 CHAPTER 27 Mr. Karka, the manager, rose with the lark and went out, walking in the summer day. His meditations, and he meditated with contracted brows while he strolled along, hardly seemed to soar as high as the lark, or to mount in that direction, rather they kept close to their nest upon the earth, and looked about among the dust and worms. But there was not a bird in the air, singing unseen, farther beyond the reach of human eye than Mr. Karka's thoughts. He had his face so perfectly under control, that few could say more in distinct terms of its expression, than that it smiled, or that it pondered. It pondered now, intently. As the lark rose higher, he sank deeper in thought. As the lark poured out her melody clearer and stronger, he fell into a graver and profounder silence. At length, when the lark came headlong down with an accumulating stream of song, and dropped among the green wheat near him, rippling in the breath of the morning like a river, he sprang up from his reverie, and looked round with a sudden smile, as courteous and as soft as if he had had numerous observers to propitiate. Nor did he relapse after being thus awakened. But clearing his face, like one who bethought himself that it might otherwise wrinkle and tell tales, went smiling on as if for practice. After the night of first impressions, Mr. Carca was very carefully and trimly dressed that morning. Though always somewhat formal in his dress, in imitation of the great man whom he served, he stopped short of the extent of Mr. Donby's stiffness, at once perhaps because he knew it to be ludicrous, and because in doing so, he found another means of expressing his sense of the difference and distance between them. Some people quoted him indeed, in this respect, as a pointed commentary, and not a flattering one, on his icy patron. But the world is prone to misconstruction, and Mr. Carca was not accountable for its bad propensity. Clean and florid, with his light complexion fading as it were in the sun, and his dainty step enhancing the softness of the turf, Mr. Carca the manager strolled about meadows and green lanes, and glided among avenues of trees, until it was time to return to breakfast. Being a nearer way back, Mr. Carca pursued it, airing his teeth, and said aloud as he did so, now to see the second Mrs. Donby. He had strolled beyond the town, and re-entered it by a pleasant walk, where there was a deep shade of leafy trees, and where there were a few benches here and there for those who chose to rest. It not being a place of general resort at any hour, and wearing at that time of the still morning, the air of being quite deserted and retired, Mr. Carca had it, or thought he had it, all to himself. So with the whim of an idle man, to whom there yet remained twenty minutes for reaching a destination easily able in ten, Mr. Carca threaded the great bowls of the trees, and went passing in and out, before this one and behind that, weaving a chain of footsteps on the dewy ground. But he found he was mistaken in supposing there was no one in the grove, for as he softly rounded the trunk of one large tree, on which the obdurate bark was knotted and overlapped, like the hide of a rhinoceros, or some kindred monster of the ancient days before the flood, he saw an unexpected figure sitting on a bench near at hand, about which, in another moment, he would have wound the chain he was making. It was that of a lady, elegantly dressed and very handsome, whose dark, proud eyes were fixed upon the ground, and in whom some passion or struggle was raging. For as she sat looking down, she held a corner of her underlip within her mouth. Her bosom heaved, her nostril quivered, her head trembled, indignant tears were on her cheek, and her foot was set upon the moss, as though she would have crushed it into nothing. And yet almost the self-same glance that showed him this, showed him the self-same lady rising with a scornful air of weariness and lassitude, and turning away with nothing expressed in face or figure, but careless beauty and imperious disdain. A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gypsy as like any of that medley race of vagabonds who tramp about the country, begging and stealing and tinkering and weaving rushes by turns, or altogether, had been observing the lady too. For, as she rose, the second figure, strangely confronting the first, scrambled up from the ground, out of it, it almost appeared, and stood in the way. Let me tell your fortune, my pretty lady," said the old woman, munching with her jaws, as if the death's head beneath her yellow skin were impatient to get out. I can tell it for myself," was the reply. I, I, pretty lady, but not right. You didn't tell it right when you were sitting there. I see you. Give me a piece of silver, pretty lady, and I'll tell your fortune true. There's riches, pretty lady, in your face. I know," returned the lady, passing her with a dark smile and a proud step. I knew it before. What? You won't give me nothing," cried the old woman. You won't give me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady? How much will you give me to tell it then? Give me something, or I'll call it after you," coked the old woman passionately. Mr. Carca, whom the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his tree as she crossed to gain the path, advanced so as to meet her, and pulling off his hat as she went by, bade the old woman hold her peace. The lady acknowledged his interference with an inclination of the head, and went her way. You give me something, then, or I'll call it after her," screamed the old woman, throwing up her arms and pressing forward against his outstretched hand. Oh, come," she added, dropping her voice suddenly, looking at him earnestly, and seeming in a moment to forget the object of her wrath. Give me something, or I'll call it after you. After me, old lady," turned the manager, putting his hand in his pocket, "'Yes,' said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shriveled hand, "'I know.' "'What do you know?' demanded Carca, throwing her a shilling. "'Do you know who the handsome lady is?' Munching like that sailor's wife of yore, who had chestnuts in her lap, and scowling like the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards like a crab, or like a heap of crabs, for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face some half a dozen more. Crouched on the vainest root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, greeted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner. Mr. Carca laughed, and turned upon his heel. "'Good,' said the old woman, "'one child dead, and one child living, one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her.' In spite of himself, the manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible familiar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed. "'What was that, you said, Beldemite?' he demanded. The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him, but remained silent, muttering a farewell that was not complimentary. Mr. Carca pursued his way. But as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, "'Go and meet her.' Preparations for a choice repass to a completed, he found, at the hotel, and Mr. Donby and the major and the breakfast were awaiting the ladies. Individual constitution has much to do with the development of such facts, no doubt. But in this case, appetite carried it hollow over the tender passion. Mr. Donby being very cool and collected, and the major fretting and fuming in a state of violent heat and irritation. At length the door was thrown open by the native, and, after a pause, occupied by her languishing along the gallery, a very blooming, but not very youthful lady appeared. "'My dear Mr. Donby,' said the lady, "'I'm afraid we are late. Vadideth has been out already looking for a favourable point of view for a sketch, and kept me waiting for her. Falseest of majors,' giving him her little finger. "'How do you do?' "'Mr. Scootin,' said Mr. Donby, "'let me gratify my friend, Karka.' Mr. Donby unconsciously emphasised the word friend, as saying, no, really, I do allow him to take credit for that distinction by presenting him to you. "'You have heard me mention, Mr. Karka?' "'I am charmed, I'm sure,' said Mrs. Scootin graciously. Mr. Karka was charmed, of course. Would he have been more charmed on Mr. Donby's behalf, if Mrs. Scootin had been, as he had first supposed her, the Edith whom they had toasted overnight? "'Why, where for heaven's sake is Edith?' exclaimed Mrs. Scootin, looking round. "'Still at the door, giving withers' orders "'about the mounting of those drawings. "'My dear Mr. Donby, will you have the kindness?' Mr. Donby was already gone to seek her. Next moment he returned, bearing on his arm the same elegantly dressed and very handsome lady whom Mr. Karka had encountered underneath the trees. "'Karka,' began Mr. Donby. But their recognition of each other was so manifest that Mr. Donby stopped, surprised. "'I am obliged to the gentleman,' said Edith, with a stately bend, "'for sparing me some annoyance "'from an importunate beggar just now.' "'I am obliged to my good fortune,' said Mr. Karka, bowing low, "'for the opportunity of rendering so slight a service "'to one whose servant I am proud to be.' "'As her eye rested on him for an instant, "'and then lighted on the ground, "'he saw in its bright and searching glance "'a suspicion that he had not come up "'at the moment of his interference, "'but had secretly observed her sooner. "'As he saw that, she saw in his eye "'at her distrust was not without foundation.' "'Really?' cried Mrs. Scuton, "'who had taken this opportunity "'of inspecting Mr. Karka through her glass "'and satisfying herself, "'as she lisped audibly to the major "'that he was all-heart. "'Really, now, this is one of the most "'enjunting coincidences that I ever heard of. "'The idea, my dearest Edith, "'there is such an obvious destiny in it "'that really one might almost be induced "'to cross one's arms upon one's frock, "'and say, like those wicked Turks, "'there is no what is name but thing of me, "'and what you may call it is his profit.' "'Edith designed no revision "'of this extraordinary quotation from the Quran, "'but Mr. Donby felt it necessary "'to offer a few polite remarks. "'It gives me great pleasure,' said Mr. Donby, "'with cumbrous gallantry, "'that a gentleman so nearly connected "'with myself as Karka is, "'should have had the honor and happiness "'of rendering the least assistance to Mrs. Granger. "'Mr. Donby bowed to her. "'But it gives me some pain, "'and it occasions me to be really envious of Karka. "'He unconsciously laid stress on these words, "'as sensible that they must appear "'to involve a very surprising proposition. "'Envious of Karka, "'that I had not that honor "'and that happiness myself, Mr. Donby bowed again. "'Edith, saving for a curl of her lip, was motionless.' "'By the Lord, sir!' cried the Major, "'bursting into speech at sight of the waiter "'who has come to announce breakfast. "'It's an extraordinary thing to me "'that no one can have the honor and happiness "'of shooting all such beggars through the head "'without being brought to book for it. "'But here's an arm for Mrs. Granger, "'if she'll do JB the honor to accept it. "'And the greatest service Joe can render, you ma'am, "'just now is to lead you into table.' "'With this, the Major gave his arm to Edith. "'Mr. Donby led the way with Mrs. Scootin. "'Mr. Karka went last, smiling on the party.' "'I am quite rejoiced, Mr. Karka,' said the lady mother, "'at breakfast, after another approving survey "'of him through her glass. "'That you have timed your visit so happily "'as to go with us to-day. "'It is the most enchanting expedition.' "'Any expedition would be enchanting in such society,' returned Karka. "'But I believe it is in itself full of interest.' "'Oh!' cried Mrs. Scootin, "'with a faded little scream of rapture, "'the castle is charming. "'Associations of the Middle Ages and all that, "'which are so truly exquisite, "'don't you doubt upon the Middle Ages, Mr. Karka?' "'Very much indeed,' said Mr. Karka. "'Such charming times,' cried Leopatra, "'so full of faith, so vigorous and enforceable, "'so picturesque, so perfectly removed from commonplace. "'Oh, dear, if they would only leave us "'a little more of the poetry of existence "'in these terrible days.' "'Mr. Scootin was looking sharp after Mr. Donby "'all the time she said this, "'who was looking at Edith, "'who was listening, but who never lifted up her eyes. "'We are dreadfully real, Mr. Karka,' said Mrs. Scootin. "'Are we not?' "'Few people had less reason to complain "'of their reality than Leopatra, "'who had as much that was false about her "'as could well go to the composition of anybody "'with a real individual existence. "'But Mr. Karka commiserated our reality, nevertheless, "'and agreed that we were very hardly used in that regard. "'Pictures at the castle, quite divine,' said Leopatra. "'I hope you dot upon pictures.' "'I assure you, Mrs. Scootin,' said Mr. Donby, "'with solemn encouragement of his manager, "'that Karka has a very good taste for pictures, "'quite a natural power of appreciating them. "'He is a very creditable artist himself. "'He will be delighted, I am sure, "'with Mrs. Granger's taste and skill.' "'Damn, sir,' cried Major Bagstock. "'My opinion is that you're the admirable Karka, "'and can do anything.' "'Oh,' smiled Karka with humility. "'You are much too sanguine, Major Bagstock. "'I can do very little. "'But Mr. Donby is so generous in his estimation "'of any trivial accomplishment. "'A man like myself may find it almost necessary to acquire, "'and to which, in his very different sphere, "'he is far superior, that,' Mr. Karka shrugged his shoulders, "'deprecating further praise, and said no more. "'All this time, Edith never raised her eyes, "'unless to glance towards her mother, "'when that lady's fervent spirit shone forth in words. "'But as Karka ceased, she looked at Mr. Donby for a moment, "'for a moment only, "'but with a transient gleam of scornful wonder on her face, "'not lost on one observer who was smiling round the board. "'Mr. Donby caught the dark eyelash in its descent "'and took the opportunity of arresting it.' "'You have been to Warwick often, unfortunately,' "'said Mr. Donby. "'Several times.' "'The visit will be tedious to you, I'm afraid.' "'Oh, no, not at all.' "'Ah, you are like your cousin Phoenix, my dearest Edith,' "'said Mrs. Scuton. "'He has been to Warwick Castle fifty times "'if he has been there once. "'Yet, if he came to Leamington tomorrow, "'I wish he would, dear angel. "'He would make his fifty-second visit next day.' "'We are all enthusiastic, are we not, Mamar?' "'said Edith, with a cold smile. "'Too much so for our peace, perhaps, my dear,' "'returned her mother. "'But we won't complain. "'Our own emotions are our recompense, "'if, as your cousin Phoenix says, "'the sword wears out the, what's its name?' "'The scabbard, perhaps,' said Edith. "'Exactly, a little too fast. "'It is because it is bright and glowing, you know, "'my dearest love.' Mrs. Scuton heaved a gentle sigh, "'supposed to cast a shadow on the surface "'of that dagger of lath, "'whereof her susceptible bosom was the sheath, "'and leaning her head on one side "'in the Cleopatra manor, "'looked with pence of affection on her darling child.' "'Edith had turned her face towards Mr. Dombie "'when he first addressed her, "'and had remained in that attitude, "'while speaking to her mother, "'and while her mother spoke to her, "'as though offering him her attention "'if he had anything more to say. "'There was something in the manner of this simple courtesy, "'almost defiant, "'and giving it the character of being rendered on compulsion, "'or as a matter of traffic "'to which she was a reluctant party again, "'not lost upon that same observer "'who was smiling round the board. "'It set him thinking of her "'as he had first seen her "'when she had believed herself to be alone among the trees. "'Mr. Dombie, having nothing else to say, proposed, "'the breakfast being now finished, "'and the major gorge, like any boa constrictor, "'that they should start. "'A barouche being in waiting, "'according to the orders of that gentleman, "'the two ladies, the major and himself, "'took their seats in it. "'The native and the one-page mounted the box, "'Mr. Talinson being left behind, "'and Mr. Carca on horseback brought up the rear. "'Mr. Carca canted behind the carriage "'at the distance of a hundred yards or so, "'and watched it during all the ride "'as if he were a cat, indeed, "'and its four occupants mice. "'Whether he looked to one side of the road or to the other, "'over distant landscape with its smooth undulations, "'windmills, corn, grass, bean fields, wild flowers, "'farm yards, hay-ricks, and the spire among the wood, "'or upwards in the sunny air, "'where butterflies were sporting round his head, "'and birds were pouring out their songs, "'or downward, where the shadows of the branches interlaced, "'and made a trembling carpet on the road, "'or onward, where the overhanging trees "'formed aisles and arches, "'dim with the softened light "'that steeped through leaves. "'One corner of his eye was ever "'on the formal head of Mr. Dombie, "'addressed towards him, "'and the feather in the bonnet, drooping so neglectfully "'and scornfully between them, "'much as he had seen the haughty eyelids droop, "'not least so when the face met that now fronting it.' "'Once and once only did his weary glance "'release these objects, "'and that was when a leap over a low hedge, "'at a gallop across a field, "'enabled him to anticipate the carriage "'coming by the road, "'and to be standing ready at the journey's end "'to hand the ladies out. "'Then, and but then, "'he met her glance for an instant in her first surprise. "'But when he touched her in a lighting "'with his soft, white hand, "'it overlooked him altogether as before. "'Mr. Scuton was bent on taking charge "'of Mr. Carker herself "'and showing him the beauties of the castle. "'She was determined to have his arm and the majeurs too. "'It would do that incorrigible creature, "'who was the most barbarous infidel in point of poetry, "'good to be in such company. "'This chance arrangement left Mr. Donby at Liberty "'to escort Edith, "'which he did, "'stalking before them through the apartments "'with a gentlemanly solemnity. "'Lose, darling, bag-on-times, Mr. Carker,' said Cleopatra, "'with their delicious fortresses "'and their dear old dungeons "'and their delightful places of torture "'and their romantic vengences "'and their picturesque salts and sieges "'and everything that makes life truly charming. "'How dreadfully we have degenerated!' "'Yes, we have fallen off deplorably,' said Mr. Carker. "'The peculiarity of their conversation was "'of Mrs. Scuton, in spite of her ecstasies, "'and Mr. Carker, in spite of his urbanity, "'were both intent on watching Mr. Donby and Edith. "'With all their conversational endowments, "'they spoke somewhat distractedly "'and at random in consequence. "'We have no faith left positively,' said Mrs. Scuton, "'advancing her shriveled ear, "'for Mr. Donby was saying something to Edith. "'We have no faith in the dear old barons "'who are the most delightful creatures "'or in the dear old priests "'who are the most warlike of men, "'or even in the days of that inestable Queen Bess "'upon the wall there, which was so extremely golden. "'Dear creature, she was all heart "'and that charming father of hers. "'I hope you don't on Harry the Eighth.' "'I admire him very much,' said Carker. "'So bluff!' cried Mrs. Scuton. "'Wasn't he so burly, so truly English? "'Such a picture, too, he makes, "'with his dear little pee-pee eyes "'and his benevolent chin.' "'Ah, ma'am,' said Carker, stopping short, "'and that if you speak of pictures, "'there's a composition. "'What gallery in the world "'can produce the counterpart of that?' "'As the smiling gentleman thus spake, "'he pointed through a doorway to where Mr. Donby and Edith "'were standing alone in the centre of another room. "'They were not interchanging a word or a look. "'Standing together, arm in arm, "'they had the appearance of being more divided "'than if seas had rolled between them. "'There was a difference, even in the pride of the two, "'that removed them farther from each other "'than if one had been the proudest "'and the other the humblest specimen "'of humanity in all creation. "'He, self-important, unbending, formal, austere, "'she, lovely and graceful, at an uncommon degree, "'but totally regardless of herself and him "'and everything around, "'and spurning her own attractions "'with her haughty brow and lip, "'as if they were a badge or livery she hated. "'So unmatched were they, and opposed, "'so forced and linked together by a chain "'which adverse hazard and mischance had forged, "'that Fancy might have imagined pictures "'on the walls around them, "'startled by the unnatural conjunction "'and observant of it in their several expressions. "'Grim knights and warriors looked scowling on them. "'A churchman, with his hand upraised, "'denounced the mockery of such a couple "'coming to God's altar. "'Quiet waters and landscapes, "'with the sun reflected in their depths, "'asked, if better means of escape were not at hand, "'was there no drowning left? "'Ruins cried, look here, "'and see what we are wedded to uncongenial time. "'Animals, opposed by nature, worried one another "'as a moral to them. "'Loves and cupids took to flight afraid, "'and martyrdom had no such torment "'in its painted history of suffering. "'Nevertheless, Mrs. Scuton was so charmed "'by the sight to which Mr. Carker invoked her attention "'that she could not refrain from saying half aloud, "'how sweet, how very full of soul it was!' "'Edith, overhearing, looked round "'and flushed in dignant scarlet to her hair. "'My dearest Edith knows I was admiring her,' "'said Cleopatra, tapping her almost timidly "'on the back with her parasol. "'Sweet pet!' "'Again Mr. Carker saw the strife he had witnessed "'so unexpectedly among the trees. "'Again he saw the haughty langer "'and indifference come over it and hide it like a cloud. "'She did not raise her eyes to him, "'but with the slight peremptory motion of them "'seem to bid her mother come near. "'Mr. Scuton thought it expedient to understand the hint "'and advancing quickly with her two cavaliers "'kept near her daughter from that time. "'Mr. Carker now, having nothing to distract his attention, "'began to discourse upon the pictures "'and to select the best and point them out to Mr. Donby. "'Speaking with his usual familiar recognition "'of Mr. Donby's greatness and rendering homage "'by adjusting his eyeglass for him "'or finding out the right place in his catalogue "'or holding his stick or the like. "'These services did not so much originate "'with Mr. Carker in truth, as with Mr. Donby himself, "'who was apt to assert his chieftainship "'by saying, with subdued authority "'and in an easy way for him, "'here, Carker, have the goodness to assist me, will you, "'which the smiling gentleman always did with pleasure. "'They made the tour of the pictures, "'the walls, crow's nest, and so forth, "'and as they were still one little party, "'and the major was rather in the shade, "'being sleepy during the process of digestion, "'Mr. Carker became communicative and agreeable. "'At first he addressed himself "'for the most part to Mrs. Scuton. "'But as that sensitive lady was in such ecstasies "'with the works of art, after the first quarter of an hour, "'that you could do nothing but yawn. "'There were such perfect inspirations, "'she observed, as a reason for that mark of rapture. "'He transferred his attentions to Mr. Donby.' "'Mr. Donby said little beyond an occasional, "'very true, Carker, or indeed, Carker, "'but he tacitly encouraged Carker to proceed "'and inwardly approved of his behaviour very much, "'deeming it as well that somebody should talk, "'and thinking that his remarks, "'which were, as one might say, "'a branch of the parent establishment, "'might amuse Mrs. Granger. "'Mr. Carker, who possessed an excellent discretion, "'never took the liberty of addressing that lady direct. "'But she seemed to listen, though she never looked at him, "'and once or twice, when he was emphatic "'in his peculiar humility, "'the twilight smile stole over her face, "'not as a light, but as a deep black shadow. "'Warwick Castle being at length pretty well exhausted, "'and the major very much so, "'to say nothing of Mrs. Scuton, "'whose peculiar demonstrations of delight "'had become very frequent indeed, "'the carriage was again put in requisition, "'and they rode to several admired points of view "'in the neighbourhood. "'Mr. Dombey ceremoniously observed of one of these "'that a sketch, however slight, "'from the fair hand of Mrs. Granger, "'would be a remembrance to him of that agreeable day, "'though he wanted no artificial remembrance, he was sure. "'Here Mr. Dombey made another of his boughs, "'which he must always highly value. "'Whithers the lean, having Edith's sketchbook under his arm, "'was immediately called upon by Mrs. Scuton "'to produce the same, "'and the carriage stopped, "'that Edith might make the drawing, "'which Mr. Dombey was to put away among his treasures. "'But I am afraid I trouble you too much,' said Mr. Dombey. "'By no means. "'Where would you wish it taken from?' she answered, "'turning to him with the same enforced attention as before. "'Mr. Dombey, with another bow, "'which cracked the serge in his cravat, "'would beg to leave that to the artist. "'I would rather you chose for yourself,' said Edith. "'Suppose then,' said Mr. Dombey, "'we say from here, "'it appears a good spot for the purpose, "'or a carcar, what do you think?' "'There happened to be in the foreground, "'at some little distance, a grove of trees, "'not unlike that in which Mr. Carcar "'had made his chain of footsteps in the morning, "'and with a seat under one tree, "'greatly resembling in the general character of its situation, "'the point where his chain had broken. "'Might I venture to suggest to Mrs. Granger,' said Carcar, "'that that is an interesting, "'almost a curious point of view. "'She followed the direction of his riding-grip with her eyes, "'and raised them quickly to his face. "'It was the second glance they had exchanged "'since their introduction, "'and would have been exactly like the first, "'but that its expression was plainer. "'Will you like that?' said Edith to Mr. Dombey. "'I shall be charmed,' said Mr. Dombey to Edith. "'Therefore the carriage was driven to the spot "'where Mr. Dombey was to be charmed, "'and Edith, without moving from her seat, "'and opening her sketchbook with her usual proud indifference, "'began to sketch. "'My pencils are all pointless,' she said, "'stopping and turning them over. "'Pray allow me,' said Mr. Dombey, "'or Carcar will do it better, "'as he understands these things. "'Carcar, have the goodness to see to these pencils, "'so, Mrs. Granger,' Mr. Carcar rode up close "'to the carriage-door on Mrs. Granger's side, "'and letting the rain fall on his horse's neck, "'took the pencils from her hand with a smile and a bow, "'and sat in the saddle, leisurely mending them. "'Having done so, he begged to be allowed to hold them, "'and to hand them to her, as they were required. "'And thus, Mr. Carcar, with many commendations "'of Mrs. Granger's extraordinary skill, "'especially in trees, remained close at her side, "'looking over the drawing as she made it. "'Mr. Dombey, in the meantime, "'stood bolt upright in the carriage, "'like a highly respectable ghost, looking armed, too, "'while Cleopatra and the Major dallyed "'as two ancient doves might do. "'Are you satisfied with that? "'Or shall I finish it a little more?' said Edith, "'showing the sketch to Mr. Dombey. "'Mr. Dombey begged that it might not be touched. "'It was perfection.' "'It is most extraordinary,' said Carcar, "'bringing every one of his red gums to bear upon his praise. "'I was not prepared for anything so beautiful "'and so unusual altogether. "'This might have applied to the sketcher, "'no less than to the sketch, "'but Mr. Carcar's manner was openness itself, "'not as to his mouth alone, but as to his whole spirit. "'So it continued to be, "'while the drawing was laid aside for Mr. Dombey, "'and while the sketching materials were put up. "'Then he handed in the pencils, "'which were received with a distant acknowledgment "'of his help but without a look, "'and tightening his reign fell back "'and followed the carriage again. "'Thinking perhaps, as he wrote, "'that even this trivial sketch had been made "'and delivered to its owner "'as if it had been bargained for and bought. "'Thinking perhaps, that although she had assented "'with such perfect readiness to his request, "'her haughty face, bent over the drawing, "'or glancing at the distant objects represented in it, "'had been the face of a proud woman "'engaged in a sordid and miserable transaction. "'Thinking perhaps of such things, "'but smiling certainly, "'and while he seemed to look about him freely, "'in enjoyment of the air and exercise, "'keeping always that sharp corner of his eye upon the carriage. "'A stroll among the haunted ruins of Kenilworth, "'and more rides to more points of view, "'most of which Mrs. Scuton reminded Mr. Dombie "'Edith had already sketched, "'as he had seen in looking over her drawings, "'brought the day's expedition to a close. "'Mr. Scuton and Edith were driven "'to their own lodgings. "'Mr. Carca was graciously invited by Cleopatra "'to return thither with Mr. Dombie and the Major "'in the evening to hear some of Edith's music, "'and the three gentlemen repaired to their hotel to dinner. "'The dinner was the counterpart of yesterday's, "'except that the Major was twenty-four hours "'more triumphant and less mysterious. "'Edith was toasted again, "'Mr. Dombie was again agreeably embarrassed, "'and Mr. Carca was full of interest and praise. "'There were no other visitors at Mrs. Scuton's. "'Edith's drawings were strewn about the room "'a little more abundantly than usual, perhaps, "'and withers the one page, "'handed round a little stronger tea. "'The harp was there, the piano was there, "'and Edith sang and played. "'But even the music was played by Edith "'to Mr. Dombie's order, as it were, "'in the same uncompromising way, as thus.' "'Edith, my dearest love,' said Mrs. Scuton, "'half an hour after tea, "'Mr. Dombie is dying to hear you, I know. "'Mr. Dombie has life enough left "'to say so for himself, Mamar, I have no doubt. "'I shall be immensely obliged,' said Mr. Dombie. "'What do you wish?' "'Piano,' hesitated Mr. Dombie. "'Whatever you please, you have only to choose.' "'Accordingly, she began with the piano. "'It was the same with the harp, "'the same with her singing, "'the same with the selection of the pieces "'that she sang and played. "'Such frigid and constrained, "'yet prompt and pointed acquiescence "'with the wishes he imposed upon her, "'and on no one else, "'was sufficiently remarkable to penetrate "'through all the mysteries of Piquet, "'and impress itself on Mr. Carca's keen attention. "'Nor did he lose sight of the fact "'that Mr. Dombie was evidently proud of his power, "'and liked to show it. "'Nevertheless, Mr. Carca played so well, "'some games of the major, "'and some with Cleopatra, "'whose vigilance of eye in respect of Mr. Dombie and Edith, "'no links could have surpassed, "'that he even heightened his position "'in the lady mother's good graces. "'And when on taking leave, he regretted "'that he would be obliged to return to London next morning, "'Cleopatra trusted, "'a community of feeling not being met with every day, "'that it was far from being the last time they would meet. "'I hope so,' said Mr. Carca, "'with an expressive look at the couple in the distance, "'as you do towards the door following the major. "'I think so.' "'Mr. Dombie, who had taken a stately leave of Edith, "'bent, or made some approach to a bend, "'over Cleopatra's couch, "'and said, in a low voice, "'I have requested Mrs. Granger's permission "'to call on her to-morrow morning, "'for a purpose, "'and she has appointed twelve o'clock. "'May I hope to have the pleasure "'of finding you at home, madam, afterwards.' Cleopatra was so much fluttered and moved, "'by hearing this, of course, incomprehensible speech, "'that she could only shut her eyes and shake her head, "'and give Mr. Dombie her hand, "'which Mr. Dombie, not exactly knowing what to do with, dropped. "'Dombie, come along!' cried the major, "'looking in at the door. "'Damn, sir! "'Oh, Joe has a great mind to propose an alteration "'in the name of the Royal Hotel, "'and that it should be called the Three Jolly Bachelor's "'in honour of ourselves and Carca.' "'With this the major slept, Mr. Dombie, on the back, "'and winking over his shoulder at the ladies, "'with a frightful tendency of blood to the head, carried him off. "'Mr. Scuton reposed on her sofa, "'and Edith set apart by her harp in silence. "'The mother, trifling with her fan, "'looked stealthily at the daughter more than once, "'but the daughter, brooding gloomily with downcast eyes, "'was not to be disturbed. "'Thus they remained for a long hour without a word, "'until Mrs. Scuton's maid appeared, according to custom, "'to prepare her gradually for night. "'At night she should have been a skeleton, "'with dart and hourglass, "'rather than a woman, this attendant, "'for her touch was as the touch of death. "'The painted object shriveled underneath her hand. "'The form collapsed, the hair dropped off, "'the arched dark eyebrows changed "'to scanty tufts of gray, "'the pale lips shrunk, "'the skin became cadaverous and loose, "'an old, worn, yellow, nodding woman with red eyes, "'alone remained in Cleopatra's place, "'huddled up like a slovenly bundle in a greasy flannel gown. "'The very voice was changed "'as it addressed Edith when they were alone again. "'Why don't you tell me?' "'It said sharply, "'that he is coming here to-morrow by appointment.' "'Because you know it,' returned Edith, "'mother?' "'The mocking emphasis she laid on that one word. "'You know he has bought me,' she resumed, "'or that he will to-morrow. "'He has considered of his bargain, "'he has shown it to his friend, "'he is even rather proud of it. "'He thinks that it will suit him, "'and maybe had sufficiently cheap, "'and he will buy to-morrow. "'God, that I have lived for this, "'and that I feel it.' "'Compressed into one handsome face, "'the conscious self-abasement, "'and the burning indignation of a hundred women, "'strong in passion and in pride, "'and there it hid itself with two white, shuddering arms. "'What do you mean?' returned the angry mother. "'Haven't you from a child?' "'A child,' said Edith looking at her. "'When was I a child? "'What childhood did you ever leave to me? "'I was a woman, artful, designing, mercenary, "'laying snares for men, "'before I knew myself, or you, "'or even understood the base and wretched aim "'of every new display I learnt. "'You gave birth to a woman. "'Look upon her! "'She is in her pride to-night.' "'And as she spoke, "'she struck her hand upon her beautiful bosom, "'as though she would have beaten down herself. "'Look at me!' she said, "'who have never known what it is "'to have an honest heart and love. "'Look at me!' taught to scheme and plot "'when children play, "'and married in my youth an old age of design "'to one for whom I had no feeling but indifference. "'Look at me!' whom he left a widow, "'dying before his inheritance descended to him. "'Had judgment on you well-deserved, "'and tell me what has been my life for ten years since. "'We have been making every effort "'to endeavor to secure you a good establishment, "'bejoined her mother. "'That has been your life, "'and now you have got it. "'There is no slave in a market. "'There is no horse in a fair, "'so shone an offered and examined and paraded mother "'as I have been for ten shameful years.' "'I'd eat it with a burning brow "'and the same bitter emphasis on the one word. "'Is it not so? "'Have I been made the byword of all kinds of men? "'I have fools, have profligates, have boys, "'have doteds, dangled after me, "'and one by one rejected me and fallen off "'because you were too plain with all your cunning. "'Yes, and true, true, with all those false pretenses "'until we have almost come to be notorious. "'A license of look and touch,' she said, with flashing eyes. "'Have I submitted to it? "'In half the places of resort upon the map of England? "'Have I been hawked and vended here and there "'until the last grain of self-respect is dead within me? "'And I loathe myself. "'Has been my late childhood? "'I had none before. "'Do not tell me that I had, tonight, "'of all nights in my life. "'You might have been well-married,' said her mother. "'Twenty times at least, Edith, "'if you had given encouragement enough.' "'No. "'Who takes me? "'Refuse that I am, and as I well deserve to be,' she answered, raising her head and trembling in her energy of shame and stormy pride. "'Shall take me, as this man does, "'with no art of mine put forth to lure him. "'He sees me at the auction, "'and he thinks it well to buy me. "'Let him. "'When he came to view me, perhaps to bid, "'he required to see the role of my accomplishments. "'I gave it to him. "'When he would have me show one of them "'to justify his purchase to his men, "'I require of him to say which he demands, "'and I exhibit it. "'I will do no more. "'He makes the purchase of his own will, "'and with his own sense of its worth, "'and the power of his money, "'and I hope it may never disappoint him. "'I have not vaunted and pressed the bargain. "'Neither have you, so far as I've been able to prevent you. "'You talk strangely to night, Edith, to your own mother. "'It seems so to me, stranger to me than you,' said Edith. "'But my education was completed long ago. "'I am too old now, "'and have fallen too low by degrees "'to take a new course, and to stop yours and to help myself. "'The germ of all that purifies a woman's breast, "'and makes it true and good, "'has never stirred in mine, "'and I have nothing else to sustain me when I despise myself. "'There had been a touching sadness in her voice, "'but it was gone when she went on to say with a curled lip. "'So, as we are gentile and poor, "'I am content that we should be made rich by these means. "'All I say is, I have kept the only purpose "'I have had the strength to form. "'I had almost said the power, "'with you at my side, mother, "'and have not tempted this man on.' "'This man?' "'You speak,' said her mother, "'as if you hated him. "'And you thought I loved him, did you not?' "'She answered, stopping on her way across the room "'and looking round. "'Shall I tell you?' "'She continued, with her eyes fixed on her mother, "'who already knows us thoroughly, "'and reads us right, "'and before whom I have even less "'of self-respect or confidence "'than before my own inward self, "'being so much degraded by his knowledge of me.' "'This is an attack, I suppose,' "'returned her mother coldly. "'Un-poor, unfortunate, what's his name, Mr. Karka? "'Your want of self-respect and confidence, my dear, "'in reference to that person, "'who is very agreeable, it strikes me, "'is not likely to have much effect on your establishment. "'Why do you look at me so hard? "'Are you ill?' "'Edith suddenly let fall her face, "'as if it had been stung. "'And while she pressed her hands upon it, "'a terrible tremble crept over her whole frame. "'It was quickly gone, "'and with her usual step, she passed out of the room. "'The maid, who should have been a skeleton, "'then reappeared, and giving one arm to her mistress, "'who appeared to have taken off her manner with her charms, "'and to have put on paralysis with her flannel gown, "'collected the ashes of Cleopatra, "'and carried them away in the other, "'ready for tomorrow's revivification. "'End of Chapter 27. "'Chapter 28 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. "'Recorded by Mill Nicholson. "'Dombie and Son by Charles Dickens. "'Chapter 28, Alterations.' "'So the day has come at length, Susan,' said Florence to the excellent nipper, "'when we are going back to our quiet home.' "'Susan drew in her breath with an amount of expression "'not easily described. "'Further relieving her feelings with a smart cough,' answered, "'Very quiet, indeed, Miss Floyd, no doubt. "'Excessive, so.' "'When I was a child,' said Florence thoughtfully, "'and after musing for some moments, "'Did you ever see that gentleman "'who has taken the trouble to ride down here to speak to me now "'three times? "'Three times, I think, Susan?' "'Three times, Miss,' returned the nipper, "'once when he was out a-walkin' with them skit.' "'Florence gently looked at her, "'and Miss Nipper checked herself. "'With Sir Barnett and his lady, I mean to say, Miss, "'and the young gentleman, and two evenings since then. "'When I was a child, and when company used to come to visit Papa, "'did you ever see that gentleman at home, Susan?' asked Florence. "'Well, Miss,' returned her maid, after considering, "'I really couldn't say I ever did. "'When your poor dear Ma died, Miss Floyd, "'I was very new in the family, you see, in my element, "'the nipper bridled, as a pining that her merits "'had been always designately extinguished by Mr. Dombie, "'was the floor below the attics. "'To be sure,' said Florence, still thoughtfully, "'you are not likely to have known who came to the house. "'I quite forgot.' "'Not, Miss, but what we talked about the family and visitors,' said Susan, "'and about what I heard much said, "'although the nurse before Mrs. Richards did make unpleasant "'remarks when I was in company, and hint at little pictures, "'but that could only be attributed to poor thing,' observed Susan, with composed forbearance, "'two habits of intoxication for which she was required to leave, "'and did.' Florence, who was seated at her chamber-window, "'with her face resting on her hand, "'sat looking out, and hardly seemed to hear what Susan said. "'She was so lost in thought.' "'At all events, Miss,' said Susan, "'I remember very well that this same gentleman, Mr. Carca, "'was almost, if not quite, as great a gentleman with your papa then "'as he is now. "'It used to be said in the house then, Miss, "'that he was at the head of all your pa's affairs in the city, "'and managed the whole, and that your pa minded him more than anybody, "'which, begging your pardon, Miss Floyd, he might easy do, "'for he never minded anybody else. "'I knew that, picture, as I might have been.'" Susan Nipper, with an injured remembrance of the nurse before Mrs. Richards, emphasized picture strongly. "'And that Mr. Carca has not fallen off, Miss,' she pursued, "'but I studied his ground, and kept his credit with your pa. "'I know from what is always said among our people by that perch, "'whenever he comes to the house, "'and though he's the weakest weed in the world, Miss Floyd, "'and no one can have a moment's patience with a man, "'he knows what goes on in the city tolerable well, "'and says that your pa does nothing without Mr. Carca, "'and leaves all to Mr. Carca, and acts according to Mr. Carca, "'and as Mr. Carca always at his elbow, "'and I do believe that he believes, that washiest of perches, "'that after your pa, the Emperor of India, "'is a child unborn to Mr. Carca.'" Not a word of this was lost on Florence. Who, with an awakened interest in Susan's speech, no longer gazed abstractedly on the prospect without, but looked at her, and listened with attention. "'Yes, Susan,' she said, when that young lady had concluded, "'he is in Papa's confidence, and is his friend, I'm sure.' Florence's mind ran high on this theme, and had done for some days. Mr. Carca, in the two visits with which he had followed up his first one, had assumed a confidence between himself and her, a right on his part to be mysterious and stealthy, in telling her that the ship was still unheard of, a kind of mildly restrained power and authority over her, that made her wonder, and caused her great uneasiness. She had no means of repelling it, or of freeing herself from the web he was gradually winding about her, for that would have required some art and knowledge of the world opposed to such a dress as his, and Florence had none. True, he had said no more to her than that there was no news of the ship, and that he feared the worst. But how he came to know that she was interested in the ship, and why he had the right to signify his knowledge to her, so insidiously and darkly, troubled Florence very much. This conduct on the part of Mr. Carca, and her habit of often considering it with wonder and uneasiness, began to invest him with an uncomfortable fascination in Florence's thoughts. A more distinct remembrance of his features, voice, and manner, which he sometimes courted as a means of reducing him to the level of a real personage, capable of exerting no greater charm over her than another, did not remove the vague impression. And yet he never frowned, or looked upon her with an air of dislike or animosity, but was always smiling and serene. Again, Florence, in pursuit of her strong purpose, with reference to her father, and her steady resolution to believe that she was herself unwittingly to blame for their so cold and distant relations, would recall to mind that this gentleman was his confidential friend, and would think with an anxious heart, could her struggling tendency to dislike and fear him be a part of that misfortune in her which had turned her father's love adrift, and left her so alone? She dreaded that it might be, sometimes believed it was. Then she resolved that she would try to conquer this wrong feeling, persuaded herself that she was honoured and encouraged by the notice of her father's friend, and hoped that patient observation of him, and trust in him, would lead her bleeding feet along that stony road which ended in her father's heart. Thus, with no one to advise her, for she could advise with no one without seeming to complain against him, gentle Florence tossed on an uneasy sea of doubt and hope, and Mr. Carca, like a scaly monster of the deep, swam down below, and kept his shining eye upon her. Florence had a new reason in all this for wishing to be at home again. Her lonely life was better suited to her course of timid hope and doubt, and she feared sometimes that in her absence she might miss some hopeful chance of testifying her affection for her father. Heaven knows she might have set her mind adressed to poor child, on this last point, but her slighted love was fluttering within her, and even in her sleep it flew away in dreams, and nestled like a wandering bird come home upon her father's neck. Of Walter she thought often, ah, how often, when the night was gloomy and the wind was blowing round the house, but hope was strong in her breast. It is so difficult for the young and ardent, even with such experience as hers, to imagine youth and ardour quenched like a weak flame, and the bright day of life emerging into night, at noon, at hope was strong yet. Her tears fell frequently for Walter's sufferings, but rarely for his supposed death, and never long. She had written to the old instrument-maker, but had received no answer to her note, which indeed required none. Thus Metta stood with Florence on the morning, when she was going home, gladly, to her old secluded life. Dr. and Mrs. Blimber, accompanied, much against his will, by their valued charge, Master Barnett, were already gone back to Brighton, where that young gentleman and his fellow pilgrims to Parnessus were then, no doubt, in the continual resumption of their studies. The holiday time was past and over, most of the juvenile guests at the villa had taken their departure, and Florence's long visit was come to an end. There was one guest, however, albeit not resident within the house, who had been very constant in his attentions to the family, and who still remained devoted to them. This was Mr. Toots, who, after renewing, some weeks ago, the acquaintance he had had the happiness of forming with Skettles, Jr., on the night when he burst the Blumberian bonds and soared into freedom with his ring on, called regularly every other day, and left a perfect pack of cards at the hall door. So many, indeed, that the ceremony was quite a deal on the part of Mr. Toots, and a hand at wist on the part of the servant. Mr. Toots likewise, with the bold and happy idea of preventing the family from forgetting him, but there is reason to suppose that this expedient, originated in the teeming brain of the chicken, had established a six-ord cutter, manned by aquatic friends of the chicken, and steered by that illustrious character in person, who wore a bright red fireman's coat for the purpose, and concealed the perpetual black eye with which he was afflicted, beneath a green shade. Previous to the institution of this equipage, Mr. Toots sounded the chicken on a hypothetical case, as supposing the chicken to be a naman of a young lady named Mary, and who have conceived the intention of starting a boat of his own, what would he call that boat? The chicken replied, with diverse, strong asseparations, that he would either christen it pole, or the chicken's delight. Improving on this idea, Mr. Toots, after deep study, and the exercise of much invention, resolved to call his boat the Toots's joy, as a delicate compliment to Florence, of which no man knowing the parties could possibly miss the appreciation. Stretched on a crimson cushion in his gallant bark, with his shoes in the air, Mr. Toots, in the exercise of his project, had come up the river day after day, and week after week, and had flitted to and fro near Sir Barnett's garden, and had caused his crew to cut across, and across the river, at sharp angles, for his better exhibition to any looker's out from Sir Barnett's windows, and had had such evolutions performed by the Toots's joy, as had filled all the neighbouring part of the water-side with astonishment. But whenever he saw any one in Sir Barnett's garden, on the brink of the river, Mr. Toots always feigned to be passing there by a combination of coincidences of the most singular, and unlikely description. How are you, Toots? Sir Barnett would say, waving his hand from the lawn, while the artful chicken steered close in shore. How do you do, Sir Barnett? Mr. Toots would answer. What a surprising thing that I should see you here! Mr. Toots, in his sagacity, always said this, as if, instead of that being Sir Barnett's house, it were some deserted edifice on the banks of the Nile or Ganges. I never was so surprised. Mr. Toots would explain. Is Miss Domby there? Whereupon Florence would appear, perhaps. Oh, Diogenes is quite well, Miss Domby. Toots would cry. I call to ask this morning. Thank you very much. The pleasant voice of Florence would reply. Won't you come ashore, Toots? Sir Barnett would say then. Come! You're in no hurry. Come and see us. Oh, it's of no consequence, thank you. Mr. Toots would blushingly rejoin. I thought Miss Domby might like to know. That's all. Goodbye. And poor Mr. Toots, who was dying to accept the invitation, but hadn't the courage to do it, signed to the chicken with an aching heart, and away went the joy cleaving the water like an arrow. The joy was lying in a state of extraordinary splendour at the garden steps on the morning of Florence's departure. When she went downstairs to take leave after her talk with Susan, she found Mr. Toots awaiting her in the drawing-room. Oh, how'd he do, Miss Domby? Said the stricken Toots, always dreadfully disconcerted when the desire of his heart was gained, and he was speaking to her. Thank you, I'm very well indeed. I hope you're the same. So was Diogenes yesterday. You're very kind, said Florence. Thank you, it of no consequence. Retorted, Mr. Toots. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind, in this fine weather, coming home by water, Miss Domby. There's plenty of room in the boat for your maid. I'm very much obliged to you, said Florence, hesitating. I really am, but I would rather not. Oh, it of no consequence. Retorted, Mr. Toots. Good morning. Won't you wait and see Lady Sgettle's? asked Florence kindly. Oh, no, thank you. Returned, Mr. Toots. It of no consequence at all. So shy was Mr. Toots on such occasions, and so flurried. But Lady Sgettle's entering at the moment, Mr. Toots was suddenly seized with a passion for asking her how she did, and hoping she was very well. Nor could Mr. Toots by any possibility leave off shaking hands with her, until Sir Barnet appeared, to whom he immediately clung with the tenacity of desperation. We are losing today, Toots, said Sir Barnet, turning towards Florence. The light of our house, I assure you. Oh, it of no consequence. I mean, yes, to be sure. Faulted the embarrassed, Mr. Toots. Good morning. Notwithstanding the emphatic nature of this farewell, Mr. Toots, instead of going away, stood leering about him vacantly. Florence, to relieve him, bade adieu, with many thanks to Lady Sgettle's, and gave her arm to Sir Barnet. May I beg of you, my dear Miss Donby? said her host, as he conducted her to the carriage, to present my best compliments to your dear papa. It was distressing to Florence to receive the commission, for she felt as if she were imposing on Sir Barnet, by allowing him to believe that a kindness rendered to her was rendered to her father. As she could not explain, however, she bowed her head and thanked him, and again she thought that the dull home, free from such embarrassments and such reminders of her sorrow, was her natural and best retreat. Such if her late friends and companions, as were yet remaining at the villa, came running from within and from the garden to say goodbye. They were all attached to her, and very earnest in taking leave of her. Even the household were sorry for her going, and the servants came nodding and curtsying round the carriage door. As Florence looked round on the kind faces, and so among them those of Sir Barnet and his lady, and of Mr. Toots, who was chuckling and staring at her from a distance, she was reminded of the night when Paul and she had come from Dr. Blimbers, and when the carriage drove away, her face was wet with tears. Sorrowful tears, but tears of consolation too, for all the softer memories connected with the dull old house to which she was returning, made it dear to her as they rose up. How long it seemed, since she had wandered through the silent rooms, since she had last crept softly and afraid into those her father occupied, since she had felt the solemn but yet soothing influence of the beloved dead in every action of her daily life. This new farewell reminded her, besides of her parting with poor Walter, of his looks and words that night, and of the gracious blending she had noticed in him of tenderness for those he left behind with courage and high spirit. His little history was associated with the old house too, and gave it a new claim and hold upon her heart. Even Susan Nipper softened towards the home of so many years, as they were on their way towards it. Gloomy as it was, and rigid justice as she rendered to its gloom, she forgave it a great deal. I shall be glad to see it again. I don't denar miss," said the Nipper. There ain't much in it to boast of, but I wouldn't have it burned or pulled down, either. You'll be glad to go through the old rooms, won't you, Susan?" said Florence, smiling. Well, miss! returned the Nipper, softening more and more towards the house as they approached it nearer. I won't deny but what I shall, though I shall hate them again to-morrow very likely. Florence felt that for her there was greater peace within it than elsewhere. It was better and easier to keep her secret shut up there, among the tall, dark walls, and to carry it abroad into the light, and try to hide it from a crowd of happy eyes. It was better to pursue the study of her loving heart alone, and find no new discouragements in loving hearts about her. It was easier to hope and pray and love on all I cared for, yet with constancy and patience, in the tranquil sanctuary of such remembrances, although it mouldered, rusted, and decayed about her, than in a new scene, that its gaiety be what it would. She welcomed back her old enchanted dream of life, and longed for the old dark door to close upon her once again. Full of such thoughts, they turned into the long and sombre street. Florence was not on that side of the carriage, which was nearest to her home, and as the distance lessened between them and it, she looked out of her window for the children over the way. She was thus engaged, when an exclamation from Susan caused her to turn quickly round. Why, gracious me! cried Susan, breathless. Where's our house? Our house, said Florence. Susan, drawing in her head from the window, thrusted out again, do it in again as the carriage stopped, and stared at her mistress in amazement. There was a labyrinth of scaffolding raised all round the house, from the basement to the roof. Loads of bricks and stones and heaps of mortar and piles of wood blocked up half the width and length of the broad street at the side. Ladders were raised against the walls, labourers were climbing up and down, men were at work upon the steps of the scaffolding. Painters and decorators were busy inside. Great rolls of ornamental paper were being delivered from a cart at the door. An upholsterer's wagon also stopped the way. No furniture was to be seen through the gaping and broken windows in any of the rooms. Nothing but workmen, and the implements of their several trades swarming from the kitchens to the garrets. Inside and outside alike, bricklayers, painters, carpenters, masons, hammer, hard brush, pickaxe, saw, and trowel, all at work together in full chorus. Florence descended from the coach, half doubting if it were, or could be the right house. Until she recognised Talenson with the sunburnt face standing at the door to receive her. There is nothing the matter, inquired Florence. Oh, no, Miss. There are great alterations going on. Yes, Miss. Great alterations, said Talenson. Florence passed him as if she were in a dream, and hurried upstairs. The garish light was in the long, darkened drawing room, and there were steps and platforms and men in paper caps in the high places. Her mother's picture was gone with the rest of the movables, and on the mark where it had been was scrawled in chalk, this room in panel, green and gold. The staircase was a labyrinth of posts and planks like the outside of the house, and a whole olympus of plumbers and glaziers was reclining in various attitudes on the skylight. Her own room was not yet touched within, but there were beams and boards raised against it without, balking the daylight. She went up swiftly to that other bedroom, where the little bed was, and a dark giant of a man with a pipe in his mouth, and his head tied up in a pocket-hankerchief was staring in at the window. It was here that Susan Nipper, who had been in quest of Florence, found her, and said, would she go downstairs to her papa, who wished to speak to her? At home? And wishing to speak to me? cried Florence, trembling. Susan, who was infinitely more distraught than Florence herself, repeated her errand, and Florence, pale and agitated, hurried down again without a moment's hesitation. She thought upon the way down, would she dare to kiss him? The longing of her heart resolved her, and she thought she would. Her father might have heard that heartbeat, when it came into his presence. One instant, and it would have beat against his breast. But he was not alone. There were two ladies there, and Florence stopped, striving so hard with her emotion, that if her brute friend Dai had not burst in, and overwhelmed her with his caresses as a welcome home, at which one of the ladies gave a little scream, and that diverted her attention from herself, she would have swooned upon the floor. Florence, said her father, putting out his hand, so stiffly that it held her off. How do you do? Florence took the hand between her own, and putting it timidly to her lips, yielded to its withdrawal. It touched the door in shutting it, with quite as much endearment as it had touched her. What dog is that? said Mr. Dombie, displeased. It is a dog, papa, from Brighton. Well, said Mr. Dombie, and a cloud passed over his face, for he understood her. He's very good tempered, said Florence, addressing herself with her natural grace and sweetness to the two ladies' strangers. He is only glad to see me, pray forgive him. She saw in the glance they interchanged, that the lady who had screamed, and who was seated, was old, and that the other lady who stood near her papa was very beautiful, and of an elegant figure. Mrs. Scootin, said her father, turning to the first, and holding out his hand, this is my daughter Florence. Joining, I am sure! observed the lady, putting up her glass. So natural! my darling Florence, you must kiss me of her please. Florence, having done so, turned towards the other lady, by whom her father stood waiting. Edith, said Mr. Dombie, this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will soon be your mama. Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful face, in a conflict of emotions, among which the tears that name awakened, struggled for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she cried out, Oh papa! may you be happy! may you be very, very happy all your life! And then fell weeping on the lady's bosom. There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate, whether or no, she should advance to Florence, held her to her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her, close about her waist, as if to reassure her and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady's lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her on the cheek, but she said no word. Shall we go on through the rooms, said Mr. Dombie, and see how our workmen are doing? Pray, allow me, my dear madam. He said this in offering his arm to Mrs. Scuton, who had been looking at Florence through her glass, as though picturing to herself what she might be made by the infusion from her own copious storehouse, no doubt, of a little more heart and nature. Florence was still sobbing on the lady's breast, and holding to her, when Mr. Dombie was heard to say from the conservatory, Let us ask Edith. Dear me, where is she? Edith, my dear! cried Mrs. Scuton. Where are you? Looking for Mr. Dombie somewhere, I know. We are here, my love. The beautiful lady released her hold of Florence, and pressing her lips once more upon her face, withdrew her idly, and joined them. Florence remained standing in the same place. Happy, sorry, joyful, and in tears, she knew not how, or how long, but all at once, when her new mamma came back, and took her in her arms again. Florence, said the lady hurriedly, and looking into her face, with great earnestness, You will not begin by hating me. By hating you, mamma! cried Florence, winding her arm round her neck, and returning the look. Hush! Begin by thinking well of me, said the beautiful lady. Begin by believing that I will try to make you happy, and that I am prepared to love you, Florence. Goodbye. We shall meet again soon. Goodbye. Don't stay here now. Again she pressed her to her breast. She had spoken in a rapid manner, but firmly, and Florence saw her rejoin them in the other room. And now Florence began to hope that she would learn from her new and beautiful mamma how to gain her father's love. And in her sleep that night, in her lost old home, her own mamma smiled radiantly upon the hope, and blessed it. Dreaming Florence. End of Chapter 28. Chapter 29 OF DOMBIAN 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. DOMBIAN SON by Charles Dickens. Chapter 29. THE OPENING OF THE EYES OF MISSES CHICK Miss Tox. All unconscious of any such rare appearances in connection with Mr. Dombi's house are scaffoldings and ladders, and men with their heads tied up in pocket handkerchiefs, glaring in at the windows like flying genie or strange birds. Having breakfasted one morning at about this eventful period of time, on her customary vians, to wit one French roll rasped, one egg new laid, or warranted to be, and one little pot of tea, wherein was infused one little silver scoopful of that herb, on behalf of Miss Tox, and one little silver scoopful on behalf of the teapot. A flight of fancy in which good housekeepers do light. Went upstairs to set forth the bird-walls on the harpsichord, to water and arrange the plants, to dust the knick-knacks, and, according to her daily custom, to make her little drawing-room the garland of princesses place. Miss Tox endued herself with a pair of ancient gloves, like dead leaves, in which she was accustomed to perform these avocations, hidden from human sight at other times in a table-draw, and went methodically to work, beginning with the bird-walls, passing by a natural association of ideas to her bird, a very high-shouldered canary, stricken in years, and much-rumpled, but a piercing singer, as princesses place well-new. Taking next in order the little china ornaments, paper fly cages, and so forth, and coming round in good time to the plants, which generally required to be snipped here and there with a pair of scissors, for some botanical reason that was very powerful with Miss Tox. Miss Tox was slow in coming to the plants this morning, the weather was warm, the wind southerly, and there was a sigh of the summertime in princesses place, that turned Miss Tox's thoughts upon the country. The pot-boy, attached to the princess's arms, had come out with a can and trickled water in a flowering pattern all over princesses place, and it gave the weedy ground a fresh scent quite a growing scent, Miss Tox said. There was a tiny blink of sun peeping in from the great street round the corner, and the smoky sparrows hopped over it and back again, brightening as they passed, or bathed in it like a stream, and became glorified sparrows unconnected with chimneys. Legends and praise of ginger beer with pictorial representations of thirsty customers submerged in the effervescence, or stunned by the flying corks, were conspicuous in the window of the princess's arms. They were making late hay, somewhere out of town, and though the fragrance had a long way to come, and many counter fragrances to contend with among the dwellings of the poor, may God reward the worthy gentleman who stickled for the plague as part and parcel of the wisdom of our ancestors, and who do their little best to keep those dwellings miserable. Yet it was wafted faintly into princess's place, whispering of nature, and her wholesome air, as such things will, even unto prisoners and captives, and those who are desolate and oppressed, in very spite of alderman and knights to boot, at whose sage nod, and how they nod, the rolling world stands still. Miss Tox sat down upon the window-seat, and thought of her good papa deceased. Mr. Tox, of the custom department of the public service, and of her childhood, passed at a seaport among a considerable quantity of cold tar, and some rasticity. She fell into a softened remembrance of meadows, an old time, gleaming with butter-cups, like so many inverted firmaments of golden stars, and how she had made chains of dandelion stalks for youthful vows of eternal constancy, dressed chiefly in nanking, and how soon those fetters had withered and broken. Sitting on the window-seat, and looking out upon the sparrows and the blink of sun, Miss Tox thought likewise of her good mama deceased, sister to the owner of the powdered head and pigtail of her virtues and her rheumatism. And when a man with bulgy legs, and a rough voice, and a heavy basket on his head that crushed his hat into a mere black muffin, came crying flowers down Princess's place, making his timid little roots of Daisy's shudder in the vibration of every yell he gave, as though he had been an ogre, Hawking little children, some of her recollections were so strong upon Miss Tox, that she shook her head, and murmured she would be comparatively old before she knew it, which seemed likely. In her pensive mood, Miss Tox's thoughts went wandering on Mr. Donby's track. Probably because the Major had returned home to his lodging's opposite, and had just bowed to her from his window. What other reason could Miss Tox have for connecting Mr. Donby with her summer days and dandelion fetters? Was he more cheerful, thought Miss Tox? Was he reconciled to the decrees of fate? Would he ever marry again? And if yes, whom? What sort of person, now? A flush, it was warm weather, overspread Miss Tox's face, as, while entertaining these meditations, she turned her head and was surprised by the reflection of her thoughtful image in the chimney-glass. Another flush succeeded, when she saw a little carriage drive into Princess's place, and make straight for her own door. Miss Tox arose, took up her scissors hastily, and so coming at last to the plants was very busy with them when Mrs. Chick entered the room. How is my sweetest friend? exclaimed Miss Tox with open arms. A little statelyness was mingled with Miss Tox's sweetest friend's demeanour, but she kissed Miss Tox and said, Lucretia, thank you, I'm pretty well, I hope you are the same. Mrs. Chick was laboring under a peculiar little monosyllabic cough, a sort of primer or easy introduction to the art of coughing. You call very early, and how kind that is, my dear, pursued Miss Tox. Now, have you breakfasted? Thank you, Lucretia, said Mrs. Chick. I have, I took an early breakfast. The good lady seemed curious on the subject of Princess's place. And looked all round it as she spoke. With my brother, who has come home. He is better, I trust, my love, faulted Miss Tox. He is greatly better, thank you. My dear Louisa must be careful of that cough, remarked Miss Tox. It's nothing, returned Mrs. Chick. It's merely change of weather, we must expect change. Of weather, asked Miss Tox, in her simplicity. Of everything, returned Mrs. Chick. Of course we must, it's a world of change. Anyone would surprise me very much, Lucretia, and would greatly alter my opinion of their understanding if they attempted to contradict or evade what is so perfectly evident. Change, exclaimed Mrs. Chick, with severe philosophy. Why, my gracious bee, what is there that does not change? Even the silkworm, who I am sure might be supposed not to trouble itself about such subjects, changes into all sorts of unexpected things continually. My Louisa, said the mild Miss Tox, is ever happy in her illustrations. You are so kind, Lucretia. Return, Mrs. Chick, a little softened. As you say so. And to think so, I believe. I hope neither of us may ever have any cause to lessen our opinion of the other, Lucretia. I am sure of it, returned Mrs. Tox. Mrs. Chick coughed as before, and drew lines on the carpet with the ivory end of her parasol. Mrs. Tox, who had experience of her fair friend, and knew that under the pressure of any slight fatigue or vexation, she was prone to a discursive kind of irritability, availed herself of the pause to change the subject. Pardon me, my dear Louisa, said Mrs. Tox, but have I caught sight of the manly form of Mr. Chick in the carriage? He is there, said Mrs. Chick, but pray leave him there. He has his newspaper, and will be quite contented for the next two hours. Go on with your flowers, Lucretia, and allow me to sit here and rest. My Louisa knows, observed Mrs. Tox, that between friends like ourselves, any approach to ceremony would be out of the question. Therefore... Therefore, Mrs. Tox finished the sentence, not in words, but action, and putting on her gloves again, which she had taken off, and arming herself once more with her scissors began to snip and clip among the leaves with microscopic industry. Florence has returned home also, said Mrs. Chick, after sitting silent for some time, with her head on one side and her parasol sketching on the floor. And really, Florence is a great deal too old now to continue to lead that solitary life to which she has been accustomed. Of course she is. There can be no doubt about it. I should have very little respect indeed for anybody who could advocate a different opinion. Whatever my wishes might be, I could not respect them. We cannot commend our feelings to such an extent as that. Miss Tox assented, without being particular as to the intelligibility of the proposition. If she is a strange girl, said Mrs. Chick, and if my brother Paul cannot feel perfectly comfortable in her society, after all the sad things that have happened, and all the terrible disappointments that have been undergone, then what is the reply? That he must make an effort. That he is bound to make an effort. We have always been a family remarkable for effort. Paul is at the head of the family, almost the only representative of it left. For what am I? I am of no consequence. My dearest love, remonstrated Miss Tox. Mrs. Chick dyed her eyes, which were for the moment overflowing and proceeded. And consequently he is more than ever bound to make an effort. And though his having done so comes upon me with a sort of shock, for mine is a very weak and foolish nature, which is anything but a blessing, I am sure. I often wish my heart was a marble slab or a paving stone. My sweet Louisa! remonstrated Miss Tox again. Still, it is a triumph to me to know that he is so true to himself, and to his name of Donby, though of course I always knew he would be. I only hope, said Mrs. Chick after a pause, that she may be worthy of the name too. Miss Tox filled a little green watering pot from a jug, and happening to look up when she had done so, was so surprised by the amount of expression Mrs. Chick had conveyed into her face, and was bestowing upon her that she put the little watering pot on the table for the present, and sat down near it. My dear Louisa! said Miss Tox. Will it be the least satisfaction to you, if I venture to observe in reference to that remark, that I, as a humble individual, think your sweet niece in every way most promising? What do you mean, Lucretia? returned Mrs. Chick, with increased statelyness of manner. To what remark of mine, my dear, do you refer? Her being worthy of her name, my love, replied Miss Tox. If, said Mrs. Chick, with solemn patience, I have not expressed myself with clearness, Lucretia, the fault, of course, is mine. There is perhaps no reason why I should express myself at all, except the intimacy that has subsisted between us, and which I very much hope, Lucretia, confidently hope, nothing will occur to disturb. Because why should I do anything else? There is no reason it would be absurd. But I wish to express myself clearly, Lucretia, and therefore, to go back to that remark, I must beg to say that it was not intended to relate to Florence in any way. Indeed, returned Miss Tox. No, said Mrs. Chick shortly and decisively. Pardon me, my dear, rejoined her meek friend, but I cannot have understood it, I fear, I am dull. Mrs. Chick looked round the room, and over the way, at the plants, at the bird, at the watering pot, at almost everything within view, except Miss Tox. And finally, dropping her glance upon Miss Tox for a moment, on its way to the ground, said, looking meanwhile with elevated eyebrows at the carpet, When I speak, Lucretia, of her being worthy of the name, I speak of my brother Paul's second wife. I believe I have already said, in effect, if not in the very words I now use, that it is his intention to marry a second wife. Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants, clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair. Whether she will be fully sensible of the distinction conferred upon her, said Mrs. Chick, in a lofty tone, is quite another question. I hope she may be. We are bound to think well of one another in this world, and I hope she may be. I have not been advised with myself. If I had been advised with, I have no doubt my advice would have been cavalierly received, and therefore it is infinitely better as it is. I much prefer it, as it is. Miss Tox, with head bent down, still clipped among the plants. Mrs. Chick, with energetic shakings of her own head from time to time, continued to hold forth, as if in defiance of somebody. If my brother Paul had consulted with me, which he sometimes does, or rather sometimes used to do, for he will naturally do that no more now, and this is a circumstance which I regard as a relief from responsibility, said Mrs. Chick hysterically, for I think, heaven, I am not jealous. Here, Mrs. Chick again shed tears. If my brother Paul had come to me and had said, Louisa, what kind of qualities would you advise me to look out for in a wife? I should certainly have answered, Paul, you must have family, you must have beauty, you must have dignity, you must have connection. Those are the words I should have used. You might have led me to the block immediately afterwards, said Mrs. Chick, as if that consequence were highly probable, but I should have used them. I should have said, Paul, you to marry a second time without family, you to marry without beauty, you to marry without dignity, you to marry without connection. There is nobody in the world, not mad, who could dream of daring to entertain such a preposterous idea. Mrs. Tox stopped clipping, and with her head among the plants listened attentively. Perhaps Mrs. Tox thought there was hope in this exordium and the warmth of Mrs. Chick. I should have adopted this course of argument, pursued the discreet lady, because I trust I am not a fool. I make no claim to be considered a person of superior intellect, though I believe some people have been extraordinary enough to consider me of so. One so little-humoured as I am would very soon be disapused of any such notion, but I trust I am not a downright fool. And to tell me, said Mrs. Chick, with an effable disdain, that my brother Paul Dummy could ever contemplate the possibility of uniting himself to anybody, I don't care who. She was more sharp and emphatic in that short clause than in any other part of her discourse. Not possessing these requisites would be to insult what understanding I have got, as much as if I was to be told that I was born and bred an elephant, which I may be told next. said Mrs. Chick, with resignation. It wouldn't surprise me at all. I expect it. In the moment silence that ensued, Miss Tox's scissors gave a feeble clip or two, but Miss Tox's face was still invisible, and Miss Tox's morning gown was agitated. Mrs. Chick looked sideways at her through the intervening plants, and went on to say, in a tone of bland conviction, as one dwelling on a point of fact that hardly required to be stated. Therefore, of course, my brother Paul has done what was to be expected of him, and what anybody might have foreseen he would do if he entered the marriage-state again. I confess it takes me rather by surprise, however gratifying, because when Paul went out of town, I had no idea at all that he would form any attachment out of town, and he certainly had no attachment when he left here. However, it seems to be extremely desirable in every point of view. I have no doubt the mother is the most genteel and elegant creature, when I have no right, whatever, to dispute the policy of her living with them, which is Paul's affair, not mine, and as to Paul's choice herself, I have only seen her picture yet, but that is beautiful indeed. Her name is beautiful too," said Mrs. Chick, shaking her head with energy, and arranging herself in her chair. Edith is at once uncommon, as it strikes me, and distinguished. Consequently, Lucisha, I have no doubt you will be happy to hear that the marriage is to take place immediately. Of course you will. Great emphasis again. And that you are delighted with this change and the condition of my brother, who has shown you a great deal of pleasant attention at various times. Miss Tox made no verbal answer, but took up the little watering pot with a trembling hand, and looked vacantly round as if considering what article of furniture would be improved by the contents. The room door opening at this crisis of Miss Tox's feelings, she started, laughed aloud, and fell into the arms of the person entering, happily insensible, a like of Mrs. Chick's indignant countenance, and of the major at his window over the way, who had his double-barrelled eyeglass in full action, and whose face and figure were dilated with methistophalian joy. Not so the expatriated native, amazed supporter of Miss Tox's swooning form, who, coming straight upstairs with a polite inquiry touching Miss Tox's health, in exact pursuance of the major's malicious instructions, had accidentally arrived in the very nick of time to catch the delicate burden in his arms, and to receive the content of the little watering pot in his shoe, both of which circumstances, coupled with his consciousness of being closely watched by the wrathful major, who had threatened the usual penalty in regard of every bone in his skin in case of any failure, combined to render him a moving spectacle of mental and bodily distress. For some moments this afflicted foreigner remained clasping Miss Tox to his heart with an energy of action in remarkable opposition to his disconcerted face, while that poor lady trickled slowly down upon him the very last sprinklings of the little watering pot, as if he were a delicate exotic, in which indeed he was, and might be almost expected to blow while the gentle rain descended. Mrs. Chick, at length recovering sufficient presence of mind to interpose, commanded him to drop Miss Tox upon the sofa and withdraw, and the exile promptly obeying, she applied herself to promote Miss Tox's recovery. But none of that gentle concern, which usually characterizes the daughters of Eve and their tending of each other, none of that free masonry and fainting, by which they are generally bound together in a mysterious bond of sisterhood, was visible in Mrs. Chick's demeanour. Rather like the executioner who restores the victim to sensation previous to proceeding with the torture, or was wont to do so in the good old time, so which all true men wear perpetual mourning, did Mrs. Chick administer the smelling bottle, the slapping on the hands, the dashing of cold water on the face, and the other approved remedies. And when at length Miss Tox opened her eyes, and gradually became restored to animation and consciousness, Mrs. Chick drew off as from a criminal, and reversing the precedent of the murdered king of Denmark, regarded her more in anger than in sorrow. Look, Grisha! said Mrs. Chick, I will not attempt to disguise what I feel. My eyes are opened all at once. I wouldn't have believed this if a saint had told it to me. I am foolish to give way to faintness, as Tox faltered. I shall be better presently. You will be better presently, look, Grisha! repeated Mrs. Chick with exceeding scorn. Do you suppose I am blind? Do you imagine that I am in my second childhood? No, look, Grisha! I am obliged to you. Miss Tox directed an imploring, helpless kind of look towards her friend, and put her handkerchief before her face. If anyone had told me this yesterday, said Mrs. Chick with majesty, or even half an hour ago, I should have been tempted, I almost believe, to strike them to the earth. Look, Grisha, Tox, my eyes are open to you all at once. The scales, here Mrs. Chick cast down an imaginary pair, such as are commonly used in grocer's shops, have fallen from my sight. The blindness of my confidence is past, Look, Grisha. It has been abused and played upon, and evasion is quite out of the question now, I assure you. Oh! to what do you allude so cruelly my love? Ask Miss Tox through her tears. Look, Grisha! said Mrs. Chick. Ask your own heart. I must entreat you not to address me by any such familiar term, as you have just used, if you please. I have some self-respect left, though you may think otherwise. Oh, Louisa! cried Miss Tox. How can you speak to me like that? How can I speak to you like that? Retorted Mrs. Chick, who in default of having any particular argument to sustain herself upon, relied principally on such repetitions for her most withering effects. Like that? You may well say like that, indeed. Miss Tox sobbed pitifully. The idea, said Mrs. Chick, of your having basked my brother's fireside, like a serpent, and wound yourself through me almost into his confidence. Look, Grisha, that you might in secret entertain designs upon him, and dare to aspire to contemplate the possibility of his uniting himself to you? Why, it is an idea, said Mrs. Chick, with sarcastic dignity, the absurdity of which almost relieves its tetchery. Pray, Louisa! urged Miss Tox. Do not say such dreadful things! Dreadful things! repeated Mrs. Chick. Dreadful things! Is it not a fact, Grisha, that you have just now been unable to command your feelings, even before me, whose eyes you had so completely closed? I have made no complaint, sob, Miss Tox. I have said nothing. If I have been a little overpowered by your news, Louisa, and have ever had any lingering thought that Mr. Dombie was inclined to be particular towards me, surely he will not condemn me. She is going to say, said Mrs. Chick, addressing herself to the whole of the furniture, in a comprehensive glance of resignation and appeal. She's going to say, I know it, that I have encouraged her. I don't wish to exchange approaches, dear Louisa, sob, Miss Tox, nor do I wish to complain, but in my own defence. Yes! cried Mrs. Chick, looking round the room with a prophetic smile. That's what she's going to say. I knew it. You'd better say it. Say it openly. Be open. Look, Grisha Tox. Said Mrs. Chick, with desperate sternness. Whatever you are! In my own defence, faulted Miss Tox, and only in my own defence, against your unkind words, my dear Louisa, I would merely ask you, if you haven't often favoured such a fancy, and even said it might happen for anything we could tell. There is a point, said Mrs. Chick, rising, not as if she were going to stop at the floor, but as if she were about to soar up high into her native skies, beyond which endurance becomes ridiculous, if not culpable. I can bear much, but not too much. What spell was on me when I came to this house this day? I don't know. But I had a presentiment, a dark presentiment, said Mrs. Chick, with a shiver. That something was going to happen. Well, may I have had that foreboding, look, Grisha, when my confidence of many years is destroyed in an instant, when my eyes are opened all at once, and when I find you revealed in your two colours. Look, Grisha, I have been mistaken in you. It is better for us both that this subject should end here. I wish you well, and I shall ever wish you well. But as an individual who desires to be true to herself in her own poor position, whatever that position may be, or may not be, and as the sister of my brother, and as the sister-in-law of my brother's wife, and as a connection by marriage of my brother's wife's mother, may I be permitted to add, as a donby? I can wish you nothing else, but good morning. These words, delivered with cutting suavity, tempered and chastened by a lofty air of moral rectitude, carried the speaker to the door. There she inclined her head in a ghostly and statue-like manner, and so withdrew to her carriage, to seek comfort and consolation in the arms of Mr. Chick, her lord. Figuratively speaking, that is to say, for the arms of Mr. Chick were full of his newspaper. Neither did that gentleman dress his eyes towards his wife, otherwise than by stealth. Neither did he offer any consolation whatever. In short, he sat reading and humming, faggants of tunes, and sometimes glancing furtively at her without delivering himself of a word, good, bad or indifferent. In the meantime Mrs. Chick sat swelling and bridling, and tossing her head as if she were still repeating that solemn formula of farewell to Lucretia Tox. At length, she said aloud, Oh, the extent to which her eyes have been opened that day! To which your eyes have been opened, my dear? Repeated, Mr. Chick. Oh, don't talk to me! said Mr. Chick. If you can bear to see me in this state, and not ask me what the matter is, you'd better hold your tongue for ever. What is the matter, my dear? asked Mr. Chick. To think, said Mrs. Chick, in a state of soliloquy, that she should ever have conceived the base idea of connecting herself with our family by a marriage with Paul, to think that when she was playing to horses with that dear child who was now in his grave, I never liked it at the time, she should have been hiding such a double-faced design. I wonder she was never afraid that something would happen to her. She is fortunate, if nothing does. I really thought, my dear, said Mr. Chick slowly, after rubbing the bridge of his nose for some time with his newspaper, that you had gone on the same tack yourself all along until this morning, and had thought it would be a convenient thing enough, if it could have been brought about. Mrs. Chick instantly burst into tears, and told Mr. Chick that if he wished to trample upon her with his boots, he had better do it. But with Lucretia talks, I have done, said Mrs. Chick, after abandoning herself to her feelings for some minutes, to Mr. Chick's great terror. I can bear to resign Paul's confidence and favour of one who I hope and trust may be deserving of it, with whom he has a perfect right to replace poor Fanny if he chooses. I can bear to be informed, in Paul's cool manner, of such a change in his plans, and never to be consulted until all is settled and determined. But deceit, I cannot bear, and with Lucretia talks, I have done. It is better as it is, said Mrs. Chick piously, much better. It would have been a long time before I could have accommodated myself comfortably with her after this, and I really don't know, as Paul is going to be very grand, and these are people of condition, that she would have been quite presentable, and might not have compromised myself. There's a providence in everything. Everything works for the best. I've been tried today, but on the whole I do not regret it. In which Christian spirit Mrs. Chick dried her eyes and smoothed her lap, and sat as became a person calm under a great wrong. Mr. Chick, feeling his unworthiness, no doubt, took an early opportunity of being set down at a street corner, and walked away whistling, with his shoulders very much raised, and his hands in his pockets. While poor excommunicated Miss Tox, who, if you were a fauna and toad eater, was at least an honest and a constant one, and had ever borne a faithful friendship towards her impeacher, and had been truly absorbed and swallowed up in devotion to the magnificence of Mr. Donby. While poor excommunicated Miss Tox watered her plants with her tears, and felt that it was winter in Princess's place.