第 70 页

Cornwall, that I was ever going to tell you who were of the Dorrits of

Dorsetshire.' He then went on to detail. How, having that name recorded

in his note-book, he was first attracted by the name alone. How, having

often found two exactly similar names, even belonging to the same place,

to involve no traceable consanguinity, near or distant, he did not at

first give much heed to this, except in the way of speculation as to

what a surprising change would be made in the condition of a little

seamstress, if she could be shown to have any interest in so large a

property. How he rather supposed himself to have pursued the idea into

its next degree, because there was something uncommon in the quiet

little seamstress, which pleased him and provoked his curiosity.

How he had felt his way inch by inch, and 'Moled it out, sir' (that was

Mr Pancks's expression), grain by grain. How, in the beginning of

the labour described by this new verb, and to render which the more

expressive Mr Pancks shut his eyes in pronouncing it and shook his hair

over them, he had alternated from sudden lights and hopes to sudden

darkness and no hopes, and back again, and back again. How he had made

acquaintances in the Prison, expressly that he might come and go there

as all other comers and goers did; and how his first ray of light was

unconsciously given him by Mr Dorrit himself and by his son; to both of

whom he easily became known; with both of whom he talked much, casually

('but always Moleing you'll observe,' said Mr Pancks): and from whom he

derived, without being at all suspected, two or three little points of

family history which, as he began to hold clues of his own, suggested

others. How it had at length become plain to Mr Pancks that he had made

a real discovery of the heir-at-law to a great fortune, and that his

discovery had but to be ripened to legal fulness and perfection. How

he had, thereupon, sworn his landlord, Mr Rugg, to secrecy in a solemn

manner, and taken him into Moleing partnership.

How they had employed John Chivery as their sole clerk and agent,

seeing to whom he was devoted. And how, until the present hour, when

authorities mighty in the Bank and learned in the law declared their

successful labours ended, they had confided in no other human being.

'So if the whole thing had broken down, sir,' concluded Pancks, 'at the

very last, say the day before the other day when I showed you our papers

in the Prison yard, or say that very day, nobody but ourselves would

have been cruelly disappointed, or a penny the worse.'

Clennam, who had been almost incessantly shaking hands with him

throughout the narrative, was reminded by this to say, in an amazement

which even the preparation he had had for the main disclosure smoothed

down, 'My dear Mr Pancks, this must have cost you a great sum of money.'

'Pretty well, sir,' said the triumphant Pancks. 'No trifle, though we

did it as cheap as it could be done. And the outlay was a difficulty,

let me tell you.'

'A difficulty!' repeated Clennam. 'But the difficulties you have so

wonderfully conquered in the whole business!' shaking his hand again.

'I'll tell you how I did it,' said the delighted Pancks, putting his

hair into a condition as elevated as himself. 'First, I spent all I had

of my own. That wasn't much.'

'I am sorry for it,' said Clennam: 'not that it matters now, though.

Then, what did you do?'

'Then,' answered Pancks, 'I borrowed a sum of my proprietor.'

'Of Mr Casby?' said Clennam. 'He's a fine old fellow.'

'Noble old boy; an't he?' said Mr Pancks, entering on a series of the

dryest snorts. 'Generous old buck. Confiding old boy. Philanthropic old

buck. Benevolent old boy! Twenty per cent. I engaged to pay him, sir.

But we never do business for less at our shop.'

Arthur felt an awkward consciousness of having, in his exultant

condition, been a little premature.

'I said to that boiling-over old Christian,' Mr Pancks pursued,

appearing greatly to relish this descriptive epithet, 'that I had got a

little project on hand; a hopeful one; I told him a hopeful one; which

wanted a certain small capital. I proposed to him to lend me the

money on my note. Which he did, at twenty; sticking the twenty on in a

business-like way, and putting it into the note, to look like a part of

the principal. If I had broken down after that, I should have been his

grubber for the next seven years at half wages and double grind. But

he's a perfect Patriarch; and it would do a man good to serve him on

such terms--on any terms.'

Arthur for his life could not have said with confidence whether Pancks

really thought so or not.

'When that was gone, sir,' resumed Pancks, 'and it did go, though I

dribbled it out like so much blood, I had taken Mr Rugg into the secret.

I proposed to borrow of Mr Rugg (or of Miss Rugg; it's the same thing;

she made a little money by a speculation in the Common Pleas once). He

lent it at ten, and thought that pretty high. But Mr Rugg's a red-haired

man, sir, and gets his hair cut. And as to the crown of his hat, it's

high. And as to the brim of his hat, it's narrow. And there's no more

benevolence bubbling out of him, than out of a ninepin.'

'Your own recompense for all this, Mr Pancks,' said Clennam, 'ought to

be a large one.'

'I don't mistrust getting it, sir,' said Pancks. 'I have made no

bargain. I owed you one on that score; now I have paid it. Money out of

pocket made good, time fairly allowed for, and Mr Rugg's bill settled,

a thousand pounds would be a fortune to me. That matter I place in your

hands. I authorize you now to break all this to the family in any way

you think best. Miss Amy Dorrit will be with Mrs Finching this morning.

The sooner done the better. Can't be done too soon.'

This conversation took place in Clennam's bed-room, while he was yet in

bed. For Mr Pancks had knocked up the house and made his way in, very

early in the morning; and, without once sitting down or standing still,

had delivered himself of the whole of his details (illustrated with a

variety of documents) at the bedside. He now said he would 'go and look

up Mr Rugg', from whom his excited state of mind appeared to require

another back; and bundling up his papers, and exchanging one more hearty

shake of the hand with Clennam, he went at full speed down-stairs, and

steamed off.

Clennam, of course, resolved to go direct to Mr Casby's. He dressed

and got out so quickly that he found himself at the corner of the

patriarchal street nearly an hour before her time; but he was not sorry

to have the opportunity of calming himself with a leisurely walk.

When he returned to the street, and had knocked at the bright brass

knocker, he was informed that she had come, and was shown up-stairs to

Flora's breakfast-room. Little Dorrit was not there herself, but Flora

was, and testified the greatest amazement at seeing him.

'Good gracious, Arthur--Doyce and Clennam!' cried that lady, 'who would

have ever thought of seeing such a sight as this and pray excuse a

wrapper for upon my word I really never and a faded check too which

is worse but our little friend is making me, not that I need mind

mentioning it to you for you must know that there are such things a

skirt, and having arranged that a trying on should take place after

breakfast is the reason though I wish not so badly starched.'

'I ought to make an apology,' said Arthur, 'for so early and abrupt a

visit; but you will excuse it when I tell you the cause.'

'In times for ever fled Arthur,' returned Mrs Finching, 'pray excuse

me Doyce and Clennam infinitely more correct and though unquestionably

distant still 'tis distance lends enchantment to the view, at least I

don't mean that and if I did I suppose it would depend considerably on

the nature of the view, but I'm running on again and you put it all out

of my head.'

She glanced at him tenderly, and resumed:

'In times for ever fled I was going to say it would have sounded

strange indeed for Arthur Clennam--Doyce and Clennam naturally quite

different--to make apologies for coming here at any time, but that is

past and what is past can never be recalled except in his own case as

poor Mr F. said when he was in spirits Cucumber and therefore never ate

it.'

She was making the tea when Arthur came in, and now hastily finished

that operation.

'Papa,' she said, all mystery and whisper, as she shut down the tea-pot

lid, 'is sitting prosingly breaking his new laid egg in the back parlour

over the City article exactly like the Woodpecker Tapping and need never

know that you are here, and our little friend you are well aware may be

fully trusted when she comes down from cutting out on the large table

overhead.'

Arthur then told her, in the fewest words, that it was their little

friend he came to see; and what he had to announce to their little

friend. At which astounding intelligence, Flora clasped her hands,

fell into a tremble, and shed tears of sympathy and pleasure, like the

good-natured creature she really was.

'For goodness sake let me get out of the way first,' said Flora, putting

her hands to her ears and moving towards the door, 'or I know I shall

go off dead and screaming and make everybody worse, and the dear little

thing only this morning looking so nice and neat and good and yet so

poor and now a fortune is she really and deserves it too! and might I

mention it to Mr F.'s Aunt Arthur not Doyce and Clennam for this once or

if objectionable not on any account.'

Arthur nodded his free permission, since Flora shut out all verbal

communication. Flora nodded in return to thank him, and hurried out of

the room.

Little Dorrit's step was already on the stairs, and in another moment

she was at the door. Do what he could to compose his face, he could not

convey so much of an ordinary expression into it, but that the moment

she saw it she dropped her work, and cried, 'Mr Clennam! What's the

matter?'

'Nothing, nothing. That is, no misfortune has happened. I have come

to tell you something, but it is a piece of great good-fortune.'

'Good-fortune?'

'Wonderful fortune!'

They stood in a window, and her eyes, full of light, were fixed upon his

face. He put an arm about her, seeing her likely to sink down. She put

a hand upon that arm, partly to rest upon it, and partly so to preserve

their relative positions as that her intent look at him should be shaken

by no change of attitude in either of them. Her lips seemed to repeat

'Wonderful fortune?' He repeated it again, aloud.

'Dear Little Dorrit! Your father.'

The ice of the pale face broke at the word, and little lights and shoots

of expression passed all over it. They were all expressions of pain. Her

breath was faint and hurried. Her heart beat fast. He would have clasped

the little figure closer, but he saw that the eyes appealed to him not

to be moved.

'Your father can be free within this week. He does not know it; we must

go to him from here, to tell him of it. Your father will be free within

a few days. Your father will be free within a few hours. Remember we

must go to him from here, to tell him of it!'

That brought her back. Her eyes were closing, but they opened again.

'This is not all the good-fortune. This is not all the wonderful

good-fortune, my dear Little Dorrit. Shall I tell you more?'

Her lips shaped 'Yes.'

'Your father will be no beggar when he is free. He will want for

nothing. Shall I tell you more? Remember! He knows nothing of it; we

must go to him, from here, to tell him of it!'

She seemed to entreat him for a little time. He held her in his arm,

and, after a pause, bent down his ear to listen.

'Did you ask me to go on?'

'Yes.'

'He will be a rich man. He is a rich man. A great sum of money

is waiting to be paid over to him as his inheritance; you are all

henceforth very wealthy. Bravest and best of children, I thank Heaven

that you are rewarded!'

As he kissed her, she turned her head towards his shoulder, and raised

her arm towards his neck; cried out 'Father! Father! Father!' and

swooned away.

Upon which Flora returned to take care of her, and hovered about her on

a sofa, intermingling kind offices and incoherent scraps of conversation

in a manner so confounding, that whether she pressed the Marshalsea to

take a spoonful of unclaimed dividends, for it would do her good;

or whether she congratulated Little Dorrit's father on coming into

possession of a hundred thousand smelling-bottles; or whether she

explained that she put seventy-five thousand drops of spirits of

lavender on fifty thousand pounds of lump sugar, and that she entreated

Little Dorrit to take that gentle restorative; or whether she bathed the

foreheads of Doyce and Clennam in vinegar, and gave the late Mr F. more

air; no one with any sense of responsibility could have undertaken to

decide. A tributary stream of confusion, moreover, poured in from an

adjoining bedroom, where Mr F.'s Aunt appeared, from the sound of her

voice, to be in a horizontal posture, awaiting her breakfast; and from

which bower that inexorable lady snapped off short taunts, whenever she

could get a hearing, as, 'Don't believe it's his doing!' and 'He needn't

take no credit to himself for it!' and 'It'll be long enough, I expect,

afore he'll give up any of his own money!' all designed to disparage

Clennam's share in the discovery, and to relieve those inveterate

feelings with which Mr F.'s Aunt regarded him.