots as usual, when he informed her and the captain on the way back that now he was sure he had no hope, you know, he felt more comfortable, at least not exactly more comfortable, but more comfortably and completely miserable. Swiftly now indeed the time flew by until it was the evening before the day appointed for the marriage. They were all assembled in the upper room at the midshipman's, and had no fear of interruption, for there were no lodgers in the house now, and the midshipman had it all to himself. They were grave and quiet in the prospect of tomorrow, but moderately cheerful too. Florence, with Walter close beside her, was finishing a little piece of work intended as a parting gift to the captain. The captain was playing cribbage with Mr. Toots. Mr. Toots was taking counsel as to his hand of Susan Nipper, as Nipper was giving it with all due secrecy and circumspection. Diogenes was listening, and occasionally breaking out into a gruff half-smothered fragment of a bark, of which he afterwards seemed half ashamed, as if he doubted having any reason for it. Steady! Steady! said the captain to Diogenes. What to miss with you? You don't seem easy in your mind, tonight, my boy. Diogenes wagged his tail, but picked up his ears immediately afterwards, and gave utterance to another fragment of a bark, for which he apologised to the captain by again wagging his tail. It's my opinion, Di, said the captain, looking thoughtfully at his cards and stroking his chin with his hook, as you are your doubts of Mrs. Richards. But if you're the animal I take you to be, you'll think better of that, for her looks is her commission. Now, brother, to Mr. Toots, if so be as you're already, heave ahead. The captain spoke with all composure and attention to the game, but suddenly his cards dropped out of his hand, his mouth and eyes opened wide, his legs drew themselves up and stuck out in front of his chair, and he sat staring at the door with blank amazement. Looking round upon the company, and seeing that none of them observed him or the cause of his astonishment, the captain recovered himself with a great gasp, struck the table a tremendous blow, cried in a stentorian roar, So kills, ahoy! and tumbled into the arms of a weather-beaten peacote that had come with Polly into the room. In another moment, Walter was in the arms of the weather-beaten peacote. In another moment, Florence was in the arms of the weather-beaten peacote. In another moment, Captain Cuttle had embraced Mrs. Richards and Miss Nipper and was violently shaking hands with Mr. Toots, exclaiming as he waved his hook above his head, Hurrah, my lad! Hurrah! To which Mr. Toots, wholly at a loss to account for these proceedings, replied with great politeness, Certainly, Captain kills whatever you think proper. The weather-beaten peacote, and a no less weather-beaten cap and comforter, belonging to it, turned from the captain and from Florence back to Walter. And sounds came from the weather-beaten peacote, cap and comforter, as of an old man sobbing underneath them, while the shaggy sleeves clasped Walter tight. During this pause there was an universal silence, and the captain polished his nose with great diligence. But when the peacote, cap and comforter, lifted themselves up again, Florence gently moved towards them. And she and Walter, taking them off, disclosed the old instrument-maker, a little thinner and more care-worn than of old, in his old Welsh wig and his old coffee-colored coat and basket-buttons, with his old infallible chronometer ticking away in his pocket. Chock-full of sayants, said the radiant captain, as ever he was. Saul kills, Saul kills, what have you been up to for this many a long day, my old boy? I'm half-blind, Ned, said the old man, and almost deaf and dumb with joy. Is worry-voice, said the captain, looking round to an exultation to which even his face could hardly render justice. Is worry-voice, as chock-full of sayants, as ever it was. Saul kills, lay to, my lad, upon your own wines and fig-trees, like a taut old papriarch as you are, and overhaul them their adventures of your own in your own familiar voice. Is the voice, said the captain, impressively and announcing a quotation with his hook, of the sluggard, I hear him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must slumber again, scatter his enemies, and make them fall. The captain sat down with the air of a man who had happily expressed the feeling of everybody present, and immediately rose again to present Mr. Toots, who was much disconcerted by the arrival of anybody appearing to prefer a claim to the name of Gills. Although, stammered Mr. Toots, I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir, before you were lost a sight to memory, dear, suggested the captain in a low voice. Exactly so, Captain Gills, assented Mr. Toots. Although, I had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr. Solves, said Toots, hitting on that name in the inspiration of a bright idea. Before that happened, the greatest pleasure, I assure you, in knowing you, my hope, said Mr. Toots, that your as well as can be expected. With these courteous words Mr. Toots sat down, blushing and chuckling. The old instrument-maker, seated in the corner between Walter and Florence, and nodding at Polly, who was looking on all smiles and delight, answered the captain thus, Ned Cuttle, my dear boy, although I have heard something of the changes of events here from my pleasant friend there, what a pleasant face she has to be sure to welcome the wanderer home, said the old man, breaking off and rubbing his hands in his old dreamy way. Hear him, cried the captain gravely, his woman assiduces all my kind, for which, beside to Mr. Toots, you'll overhaul your Adam and Eve, brother. I shall make a point of doing so, Captain Gills, said Mr. Toots. Although I have heard something of the changes of events from her, presumed the instrument-maker, taking his old spectacles from his pocket, and putting them on his forehead in his old manner, they are so great and unexpected, and I am so overpowered by the sight of my dear boy, and by the glancing at the downcast eyes of Florence, and not attempting to finish the sentence, that I—I can't say much tonight, but my dear Ned Cuttle, why didn't you write? The astonishment depicted in the captain's features positively frightened Mr. Toots, whose eyes were quite fixed by it, so that he could not withdraw them from his face. Right! echoed the captain. Right, Saul Gills! I, said the old man, either to Barbados or Jamaica or Demerara, that was what I asked. What? You asked Saul Gills! repeated the captain. I, said the old man, don't you know, Ned, sure you have not forgotten every time I wrote to you. The captain took off his glazed hat, hung it on his hook, and, smoothing his hair from behind with his hand, sat gazing at the group around him, a perfect image of wandering resignation. You don't appear to understand me, Ned, observed old Saul. Saul Gills! returned the captain, after staring at him and the rest for a long time without speaking. I am gone about and adrift. Pay out a word or two, respected them adventures, will you? Can't I bring up no house? No house! said the captain, ruminating and staring all round. You know, Ned, said Saul Gills, why I left here, did you open my packet, Ned? Why, I, I, said the captain, do we sure he opened the packet? And read it, said the old man, and read it, answered the captain, eyeing him attentively and proceeding to quote it from memory. My dear Ned Cuddle, when I left home for the West Indies in full-on search of intelligence of my dear, there he sits, there's war! said the captain, as if he were relieved by getting hold of anything that was real and indisputable. Well, Ned, now attend a moment, said the old man. When I wrote first, and that was from Barbados, I said that though you would receive that letter long before the air was out, I should be glad if you would open the packet, as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned. When I wrote the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times, that was from Jamaica, I said I was in just the same state, couldn't rest and couldn't come away from that part of the world without knowing that my boy was lost or saved. When I wrote next, that I think was from Demerara, wasn't it? That he thinks was from Demerara, wasn't it? said the captain, looking hopelessly round. I said, preceded old Sol, that still there was no certain information got yet, that I found many captains and others in that part of the world who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a passage here and there, and for whom I was able now and then to do a little in return in my own craft, that everyone was sorry for me, unseen to take a sort of interest in my wanderings, and that I began to think it would be my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my boy until I died. Be yet to think as how he was a scientific Florian Dutchman, said the captain as before, and with great seriousness. But when the news came one day, Ned, that was to Barbados, after I got back there, that a China trader, Homer bound, had been spoke, that had my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home, arrived at home tonight to find it true, then, God, said the old man devoutly. The captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all round the circle, beginning with Mr. Toots, and ending with the instrument-maker, then gravely said, Sol Gills, the observation, as I am going to make, is calculated to blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the boat ropes, and bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever delivered to Edward Cuddle. Not one of them letters, repeated the captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, was ever delivered unto Edward Cuddle, mariner of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth improve each shining hour. And, posted by my own hand, and directed by my own hand, number nine, Brigg Place, exclaimed old Sol. The colour all went out of the captain's face, and all came back again in a glow. What you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by number nine, Brigg Place, inquired the captain. Mean, illogings, Ned, returned the old man. Mrs.—what's her name? I shall forget my own name next, but I'm behind the present time. I always was, you recollect, and very much confused, Mrs.— Sol Gills, said the captain, as if you were putting the most improbable case in the world. It ain't the name of Max Stinger, as you're a traitor, remember? Of course it is, exclaimed the instrument-maker, to be sure, Ned, Mrs. Max Stinger. Captain Cuddle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they would be, and the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a state of speechlessness. Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind? he said at last. All these letters, returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the forefinger of his right hand, upon the palm of his left, with the steadiness and distinctness that might have done honour even to the infallible chronometer in his pocket. I posted with my own hand, and directed with my own hand, to Captain Cuddle at Mrs. Max Stinger's number nine big place. The captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it on, and sat down. Oi, friends all! said the captain, staring round in the last state of discomforture. Oi, cut and run from there! And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuddle. cried Walter hastily. Bless your heart, Waller, said the captain, shaking his head. She'd never have allowed a mighty command to take charge of this ear property. Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Waller, said the captain. You've only seen her in a calm, but see her when her angry passions rise and make a note on. I'd give it a— remarked the nipper softly. What'd you, do you think, my dear? Returned the captain with feeble admiration. Well, my dear, it does you credit, but there ain't no wild animal I wouldn't sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a friend as nobody's a match for. If there was no good sending any letter there, she wouldn't take in any letter, bless you, said the captain, under them circumstances. Why, you could hardly make it worth a man's while to be the postman. Then it's pretty clear, Captain Cuddle, that all of us, and you, and Uncle Sol especially, said Walter, may thank Mrs. Maxdinger for no small anxiety. The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the late Mr. Maxdinger was so apparent that the captain did not contest the point, but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering the last conversation he and the captain had held together respecting it. He remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes, an extraordinary period for him, when that sun, his face, broke out once more, shining on all beholders with extraordinary brilliancy, and he fell into a fit of shaking hands with everybody over and over again. At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all, except Walter, vacated Florence's room and went down to the parlour. Here they were soon after it's joined by Walter, who told them Florence was a little sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and had gone to bed. Though they could not have disturbed him with their voices down there, they all spoke in a whisper after this, and each in their own words, and each in his different way, felt very lovingly and gently towards Walter's fair young bride, and a long explanation there was of everything relating to her, for the satisfaction of Uncle Sol, and very sensible Mr. Toots was of the delicacy with which Walter made his name and service as important, and his presence necessary to their little counsel. Mr. Toots, said Walter, and parting with him at the house door, We shall see each other tomorrow morning. Lieutenant Walters, returned Mr. Toots, grasping his hand fervently, I shall certainly be present. This is the last night we shall meet for a long time. The last night we may ever meet, said Walter. Such a noble heart as yours must feel, I think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very grateful to you. Walter's, replied Mr. Toots, quite touched. I should be glad to feel that you had reason to be so. Florence, said Walter, on this last night of her bearing her own name, has made me promise it was only just now, when you left us together, that I would tell you, with her dear love, Mr. Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost and his eyes upon his hand. With her dear love, said Walter, that she can never have a friend whom she will value above you, that the recollection of your true consideration for her always can never be forgotten by her, that she remembers you in her prayers tonight and hopes that you will think of her when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you? Say, Walter? replied Mr. Toots indistinctly. That I shall think of her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure her husband deserves her, even her, and that I am glad of her choice. Mr. Toots got more distinct as he came to the last words, and raising his eyes from the doorpost said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's hand again with the fervour that Walter was not slow to return, and started homeward. Mr. Toots was accompanied by the chicken whom he had of late brought with him every evening, and left in the shop, was an idea that unforeseen circumstances might arise from without in which the prowess of that distinguished character would be of service to the midshipman. The chicken did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this occasion. Either the gas lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideous manner, and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr. Toots, crossing the road, looked back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home, he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other foot passengers, than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of self-defense. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr. Toots in his apartments when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him, weighing his white hat in both hands by the brim, and twitching his head and nose, both of which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired, with an air of decided disrespect. His patron, being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe this for some time, nor, indeed, until the chicken, determined not to be overlooked, had made diverse clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth to attract attention. Now, master! said the chicken doggedly, when he had length caught Mr. Toots' eye. I want to know whether this year, Gavin, is to finish it, or whether you're a going it in a win. Chicken! returned Mr. Toots, explaining yourself. Why, then, is all about it, master? said the chicken. I ain't a cove to chuck a word away, is what it is, or any on him to be doubled up. When the chicken put this question, he dropped his hat, made a dodge and a faint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy of violent blow with his right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself. Clown master! said the chicken. Is it to be gum and no plaque? Which? Chicken! returned Mr. Toots. Your expressions are coarse, and your meaning is obscure. Why, then, I'll tell you what, master! said the chicken. This is where it is. It's mean. What is mean, chicken? asked Mr. Toots. It is, said the chicken, for the frightful corrugation of his broken nose. Then, now, master, what? When you could go and blow on this earmatch to the stiffen? By which depreciatory appellation it has been since supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr. Donby. Then, when you could knock the winner, and all I kill him, dead out of wind and time, are you going to give in? To give in? said the chicken, with contemptuous emphasis. Why, it's mean. Chicken! said Mr. Toots severely. You're a perfect vulture. Your sentiments are atrocious. My sentiments is game and fancy, master, returned the chicken. That's what my sentiments is. I can't obey a meanness. When I fall out of public, I'll have to be eared on at the bow of the little hellish aunt, and no gatherer of mine mustn't go and do what's mean. Why, it's mean. said the chicken, with increased expression. That's where it is. It's mean. Chicken! said Mr. Toots. You disgust me. Master! returned the chicken, putting on his hat. There's a pair on us, then. Come, ease our offer. You spackle me more and once or twice about a public line. Never mind. Give me a fifty-pun note, demora, and let me go. Chicken! returned Mr. Toots. After the odious sentiments you have expressed, I shall be glad to part on such term. Dan, then. said the chicken. It's a bargain. Is it your conduct, or yours? Won't suit my book, master. Why, it's mean. said the chicken, who seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it. That's where it is. It's mean. So Mr. Toots and the chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of moral perception. And Mr. Toots, lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of her maiden life, and who had sent him her dear love. End of Chapter 56. Chapter 57 Of Dumby 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. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. Dumby and Son. By Charles Dickens. Chapter 57. Another Wedding Mr. Sounds the Beedle, and Mrs. Miff, the pew-opener, are early at their posts in the fine church where Mr. Dumby was married. A yellow-faced old gentleman from India is going to take unto himself a young wife this morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs. Miff has been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave the road to church with diamonds and hardly miss them. The nuptial benediction is to be a superior one, proceeding from a very reverend, a dean, and the ladies to be given away as an extraordinary present by somebody who comes express from the horse-guards. Mrs. Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning than she generally is, and she has always strong opinions on that subject, for it is associated with free sittings. Mrs. Miff is not a student of political economy. She thinks the science is connected with dissenters—baptists or Wesleyans or some of them, she says—but you can never understand what business your common folks have to be married. Do you at them? says Mrs. Miff. You read the same things over them, and instead of sovereigns get six pincers. Mr. Sounds the Beedle is more liberal than Mrs. Miff, but then he is not a pew opener. It must be done, ma'am, he says, we must marry him. We must have our national schools to walk at the head of, and we must have our standing armies. We must marry him, ma'am, says Mr. Sounds, and keep the country going. Mr. Sounds is sitting on the steps, and Mrs. Miff is dusting in the church, when a young couple plainly dressed come in. The mortified bonnet of Mrs. Miff is sharply turned towards them, for she aspires in this early visit indications of a runaway match. But they don't want to be married, only, says the gentleman, to walk round the church. And as he slips a genteel compliment into the palm of Mrs. Miff, her vinegary face relaxes, and her mortified bonnet, and her spare dry figure dip and crackle. Mrs. Miff resumes her dusting, and plumps up her cushions, for the yellow-faced old gentleman is reported to have tender knees, but keeps her glazed, pew-opening eye on the young couple who are walking round the church. Coughs Mrs. Miff, whose cough is drier than the hay in any hassock in her charge. You'll come to ask me these mornings, my dears, unless I'm much mistaken. They are looking at a tablet on the wall, erected to the memory of someone dead. They are a long way off from Mrs. Miff, but Mrs. Miff can see with half an eye how she is leaning on his arm, and how his head is bent down over her. Now, well, says Mrs. Miff, you might do worse for your tidy pair. There is nothing personal in Mrs. Miff's remark. She merely speaks of stocking trade. She is hardly more curious in couples than in coffins. She is such a spare, straight, dry old lady, such a pew of a woman, that you should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr. Sounds, now, who is fleshy and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different temperament. He says, as they stand upon the steps watching the young couple away, that she has a pretty figure, hasn't she? And as well as he could see, for she held her head down, coming out, an uncommon pretty face. All together, Mrs. Miff, says Mr. Sounds, with a relish, she is what you may call a rosebud. Mrs. Miff, a sense of the spare nod of her mortified bonnet, but approves of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she wouldn't be the wife of Mr. Sounds, for any money he could give her, bedal as he is. And what are the young couple saying as they leave the church, and go out at the gate? Dear Walter, thank you. I can go away now, happy. And when we come back, Florence, we will come and see his grave again. Florence lifts her eyes so bright with tears to his kind face, and clasps her disengaged hand on that other modest little hand which clasps his arm. It is very early, Walter, and the streets are almost empty yet. Let us walk. But you'll be so tired, my love. Oh, no! I was very tired the first time that we ever walked together, but I shall not be so to-day. And thus, not much changed, she, as innocent and earnest-hearted, he, as frank, as hopeful, and more proud of her, Florence and Walter, on their bridal morning, walk through the streets together. Not even in that childish walk of long ago, were they so far removed from all the world about them as to-day. The childish feet of long ago did not tread such enchanted ground as theirs do now. The confidence and love of children may be given many times and must bring up in many places, but the woman's heart of Florence, with its undivided treasure, can be yielded only once, and under slight or change can only droop and die. They take the streets that are the quietest, and do not go near that in which her old home stands. It is a fair warm summer morning, and the sun shines on them, as they walk towards the darkening mist that overspreads the city. Riches are uncovering in shops, jewels, gold, and silver flash in the goldsmith's sunny windows, and great houses cast a stately shade upon them as they pass. But through the light, and through the shade, they go on lovingly together, lost to everything around, thinking of no other riches, and no prouder home, than they have now in one another. Gradually they come into the darker, narrower streets, where the sun, now yellow, and now red, is seen through the mist, only at street corners, and in small open spaces, where there is a tree, or one of the innumerable churches, or a paved way and a flight of steps, or a curious little patch of garden, or a burying ground, where the few tombs and tombstones are almost black. Lovingly and trustfully, through all the narrow yards and alleys and the shady streets, Florence goes, clinging to his arm, to be his wife. Her heart beats quicker now, for Walter tells her that their church is very near. They pass a few great stacks of warehouses, with wagons at the doors, and busy car-men stopping up the way. But Florence does not see or hear them, and then the air is quiet, and the day is darkened, and she is trembling in a church, which has a strange smell, like a cellar. The shabby little old man, ringer of the disappointed bell, is standing in the porch, and has put his hat in the font, for he is quite at home there, being sextant. He ushers them into an old brown, panelled, dusty vestry, like a corner covered with the shelves taken out, where the wormy registers diffuse a smell like fables, the wormy registers diffuse a smell like faded snuff, which has set the tearful nipper sneezing. Youthful and how beautiful the young bride looks, in this old, dusty place, with no kindred object near her but her husband. There is a dusty old clerk, who keeps a sort of evaporated news-shop underneath an archway opposite, behind a perfect fortification of posts. There is a dusty old pew-opener, who only keeps herself, and finds it quite enough to do. There is a dusty old beetle, these are Mr. Toots's beetle and pew-opener of last Sunday, who has something to do with a worshipful company, who have got a hall in the next yard with a stained glass window in it that no mortal ever saw. There are dusty wooden ledges and cornices poked in and out over the altar, and over the screen and round the gallery, and over the inscription about what the master and wardens of the worshipful company did in 1694. There are dusty old sounding boards over the pulpit and reading desk, looking like lids to be let down on the officiating ministers in case of their giving offence. There is every possible provision for the accommodation of dust, except in the churchyard, where the facilities in that respect are very limited. The captain, Uncle Sol, and Mr. Toots are come. The clergyman is putting on his surplus in the vestry, while the clerk walks round him blowing the dust off it, and the bride and bridegroom stand before the altar. There is no bridesmaid, unless Susan Nipper is one, and no better father than Captain Cattle. A man with a wooden leg, chewing a faint apple, and carrying a blue bag in his hand, looks in to see what is going on, but finding it nothing entertaining, stumps off again, and pegs his way among the echoes out of doors. No gracious ray of light is seen to fall on Florence, kneeling at the altar with her timid head bowed down. The morning luminary is built out, and don't shine there. There is a meagre tree outside, where the sparrows are chirping a little, and there is a blackbird in an islet hole of sun in a dire's garret, over against the window, who whistles loudly whilst the service is performing, and there is the man with the wooden leg stomping away. The arm-ends of the dusty clerk appear, like Mike Beths, to stick in his throat a little, but Captain Cattle helps him out, and does it with so much good will that he interpolates three entirely new responses of that word never introduced into the service before. They are married, and have signed their names in one of the old, sneezy registers, and the clergyman's surplus is restored to the dust, and the clergyman has gone home. In a dark corner of the dark church, Florence has turned to Susan Nipper, and is weeping in her arms. Mr. Toots' eyes are red. The Captain lubricates his nose. Uncle Sol has pulled down his spectacles from his forehead, and walked out to the door. God bless you, Susan! dearest Susan! If you ever can bear witness to the love I have for Walter, and the reason that I have to love him do it for his sake. Goodbye. Goodbye. They have thought it better not to go back to the midshipman, but to part so. A coach is waiting for them near at hand. Miss Nipper cannot speak. She only sobs and chokes and hugs her mistress. Mr. Toots advances, urges her to cheer up, and takes charge of her. Florence gives him her hand, gives him in the fullness of her heart her lips. Kisses Uncle Sol and Captain Cuttle, and is borne away by her young husband. But Susan cannot bear that Florence should go away with a mournful recollection of her. She had meant to be so different that she reproaches herself bitterly. Intent on making one last effort to redeem her character, she breaks from Mr. Toots and runs away to find the coach, and show a parting smile. The captain, divining her object, sets off after her, for he feels it is his duty also to dismiss them with a cheer, if possible. Uncle Sol and Mr. Toots are left behind together outside the church to wait for them. The coach is gone, but the street is steep and narrow and blocked up, and Susan can see it at a standstill in the distance, she is sure. Captain Cuttle follows her as she flies down the hill, and waves his glazed hat as a general signal, which may attract the right coach, and which may not. Susan outstrips the captain, and comes up with it. She looks in at the window, sees Walter with the gentle face beside him, and claps her hands and screams, Miss Fnoy, my darling, look at me! We are all so happy now, dear! One more goodbye, my precious, one more! How Susan does it, she don't know, but she reaches to the window, kisses her, and has her arms about her neck in a moment. We are all so happy now, my dear Miss Fnoy! says Susan, with a suspicious catching in her breath. You won't be angry with me now, will you? Angry, Susan? No, no, I'm sure you won't! I say you won't, my pet, my dearest! exclaims Susan. And here's the captain too, your friend the captain, you know, to say goodbye once more. Hoorah, my art's delight! for separates the captain with a countenance of strong emotion. Hoorah, waller, my lad! Hoorah, hoorah! Walter, the young husband at one window, and the young wife at the other, the captain hanging on at this door, and Susan Nipper holding fast by that, the coach obliged to go on whether it will or no, and all the other carts and coaches turbulent because it hesitates. There never was so much confusion on four wheels. But Susan Nipper gallantly maintains her point. She keeps a smiling face upon her mistress, smiling through her tears, until the last. Even when she is left behind, the captain continues to appear and disappear at the door, crying, Hoorah, my lad! Hoorah, my art's delight! with his shirt-collar and a violent state of agitation, until it is hopeless to attempt to keep up with the coach any longer. Finally, when the coach is gone, Susan Nipper, being rejoined by the captain, falls into a state of insensibility, and is taken into a baker's shop to recover. Uncle Sol and Mr. Toots wait patiently in the churchyard, sitting on the coping-stone of the railings, until Captain Cuttle and Susan come back. Neither being at all desirous to speak, or to be spoken to, they are excellent company, and quite satisfied. When they all arrive again at the little midshipman, and sit down to breakfast, nobody can touch a morsel. Captain Cuttle makes a faint of being voracious about toast, but gives it up as a swindle. Mr. Toots says, after breakfast, he will come back in the evening, and goes wandering about the town all day, with a vague sensation upon him, as if he hadn't been to bed for a fortnight. There is a strange charm in the house, and in the room in which they have been used to be together, and out of which so much is gone. It aggravates, and yet it soothes the sorrow of the separation. Mr. Toots tells Susan Nipper, when he comes at night, that he hasn't been so wretched all day long, and yet he likes it. He confides in Susan Nipper, being alone with her, and tells her what his feelings were, and she gave him that candid opinion as to the probability of Miss Domby's ever loving him. In the vein of confidence engendered by these common recollections and their tears, Mr. Toots proposes that they shall go out together and buy something for supper. Miss Nipper assenting they buy a good many little things, and, with the aid of Mrs. Richards, set the supper out quite surely before the captain and old Sol came home. The captain and old Sol have been on board the ship, and have established dye there, and have seen the chests put aboard. They have much to tell about the popularity of Walter, and the comforts he will have about him, and the quiet way in which it seems he has been working early and late to make his cabin what the captain calls a picture, to surprise his little wife. Admiral's cabin, mind you, says the captain, ain't more trim. But one of the captain's chief delights is that he knows the big watch, and the sugar tongs, and the teaspoons are on board, and again and again he murmurs to himself, Edward, cuttle, my lad, you've never shaped a better course in your life than when you made that there little property over gently. You see how the land bore, Edward, says the captain, and it does you credit, my lad. The old instrument maker is more distraught and misty than he used to be, and takes the marriage and the parting very much to heart. But he is greatly comforted by having his old ally, Ned Cuttle, at his side, and he sits down to supper for the grateful and contented face. My boy has been preserved and thrives, says old Sol Gill's, rubbing his hands. What right have I to be otherwise than thankful and happy? The captain, who has not yet taken his seat at the table, but who has been fidgeting about for some time, and now stands hesitating in his place, looks doubtfully at Mr. Gill's, and says, Sol, there is a last bottle of the old Madeira down below. Would you wish to have it up to night, my boy, and drink to war and his wife? The instrument maker, looking wistfully at the captain, puts his hand into the breast pocket of his coffee-coloured coat, brings forth his pocketbook, and takes a letter out. To Mr. Donby, says the old man, from Walter, to be sent in three weeks' time, I'll read it. Sir, I am married to your daughter. She is gone with me upon a distant voyage. To be devoted to her is to have no claim on her or you, but God knows that I am. Why, loving her beyond all earthly things, I have yet, without remorse, united her to the uncertainties and dangers of my life, I will not say to you. You know why, and you are her father. Do not reproach her, she has never reproached you. I do not think or hope that you will ever forgive me. There is nothing I expect less. But if an hour should come, when it will comfort you to believe that Florence has someone ever near her, the great charge of whose life is to cancel her remembrance of past sorrow, I solemnly assure you, you may, in that hour, rest in that belief. Solomon puts back the letter carefully in his pocketbook, and puts back his pocketbook in his coat. We won't drink the last bottle of the old Madeira yet, Ned, says the old man thoughtfully. Not yet. Not yet. He sends the captain. No, not yet. Susan and Mr. Toots are of the same opinion. After silence they all sit down to supper and drink to the young husband and wife in something else, and the last bottle of the old Madeira still remains among its dust and cobwebs, undisturbed. A few days have elapsed, and a stately ship is out at sea, spreading its white wings to the favouring wind. Upon the deck, image to the roughest man on board of something that is graceful, beautiful and harmless, something that it is good and pleasant to have there, and that should make the voyage prosperous, is Florence. It is night, and she and Walter sit alone, watching the solemn path of light upon the sea between them and the moon. At length she cannot see it plainly, for the tears that fill her eyes, and then she lays her head down on his breast, and puts her arms around his neck, saying, Oh, Walter, dearest love, I am so happy. Her husband holds her to his heart, and they are very quiet, and the stately ship goes on serenely. As I hear the sea, says Florence, and sit watching it, it brings so many days into my mind. It makes me think so much. Of Paul, my love, I know it does. Of Paul and Walter, and the voices in the waves are always whispering to Florence in their ceaseless murmuring of love, of love eternal and illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end of time, but ranging still beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far away.