第 49 页

began to hem.

'What nimble fingers you have,' said Flora, 'but are you sure you are

well?'

'Oh yes, indeed!'

Flora put her feet upon the fender, and settled herself for a thorough

good romantic disclosure. She started off at score, tossing her head,

sighing in the most demonstrative manner, making a great deal of use

of her eyebrows, and occasionally, but not often, glancing at the quiet

face that bent over the work.

'You must know my dear,' said Flora, 'but that I have no doubt you know

already not only because I have already thrown it out in a general way

but because I feel I carry it stamped in burning what's his names

upon my brow that before I was introduced to the late Mr F. I had

been engaged to Arthur Clennam--Mr Clennam in public where reserve is

necessary Arthur here--we were all in all to one another it was the

morning of life it was bliss it was frenzy it was everything else of

that sort in the highest degree, when rent asunder we turned to stone in

which capacity Arthur went to China and I became the statue bride of the

late Mr F.'

Flora, uttering these words in a deep voice, enjoyed herself immensely.

'To paint,' said she, 'the emotions of that morning when all was marble

within and Mr F.'s Aunt followed in a glass-coach which it stands to

reason must have been in shameful repair or it never could have broken

down two streets from the house and Mr F.'s Aunt brought home like the

fifth of November in a rush-bottomed chair I will not attempt,

suffice it to say that the hollow form of breakfast took place in the

dining-room downstairs that papa partaking too freely of pickled salmon

was ill for weeks and that Mr F. and myself went upon a continental

tour to Calais where the people fought for us on the pier until they

separated us though not for ever that was not yet to be.'

The statue bride, hardly pausing for breath, went on, with the greatest

complacency, in a rambling manner sometimes incidental to flesh and

blood.

'I will draw a veil over that dreamy life, Mr F. was in good spirits his

appetite was good he liked the cookery he considered the wine weak but

palatable and all was well, we returned to the immediate neighbourhood

of Number Thirty Little Gosling Street London Docks and settled down,

ere we had yet fully detected the housemaid in selling the feathers

out of the spare bed Gout flying upwards soared with Mr F. to another

sphere.'

His relict, with a glance at his portrait, shook her head and wiped her

eyes.

'I revere the memory of Mr F. as an estimable man and most indulgent

husband, only necessary to mention Asparagus and it appeared or to hint

at any little delicate thing to drink and it came like magic in a pint

bottle it was not ecstasy but it was comfort, I returned to papa's roof

and lived secluded if not happy during some years until one day papa

came smoothly blundering in and said that Arthur Clennam awaited me

below, I went below and found him ask me not what I found him except

that he was still unmarried still unchanged!'

The dark mystery with which Flora now enshrouded herself might have

stopped other fingers than the nimble fingers that worked near her.

They worked on without pause, and the busy head bent over them watching

the stitches.

'Ask me not,' said Flora, 'if I love him still or if he still loves me

or what the end is to be or when, we are surrounded by watchful eyes and

it may be that we are destined to pine asunder it may be never more to

be reunited not a word not a breath not a look to betray us all must

be secret as the tomb wonder not therefore that even if I should seem

comparatively cold to Arthur or Arthur should seem comparatively cold to

me we have fatal reasons it is enough if we understand them hush!'

All of which Flora said with so much headlong vehemence as if she really

believed it. There is not much doubt that when she worked herself into

full mermaid condition, she did actually believe whatever she said in

it.

'Hush!' repeated Flora, 'I have now told you all, confidence is

established between us hush, for Arthur's sake I will always be a friend

to you my dear girl and in Arthur's name you may always rely upon me.'

The nimble fingers laid aside the work, and the little figure rose and

kissed her hand. 'You are very cold,' said Flora, changing to her own

natural kind-hearted manner, and gaining greatly by the change. 'Don't

work to-day. I am sure you are not well I am sure you are not strong.'

'It is only that I feel a little overcome by your kindness, and by Mr

Clennam's kindness in confiding me to one he has known and loved so

long.'

'Well really my dear,' said Flora, who had a decided tendency to be

always honest when she gave herself time to think about it, 'it's as

well to leave that alone now, for I couldn't undertake to say after all,

but it doesn't signify lie down a little!'

'I have always been strong enough to do what I want to do, and I shall

be quite well directly,' returned Little Dorrit, with a faint smile.

'You have overpowered me with gratitude, that's all. If I keep near the

window for a moment I shall be quite myself.'

Flora opened a window, sat her in a chair by it, and considerately

retired to her former place. It was a windy day, and the air stirring

on Little Dorrit's face soon brightened it. In a very few minutes she

returned to her basket of work, and her nimble fingers were as nimble as

ever.

Quietly pursuing her task, she asked Flora if Mr Clennam had told her

where she lived? When Flora replied in the negative, Little Dorrit said

that she understood why he had been so delicate, but that she felt sure

he would approve of her confiding her secret to Flora, and that

she would therefore do so now with Flora's permission. Receiving an

encouraging answer, she condensed the narrative of her life into a few

scanty words about herself and a glowing eulogy upon her father; and

Flora took it all in with a natural tenderness that quite understood it,

and in which there was no incoherence.

When dinner-time came, Flora drew the arm of her new charge through

hers, and led her down-stairs, and presented her to the Patriarch and Mr

Pancks, who were already in the dining-room waiting to begin. (Mr F.'s

Aunt was, for the time, laid up in ordinary in her chamber.) By those

gentlemen she was received according to their characters; the Patriarch

appearing to do her some inestimable service in saying that he was glad

to see her, glad to see her; and Mr Pancks blowing off his favourite

sound as a salute.

In that new presence she would have been bashful enough under any

circumstances, and particularly under Flora's insisting on her

drinking a glass of wine and eating of the best that was there; but her

constraint was greatly increased by Mr Pancks. The demeanour of that

gentleman at first suggested to her mind that he might be a taker of

likenesses, so intently did he look at her, and so frequently did he

glance at the little note-book by his side. Observing that he made no

sketch, however, and that he talked about business only, she began to

have suspicions that he represented some creditor of her father's, the

balance due to whom was noted in that pocket volume. Regarded from this

point of view Mr Pancks's puffings expressed injury and impatience, and

each of his louder snorts became a demand for payment.

But here again she was undeceived by anomalous and incongruous conduct

on the part of Mr Pancks himself. She had left the table half an hour,

and was at work alone. Flora had 'gone to lie down' in the next room,

concurrently with which retirement a smell of something to drink

had broken out in the house. The Patriarch was fast asleep, with his

philanthropic mouth open under a yellow pocket-handkerchief in the

dining-room. At this quiet time, Mr Pancks softly appeared before her,

urbanely nodding.

'Find it a little dull, Miss Dorrit?' inquired Pancks in a low voice.

'No, thank you, sir,' said Little Dorrit.

'Busy, I see,' observed Mr Pancks, stealing into the room by inches.

'What are those now, Miss Dorrit?'

'Handkerchiefs.'

'Are they, though!' said Pancks. 'I shouldn't have thought it.' Not in

the least looking at them, but looking at Little Dorrit. 'Perhaps you

wonder who I am. Shall I tell you? I am a fortune-teller.'

Little Dorrit now began to think he was mad.

'I belong body and soul to my proprietor,' said Pancks; 'you saw my

proprietor having his dinner below. But I do a little in the other way,

sometimes; privately, very privately, Miss Dorrit.'

Little Dorrit looked at him doubtfully, and not without alarm.

'I wish you'd show me the palm of your hand,' said Pancks. 'I should

like to have a look at it. Don't let me be troublesome.' He was so far

troublesome that he was not at all wanted there, but she laid her work

in her lap for a moment, and held out her left hand with her thimble on

it.

'Years of toil, eh?' said Pancks, softly, touching it with his blunt

forefinger. 'But what else are we made for? Nothing. Hallo!' looking

into the lines. 'What's this with bars? It's a College! And what's this

with a grey gown and a black velvet cap? it's a father! And what's this

with a clarionet? It's an uncle! And what's this in dancing-shoes? It's

a sister! And what's this straggling about in an idle sort of a way?

It's a brother! And what's this thinking for 'em all? Why, this is you,

Miss Dorrit!' Her eyes met his as she looked up wonderingly into his

face, and she thought that although his were sharp eyes, he was a

brighter and gentler-looking man than she had supposed at dinner. His

eyes were on her hand again directly, and her opportunity of confirming

or correcting the impression was gone.

'Now, the deuce is in it,' muttered Pancks, tracing out a line in her

hand with his clumsy finger, 'if this isn't me in the corner here! What

do I want here? What's behind me?'

He carried his finger slowly down to the wrist, and round the wrist, and

affected to look at the back of the hand for what was behind him.

'Is it any harm?' asked Little Dorrit, smiling.

'Deuce a bit!' said Pancks. 'What do you think it's worth?'

'I ought to ask you that. I am not the fortune-teller.'

'True,' said Pancks. 'What's it worth? You shall live to see, Miss

Dorrit.'

Releasing the hand by slow degrees, he drew all his fingers through his

prongs of hair, so that they stood up in their most portentous manner;

and repeated slowly, 'Remember what I say, Miss Dorrit. You shall live

to see.'

She could not help showing that she was much surprised, if it were only

by his knowing so much about her.

'Ah! That's it!' said Pancks, pointing at her. 'Miss Dorrit, not that,

ever!'

More surprised than before, and a little more frightened, she looked to

him for an explanation of his last words.

'Not that,' said Pancks, making, with great seriousness, an imitation

of a surprised look and manner that appeared to be unintentionally

grotesque. 'Don't do that. Never on seeing me, no matter when, no matter

where. I am nobody. Don't take on to mind me. Don't mention me. Take no

notice. Will you agree, Miss Dorrit?'

'I hardly know what to say,' returned Little Dorrit, quite astounded.

'Why?'

'Because I am a fortune-teller. Pancks the gipsy. I haven't told you so

much of your fortune yet, Miss Dorrit, as to tell you what's behind

me on that little hand. I have told you you shall live to see. Is it

agreed, Miss Dorrit?'

'Agreed that I--am--to--'

'To take no notice of me away from here, unless I take on first. Not

to mind me when I come and go. It's very easy. I am no loss, I am not

handsome, I am not good company, I am only my proprietors grubber.

You need do no more than think, "Ah! Pancks the gipsy at his

fortune-telling--he'll tell the rest of my fortune one day--I shall live

to know it." Is it agreed, Miss Dorrit?'

'Ye-es,' faltered Little Dorrit, whom he greatly confused, 'I suppose

so, while you do no harm.'

'Good!' Mr Pancks glanced at the wall of the adjoining room, and stooped

forward. 'Honest creature, woman of capital points, but heedless and

a loose talker, Miss Dorrit.' With that he rubbed his hands as if the

interview had been very satisfactory to him, panted away to the door,

and urbanely nodded himself out again.

If Little Dorrit were beyond measure perplexed by this curious conduct

on the part of her new acquaintance, and by finding herself involved

in this singular treaty, her perplexity was not diminished by ensuing

circumstances. Besides that Mr Pancks took every opportunity afforded

him in Mr Casby's house of significantly glancing at her and snorting

at her--which was not much, after what he had done already--he began to

pervade her daily life. She saw him in the street, constantly. When she

went to Mr Casby's, he was always there. When she went to Mrs Clennam's,

he came there on any pretence, as if to keep her in his sight. A week

had not gone by, when she found him to her astonishment in the Lodge one

night, conversing with the turnkey on duty, and to all appearance one

of his familiar companions. Her next surprise was to find him equally at

his ease within the prison; to hear of his presenting himself among

the visitors at her father's Sunday levee; to see him arm in arm with

a Collegiate friend about the yard; to learn, from Fame, that he had

greatly distinguished himself one evening at the social club that held