第 16 页

watching and weeping for me--I know--for me; but thou wilt be well

again, and merry too, when we are far away. To-morrow morning, dear,

we'll turn our faces from this scene of sorrow, and be as free and

happy as the birds.'

And then the old man clasped his hands above her head, and said, in a

few broken words, that from that time forth they would wander up and

down together, and never part more until Death took one or other of the

twain.

The child's heart beat high with hope and confidence. She had no

thought of hunger, or cold, or thirst, or suffering. She saw in this,

but a return of the simple pleasures they had once enjoyed, a relief

from the gloomy solitude in which she had lived, an escape from the

heartless people by whom she had been surrounded in her late time of

trial, the restoration of the old man's health and peace, and a life of

tranquil happiness. Sun, and stream, and meadow, and summer days,

shone brightly in her view, and there was no dark tint in all the

sparkling picture.

The old man had slept, for some hours, soundly in his bed, and she was

yet busily engaged in preparing for their flight. There were a few

articles of clothing for herself to carry, and a few for him; old

garments, such as became their fallen fortunes, laid out to wear; and a

staff to support his feeble steps, put ready for his use. But this was

not all her task; for now she must visit the old rooms for the last

time.

And how different the parting with them was, from any she had expected,

and most of all from that which she had oftenest pictured to herself.

How could she ever have thought of bidding them farewell in triumph,

when the recollection of the many hours she had passed among them rose

to her swelling heart, and made her feel the wish a cruelty: lonely and

sad though many of those hours had been! She sat down at the window

where she had spent so many evenings--darker far than this--and every

thought of hope or cheerfulness that had occurred to her in that place

came vividly upon her mind, and blotted out all its dull and mournful

associations in an instant.

Her own little room too, where she had so often knelt down and prayed

at night--prayed for the time which she hoped was dawning now--the

little room where she had slept so peacefully, and dreamed such

pleasant dreams! It was hard not to be able to glance round it once

more, and to be forced to leave it without one kind look or grateful

tear. There were some trifles there--poor useless things--that she

would have liked to take away; but that was impossible.

This brought to mind her bird, her poor bird, who hung there yet. She

wept bitterly for the loss of this little creature--until the idea

occurred to her--she did not know how, or why, it came into her

head--that it might, by some means, fall into the hands of Kit who

would keep it for her sake, and think, perhaps, that she had left it

behind in the hope that he might have it, and as an assurance that she

was grateful to him. She was calmed and comforted by the thought, and

went to rest with a lighter heart.

From many dreams of rambling through light and sunny places, but with

some vague object unattained which ran indistinctly through them all,

she awoke to find that it was yet night, and that the stars were

shining brightly in the sky. At length, the day began to glimmer, and

the stars to grow pale and dim. As soon as she was sure of this, she

arose, and dressed herself for the journey.

The old man was yet asleep, and as she was unwilling to disturb him,

she left him to slumber on, until the sun rose. He was anxious that

they should leave the house without a minute's loss of time, and was

soon ready.

The child then took him by the hand, and they trod lightly and

cautiously down the stairs, trembling whenever a board creaked, and

often stopping to listen. The old man had forgotten a kind of wallet

which contained the light burden he had to carry; and the going back a

few steps to fetch it seemed an interminable delay.

At last they reached the passage on the ground floor, where the snoring

of Mr Quilp and his legal friend sounded more terrible in their ears

than the roars of lions. The bolts of the door were rusty, and

difficult to unfasten without noise. When they were all drawn back, it

was found to be locked, and worst of all, the key was gone. Then the

child remembered, for the first time, one of the nurses having told her

that Quilp always locked both the house-doors at night, and kept the

keys on the table in his bedroom.

It was not without great fear and trepidation that little Nell slipped

off her shoes and gliding through the store-room of old curiosities,

where Mr Brass--the ugliest piece of goods in all the stock--lay

sleeping on a mattress, passed into her own little chamber.

Here she stood, for a few moments, quite transfixed with terror at the

sight of Mr Quilp, who was hanging so far out of bed that he almost

seemed to be standing on his head, and who, either from the uneasiness

of this posture, or in one of his agreeable habits, was gasping and

growling with his mouth wide open, and the whites (or rather the dirty

yellows) of his eyes distinctly visible. It was no time, however, to

ask whether anything ailed him; so, possessing herself of the key after

one hasty glance about the room, and repassing the prostrate Mr Brass,

she rejoined the old man in safety. They got the door open without

noise, and passing into the street, stood still.

'Which way?' said the child.

The old man looked, irresolutely and helplessly, first at her, then to

the right and left, then at her again, and shook his head. It was

plain that she was thenceforth his guide and leader. The child felt

it, but had no doubts or misgiving, and putting her hand in his, led

him gently away.

It was the beginning of a day in June; the deep blue sky unsullied by a

cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were, as yet,

nearly free from passengers, the houses and shops were closed, and the

healthy air of morning fell like breath from angels, on the sleeping

town.

The old man and the child passed on through the glad silence, elate

with hope and pleasure. They were alone together, once again; every

object was bright and fresh; nothing reminded them, otherwise than by

contrast, of the monotony and constraint they had left behind; church

towers and steeples, frowning and dark at other times, now shone in the

sun; each humble nook and corner rejoiced in light; and the sky, dimmed

only by excessive distance, shed its placid smile on everything beneath.

Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went the two poor

adventurers, wandering they knew not whither.

CHAPTER 13

Daniel Quilp of Tower Hill, and Sampson Brass of Bevis Marks in the

city of London, Gentleman, one of her Majesty's attornies of the Courts

of the King's Bench and Common Pleas at Westminster and a solicitor of

the High Court of Chancery, slumbered on, unconscious and unsuspicious

of any mischance, until a knocking on the street door, often repeated

and gradually mounting up from a modest single rap to a perfect battery

of knocks, fired in long discharges with a very short interval between,

caused the said Daniel Quilp to struggle into a horizontal position,

and to stare at the ceiling with a drowsy indifference, betokening that

he heard the noise and rather wondered at the same, and couldn't be at

the trouble of bestowing any further thought upon the subject.

As the knocking, however, instead of accommodating itself to his lazy

state, increased in vigour and became more importunate, as if in

earnest remonstrance against his falling asleep again, now that he had

once opened his eyes, Daniel Quilp began by degrees to comprehend the

possibility of there being somebody at the door; and thus he gradually

came to recollect that it was Friday morning, and he had ordered Mrs

Quilp to be in waiting upon him at an early hour.

Mr Brass, after writhing about, in a great many strange attitudes, and

often twisting his face and eyes into an expression like that which is

usually produced by eating gooseberries very early in the season, was

by this time awake also. Seeing that Mr Quilp invested himself in his

every-day garments, he hastened to do the like, putting on his shoes

before his stockings, and thrusting his legs into his coat sleeves, and

making such other small mistakes in his toilet as are not uncommon to

those who dress in a hurry, and labour under the agitation of having

been suddenly roused.

While the attorney was thus engaged, the dwarf was groping under the

table, muttering desperate imprecations on himself, and mankind in

general, and all inanimate objects to boot, which suggested to Mr Brass

the question, 'what's the matter?'

'The key,' said the dwarf, looking viciously about him, 'the

door-key--that's the matter. D'ye know anything of it?'

'How should I know anything of it, sir?' returned Mr Brass.

'How should you?' repeated Quilp with a sneer. 'You're a nice lawyer,

an't you? Ugh, you idiot!'

Not caring to represent to the dwarf in his present humour, that the

loss of a key by another person could scarcely be said to affect his

(Brass's) legal knowledge in any material degree, Mr Brass humbly

suggested that it must have been forgotten over night, and was,

doubtless, at that moment in its native key-hole. Notwithstanding that

Mr Quilp had a strong conviction to the contrary, founded on his

recollection of having carefully taken it out, he was fain to admit

that this was possible, and therefore went grumbling to the door where,

sure enough, he found it.

Now, just as Mr Quilp laid his hand upon the lock, and saw with great

astonishment that the fastenings were undone, the knocking came again

with the most irritating violence, and the daylight which had been

shining through the key-hole was intercepted on the outside by a human

eye. The dwarf was very much exasperated, and wanting somebody to

wreak his ill-humour upon, determined to dart out suddenly, and favour

Mrs Quilp with a gentle acknowledgment of her attention in making that

hideous uproar.

With this view, he drew back the lock very silently and softly, and

opening the door all at once, pounced out upon the person on the other

side, who had at that moment raised the knocker for another

application, and at whom the dwarf ran head first: throwing out his

hands and feet together, and biting the air in the fulness of his

malice.

So far, however, from rushing upon somebody who offered no resistance

and implored his mercy, Mr Quilp was no sooner in the arms of the

individual whom he had taken for his wife than he found himself

complimented with two staggering blows on the head, and two more, of

the same quality, in the chest; and closing with his assailant, such a

shower of buffets rained down upon his person as sufficed to convince

him that he was in skilful and experienced hands. Nothing daunted by

this reception, he clung tight to his opponent, and bit and hammered

away with such good-will and heartiness, that it was at least a couple

of minutes before he was dislodged. Then, and not until then, Daniel

Quilp found himself, all flushed and dishevelled, in the middle of the

street, with Mr Richard Swiveller performing a kind of dance round him

and requiring to know 'whether he wanted any more?'

'There's plenty more of it at the same shop,' said Mr Swiveller, by

turns advancing and retreating in a threatening attitude, 'a large and

extensive assortment always on hand--country orders executed with

promptitude and despatch--will you have a little more, Sir--don't say

no, if you'd rather not.'

'I thought it was somebody else,' said Quilp, rubbing his shoulders,

'why didn't you say who you were?'

'Why didn't you say who YOU were?' returned Dick, 'instead of flying

out of the house like a Bedlamite?'

'It was you that--that knocked,' said the dwarf, getting up with a

short groan, 'was it?'

'Yes, I am the man,' replied Dick. 'That lady had begun when I came,

but she knocked too soft, so I relieved her.' As he said this, he

pointed towards Mrs Quilp, who stood trembling at a little distance.

'Humph!' muttered the dwarf, darting an angry look at his wife, 'I

thought it was your fault! And you, sir--don't you know there has been

somebody ill here, that you knock as if you'd beat the door down?'

'Damme!' answered Dick, 'that's why I did it. I thought there was

somebody dead here.'

'You came for some purpose, I suppose,' said Quilp. 'What is it you

want?'

'I want to know how the old gentleman is,' rejoined Mr Swiveller, 'and

to hear from Nell herself, with whom I should like to have a little

talk. I'm a friend of the family, sir--at least I'm the friend of one

of the family, and that's the same thing.'

'You'd better walk in then,' said the dwarf. 'Go on, sir, go on. Now,

Mrs Quilp--after you, ma'am.'

Mrs Quilp hesitated, but Mr Quilp insisted. And it was not a contest

of politeness, or by any means a matter of form, for she knew very well

that her husband wished to enter the house in this order, that he might

have a favourable opportunity of inflicting a few pinches on her arms,

which were seldom free from impressions of his fingers in black and

blue colours. Mr Swiveller, who was not in the secret, was a little

surprised to hear a suppressed scream, and, looking round, to see Mrs

Quilp following him with a sudden jerk; but he did not remark on these

appearances, and soon forgot them.

'Now, Mrs Quilp,' said the dwarf when they had entered the shop, 'go

you up stairs, if you please, to Nelly's room, and tell her that she's

wanted.'