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his hand.

'I don't like that, my dear,' said Mr Meagles. 'It goes against my

feeling of what's right, that YOU should do homage to ME--at the

Marshalsea Gate.'

She bent forward, and kissed his cheek.

'You remind me of the days,' said Mr Meagles, suddenly drooping--'but

she's very fond of him, and hides his faults, and thinks that no

one sees them--and he certainly is well connected and of a very good

family!'

It was the only comfort he had in the loss of his daughter, and if he

made the most of it, who could blame him?

CHAPTER 34. Gone

On a healthy autumn day, the Marshalsea prisoner, weak but otherwise

restored, sat listening to a voice that read to him. On a healthy autumn

day; when the golden fields had been reaped and ploughed again, when the

summer fruits had ripened and waned, when the green perspectives of hops

had been laid low by the busy pickers, when the apples clustering in the

orchards were russet, and the berries of the mountain ash were crimson

among the yellowing foliage. Already in the woods, glimpses of the hardy

winter that was coming were to be caught through unaccustomed openings

among the boughs where the prospect shone defined and clear, free from

the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the

bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to

be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were

open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand

on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like

autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and

barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched

face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these

beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly

the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to

him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the

soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he

ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on

the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the

early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from

blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery

acorns.

But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of

an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving

whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life.

When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that

the light was strong upon them.

Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade

the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light

softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side.

'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's

letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says

his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little

anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it

will soon be over now.'

'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!'

'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure

to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little

Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot

say Don't.'

He lifted her hand to his lips.

'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little

Dorrit?'

'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.'

'Very often?'

'Rather often,' said Little Dorrit, timidly.

'Every day?'

'I think,' said Little Dorrit, after hesitating, 'that I have been here

at least twice every day.' He might have released the little light hand

after fervently kissing it again; but that, with a very gentle lingering

where it was, it seemed to court being retained. He took it in both of

his, and it lay softly on his breast.

'Dear Little Dorrit, it is not my imprisonment only that will soon be

over. This sacrifice of you must be ended. We must learn to part again,

and to take our different ways so wide asunder. You have not forgotten

what we said together, when you came back?'

'O no, I have not forgotten it. But something has been--You feel quite

strong to-day, don't you?'

'Quite strong.'

The hand he held crept up a little nearer his face.

'Do you feel quite strong enough to know what a great fortune I have

got?'

'I shall be very glad to be told. No fortune can be too great or good

for Little Dorrit.'

'I have been anxiously waiting to tell you. I have been longing and

longing to tell you. You are sure you will not take it?'

'Never!'

'You are quite sure you will not take half of it?'

'Never, dear Little Dorrit!'

As she looked at him silently, there was something in her affectionate

face that he did not quite comprehend: something that could have broken

into tears in a moment, and yet that was happy and proud.

'You will be sorry to hear what I have to tell you about Fanny. Poor

Fanny has lost everything. She has nothing left but her husband's

income. All that papa gave her when she married was lost as your money

was lost. It was in the same hands, and it is all gone.'

Arthur was more shocked than surprised to hear it. 'I had hoped it might

not be so bad,' he said: 'but I had feared a heavy loss there, knowing

the connection between her husband and the defaulter.'

'Yes. It is all gone. I am very sorry for Fanny; very, very, very sorry

for poor Fanny. My poor brother too!' 'Had he property in the same

hands?'

'Yes! And it's all gone.--How much do you think my own great fortune

is?'

As Arthur looked at her inquiringly, with a new apprehension on him,

she withdrew her hand, and laid her face down on the spot where it had

rested.

'I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When

papa came over to England, he confided everything he had to the same

hands, and it is all swept away. O my dearest and best, are you quite

sure you will not share my fortune with me now?'

Locked in his arms, held to his heart, with his manly tears upon her own

cheek, she drew the slight hand round his neck, and clasped it in its

fellow-hand.

'Never to part, my dearest Arthur; never any more, until the last!

I never was rich before, I never was proud before, I never was happy

before, I am rich in being taken by you, I am proud in having been

resigned by you, I am happy in being with you in this prison, as I

should be happy in coming back to it with you, if it should be the will

of GOD, and comforting and serving you with all my love and truth. I am

yours anywhere, everywhere! I love you dearly! I would rather pass my

life here with you, and go out daily, working for our bread, than I

would have the greatest fortune that ever was told, and be the greatest

lady that ever was honoured. O, if poor papa may only know how blest at

last my heart is, in this room where he suffered for so many years!'

Maggy had of course been staring from the first, and had of course been

crying her eyes out long before this. Maggy was now so overjoyed that,

after hugging her little mother with all her might, she went down-stairs

like a clog-hornpipe to find somebody or other to whom to impart her

gladness. Whom should Maggy meet but Flora and Mr F.'s Aunt opportunely

coming in? And whom else, as a consequence of that meeting, should

Little Dorrit find waiting for herself, when, a good two or three hours

afterwards, she went out?

Flora's eyes were a little red, and she seemed rather out of spirits.

Mr F.'s Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past

bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet

was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as

rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head, and had got it

at that moment inside. With these imposing attributes, Mr F.'s Aunt,

publicly seated on the steps of the Marshal's official residence, had

been for the two or three hours in question a great boon to the younger

inhabitants of the Borough, whose sallies of humour she had considerably

flushed herself by resenting at the point of her umbrella, from time to

time.

'Painfully aware, Miss Dorrit, I am sure,' said Flora, 'that to propose

an adjournment to any place to one so far removed by fortune and so

courted and caressed by the best society must ever appear intruding

even if not a pie-shop far below your present sphere and a back-parlour

though a civil man but if for the sake of Arthur--cannot overcome it

more improper now than ever late Doyce and Clennam--one last remark I

might wish to make one last explanation I might wish to offer perhaps

your good nature might excuse under pretence of three kidney ones the

humble place of conversation.'

Rightly interpreting this rather obscure speech, Little Dorrit returned

that she was quite at Flora's disposition. Flora accordingly led the

way across the road to the pie-shop in question: Mr F.'s Aunt stalking

across in the rear, and putting herself in the way of being run over,

with a perseverance worthy of a better cause.

When the 'three kidney ones,' which were to be a blind to the

conversation, were set before them on three little tin platters, each

kidney one ornamented with a hole at the top, into which the civil man

poured hot gravy out of a spouted can as if he were feeding three lamps,

Flora took out her pocket-handkerchief.

'If Fancy's fair dreams,' she began, 'have ever pictured that when

Arthur--cannot overcome it pray excuse me--was restored to freedom even

a pie as far from flaky as the present and so deficient in kidney as to

be in that respect like a minced nutmeg might not prove unacceptable if

offered by the hand of true regard such visions have for ever fled

and all is cancelled but being aware that tender relations are in

contemplation beg to state that I heartily wish well to both and find

no fault with either not the least, it may be withering to know that ere

the hand of Time had made me much less slim than formerly and dreadfully

red on the slightest exertion particularly after eating I well know when

it takes the form of a rash, it might have been and was not through the

interruption of parents and mental torpor succeeded until the mysterious

clue was held by Mr F. still I would not be ungenerous to either and I

heartily wish well to both.'

Little Dorrit took her hand, and thanked her for all her old kindness.

'Call it not kindness,' returned Flora, giving her an honest kiss, 'for

you always were the best and dearest little thing that ever was if I

may take the liberty and even in a money point of view a saving being

Conscience itself though I must add much more agreeable than mine ever

was to me for though not I hope more burdened than other people's yet

I have always found it far readier to make one uncomfortable than

comfortable and evidently taking a greater pleasure in doing it but I am

wandering, one hope I wish to express ere yet the closing scene draws

in and it is that I do trust for the sake of old times and old sincerity

that Arthur will know that I didn't desert him in his misfortunes but

that I came backwards and forwards constantly to ask if I could do

anything for him and that I sat in the pie-shop where they very civilly

fetched something warm in a tumbler from the hotel and really very nice

hours after hours to keep him company over the way without his knowing

it.'

Flora really had tears in her eyes now, and they showed her to great

advantage.

'Over and above which,' said Flora, 'I earnestly beg you as the dearest

thing that ever was if you'll still excuse the familiarity from one who

moves in very different circles to let Arthur understand that I don't

know after all whether it wasn't all nonsense between us though pleasant

at the time and trying too and certainly Mr F. did work a change and

the spell being broken nothing could be expected to take place without

weaving it afresh which various circumstances have combined to prevent

of which perhaps not the least powerful was that it was not to be, I

am not prepared to say that if it had been agreeable to Arthur and had

brought itself about naturally in the first instance I should not have

been very glad being of a lively disposition and moped at home where

papa undoubtedly is the most aggravating of his sex and not improved

since having been cut down by the hand of the Incendiary into something

of which I never saw the counterpart in all my life but jealousy is not

my character nor ill-will though many faults.'

Without having been able closely to follow Mrs Finching through this

labyrinth, Little Dorrit understood its purpose, and cordially accepted

the trust.

'The withered chaplet my dear,' said Flora, with great enjoyment, 'is

then perished the column is crumbled and the pyramid is standing upside

down upon its what's-his-name call it not giddiness call it not weakness

call it not folly I must now retire into privacy and look upon the ashes

of departed joys no more but taking a further liberty of paying for the

pastry which has formed the humble pretext of our interview will for

ever say Adieu!'

Mr F.'s Aunt, who had eaten her pie with great solemnity, and who had

been elaborating some grievous scheme of injury in her mind since her

first assumption of that public position on the Marshal's steps, took

the present opportunity of addressing the following Sibyllic apostrophe

to the relict of her late nephew.